Dreamland Page 3
He'd glide down the slope of their yard, under the clothesline, to the garage. Sometimes he forgot about the clothesline and almost killed himself, flying backward while the bike went on, unmanned, to crash against the garage door. You'd think they would have moved the clothesline after the second time or so. But they didn't. “It's not the fault of the clothesline,” Stewart explained to me one day, rubbing the red, burned spot on his neck.
He'd broken his glasses again and had them taped together in the middle. “It's about me respecting it as an obstacle.” Now Boo slid their door open and came out to meet me on their patio. She was in a pair of old overalls, a faded red tank top underneath, and her feet were bare. Her long red hair was piled on top of her head, a few chopsticks stuck in here and there to hold it in place. Inside, Stewart was sitting at the table, eating a big peach and reading a book. He looked up and waved at me; he had juice all over his chin. “So,” Boo said, putting an arm around my shoulder.
“How are things on the home front?”
“Awful,” I said. “Mom won't stop crying.” She sighed, and we stood there for a few minutes, just looking across their yard. Boo had gone through a Japanese garden stage a few years back, which resulted in a footbridge and a fat, rusted iron Buddha sculpture. “I just can't believe she didn't tell me anything,” I said. “I feel like I should have known something was going on.”
Boo sighed, reaching to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. “I think she probably didn't want to put you in that position,” she said, squatting down to pull a dandelion at the edge of the patio, lifting it to her face to breathe in the scent. “It was a big secret to keep.”
“I guess.” Someone was mowing their lawn a few yards down, the motor humming. “I just thought everything was perfect for her, like it always was. You know?” Boo nodded, standing up and stretching her back. “Well, that's a lot of pressure. Being perfect. Right?” I shrugged. “I wouldn't know.”
“Me neither,” she said with a smile. “But I think it was harder for Cass than we realized, maybe. It's so easy to get caught up in what people expect of you. Sometimes, you can just lose yourself.” She walked to the edge of the patio, bending down to pull another dandelion. I watched her, then said, “Boo?”
“Yes?”
“Did she tell you she was going?” She stood up slowly.
“No,” she said, as the lawnmower droned on down the street. “She didn't. But Cass had a hard year, last year. Things weren't always as easy as she made them seem, Caitlin. It's important that you know that.”
I watched her pull a few more flowers, adding them to the bunch in her hand, before she came over and squeezed my shoulder. “What a crappy birthday, huh?” she said. I shrugged. “It doesn't matter. I wouldn't have done anything anyway.”