You Shouldn't Have to Say Goodbye (9 page)

We talked about the party, about how everybody looked and who made the funniest jokes, and about how good the food was. Mom and Daddy talked about who said what to whom. Around three o’clock, Mom said she wanted to take a nap, and I was getting bored. I put on my heavy clothes, and went out in the snow for a while.

When I came in, Daddy made dinner—mostly leftovers from the party—and Mom came downstairs to eat, still wearing her robe. She said her legs were still hurting, and I thought again how yellow she looked, but I didn’t say anything. Then, right after dinner, we went upstairs to our rooms and to bed.

Next morning, I got up quickly, dressed, breakfasted, and said
good-bye to Daddy even before Mom was up. I was anxious to get to school early because that was the day of the gymnastics show and the last day before school closed for the Christmas holidays. The teachers excused kids who were in the show from all classes so we could have one final rehearsal. Robin and I went through our routine again. We had worked really hard, and we knew we had the best routine in the show. It had two parts, the floor routine and the ropes. On the floor, we did rolls, cartwheels, backward walkovers, and one midair flip each while we spotted each other in case one of us fell. On the ropes, we raced up and down, switching ropes halfway up. In one part, we dangled by our legs.

There was only one thing that worried me: Robin hadn’t said anything in a long time about chinning off the cross bar, yet I knew her well enough to know she hadn’t forgotten about it. I was afraid to ask, though, because if by some chance she
had
forgotten, mentioning it would remind her. I just prayed that she had decided not to do it, because if she did it in the show, she’d be in real trouble.

On the way home, we discussed again what we would wear that night, because we wanted to dress exactly alike. We decided to wear white shorts, our white Adidas shirts with red trim, and short white socks with red balls on them. We parted at the corner and agreed to meet at the gym at six-thirty, long before anyone else, so we could have one last practice.

When I got home and opened the door, the odor of the Christmas tree greeted me and I breathed in deeply. Christmas everywhere. “I’m home, Mom!” I shouted.

There was no answer. I listened for the typewriter from her
office, but it was silent.

“Mom?” I opened the door. “Mom?”

No Mom, not at her desk anyway. I raced up the stairs. “Please don’t be in bed,” I prayed. “Mom?” I went in the bedroom, but she wasn’t there, and the bed was made, smooth and neat.

I ran downstairs, my heart beginning to pound hard, and into the kitchen to look at the blackboard. Maybe she had gone shopping and had left me a note that I hadn’t seen. There was no note on the blackboard. “Mom!” I shouted again, and suddenly I was angry. “Mom!” Where was she? Why was she scaring me like this?
“MOM!” I
screamed at the top of my lungs.

I went to the garage, checking. Her car was still there, so maybe she had just gone for a walk in the snow or to visit a neighbor. But I knew she’d never do that on a workday.

Back inside, I stood in the kitchen, listening silently, as though if I were very quiet, I could hear where she was. The only sounds were the clock on the wall, ticking loudly, and the smooth hum of the refrigerator. It all reminded me of the first day Mom had gone to the hospital, and I knew suddenly that that was where she was now. I don’t know how I knew, but I knew.

I picked up the phone and dialed Daddy's number at work. His secretary, Mrs. Corrigan, answered, and I used the most grown-up voice I had. “Is Mr. Morrow there?” I asked.

There was just the tiniest pause. “Is this Sarah?” she asked.

“Yes, it is.”

“Oh.” Another pause, and then she said, “No, your Daddy
isn’t here right now. Uh, where are you?”

“Home.”

“Oh, can you wait a minute?”

“Okay.”

She went away from the phone, and I could hear quiet talk in the background. In a few seconds Mr. Alden came on the phone. “Well, hello, Sarah!” he said, and his old hearty-fake voice was back.

“Hello, Mr. Alden. Is my father there?”

“No, he's not. Sarah, are you at home?”

“Yes! ” I was annoyed. I had already told Mrs. Corrigan that, and besides, I didn’t see what business it was of theirs, anyway.

