Stealing Our Way Home Page 18

  I hold my breath and try not to cry.

  Dad inhales sharply through his nose and then lets it out. “I don’t have a choice, buddy, okay? I’ve already gone over everything with you. I’m in the exact same spot that I was when we drove up to Middlebury. This time I’ll make sure to get enough money so that I’ll have time to find a job. I’m telling you, this is it. No more after this, okay? I promise. But I can’t do this one without you. The bank’s too big.”

  “Then don’t do it.” Jack’s voice is flat. “Let’s go home.”

  “I can’t. I’ve got to do it.” Dad starts rummaging through the pillowcase. He takes out another mask—Hulk—and shoves it into the front pocket of his jeans.

  “Dad.” Jack grabs his arm. “Come on. Let’s just go home.”

  “I won’t be long.” Dad reaches out, grabs the back of Jack’s head, and kisses him hard on the forehead. “Sit tight with your sister.”

  Before I can blink again, he’s walking so fast across the parking lot that it almost looks like he’s running. I grab Jack’s arm and shake it. But he’s already moving. I watch from the back window as he runs after Dad and grabs him around the arm. Dad whirls around, holding Jack by both shoulders. He’s shaking his head, moving his lips, trying to pull Jack back to the car. Jack won’t let himself cry as he resists and drags his feet. But he’s not strong enough. Dad pushes him back inside, holding him down again with both hands. “Enough, Jack!” His voice is terrible. “That’s enough!” I wait, but Jack doesn’t fight it. He just stares at Dad like he’s confused. Like he doesn’t know anything anymore.

  Dad slams the car door and starts across the parking lot again. The Hulk mask peeks out from his left pocket. The pillowcase swings from his right hand. In the front, Jack begins to tear up. The phalanx formation is broken. But I still have my shield.

  I push open the car door and slide out. The sun is right above me, huge and hot and yellow. I open my mouth. Take a deep breath. Push with all my might. “DAD!”

  The word comes out of me as pure and loud as a bell. He stops at the sound of it, whirls around.

  “COME BACK!”

  He stands there, staring at me, as if he can’t quite figure out what he’s just heard. What has just happened. Did I look like that when I heard Mr. Thurber again after all that time?

  “Pippa?” I see his mouth form my name, his hand dropping the pillowcase.

  And as I run to him, I realize something about myself. Something I never thought could be possible. I have things to say. Important things. And even though they’ve been stuck deep down inside me for a while, I think I’m ready to make people hear them.

  We sit in the car for a long time after Dad gets back in again. He just slumps there behind the wheel, staring out the window. Pippa and I are both watching from the backseat. We’re trying to give him space, I guess. I wonder if people feel like this after they’ve been hit with a stun gun: fragmented, confused. Like they’ve been turned inside out and upside down. For a long time, the only sound in the car is our breathing.

  And then Dad starts to cry. And not just cry, but sob. But it doesn’t scare me, seeing him like this. It makes me feel safe again. As if maybe the strange shell of a person he has become over the last few months has cracked and the Dad I know is finally coming out again.

  Pippa and I scramble over the seat.

  “I’m so, so sorry,” he whispers, gathering us in his arms. “Can you ever forgive me?”

  Pippa and I lock eyes over Dad’s shoulder.

  “We have to stop him.” That was what she wrote in her notebook on the dock. WE. It was brave of her to include herself, but I understood it to mean that I was the one who had to do something before Dad went into the Sandridge bank. What in the world would Pippa do? I didn’t think it would get too complicated after I refused to go in with him. Dad would have to throw in the towel when he realized he couldn’t do it alone and we would go home. Or at least that was what I thought would happen. Except that it didn’t. And then, although I didn’t know it at the time, it really was up to Pippa.

  I look at her, tucked under Dad’s arm, now with her eyes closed. How was she finally able to find her voice? Where did it come from? Where has it been? Maybe the reason she stopped talking didn’t have anything to do with me, after all. Maybe she just didn’t have the words to tell anyone what she was feeling. Until she did again.

  Dad. Her first words in almost half a year. Come back.

  And here he was.

