The Rest of the Story(100)

“Your dad looks fiendish with that sparkler,” I said.

“Good catch. He loved blowing things up and the Fourth. Later it was him who organized the fireworks out at the raft every year,” he replied. “In fact, if you turn to the next page, on the right—yes, ma’am, that’s correct! We’re based in convenient North Lake, a quick trip to all of Bly County, and we offer a wide variety and price range of both hurricane and storm shutters.”

Juan was back. I looked back at the picture, the goofy way my mom hung on her sister, hamming it up. I’d never known her to be silly. I guess by the time I came along, there was a lot less to laugh about.

Outside in the suite, I could now hear voices: my dad and Tracy were back from whatever outing they’d taken, and soon enough I’d need to go on that swim. But for now, with Roo still reciting his cold-call points in my ear, I studied the other shots on the page. My mom and Chris on the back of a tube, in life jackets. At the table at Mimi’s, eating hot dogs with Celeste and another boy around the same age whose features looked a lot like Trinity, Bailey, and Jack.

“. . . of course, I’d be happy to follow up with some more information when it’s more convenient to talk,” Roo was saying now. “I’ll just take down your info and be back in touch. Will that work?”

Yes, I thought, although I stayed silent. At least until he stopped talking in that voice, his normal tone filling my ear. “You still there?” he asked.

“For a minute,” I said. Which I hoped was long enough. “Can you tell me another one?”

That was how it started. The calls, and the stories. Before I knew it, I’d gone from watching the clock all day to watching my phone. Because every time it rang, there was a chance for a bit more connection with Roo, as well as everything I’d left on the other side. His voice was the conduit. All I had to do was listen.

“Top of page, three or four over,” he said that evening, after I’d slipped out early from dinner at the Tides restaurant and come home while my parents and Nana shared a nightcap. “Middle school dance. Also known as the only time your mom and my dad ever tried to be more than friends.”

Everything about the picture screamed awkward. First, there was the stiff button-down Chris Price was wearing that made him look like a kid playing dress-up. My mom, in a periwinkle dress with spaghetti straps, her hair loose over her shoulders, seemed years older and, solely by the twisty smile on her face, like she might be trouble. They were standing side by side outside of Mimi’s house, not touching.

“It looks like a date.”

“Mom always said my dad called it the worst one ever,” he replied. He was in the arcade at Blackwood Station: in the background, I heard a siren, which meant someone had won from the bonus ticket machine. “Picture it. Eighth grade. Since Celeste and Silas had paired up the year before, they thought maybe they were meant to do the same. But it felt weird and they bickered all night except for one kiss, which was disappointing for everyone involved. So that was that.”

“Makes me wonder if you ever thought about dating Bailey,” I said. I couldn’t imagine it, but I also didn’t want to.

“No.” He replied so quickly, and flatly, I was reassured. “Her brother would have killed me. Also, there’s Vincent. Who has been hooked on her since middle school.”

So it was true. “I thought he was into her!”

“He’s obsessed.” I heard a cash register beep: he’d told me his main job was making change for the arcade. “Unfortunately, he’s also too scared to let her know or make a move. It’s like watching paint dry, but more frustrating.”

“I bet he’d be a great boyfriend,” I said.

“Yeah? Maybe you should date him.”

Hearing this, I had to think how to respond. Was he kidding? Trying to find out more information? Finally I said, “He’s sweet. But not my type.”

“No?” he asked. The siren went off again. “And what’s that, exactly? Yacht club guys?”

“No,” I said. “I got set up with Blake because of Bailey. Left to my own devices, I’d choose differently.”

“You would? Like how?”

“I can’t say exactly,” I said, running my finger around the edge of the picture we’d been talking about. “But when you know, you know.”

“Well, that’s frustratingly vague,” he replied.

I grinned, sitting back against my bedroom door with my legs stretched out in front of me. “But it’s like my mom and dad, right? She didn’t know what her type was until he showed up. We’re not to that part of the album yet.”

“But there aren’t any pictures of her with your dad in there,” he pointed out. “I know it by heart, remember?”

“True. I’m speaking of it in a larger sense.”

“The big album in the sky,” he said, clarifying.

“No,” I said, stifling a snort, “just that, like history, it’s ongoing. Just because the pictures stop doesn’t mean the story does.”

He was quiet, long enough that I wondered if we’d been cut off. Then he said, “You’re right. I guess we all have those invisible pages, so to speak.”

“Exactly,” I said. “Like, say, for you, there will be shots from in college, you working on the paper there, thanks to all those hours working at Defender and every other place in town.”