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"But What About Rae?"

By Cheri Swan Pickslay

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ONE

“I never loved reading until I feared I would lose it. One does not love breathing.”— Harper Lee, To Kill A Mockingbird


April 7, 1974
I fell in love on the playground at recess. That love hasn’t waned over the years. In fact, and my best friend, Lucy knows better than anyone, I’ve never loved anyone else.

I clutch my sack lunch in one hand as I open the door.
“Where d’ya want to sit?” Lucy says.
“Over there by the window looks good. Do you see Sarah waving to us?”
Lucy squints, “Oh, yeah.”
We grab the only two seats left by Sarah in our packed high school cafeteria.
“Hey you guys,” Sarah says. “Last day of school before spring break. I’m so excited. Are you going anywhere?”
“Lucy’s so lucky. She and her family are going skiing in Vail for a whole week. They usually stick to California, but this year Mr. P.’s springing for a trip to Colorado.”
“Yeah,” Lucy says, like she’s already riding the gondola. “I can’t wait.” She glances at my forced smile and sobers. “I wish you were coming with us. But you’ll have fun at your beach house, right?”
Sarah leans over Lucy, eyes wide, “No way, you have a beach house? Where is it?”
I bite my lip. I’m just getting to know Sarah. Her family has had a tough year. Her mom passed away from cancer right before Christmas. I wish I could invite her to spend the week with us, but things have been extra tense between Mom and Dad. It would be super awkward if they started fighting in front of her. Plus, I hate what goes through people’s minds when they hear we have a beach house and assume we’re super rich. “Um, it’s in La Jolla. Maybe you could come out sometime.”
“Yeah. Maybe.”
I study her. This will be her first Easter without her mom. It must make her sad. I should ask her how she’s doing, but I’m afraid of making her cry.
She points. “Are you going to eat your chips?”
“What?” I shake my head as if to scatter the gloomy thoughts. “Oh, sure, here, take ’em. I’m not in the mood for chips today but … I’m craving a chocolate shake. Who wants one?”
Two hands go up. “Yes, please.”
I take a bite of thick, yummy, chocolate goodness. And wince at the sudden brain freeze I always get.
Lucy licks her spoon. “Rae, are your brothers coming home for Easter?”
I groan. “No. This is the first holiday none of them can come home. Randy got a new job, Riley’s backpacking in the Grand Canyon and Reese already had his break. What am I going to do by myself all week?”
Sarah giggles, “What’s with all the R names? To go with Ryland?”
I roll my eyes. “Mom’s sister Martha gave all of her kids J names to go with Johansen, so she thought it would be cool to do the same.”
She smirks. “So, you’re kind of like an only child—just like me. How do you get along with your brothers?”
“Randy and Riley are cool, but they’re so much older, we never got super close. But Reese and I are tight.”
“You guys are so lucky. You with your brothers and Lucy with her two sisters.”
“You want ’em? I’ve often dreamed of being an only child.” Lucy grins. “Hey, did you ask your folks if you can go on the bike trip yet?”
“No. I’ve been waiting for the right moment. I was going to ask two nights ago but they weren’t speaking to each other.” Oops. Didn’t mean to add that last bit. In a hurry, I add, “I tried to call Reese to talk about it, but he was busy studying for a test.”
“I hear Jack’s going.” Lucy raises an eyebrow.
“And?”
“And I think maybe he—” She ducks her head. I’m about to ask her why when the very one who unknowingly holds my heart shows up.
“Hey, girls. What are you all doing for spring break?”
“Miss ski bunny,” Sarah points to Lucy, “is heading to Vail, I’m going to my grandparents in Fresno, and Rae here will be all by her lonesome at the beach, poor thing.”
Jack fixes his sparkling blues on me. That boy’s smile can make a girl forget her name. “Hmm, well, Rae, maybe I’ll swing by.”
I didn’t think he even knew I existed, let alone know where our house on the beach is. My mouth goes dry as week-old bread.
~ ~ ~
“Let’s get going before it starts pouring,” Dad yells from the garage.
“Okay. I’m just grabbing a bag of food for Muffin.” At least I have Muffin, our Golden Retriever to keep me company. I let her hop in the back seat first and crawl in beside her. I got her for Christmas just before my third birthday. Nearly twelve, she’s not as feisty as she once was, but still, she’s a good friend.
Tucking my legs underneath me, I dream about the summer bike we trip we talked about at youth group last week. A whole month in the Netherlands. Mom and Dad are quiet. The radio’s on low, but I can still make out Herb Alpert, Dad's favorite. Dad drums on the steering wheel.
“Hey, Dad?” His mood encourages me to take the risk. “Guess what? The new youth pastor is organizing a bike trip in July to the Netherlands.”