“Uh, why don’t I come over there for a while? Your dad is, uh, with your mother, uh. They didn’t leave you a note?”

“Mr. Alden, what do you mean?” I asked. “If my father's with my mother, where are they?”

Another pause, but then he said, “I’m, uh, not sure, but your mom wasn’t feeling too great. I… think your dad took her to the doctor's.”

He was lying. I could tell by his voice he was lying, that he knew they had gone to the hospital and that he probably knew I knew.

“Is she in the same hospital she was in before?” I said as calmly as I could manage, even though I felt as though I were going to cry.

“I’m not sure. Listen, Sarah, I’m coming over there right now. I’ll be with you in a few minutes.”

“No, I’m not going to be here,” I lied. “I have a gymnastics
show tonight, and I’m going over to my friend's house to practice. I’ll just leave them a note.”

“Are you sure that's all right?” he asked, but I thought I heard relief in his voice.

“I’m sure. I’m on my way right now.”

“Would you give me the number at your friend's house?” Mr. Alden asked. “In case your dad calls, or… in case…” He didn’t seem to know why he wanted Robin's number. I didn’t know why, but I didn’t want to give it to him, either. Therefore, I did something I’d never done before, and I did it as calmly as I had when I asked about the hospital. I gave him the wrong number. I used Robin's number but twisted the last two digits from 0-9 to 9-0. Then I said good-bye and hung up.

I sat down at the table, staring out the window, choking back tears. They had to be at the hospital, and it must have been an emergency because they’d never leave without writing me a note. Even the few times Mom had forgotten to leave me a note, she returned within a minute or two of the time I got in the house. And that night was the night of the gymnastics show, a show I had worked on for three whole months. Nobody would be there to see me. Thinking that, thinking about the show and the other kids, I felt almost ashamed—embarrassed, sort of—that I’d be the only kid in the show who wouldn’t have parents there to watch. Then it came to me that I didn’t care whether they came or not. I didn’t even care if Mom was sick. But I decided not to tell anybody, not even Robin. I would just pretend they were out there somewhere. There’d be so many faces in the gym, that no
one could tell who was there anyway.

The phone began ringing then, and I reached out to answer it, but then I realized that it might be Mr. Alden, checking to see whether or not I was really at Robin's. Because I didn’t want him to come over, I let it ring for a long, long time.

F
OR ABOUT AN HOUR, I STAYED IN THE HOUSE ALONE. THE phone rang about a jillion times, but I ignored it. I figured Mr. Alden had already called the wrong number I had given him and was trying to call me to get the right one. I realized, too, that it might be Mom or Daddy calling to tell me where they were. For some reason, I didn’t want to talk to them, didn’t want to find out what was happening. Also, I knew that even if Mom was back in the hospital, sooner or later Daddy would come home to me.

After about an hour, when it was beginning to get dark and still no one was there, I had to get out, away from the house completely. I put on my white shorts and shirt and the socks with the red balls on them, put my sweat suit on top, then my ski jacket. It was still hours till the show, but I left for school, anyway. If the gym was open, I could practice till Robin got there, and that way I wouldn’t have to wait around the house.

It was cold as I walked back to school, and I had forgotten my gloves. I thought of going back for them, but instead stuffed my hands in the pockets of my jacket. Thoughts were spilling around in my head. Mom was sick, really sick, and maybe this was bad, worse than last time.

No, remember she said just a few weeks ago that she thought she was going to beat this. She said so! She even said the doctors were surprised at how well she was doing. Then I thought about the gymnastics show. All that work, and she wasn’t even going to be there to see it. If she really cared, she’d be there. Even though part of me knew that was ridiculous, that she couldn’t help it if she was sick, part of me was mad at her too. And I couldn’t help that either.

