Keeping The Moon(60)

Isabel looked out the kitchen window. All I could hear was Morgan breathing.

“Go ahead! She was also—what? What was she, Isabel?”

And then Isabel, in a voice so sad it could break your heart, said, “Pregnant. She was pregnant.”

Morgan threw up her hands. “That’s right! Pregnant! With his kid! You win the couch and the car and the dinette set, Miss Isabel.

You win the showcase showdown and all the money. Congratulations!” She was screaming now. “Congratulations!” And then she turned

around, walked down the hallway to the bedroom and slammed the door so hard it shook the floor beneath my feet.

I looked at Isabel.

“Great,” she said. “I win.”

We waited an hour for Morgan to come out. Then another.

By two-thirty A.M., when I was nodding off again, Isabel told me to go home.

“There’s no point in you sticking around,” she said, standing up. “I’ll sleep on the couch and she’ll be fine in the morning.

” She looked back at the bedroom door. I could tell she wasn’t so sure.

“I can stay,” I offered.

“No.” She was already stretched out on the couch, reaching up to turn off the light on the end table. “Go. I’ll see you

tomorrow.”

I walked to the door and pushed it open. I could see my bedroom light from the porch, bright and waiting for me.

“Hey, Colie,” Isabel called out behind me. The living room was dark now and I couldn’t see her.

“Yeah?”

“What were you doing out so late, anyway?”

“Norman and I were finishing the painting,” I told her. “It’s done.”

“Great,” she said, yawning.

“He’s making me dinner tomorrow,” I added softly. “We have, like, a date.”

“Really?” Now she sounded more awake. “What time?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Dinnertime, I guess.” Norman was never one for exactness, exactly.

“Come here first,” she said. I could hear her turning over, her voice muffled as she settled in. “And I’ll help you get ready.

”

“You will?”

“Absolutely.” Now she was drifting off, her voice soft. “Everything will be fine tomorrow. Just fine.”

I shut the door softly and crossed the lawn, cutting through the hedge to Mira’s. I passed her bedroom on the way to mine; she’d

fallen asleep with the light on, listening to a tape on her headphones, one of which—of course—was missing an earpad. It was

still running as I turned her Walkman over and peered down at it, recognizing the tape instantly. I slipped the headphones off and

pulled the blanket over her, then lifted them to my own ears, closing my eyes at the sound of my mother’s voice.

“I don’t believe in failure,” she was saying in that confident, breezy way. “Because simply by saying you’ve failed, you’ve

admitted you attempted. And anyone who attempts is not a failure. Those who truly fail in my eyes are the ones who never try at

all. The ones who sit on the couch and whine and moan and wait for the world to change for them.”

I smiled. I had heard those words so many times before. And as I kept listening, I walked to Mira’s window and looked at the moon.

It hung brightly in the sky, a bit yellow, ripe and waiting for me. Then I glanced down at the little house. The porch light was on

now, and I could see someone sitting on the steps. Someone with her head in her hands, a dirty lei around her neck, sitting under

the light of Mira’s moon.

“If you try anything,” my mother went on, her voice building, “if you try to lose weight, or to improve yourself, or to love, or

to make the world a better place, you have already achieved something wonderful, before you even begin. Forget failure. If things

don’t work out the way you want, hold your head up high and be proud. And try again. And again. And again!”

Try again, I thought, thinking of my night with Norman as I looked down at Morgan, remembering how she’d been so happy that Mark

had chosen her. And I wondered where that shiny ring was now.

Try again.





Chapter Fourteen


The next morning Norman and I were the only ones who showed up for work. Morgan was on the schedule, but I opened alone; luckily it

was slow, so I could handle it by myself. I’d thought it might be strange to be with Norman now, but it wasn’t. We just ate fat-

free potato chips and played Hangman, listening to the radio while he huddled over a grocery list—secretive as ever—planning the

Big Dinner. Still, I was glad when two-thirty came and I could close up and go home to find out what was going on.

“It’s crazy, Mira,” I heard Isabel say as soon as I walked in. “This morning I get up and drive all the way to Starbucks just

to get her some of that special snotty coffee she likes so much, and she locks me out! She’s been over there crying and playing

Patsy Cline ever since. This is bad, Mira. This is really bad.”

I walked in to the back room and saw Mira sitting at her drafting table, with Isabel on the couch beside her. They were both