16 Things I Thought were True Part 29

I stare at him. If he had married my mom, taken care of me, maybe his life would never have led him to Camille. And he loves her. So what does that mean? If he had to go back and make a choice, would he change things? Would he pick her over me?

Something burns my stomach. Is it wrong I want it to be me?

Bob waves over the waitress and pays for the bill for the entire table. I make no move to stop him. When the bill is covered, we all stand. He walks over, looks down at me. I stare up.

"Dad?" I say softly, trying out the word on my tongue. He stares back at me, blinking. His eyes look moist. "Dad," I say again, with- out giving the word any meaning or emotion. "I don't know what to call you. I don't know what to say. "

"I know," he says. And that's it. He turns to Camille.

The good- bye is awkward and clumsy, and I have to resist an urge to bolt. Bob reaches out and shakes my hand. I cringe as I hear myself say, "Nice to meet you," as if we finished a job interview and I know my chances are slim to none because I didn't get the answers right.

I feel as if I failed, that somehow I didn't measure up, that I didn't pa.s.s an invisible test- was found wanting.

I shuffle my feet as he reaches for Camille's hand and then, 195.

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J a n e t G u r t l e r without a look backward, he leaves. He makes no promises to see me again, to be my dad. He just waves. I watch his back as he walks away, expecting him to turn and say something about the future. I wait. He doesn't.

I duck my head. I'm exhausted. I can't shake the impression that I did something wrong, that I failed- that he's leaving me.

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chapter eighteen.

12. I'll never dance again. #thingsIthoughtweretrue E ven Amy is quiet on the walk back to the hostel.

It's a bright, s.h.i.+ny day, but a cool wind blows off the water.

We walk past old brick buildings mixed with modern buildings, and some of my negativity whooshes away with the breeze. The older buildings remind me of parts of Tadita, but almost every old- fas.h.i.+oned lamppost has a hanging basket of colorful flowers on it.

The colors and fresh air take a little more off the edge. It's hard to stay angry and dark when Vancouver Island is so beautiful and vibrant, as if it wants to cheer me up. We decide to take the long way back to the hostel, so we can stroll through the Inner Harbor by the water.

Amy's chatter restarts as we reach streets filled with tourists. People are selling food and beautiful paintings. Everywhere, there's music.

Amy stops in front of two cute guys playing guitar and singing a lively song. Without warning, she begins to spin and dance with her hands up in the air, her head back, pure joy on her face. She has absolutely no rhythm, but it doesn't matter. I smile, soaking up her happiness. When she grabs my hand and pulls me to her side, I decide to surrender to the music and dance with her. People sixteenthings.indd 197 9/9/13 2:21 PM.

J a n e t G u r t l e r around us stop to watch, but it doesn't stop me. They clap and cheer, and the musicians smile, encouraging us. The dancing turns into something so much more than beats- a deep soul cleanse.

When I dance and move, I feel free. I remember this. I love this and realize it was stolen from me. Dancing to music. Right there, I close my eyes and I take it back. Around us, people pull out their phones and cameras to take pictures of the musicians and Amy and me dancing, but it doesn't embarra.s.s or shame me. For the first time in a long, long while, I don't care about anything but losing myself in the moment. Screw Bob White. Screw my mom. Screw Lexi. And screw me.

When the song ends, Amy hugs me. The crowd claps and yells for more, but hand in hand we run back to Adam's side. He's smil- ing and clapping and whoops for more along with the musicians.

"I have always wanted to do that," Amy pants to me. "Thank you!" Her eyes s.h.i.+ne and we hug again.

"No. Thank you," I tell her. I dig into my purse and throw some coins into the musician's guitar case filling with bills and coins from the crowd. We drift off with leftover giggles that fade as the singers begin a new song. I twirl and walk and my exhilaration starts to fade, but I won't forget it. This moment. The beauty of music and dancing is back.

Amy buzzes and chatters as we walk, until finally our hostel is in sight. "What time do you want to leave in the morning?" Amy asks when we reach the front walkway.

"The earlier the better for me."

Adam nods.

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1 6 t h i n g s i t h o u g h t w e r e t r u e "Are we still driving to Butchart Gardens this afternoon after we pick up the car?" Amy asks.

Adam shakes his head and mumbles about going to a flower garden, but we ignore him because we know he wants to go too and is only pretending to protest for his male ego.

Inside the hostel, we take turns using the washroom and get- ting ready. While Adam is out of the room, Amy comes over and sits beside me on my bed. "I'm really sorry about what happened to you."

I nod. "I know you are, Amy. Thank you."

"He doesn't seem too bad. Your dad, and Camille's real nice."

I wince when she says the D word. I'm still processing.

Disappointed, like it's Christmas morning and I unwrapped all the gifts and didn't get the one I wanted. It makes me feel like a jerk- unappreciative of what I do have.

She pats my leg. "Do you think it's better this way?" she asks.

"That you know the truth now? Or do you wish that you'd never found out?"

I pick up the pillow and hug it close to my chest. "I don't know."

"I'd want to know." She hugs her knees in tight so she's a little ball. "I think it's better to know the things we have to deal with."

She stares off into s.p.a.ce, seeing something that I can't.