  I start to worry again on the way home. Pippa may have finally talked, but nothing’s really changed. Dad still doesn’t have a job, we’re out of money, and the mortgage payments are just going to keep piling up. Who’s to say that Dad won’t slide back into feeling desperate enough to rob a bank? Why couldn’t it happen again?

  We’re just starting down Lake Road when Dad says, “Whoa! Who is that? And why is he going so fast?”

  I look up. It’s hard to see the car coming toward us because there is so much dust flying up around it, but there’s no mistaking the speed at which it’s moving. Dad slows the Eldorado and pulls it over to the other side. “What in the world … ” He squints as the car flies past us and then leans hard on the horn. “It’s Nibs!” he says, leaning out the window.

  Nibs brakes so hard that her back wheels skid to one side. Dirt and pebbles scatter in all directions, and the car makes a horrible screeching sound.

  “Am I too late?” Her eyes are wild as she jumps out of her car and rushes toward us. “Am I too late, Sam Kendall? Did you just go do what I think you did? With your children in the car?” If she were a dragon, there would be fire coming out of her nose.

  “What are you talking about?” Dad looks scared and dazed at the same time.

  “I’ll tell you what I’m talking about.” Nibs races back to her car, grabs something inside, and races back over to Dad’s side of the car. She shoves the Spider-Man and Batman masks under his nose. I can hear the crinkle of the newspaper articles inside them. “You think I don’t know what these are? You think I don’t know what you did with them?”

  My mouth drops open. I look over at Pippa. She holds my gaze and does not blink. She doesn’t say anything, but I know what she’s done. And I’m glad. I’m gladder than I’ve been about anything in a long, long time. Because I’m not exactly sure what will happen. Or what we’ll do next.

  But there’s one thing I do know.

  Now that Nibs knows, we can’t go back to where we were.

  And that, I realize now, is exactly what I wanted all along.

  After Nibs stops being so mad at Dad, she takes him home. The two of them go inside her house and talk for a long, long time while Jack and I sit on the dock. The sky is gray and the cold air makes the inside of my nose prickle, but the wind is soft, so I don’t mind. “You okay?” Jack asks after a while.

  I nod, staring out at the water, which has turned a dark green color, the edges already slick with ice. I wonder how far Mr. Thurber has made it on his journey down South, how much longer he has to go. I miss him already, but not like before, when I was afraid I’d never see him again. Now I miss him the way I always do, impatiently, waiting for the day when I see him again.

  Jack pauses for a minute, like he’s hesitating. Then he says, “Can you say it? Out loud?”

  I hadn’t thought about saying what I said to Dad in the parking lot. It had just come out of me, like an arrow shot from a bow. I’d been scared. Desperate. It was almost as if the words had taken on a life of their own, flying out of my mouth on invisible wings. Would they come out now that I didn’t feel that way anymore? “I … ” I swallow, lick my lips, and try again. “I … feel okay.” I glance over at my brother. “I feel okay,” I say again. “Really. I do.”

  Jack puts his arm around me. “That’s so cool,” he says.

  When Dad steps out Nibs’ front door, he looks different. His shoulders are straight and his chin is lifted.

  He sits down on the dock, right betwe
en Jack and me, and puts his arms around us. No one says anything, and for a moment it feels as if the whole lake—the water and the sky and everything between them—is holding its breath.

  “I’ve made a mess,” Dad says finally. “And it’s time for me to clean it up.” I watch Jack’s face as he stares anxiously at Dad.

  “What’re you going to do?” Jack’s voice is barely a whisper.

  “I’m going to turn myself in.”

  I clutch at his sleeve, realizing what he’s saying.

  “You mean you’re going to tell the police?” Jack’s eyes are huge. “About Middlebury?”

  Dad nods. “And Rutland, too. I have to, son. I won’t be able to live with myself if I don’t.”

  “But you’ll go to jail!”

  “I might,” Dad answers. “We’ll see what happens. I’m going to meet with an attorney tomorrow afternoon, and he’ll go with me to the police station. If I do have to go to jail, you’ll stay with Nibs. We’ve already talked about it.”

  “No!” I can feel tears rising. “I don’t want you to go to jail! Please, Dad!”

