no tests, no quizzes, no overdue projects, no missing labs, no oral presentations, no incomplete class assignments?”
“Not to my knowledge, no.”
“Enough nonsense,” said Jimmy, having fortified himself on meat. “What’s this your mother tells me about Barcelona?”
Her father looked straight at her, and Chloe had no choice but to stare back. “Did my mother tell you that she wants me to enter into a story contest? Ten thousand dollar prize.”
“She mentioned something about that, yes. I don’t see how the two are related.”
“I have nothing to write about.”
“Come to work with me for a day or two. You’ll get three books out of it.” Jimmy Devine was the Fryeburg chief of police, like his father and grandfather before him. Fryeburg, Maine. Pop. 3500. Settled in 1763 by General Joseph Frye and incorporated in 1777, exactly two hundred years before the bad luck of the paleo floods two thousand miles away, and now Chloe sat impaled on the stake of parental disapproval.
“Really,” she said, irritated. “Books on what, breaking up domestic arguments and littering?”
“Nice. So now even my work, not just your mother’s, is denigrated?”
Chloe regrouped. “I’m not denigrating, Dad. But our hearts are set on Spain. Hannah and I have been talking about it for years.”
“You told your mother you thought of going just today. So which is it? An impulse or a lifelong dream?”
Chloe didn’t reply. They were denigrating her!
“How in the world can Hannah afford Barcelona?” Jimmy asked. “Her mother is at the bank every other day asking for an overdraft increase. And your friend, who abandoned you to do Meals on Wheels by yourself on Saturdays because she claims she has a job, often skips out on the one lousy four-hour shift she has at China Chef. So where’s her half of the money going to come from?”
Chloe hated that her dad knew everything about everybody’s business. It was terrifying. She stopped eating and stared at her father, the last bite of pork chop lodged in her dry throat. Did he know why Hannah was skipping out on China Chef? Oh God, please, no. A demoralized Chloe couldn’t withstand even two minutes of modest interrogation.
“Why do you want to go so much? Tell your mother and me.”
Chloe said nothing. Her entrails in knots, she felt like a scoundrel.
“Is it because we went without you that time to Kilkenny?” Jimmy said. “You’re lucky you didn’t go. Funerals are not for kids.”
And just like that the three of them were swallowed up by silent oceans. Jimmy awkwardly picked up his fork only to drop it. Lang nursed her jasmine tea. Sickened by the ghastly turn of the already difficult conversation, Chloe tried to right the course.
“It’s not about that. It’s not about funerals,” Chloe said. “It’s not about anything. It’s just awesome Spain. Why do you think I’ve been taking Spanish these last six years? I’m the only senior still taking a language. That’s why. Dad, I’m not a child anymore.”
“If you’re such an adult,” said Jimmy, “then what are you talking to us for?”
“I need your help with the passport.”
“Oh, now she needs us,” Jimmy said. “Just a signature. No help, no advice. No money. You have everything now, big girl. You’ve got it all figured out.”
“I don’t, but … it’s just a few weeks in Europe, Dad. Lots of kids do it.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.” Chloe stumbled. “Lots of kids.” No one from her school.
“It’s the worst place, by the way, to have a vacation,” Lang cut in.
“Why is it the worst place? It’s the best place! Have you been there, Mom?”
“I don’t need to go to Calcutta to know I don’t want to go to Calcutta.”
“Calcutta? Can we calm down? It’s Barcelona! It’s on the sea. It’s nice. It’s fun. It’s full of young people.”
“Did I hear your mother correctly?” Jimmy asked. “The two junkyard wildings down the road want to go with you?”
Well, at least it was out there. The pit in her stomach couldn’t get any bigger. “Why wildings? It’s Blake and Mason. You like them.”
“Don’t put words in my mouth or feelings into my heart.”
“You do like them. Mr. Haul is still your friend. Despite everything.” Chloe took a breath. “You help him out with money, you lend him your truck, you barbecue with him. You exchange Christmas presents. Mom gives them tomatoes.”
“What does that prove? Your mother gives tomatoes to everyone, even the Harrisons who tried to kill Blake’s dog. And in my line of work, I’m forced to talk to a lot of unsavory characters.”
“Mr. Haul is not one of them. And Mom and Mrs. Haul are friends.”
“Don’t get carried away,” said Lang. “I drive to ShopRite with her. She is not the executor of my will. So don’t hyperbolize.”
After a pause, Chloe said, “Now who’s hyperbolizing?”
“I don’t know why anyone, especially my daughter, would want to go to Spain of all places,” Jimmy said, getting up from the table, as if done with the conversation he was himself continuing. “Do you think there’s any place more beautiful than coastal Maine? Than the White Mountains of New Hampshire?” He snorted as he scraped the remains of his dinner into the trash. “You have staggering beauty outside your own door.”
“That’s what I told her, Jimmy.”
“Would that I had a chance to compare,” said Chloe.
“I’m telling you how it is.”
“So I have to take your word for it? I want to see for myself, Dad!”
“Where did this crazy idea even come from? Lang, did you know about this?”
“Jimmy,” said Lang, “she doesn’t know anything about Barcelona. If she did, she wouldn’t want to go. Believe me.”
How did one not raise one’s voice when confronted by a mother such as Chloe’s mother? “Mom,” Chloe said slowly, which was her equivalent of a raised voice. The slower the speech, the more she wanted to shout. At the moment, she was positively hollering. “I know you think I might not know anything about Barcelona. But what in the world do you possibly know about Barcelona?”
“Chloe! Be respectful to your mother.”
“That wasn’t respectful?” If only her parents could hear how Hannah talked to her mother.
Lang