At school, I went around to the gym door. The lights were on inside, and I looked through the frosted glass, but I couldn’t see any figures moving around. I pulled at the door, but it didn’t budge. Then I tried the other one, but that didn’t open either. Should I knock? If Mr. Anderson was there, wouldn’t he want to know why I had arrived so early? I couldn’t wait outside in the cold, though, so I knocked good and hard, but no one came.

I tugged at the doors again. The handle was metal and so cold that it felt as though my fingers would stick to it, the way wet fingers stick to ice-cube trays. I stuck my hand back in my pocket. What should I do? I could walk to Robin's house very slowly, trying to use up as much time as possible. Then the two of us could walk to school together.

I turned and started back to Robin's house. I counted steps, forcing myself to go slowly. One step, think of something, a line of a song—yeah, one line with each step. “Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens.” I recited the song as slowly as I could, the whole thing, one step at a time. But I was freezing, poking along like that, and when I looked at my watch, it was only five-fifteen.

I tried something different. The wind was blowing right in my face, but if I walked backward, it would be warmer—and it would take longer, too. I turned around and tried it. Again, one step for each line of the song. I chose another of my favorites. “The sun will come out tomorrow…”

It was taking too long, and I was shivering. And then I did it. Took another backward step and crashed right into a telephone pole. I rubbed my head and felt tears rushing to my eyes. I turned and began to run. I didn’t care if I did get there too early. I ran all the rest of the way to Robin's house.

It was dark going up the walk, but I could see lights on at the back of the house. I rang the doorbell, and in a minute Robin opened the door. “Hey!” she said. “Where’ve you been? I’ve been calling you and calling you!”

“Oh, I, uh, took a walk. Went to school to see if the gym was open yet. But it's not.”

“You want to come in?” Robin held the door wide, but she looked embarrassed.

I tried to pretend I didn’t notice her embarrassment. I knew—I’ve known Robin for so long—I knew nobody went to her house. Whatever was wrong with her mother made it too hard for her to have anybody come visit. But I was too cold to stay outside any longer, so I said, “Yeah, okay.”

“Who is it, Robin?” A voice called from the back of the house where the kitchen was.

“It's…Sarah.”

There was a long pause while Robin and I looked at one
another, and I began to wish I hadn’t gone there. I started to say I would leave, but Robin put one hand to her mouth, as though asking me to be quiet.

“Well, ask her in,” Mrs. Harris said finally. “And for heaven's sake, shut the door.”

“Yes, Mom.” Robin took a deep breath and smiled at me. “It's okay,” she whispered. “Come on in.”

She led me down the hall and into the kitchen, where the light was on. Mrs. Harris was at the stove, her back to me, and she didn’t turn around when I first came in. I felt so awkward. Should I say hello?

Robin took care of that by speaking first. “Mom, you know Sarah?”

Slowly Mrs. Harris turned around. At first, all I noticed was how much she resembled Robin or how Robin resembled her—those same great big, wide eyes. But the next thing I noticed was that she seemed terrified, and from the way she was looking at me, it seemed as though I was the one she was afraid of. I felt as though I should turn away from her, to make her stop being scared, so I stared down at the floor and said, “Hello, Mrs. Harris.”

“Hello, Sarah,” she said. Her voice was sweet and didn’t sound as scared as she looked. “You must be frozen,” she said after a minute.

I nodded, still afraid to look at her.

“Would you like… some hot chocolate?”

“Oh, no,” I said. “That's okay.”

“Why not?” she asked.

It seemed such a funny question, I couldn’t help looking up at her, surprised. “I… I don’t know. I mean, I just don’t want you to go to any trouble.”

She didn’t answer, but she turned back to the stove and reached to a cabinet above and got some cocoa.

“Mom, I’m going to get dressed for the show, okay?” Robin asked.

Still without turning around, Mrs. Harris nodded. “And when you’re ready, I’ll have some hot chocolate ready.”

“Thanks, Mom.” Robin went to her mom and kissed her. Something about the way she hugged her mom close made me think that Robin was the mother and her mom was the child. Robin even smoothed her mother's hair away from her face a little, the way Mom does so often to mine.