  He pulls back a little so that he can see both of us at the same time. “I need both of you to listen to me,” he says slowly. “Something happened to me after your mother died. It’s not an excuse for what I did. But it was like a part of me died with her, like I was just half a person. I wasn’t thinking clearly, which is why I lost the car lot, why I invested in a ridiculous scam, and—” He pauses, running a hand through his hair. “And why I thought robbing a bank to save the house was a good idea.” He wrinkles his nose, and for a split second, he looks exactly like Jack. “It took you guys to bring me back again. To realize that the part I thought had died with your mother was still very much alive. And still very much responsible as a father. If I don’t own up to the mistakes I’ve made, I won’t ever be able to look at either of you in the face again. Can you understand that?”

  I think I might understand. A little. But I don’t want him to go to jail. I don’t want to have to miss him the way I miss Mom. I don’t, I really don’t.

  And then Jack looks over at me. I can tell he’s asking me with his eyes not to make a fuss, to let Dad do what he needs to do to make things right again. And in that moment, I realize two things. The first is that going to jail is not the same thing as dying. And the second is that no matter what happens, Jack will still be here with me.

  “Pippa and I will be fine.” Jack’s voice wobbles. “Won’t we Pip?”

  I nod. And then, because both Jack and Dad are looking hopefully at me, I open my mouth.

  “Yes,” I say out loud. “Yes, we’ll be okay.”

  The chairs in Mrs. Paciotti’s room have been packed in so tightly that both Jack’s and Dad’s knees are touching the back of the chairs in front of them. Nibs keeps waving at people coming into the room and breaking into snorts whenever Miss Rhodes bends over to tell her something.

  I’m a wreck. I practiced talking a little more last night, but my voice still sounds weird to me, like a stranger’s. I hope it doesn’t sound like that to the audience. I’m also exhausted. But I guess that comes with the territory when you stay up all night writing a paper that’s due the next day. Although I couldn’t have written this paper until last night anyway. Not until everything happened the way it did. Afterward, as I lay in bed, running it all through my head again, the idea for the paper came to me. Just like Nibs said it would, when I was thinking about anything except what I would write about.

  “All right, everyone.” Miss Rhodes stands at the front of the room behind the podium. She has a new dress on and a little yellow flower tucked behind one ear. “I think all our guests have arrived, which means we can start with our first presentation.” She gives Susan a smile. “Susan? You’re first.”

  Susan stands up, walks over to an elderly gentleman in a wheelchair, and wheels him to the front of the room, right next to the podium. “This is my great-grandfather, Arnold Biggs,” she says proudly. Everyone looks at Mr. Biggs. He’s dressed in an old army uniform with about twenty different medals pinned to his chest and shiny black shoes. A narrow, tent-shaped hat sits atop his head, and his hands are covered with brown spots. He gives the crowd a small wave and smiles at Susan.

  Susan’s speech is fantastic. By the time she’s finished, everyone’s in tears, including her great-grandfather. And when Miss Rhodes gives her the Spartan sash to put around him, and he kisses her on the cheek, the whole room stands up and applauds. It’s a big moment. I’m so happy for her.

  Five more students follow Susan, including Molly, who gives a pretty good talk about her uncle. He doesn’t look like a millionaire though, in his jeans and baseball hat, and he doesn’t even look like he only has one leg until he lifts his pants and shows everyone a new one that the plastics factory he owns just made for him. Raymond and George go next, and then Marissa Jones goes after them, and then it’s my turn.

  I walk up to the podium on trembling legs. Miss Rhodes gives my hand a squeeze and then steps aside. She gives me the same smile that she did this morning when I told her I could read the speech on my own: full of encouragement. Full of pride. I move the microphone down a little and fold over the corner of my paper. Then I look up. Molly is elbowing Susan over and over again in the ribs, but Susan is sitting on the edge of her seat, just watching. Waiting.

  I look back down and swallow.

  “Spartan boys had to go through very difficult things to become good soldiers,” I begin. “They had to train very hard and they didn’t always have good food. Sometimes they were put in dark rooms so that they would learn not to be afraid of the dark, and if they cried they would get punished. But I think the hardest thing for these boys was that they were taken away from their parents. Learning how to get through life without their mother and father was probably the most difficult thing they ever had to do.”

