The Accidentals(63)

“Oh, good,” he says. And then there’s an awkward pause, because neither one of us is any good at taking a compliment. “I’m going to split another dozen logs now,” he says. “It beats listening to Asshat brag about his conquests. But call me tomorrow and let me know how you’re doing.”

“I will. Bye, Jake.”

After a while, I dare to peek into Frederick’s room. I find him passed out in his underwear, his hair wet on the pillow.

I tiptoe back into the guest room and lay down again.





When I wake up, it’s to the sound of shouting.

“All I wanted was a Christmas morning with my son and my grandchild!” Alice wails. “Is that really too much to ask?”

“That’s all you want? That and a quart of my blood.”

“What a role model you make.”

“Rachel is a big girl, Alice. She knows my flaws, okay? But she’s nicer about them.”

“Does she have a choice?”

My chest quivers with unhappiness, and I feel positively ill. It’s too hot in my room, and there isn’t enough air. I walk out of the bedroom and speed down the stairs. Stepping into my shoes in the front hall, I go out into the cold, shutting the door behind me.

The stoop feels icy through the fabric of my jeans, but breathing cold air feels good. Still, my heart races like the drum line of a speed-metal track. When the door opens behind me, I whirl around.

It’s Grandpa Frank. He sits down next to me. “Hi.”

“Hi,” I gasp.

“You don’t look so good.”

“Don’t feel so good.”

“What’s the matter, exactly?”

“Can’t breathe,” I say.

“You’re about thirty years too young for heart trouble.” He takes my hand and puts two fingers on my wrist. “Rachel, are you having a panic attack?”

I turn to look at him. “How do I tell?”

He pats my hand. “Feelings of doom, shortness of breath. Maybe nausea.”

“Sounds familiar.”

“It’s the most common thing in the world. It will pass. Some people have too many—it gets in the way of their lives. And they need to get help. But if you’re just having one or two, say, on the most stressful Christmas ever, I predict you’ll make a full recovery.”

“Good to know.” I try not to gasp.

“I prescribe…a walk around the block. But we’ll need coats.” He goes inside for them.

The walk helps. I follow my grandfather through the deserted neighborhood park, past chilly-looking playground equipment. “Frederick played Little League on these fields,” he says, pointing.

“That’s hard to picture.”

My grandfather chuckles. “He was no good at it. He got cut from the team his second year.”

“I’ll bet he didn’t mind.”

“Not a bit,” his father agrees.

“We do this too,” I say. “Frederick and I go for walks.”

“He’s always liked walking,” Dr. Richards says. “He told me once that he finishes a lot of song lyrics that way. Walking around, rearranging the words in his head.”

“Why doesn’t Frederick drive?” I ask suddenly.

“He didn’t tell you the story?”

I get prickles on my neck. “There’s a story?”

Grandpa Frank stops under a silver birch tree, where flaps of papery bark wave in the wind. “He used to drive. But when he was nineteen, he crashed his car into a tree. Scared him so badly he never drove again.”

I don’t know what to make of this story. It’s hard to imagine Frederick afraid of anything. “Was anyone hurt?”

“He was alone, and most likely drunk. He cracked a couple of ribs against the steering column, that’s all. But that was enough, I guess.”

We walk on.





“He changed his ticket,” Alice spits when we reenter the house. “He’s leaving tonight.”

My heart clenches. He wouldn’t just leave me here. I run upstairs. His room is empty, the gift I’d left him is gone. There’s no guitar. I throw myself on his bed and press my face into the crook of my arm.

Someone comes in and sits on the bed next to me. From the sound of the footsteps, it’s Alice. “Rachel,” she says.

I don’t bother raising my wet face. Kind words from Alice won’t cut it right now.

“Rachel, I’m so sorry he let you down like this. He doesn’t know how to be anyone’s father.”

Seriously? He does a fair-to-middling job most of the time. I sit up quickly, anger coiling in my stomach. “Why do you push him away?”

Alice reels at the question. Her lips tremble. “He pushes himself away.”

“My aunt Lisa…” I swallow. “We’re not calling her.”

“Okay,” Alice whispers.

I can hardly spit out the reason. “She left me in the home. In Orlando. She left me there, and Frederick didn’t.”

“Oh.” Alice’s eyes begin to fill.

She reaches for my hand, but I jerk it away. “If you can’t f-forgive him,” I stutter, “then we can’t come here.” I consider Jake’s offer to pick me up in Boston. If Frederick can leave, so could I. “If you can’t forgive him, I can’t stay here. Because…” I choke on my tears. “Because I love him too. And you’re making it so hard on me.”