A World Without You(11)

I blink, and all I see is my desk and the open notebook in front of me.

But I cannot get the vision of Sofía’s desperate eyes out of my mind.





CHAPTER 6


Phoebe



“Adventure time!” my mother yells as she flings open my bedroom door.

I shoot up in bed. “What time is it?” I ask, but I’m not even sure I actually spoke the words aloud. It sounded more like wharmzit.

“It’s seven in the morning on this beautiful Saturday,” my mom says in a singsongy voice. “Now get up, because we are going on an adventure!”

I rub sleep out of my eyes as I start to really wake up. An adventure? Mom used to do this all the time during summer breaks when Bo and I were kids. She’d make these huge, elaborate plans and keep them totally secret from us, bursting into our rooms one random morning shouting, “Adventure!” She’d bundle us up with whatever we needed for the day and not tell us where we were going until we arrived at our destination. Sometimes it was a simple trip into the city for a duck tour of the harbor or to see a museum. Once, she packed our suitcases in the night and drove us to the airport, and it wasn’t until we’d landed in Orlando that we realized we were going to Disney World.

Dad rarely went on these adventures—he had to work—but he was there for the overnight ones, and those were always the best. I look around now, but there’s no suitcase in the hallway, and besides, I’d notice now if Mom were sneaking clothes to pack away. I fall back against my pillows.

Mom sits down on the bed. “I thought we could go to Faneuil Hall,” she says more gently. “Hit the market, maybe get dinner in the city. A girl date.”

“Yeah,” I say. “Sure. Let me get dressed.”

I throw on some clothes and head downstairs. Dad’s home, but his office door is firmly closed. He’s apparently not invited on this adventure.

? ? ?

We go to Bickford’s for breakfast, and Mom talks about her plans for renovating the house after “the nest is finally empty.” She pretends to be mad when I tell her I’d rather see the latest reboot of Spider-Man with my friends instead of her, even though we both know the only movies she goes to are rom-coms and anything from Disney. We make plans to get pedicures after my next report card if I make all As, which is inevitable.

“I just can’t remember the last time we had an adventure day!” Mom says gleefully as we get back in the car and head toward the highway.

I glance at her, but she looks sincere. Still—really? She really can’t remember the last time we did a surprise adventure day? Because I remember. It was the summer before Bo started high school, and I was looking forward to having the middle school all to myself. Mom had burst into our rooms on a Tuesday, and she piled us into the car, stating only that we were going to get the best meal of our lives. We drove north along the coast, and in a few hours she parked outside a lobster boat cruise in Portland, Maine.

But we never made it on the cruise. Her intent had been for us to ride in the boat, pull up some lobster traps, and eat the freshest lobster we’d ever had for dinner, bringing home an extra one for Dad.

But Bo had refused to go on the water.

It was so weird. He’d been on boats before. He used to love fishing. But he completely flipped out at the harbor, clutching his chest like he was having a heart attack and absolutely refusing to take one step onto the wood gangway. When Mom tried to talk to him, it was as if she were speaking to someone who’d gone deaf. The boat left without us, and we ate lunch at some random seafood restaurant before Mom drove us back, never mentioning Bo’s meltdown again.

We never went on another “adventure” after that.

Faneuil Hall is packed. The weather’s finally starting to warm up, and everyone is walking around as if they’ve been a prisoner of winter and can taste freedom in the air. The spaces between the market buildings are lined with kiosks and carts, a mix of crafts and clothes, snacks and souvenirs for sale. A living statue bends at the waist and offers a fake flower to Mom, trying to draw her closer. We start at the North Market building, and Mom buys me a pair of blue cat-eye sunglasses as I try to convince her to buy a pair of heart-shaped ones made of red plastic. She spends far too long trying on shoes and pushing me to join her, but even though my friend Jenny calls me a freak for it, I just don’t really care about what’s on my feet.

“So,” Mom says as we head toward a small boutique selling sundresses. Her voice drops an octave as she imitates Dad. “How ’bout them Patriots?”

I can’t help but laugh. Most people use the weather as small talk. Dad uses football. It doesn’t matter that the Super Bowl happened almost two months ago; there’s always next year’s season to talk about.

Mom bumps my shoulder. “Come on, baby girl, tell me what’s up.”

“Nothing’s ‘up,’” I laugh, taking a dress off the rack and holding it against my shoulders even though I know I’d never wear it.

“School going well?”

I put the dress back. “Yeah, I guess. I mean, AP’s harder this year.”

“You’re doing great, you know that?” Mom’s voice is softer now, more serious. “I don’t say that enough, but you are.”

I shrug. “I need a scholarship.”