  So far, so good. My voice is getting stronger the more I talk, and some of the butterflies in my stomach are quieting down. I clear my throat. Take a deep breath.

  “When our mom died of stomach cancer, it was the hardest time of our whole life. It really did feel like we were in a dark room and would never be let out again. I couldn’t even talk, I was so sad. For a long time, it felt like our family was broken, and that maybe we’d never be fixed again. But my brother Jack helped put us all back together, including my dad. He stayed strong and true and loyal, just like a real Spartan warrior. Out of all of us, he was the bravest. That is why today I would like to honor him. To say thank you to my brother for everything he gave us. For helping us learn how to be a family again.”

  Jack comes up to the podium to get his sash as the clapping starts. Dad and Nibs are wiping tears away with balled-up tissues, and so is Miss Rhodes. I have to stand on my tiptoes to put the sash around Jack, and when I do, I can see that his ears are red. He gives me a hug. Then he looks at Miss Rhodes and points to the microphone. “By all means,” she says.

  Jack steps up to the podium, but not before grabbing my hand. “This is really cool,” he says, “and I’m really grateful. But this sash belongs to my sister, not me. She’s the real warrior here.” He looks over at me and wrinkles his nose. “I didn’t even know what bravery was until the last few weeks. But now I do. Bravery is being in the dark and feeling your way around until you find your way out. Bravery is losing your voice and then finding it again. Bravery is this girl. My sister. Pippa Kendall. Spartan warrior.” He takes the sash off and puts it around me.

  The cheering surrounds us like water.

  Outside, the sky is a brilliant blue, and in the distance, just behind the horizon, the sun is shining.

  “Jack.” I turn around in the lunch line to see Ben. His nose is still swollen on one side, and there’s something that looks like a brush burn under his left eye. “I heard Pippa’s talking again,” he says, shoving his hands inside his pockets. “At some presentation thing this morning?”

  “Yeah.” I don’t know what else to say.
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  “That’s great.” Ben nods. “I’m really happy for her.”

  “Thanks. Me too.”

  I know what he’s not saying. I can hear the apology and the forgiveness in his voice, just as I hope he can hear it in mine.

  “Okay then. See you around?” he asks.

  I want to give him a bear hug, to get him in a headlock and knuckle his hair into a knot, to sit down across our table so that we can catch up on everything we’ve missed over the last six months. I want to do this, but I won’t. Not today.

  But soon.

  Very soon.

  I lift my hand as he walks away. “See you around, Ben.”

  “Thanks for saving me a seat,” Shelby says, sliding in next to me. “I heard Pippa’s presentation was a big hit.”

  “It was great.” I take a big bite of mashed potatoes, but they’re hard to swallow. I can’t get Dad off my mind, the way he hugged me so tightly when he said good-bye after Pippa’s presentation, the look in his eyes as he waved from the car. His meeting with his attorney was at 11:30. It’s 12:15 now. I wonder if they’re done. If they’re on their way down to the police station.

  “She talked to me a little bit about it this morning,” Shelby says. “On the bus, remember?”

  I think back, remember how wide Shelby’s eyes got when Pippa slid in the seat behind her and said “Good morning,” but I don’t recall her saying anything else.

  “What’d she say?”

  “She was telling me about the speech.” Shelby’s looking at me funny. “You were right there. Didn’t you hear her?”

  I look down at my meatloaf. The truth is, while Shelby was listening to Pippa this morning, I was thinking about Mom. About how she’d told me to do whatever it took because family was everything, and how I’d messed up what she’d meant by that. Whatever it took didn’t mean doing anything to keep us together. It meant doing the right thing, no matter how hard it was, just like Dad was going to do this afternoon when he went down to talk to his attorney about what he’d done. It meant not giving up on each other. Finding new ways to solve old problems. Doing what we needed to do to get back to the place where we’d been so that we could get to the place we needed to go. I’m not sure how Dad forgot this. Or if he ever knew it at all. But maybe that doesn’t matter. Maybe the only thing that really matters is that we’re all still trying.