What Happens to Goodbye(99)

“Agreed. A town needs a population,” she said. “So I thought we should devise a sector system, like we did with the buildings, with a certain number of figures per area, and make sure they are diverse in their activities so there’s not repetition.”
“Activities? ”
“Well, you wouldn’t want all the bicyclists to be on one side, and all the people walking dogs on the other,” she told me. “I mean, that would be wrong.”
“Of course,” I agreed.
“Other people, however,” she continued, clearing her throat, “feel that by organizing the people, we are removing the life force from the entire endeavor. Instead, they think that we should just arrange the figures in a more random way, as that mirrors the way the world actually is, which is what the model is supposed to be all about.”
I raised my eyebrows. “So this is Riley saying this?”
“What?” she asked. “Oh, no. Riley was totally down with the people-sector thing. It’s Dave. He’s, like, adamant.”
“Really.”
“Oh, God, yes,” she replied. “To be honest, it’s been a bit of a conflict between us. But I have to respect his opinion, because this is a collaborative effort. So we’re working on a compromise.”

I bent down by the model, studying a cul-de-sac, until I felt her move away, turning her attention to something else. Compromise, I thought, remembering the one Dave had been working on with his parents, and mine with my mom. It was that give-and-take he’d talked about, the rules that were always changing. But what happened when you followed all the rules and still couldn’t get what you wante? It didn’t seem right.
“So,” Deb said now, bending down by the far left edge of the model, “about the restaurant closing. Does that mean ... you’re moving to Australia? That’s the rumor, according to the grapevine. That your dad got a job there.”
Typical restaurant gossip, distorted as always. “It’s Hawaii,” I told her. “And I’m not going with him.”
“Are you staying here?”
“No,” I said. “I can’t.”
She turned, padding back over to the other end, by the tree line Heather had done. She bit her lip as she bent down over it, adjusting a couple of trunks. Finally she said, “Well, honestly ... I think that sucks.”
“Whoa,” I said. For Deb, these were strong words. “I’m sorry.”
“So am I!” She looked up, her face flushed. “I mean, it’s bad enough that you’re going to go. But you didn’t even tell us it was in the works! Were you just going to take off and disappear, just like that?”
“No,” I said, although I wasn’t sure this was entirely true. “I just ... I didn’t know where I was going, and when. And then the whole Ume.com thing ...”
“I understand, it was crazy.” She took a step closer to me. “But seriously, Mclean. You have to promise me you won’t just leave. I’m not like you, okay? I don’t have a lot of friends. So you need to say goodbye, and you need to stay in touch, wherever you go. Okay?”
I nodded. She was so emotional, on the verge of tears. This was what I’d wanted to prevent with all those quick disappearances, the tangledness of farewells and all the baggage they brought with them. But now, looking at Deb, I realized what else I’d given up: knowing for sure that someone was going to miss me. What happened to goodbye, Michael in Westcott had written on my Ume.com page. I was pretty sure I knew, now. It had been packed away in a box of its own, trying to be forgotten, until I really needed it. Until now.
“Okay then,” Deb said, her voice tight. She drew in a breath, then let it out, letting her hands drop to her sides. “Now, if you don’t mind, I really think we should tackle these last two sectors before we go tonight.”
“Absolutely,” I replied, relieved to have something concrete to do. I followed her over to the other table, where the last group of assembled houses and other buildings were lined up, labeled and ready to be put on. Deb collected one set, I took the other, and we walked over to the far right top corner, the very end of the pinwheel. As I bent down, taking the adhesive off the bottom of a gas station, I said, “I’m glad there was something left to do. I was worried all this would be finished by the time I got back here.”
“Well, actually, it would have been,” she said, pushing a house onto her sector. “But I saved these for you.”
I stopped what I was doing. “You did?”
“Yeah.” She put a house on, pressing it until it clicked, then looked at me. “I mean, you were here at the very beginning, when this all started, before I even was. It’s only right that you get to be a part of the ending, as well.”
“You’re welcome,” she replied. And then, side by side, and without saying another word, we finished the job together.
When I left the restaurant, it was a half hour into opening and my dad still hadn’t appeared. Neither had Opal.
“It’s just like a sinking ship,” Tracey, who was behind the bar, told me when I asked if she’d seen them. “The rats abandon first.”
“Opal’s not a rat,” I said, realizing a beat too late that by saying that I was basically admitting that my dad was. “She didn’t know anything about all this.”
“She didn’t fight for us either,” she replied, drying a glass with a towel. “She’s basically been AWOL since they announced the closing and the building sale. Polishing her résumé, most likely.”