Barbra had said that, and she was wrong. So wrong that she couldn’t be any wronger. Loving too hard was the only option. Grace was glad that she’d loved Lady too hard. And Greg Inouye. The boy who got her sent away. They didn’t talk anymore, but she still loved him, and she probably always would. She would never forget the first time they’d spoken. They went to some of the same parties, but he was a grade above her and spent most of those nights in a tight circle with his friends, passing a joint around. Still, they’d smiled at each other once or twice. Then one day she was standing in line at the sandwich station, a tray in her hands, wearing her mother’s cashmere sweater. She’d pushed the sleeves up but they’d drooped down again, the right one about to puddle into her salad. And Greg Inouye had walked up to her and rolled each one up, gently and deliberately. “There,” he’d said, with a smile.
She should call him. If they ever got off this highway, she would call him.
Her father and Barbra were holding hands now, looking at each other over Grace’s head. Did they love each other too hard? Something panged in Grace’s heart and she scrambled up, leaving the blanket on the ground. How long had it been since she and Barbra had really talked to each other? Grace charged at her now, wrapping her stepmother in a hug, holding on until Barbra squeezed back. And then her father gathered them both up.
“Wei she me?”
“I just needed to. Why don’t we hug more often?”
Grace buried her face in Barbra’s neck, feeling the tendons move as she nodded. “We should,” said Barbra. “We should.”
They finally let go and Grace saw that the paramedic was staring at them. Even though it was gross because he was totally unattractive and probably kind of had a fetish and she was only sixteen, despite all those things maybe he just wanted to find a way to talk to a girl and that was the only way he knew how. Of course, it might have been better if he’d asked if she was hurt, or scared, or where they were headed, but in the end, he’d done the only thing he knew how to do; he’d reached his hand out and tried to make a connection, and even though she didn’t want to come anywhere near touching that hand, even that was beautiful.
三十八
US 29 North
BEEP.
“You have one voicemail, sent at 10:42 a.m.”
Hi, Greg. I know this is, like, really crazy out of nowheresville, but I just think it’s dumb that we don’t talk anymore and so I wanted to call and say hi. I just think . . . I just think that we should still know each other, you know? Okay. It’s Grace, by the way. Oh, um, I might not have this number for much longer, so I’ll call you again, or just email me. Okay. Bye.
Beep.
“First voicemail, sent at 10:43 a.m.”
So, I just wanted to say that I’m sorry I was so mad, Andrew, and that I didn’t even say goodbye. If you really love her, then that’s really important, even if Daddy hates it. (Pause.) And, Andrew, don’t freak out, but we crashed the car. We’re all okay, me and Dad and Babs, but Mom’s car is kind of totaled. But, well, I guess I’ll talk to you soon. I miss you. I hope you’re having fun in New Orleans.
Beep.
“Voicemail, sent at 10:45 a.m.”
Hi, Saina. I know this is the millionth time I’m calling, but I’m not flipping out anymore. I’m okay now. Sorry about all those other messages. I guess I just really wanted to talk to you. I still do, but maybe you’re never even going to pick up, and that’s okay, too. I guess we’ll see you eventually. So, I’ve been wondering about something. Do you think that Mom knows what’s happening in our lives? Like, do you think she watches us? She might, right? That would be a nice thing. Um, also. Saina. There is something you do need to know. We’re going to be a little slower than we thought because we got into a car accident, but don’t worry, we’re all fine, no one’s hurt, and we’ll be there soon. Or, not that soon, but we’ll be there. I . . . love you.
Facebook message:
To: Kathy Berroa
From: Grace Wang
Hi, Kathy—Thank you very much for being a nice host while we were in Twentynine Palms. I hope that Nico and Naia are doing well. I’ve realized that I do not have a phone number for Ama, and I am hoping that you will let her know that I would like to be in touch with her? I love her. Maybe she can get on Facebook and message me?
Thank you,
Grace
After everything, they’d rented a purple PT Cruiser. It looked like something a hick in a cartoon would drive, with a billiard ball for a gearshift, but it was the only car available at the rental place where the cops took them. When they reached the car, Grace held her hand out for the keys and her father handed them over without even thinking to protest.