“Okay,” he says, and then, more quietly and without making eye contact, “Just stay close? And maybe be back soon, please?”
I nod and I walk a bit, making sure I can see him and Callie and Ted, even though all I want to do is walk into that crowd of people and disappear, get lost, or at least just be surrounded by people who didn’t just encounter a bear that climbed over a highway divider to stare at you through your windshield, like your body was a jar of honey it wanted to eat. Who didn’t just see a strange kid kill, with nothing but his body and fury, that bear who would have otherwise killed you. I realize my breath keeps catching, keeps getting held, and that my heart is trying to kick its way out of my chest and run someplace safe.
I stop and watch Callie lying in the lawn across from the parking lot. She’s smiling, her fists bunching up around the grass. Without thinking, I take out my phone and call my dad. I’m totally terrified, completely scared, and possibly definitely traumatized, and I don’t know what to do, and I want to talk to my dad.
TWELVE
THE PHONE’S RINGING.
And it rings again. And again.
When it rings again, I check the screen to make sure I pressed the listing for Dad with the satellite emoji next to it, which signals the number for the super-high-tech phone my parents use on expeditions, the one that can always reach them. After confirming that I do in fact know how to operate a smartphone contact list, the line rings again one more time, and then starts in on the next ring when Mom picks up.
It’s not that I don’t love my mom. And it’s not even that I don’t love talking to her, or as though my mom hasn’t talked me through upwards of fifty, actually probably more like one hundred, crises. It’s more that, where Callie’s concerned, Mom’s always sort of thought of her as more of a specimen she’s objectively interested in than, say, a daughter. Dad and I, we see her as a necessary part of the family. Or at the very least I know that Dad makes sure we all know that he’s on Callie’s side, and he has shown what could easily be called compassion toward his younger daughter, in addition to his first and favorite. But anyway, it was Mom and not Dad who answered the phone, so I prepare to put the kind of cheerful voice that might get me past the gatekeeper and into Dad’s ear.
“Hey, Mom!”
“Hi, Lorna, sweetie. Is everything okay? Did something happen to Callie?”
“No, no, Callie’s fine! Everything’s just dandy. How’re the turtles?”
“Turtles?”
“Whenever anyone says ‘Galápagos,’ all I can think of are giant turtles everywhere, possibly speaking, catering, bringing drinks, floaties, et cetera.”
“Cabana boy turtles is what you’re telling me you imagined?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that’s certainly a fun image,” she says, and then we both go silent for too long for either of us to keep pretending that everything’s normal and fine.
“Lorna?” Mom says.
“Yeah?”
“Are you going to ask me to fetch your father so you two can talk about whatever it is you two talk about?”
“Mom! I’d never even dream of asking you to do a thing like that!”
“Well, I take it all back then,” says Mom.
“I forgive you,” I say, then take a deep breath away from the speaker. “But now that you mention Dad . . .”
“Aha! Well, sorry, sweetie, but your father is unavailable right now. He’s out at the research site, and he’ll be mostly unreachable for the better part of the rest of the day. The sinkholes and the lightning storms are at it again, but there are also these strange clouds that keep gathering. You get the feeling they’ll shake with thunder at any minute. And beneath them, the earth and the sea are trembling. As if they’re in concert. It’s so bizarre, honey. And absolutely amazing. Your father claims he’s seen something like it before, but it was back when we didn’t have the instruments we have now, so the data is practically nonexistent. It’ll take us at least a week to figure out what to make of it.”
Perfect. My eyes wander over to the car. Stan, Callie, and Ted are just sort of standing there, waiting, looking freaked. Even Ted looks freaked out, like maybe everything that just happened finally, right this moment, caught up with him. And the idea that he maybe didn’t know what he was doing is pretty scary, and the idea that he is just now realizing what happened is honestly even scarier to me right now. So I just go for it.
“Well, Mom, since you and I are chatting and all . . .”