"Is everything okay, Amy?" I ask her.

She shakes her head back and forth and unwinds herself from the ball. "It's fine." She swings her legs off the bed and stands up.

"Thinking about you is all. I mean, your mom committed to a big lie a long time ago, and I wonder why she didn't just say he died or 199 sixteenthings.indd 199 9/9/13 2:21 PM.

J a n e t G u r t l e r something and leave it like that. I think it's because she knew it was wrong. Deep down. And she left it open to fixing."

I shake my head. "I can't even begin to understand."

She looks around the room and is quiet for a minute and turns back at me. "Where's your phone? Let's check your followers. Think of some new hashtags to tweet."

I pull my phone from my hoodie pocket, and Amy sits down again and looks over my shoulder, squealing when I show her how many new followers she has. Earlier, I tweeted out a follow request to her Twitter name.

"Write something true," she tells me.

Some days you're the dog, some days you're the hydrant. #true, I type.

She laughs. "I like the true hashtag, but I like 'things I thought were true' better."

I smile.

"You're going to be all right," she says. "You know that, right?"

I punch her on the shoulder. She chews her bottom lip and it quivers for a second, and then she smiles and lifts her knuckle and we fist b.u.mp.

The afternoon is nice. The gardens are beautiful. We go for dinner and talk about everything except things that matter. I keep a lid on the things bubbling inside until we get back to the hostel. After I crawl under the covers, I start to s.h.i.+ver. I tuck up my legs and wrap my arms around myself. I make myself as small as I can. I hold my breath until my lungs ache, but I'm unwilling to let anyone hear me cry.

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1 6 t h i n g s i t h o u g h t w e r e t r u e My body is stiff. I continue holding my breath until forced to suck in a breath. My eyes are squeezed tight, and for a moment, I see an image of myself as if I'm floating over looking down. My inability to do anything except squeeze myself into a fetal position troubles me. I have to deal with this.

The girl I was before this trip is dead. I'm worried who will take her place. It frightens me. I'm afraid my bitterness is bigger and will never be contained. I'm not sure I want to meet the new me.

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chapter nineteen.

13. Statistics don't lie. #thingsIthoughtweretrue A dam gets shotgun for the drive home. I didn't actually give him a choice and took the backseat without asking.

Amy pulls out of the parking lot, giving Adam the rules for front seat pa.s.sengers. I don't want to listen. I want to be left alone. I don't want to drink in beautiful scenery. I don't want cheering up. As if we're on the same page, the weather is hazy and gray. I approve.

Even Amy gives up and lifts the car rules, and they leave me alone.

There's no line at the ferry, and we're able to pull on right away.

We park and wander to the seats on the top. Clouds drizzle. I hunker down under my hoodie, half listening to Amy telling a family of four about the whales we saw on our trip out. Adam sits behind me, and I feel him watching me.

I'm glad Amy's able to carry the conversation because I'm not ready to be pulled from my mood. I want to stay the center of my own universe for a little while longer, relis.h.i.+ng my negativity, bathing in it. I make up speeches to say to Bob and my mother- words I worry I'll never be brave enough to deliver.

"You okay?" Amy says.

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J a n e t G u r t l e r I stare at her. Bob didn't call or anything before we left. My mom even stopped texting. "No."

"Well, say something then," she says in a voice that implies she's fed up with me. "Get it out." Adam nods in agreement.

I squint at her. "I hate him!" A blackness that's nibbling at my soul pours from my mouth. People turn to stare. I sound ridicu- lous, but Amy is right. I don't want to keep the negativity inside anymore, afraid it will take over completely. "I hate him. I hate that he didn't even bother to call me before we left. " I shake my head.

Why didn't he bother to call? Am I really that bad?

A mom sitting close on the bench opposite us puts her arm around her little girl, pulls her closer, and narrows her eyes at me. A breeze fills my nose with the smell of salt water. "He's an a.s.shole," I say.

The little girl peeks out from under her mom's arm to stare at me.

Her eyes are wide.

The rush of anger dissipates, and I'm left with disgust. Even this little girl can see the blackness in my soul. She's right. It's me. It's always been me.

Adam reaches for my arm but I pull away.

"You okay?" he asks softly.

"No. I'm not."

I have to get my head clear somehow. I have to face my mom.

There's a lot I want to say to her now. But for the life of me, I don't know how to say it without being swallowed by my own self- loathing.

"Hey!" Adam shouts.

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1 6 t h i n g s i t h o u g h t w e r e t r u e My eyes pop open and I'm surprised drool is gobbed up on the side of my mouth. I sit up and glance outside. I didn't even realize I'd fallen asleep. We're surrounded by familiar Was.h.i.+ngton scenery, trees and gra.s.sy hills. The winds.h.i.+eld wipers are on, but the rain is more of a dribble. There's a country song playing low on the radio.

"Did you see that guy?" Adam is saying to Amy.

Amy's eyes are on her rearview mirror. "You mean the creepy hitchhiker."

"He didn't look creepy. He looked like he was in trouble. And it's wet out there. We should go back and see if he needs help." Adam turns to me. "Are we in a dead Wi- Fi area?" He glances at Amy.