Homeward Bound
That night we had dinner out on the patio—my favorite fried chicken—but I had even less of an appetite than Regina, who picked at her salad as usual.
Jilly was going on about which of her new Esprit outfits she planned to wear on the first day of school—there were three possibilities; she couldn’t make up her mind.
She was trying to decide whether to wear her new boots or her My Little Pony sneakers.
From the other side of the table, I could feel Hayward looking at me, but I made sure not to meet his gaze.
I needed to pretend nothing had happened that afternoon.
I needed him to pretend the same. This left the two of us, Hayward and me, in a position that felt almost like coconspirators.
We had the goods on each other. He could reveal something deeply embarrassing about me, but to do so he’d have to reveal something embarrassing about himself.
It seemed we had an understanding: to remain silent.
I studied the chicken on my plate, wondering if this was the last time I’d have a chance to enjoy it for a while. Or ever. Only I couldn’t. Then Forrest set down his fork in a manner that suggested he had something important to say.
“I talked to your dad today, Frances,” he said. “He’s coming up Labor Day weekend. He said he can drive you back home on Monday. Save me the trip.”
This might have been the moment for Forrest to deliver one of his lines about not being able to imagine life around here without me. He might even have pretended he’d be barring the door, refusing to let his old pal Hank whisk me away. But he didn’t.
“We’re going to miss you, honey,” he said. His words felt insubstantial. He resumed eating his chicken.
It was as if a stone landed on my heart then.
Or an arrow pierced it. I had known the summer was coming to an end, of course, but until that moment, I’d imagined that it would be Forrest who’d be driving me back to New Jersey.
In spite of everything that had happened, I’d looked forward to our drive.
I understood by this point that it wouldn’t have been a replay of the wonderful time we’d had driving up in his old Porsche, back when the whole summer had stretched ahead of me—ahead of us both, was how I’d seen it—filled with the promise of times together at the lake.
Those times were behind us now. Many of them never even happened. But I figured we’d talk. I longed for this. Now I’d be making the trip in our old Pontiac with my father.
Not even three months earlier, Forrest and I had made the same drive in the opposite and vastly more promising direction. Now Forrest didn’t express even the slightest indication of regret at not getting to have that time in the car with me, going back.
I should have been relieved that I’d be relinquishing my duties as Regina’s advisor and personal detective.
I’d give her back the Polaroid camera and the mini tape recorder and turn over my notes.
I’d never know the end of the story—or if I did, it would only be the version my mother chose to tell me, months from now probably, when her divorce from my father was final.
By the time that happened, I was pretty sure that Forrest and Regina would be back to their old life. Brenda would be long gone.
But a thought came to me: The following summer, Regina would get a different mother’s helper. A real au pair. Someone who would teach Jilly and Hayward French, or backgammon. This au pair would know how to cook amazing French dishes for the family—soufflés, maybe. She’d be old enough to drive.
But the real problem with me had nothing to do with my age, or my lack of a driver’s license. I just knew too much now, and everything I knew was everything Regina would want to put behind her.
I stared down at my plate, the untouched chicken. Nine days to go.
Maybe it’s really been you all the time who’s the big problem, Regina had said to me.
I was the one who’d borne witness to Forrest and Brenda’s affair.
I was the one who’d borne witness to Regina’s descent into craziness.
My presence would serve now as a constant reminder of every bad thing that took place over these past three months.
If I never returned, everyone could pretend that nothing ever happened.
I knew it now, as clearly as I knew my name. There would be no more Wonderland summers.