What Happens to Goodbye(49)

“Anyway,” he said now, glancing at me, “I did the first half of my hours at the animal shelter, cleaning cages. But then with budget cuts, they started closing earlier in the afternoons. So that’s how I ended up working on the model with Mclean.”
“The model,” Peter said, joining the conversation as the waiter brought his wine, taking entirely too long to remove the empty glass and adjust the napkin beneath it. “Model of what? ”
On my right, Dave was about to answer, and on my mother’s side, Peter was waiting. But between them, she had that look on her face, like I was the worst daughter in the world, and I could just feel all this history swirling, swirling as I tried to remember what it had been like before. When we were just us, and things were simpler. I couldn’t, though. All I knew was that she was hurt again, and it was my fault. So I did what I always did. I faked it.
“It’s a model of the town,” I said suddenly, the words coming without me even thinking first. “I actually wasn’t supposed to be part of the whole thing. But Opal, this woman who works at the restaurant? She really needed the help, so I pitched in the other day.”
“Oh,” my mom said. “Well, it sounds like it might be a worthwhile way to spend your time.”
“It’s a huge project, though,” I continued. “Tons of pieces. I don’t know how she’s ever going to get it done by the deadline, which is May.”
“It’s important to have a goal,” Peter said. “Even an unreasonable one can be good for motivation.”
This, in a nutshell, was my stepfather. If the coaching thing ever ended for him, I was sure there was a group in need of confidence building somewhere that would be eager for his services.
“Well, in that case,” Dave said, “my goal is to graduate without any further misdemeanors.”
“Aim high,” I said.
“You know it.”
He smiled, and I smiled back, feeling my mother watching me. I must have seemed like such a stranger to her, I realized, when she saw me like this. In a town she didn’t know, with people she’d never met, and both of us wading through this limbo world between what we’d been and what we might be. Like seeing her from a distance earlier, this thought made me unexpectedly sad. But when I turned to her, she’d already looked away and was saying something to one of the sitters.
“That was a tough game,” I told Peter instead. “You guys played hard.”

“Not hard enough,” he said. Then, lowering his voice, he added, “Thanks for coming. It’s really made her happy.”
“What’s that?” my mom said, turning back to us.
“I was just telling Mclean about how happy we are to have the beach house finally done,” he replied smoothly. “And that she needs to come visit sometime. Colby is great this time of year.”
“I don’t know Colby that well,” I said. “We always went to North Reddemane.”
“Oh, there’s nothing decent in North Reddemane anymore,” Peter told me. “Just a few businesses on their last legs and a bunch of teardowns.”
I thought of the Poseidon, with its mildew scent and faded bedspreads, and looked at my mom, wondering if she even remembered it. But she was just smiling at him, oblivious. “It used to be nice,” I said.
“Things change,” Peter said, opening his menu with his free hand. He leaned in closer, peering down at it. “Good God,” he said. “I can’t even see this. Why aren’t there any lights on in here?”
None of us replied, instead just studying our own menus in the tiny bit of brightness thrown by the candle in the center of the table. If someone had been walking by and glanced in, I wondered what they’d think of us. How they might consider this group of people, possibly related but probably not, fumbling together through the darkness.
“Wow,” Dave said. “That was loud.”
I turned to look at him as the taillights of Peter’s SUV moved away from us. “What was?”
“That sigh you just let out,” he said. “Seriously. It was almost deafening.”
“Oh,” I said. The lights were going over the slight bump now, disappearing down to the main road. The turn signal was already on. In a few minutes, they’d be on the highway. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he said. “I just noticed. You all right?”
I’d been overthinking my actions and carefully crafting my responses for hours now. Honestly, I had no more energy for it. So instead of answering, I just sat down right where we were, on the curb between our two houses, and pulled my knees to my chest. Dave plopped down beside me, and we just sat there for a minute, listening to the music thumping behind my neighbors’ closed front door.
“I don’t get along with my mom,” I told him after a moment. “At all. I think . . . I think I even hate her sometimes.”
He considered this. Then he said, “Well, that explains the tension.”
“You felt that?”
“Hard to miss,” he replied. He reached down, picking at his shoe, then looked up at me. “Whatever it’s about, she’s trying really hard. Like, really hard.”
“Too hard.”
“Maybe.”
“Too hard,” I said again, and this time, he was silent. I took a breath, cold, then added, “She cheated on my dad. With Peter. Left him, got pregnant, got married. It was a mess.”
A car drove by, slowed, then kept going. Dave said, “That’s pretty harsh.”