Dad's eyes go wide in the rear-view mirror. “Really? Europe? Why would he want to take a bunch of rowdy teenagers halfway around the globe? When I was your age, the only bike trip I ever took was to the general store.”
“Gee, I'm surprised bikes were even invented back then, Dad.” My eyes dance with mischief and catch his.
He bites his lip fighting a chuckle. Then sobers. “Listen, sister, there's no way I’m letting you go on a trip like that, so you can forget it.”
I park my elbows on the back of their bench seat. “Can’t we even talk about it—at least go to the meeting to hear more?”
“It wouldn’t hurt, Frank, for us to go and get some more information.” Mom glances back and winks. Dad snorts but says nothing more.
Man, what would it be like to hop on a plane and ride bikes in another country? I can just picture myself, speeding along the road, passing windmills on either side. Do they still wear wooden shoes? And Jack’s going. I bolt upright. He said he might swing by. What did that mean? Right. Like a big-time junior is going to pay attention to a lowly freshman, but still …
Mom raps on my window. “Rae, are you going to sit and daydream or help us unload the car?” I smirk and help Muffin out.
I stretch my long legs and take a deep gulp of salty air. I’m glad it’s not raining hard enough to need an umbrella, but I still dash for the door. The cedar floorboards creak as I lug my duffle and bag of books down the hall, passing my brothers’ bedrooms. I can hear Mom and Dad walking overhead. I don’t mind having this whole lower level to myself.
Ahh. My bedroom. Posters of my favorites—Jim Croce, Carole King, and Fleetwood Mac greet me like old friends. A huge bed is shoved up against the wall with a gazillion pillows—way cozy. I toss my duffle in the general direction of the closet and switch on the stereo. Glenn Frey from The Eagles croons, Take It Easy.
I pad over to the window and peer out at the ocean. Looks angry today, with white foam dotting every wave. Even with the windows closed, I can hear the roar of the waves crashing on the shoreline. For some reason, my parents were eager to get out here, and my growling stomach testifies we didn’t stop for lunch at Russ’s like we often do. I bound up the steps, two at a time, and burst into the kitchen.
“Hey, guys, what’s for lun¬—?” Oh, man. Mom and Dad are at it again. I whisper, “Please God, please make them stop.”
They’re both so intent, they don't even see me in the doorway. Standing almost nose to nose, they look like opponents in a boxing match. They argue about a multitude of topics, oblivious to my presence.
Mom’s face crumples in tears. “I wish you would at least consider us meeting with our pastor or maybe a counselor.”
Dad rakes a hand through his crew cut. “I don’t like airing our dirty laundry with someone else. We should be able to handle this ourselves.”
“Handle this ourselves?” Her voice goes up an octave. We've been handling this ourselves since Eisenhower was in office and look where it’s gotten us.”
I’m about to interrupt but they freeze and stare at each other. The air is tense and silent, as though filled with electricity—like before a tornado hits.
In a voice just above a whisper, Mom says, “Do you …. do you think we should get a divorce?”
Dad bites his lip and responds back, also quiet. Too controlled. “It seems like our best option.”
The hair on my arms stands straight up. Divorce? Sure, they’ve been fighting more but somehow, they always figure out a way to resolve it. They’ve never mentioned the dreaded D word before. I grab the doorway for support as tears pour down my cheeks. I can’t breathe. Part of me wants to tune them out, but the other can’t help but continue to listen. Ironic. At this moment Brian Wilson’s singing, God Only Knows How Much I Love You on the radio. Beach Boys is one thing they do agree on. At least they used to.
Mom says, “I think I should move back up to L.A. It will be easier to get a job. Will you keep the house?”
I can’t take this barrage of life-changing bullets anymore. “Whoa, hang on!”
Surprised, they spring apart like they’ve been jolted by lightning. Mom seems to recover first, and Dad moves out to the balcony.
I grab her arm. “Mom, what’s going on here?”
Her eyes blink fast. “Oh, honey. I’m¬—I’m sorry you had to hear all of that.” She swipes at her eyes and takes a big breath. “Listen, Rae. Here’s the thing.” Her voice wobbles but she rallies and goes on. “Dad and I are having … some issues.” She wets her lips. “I think it would help if I drove up to Los Angeles and visited your Aunt Penny for a few days.”
“Mom, you don’t have to talk to me like I’m five. You guys just said you’re getting a divorce.” Just saying that awful word is bitter on my tongue. I feel like I might barf.
She startles a bit and swallows. “Well,” she gives a nervous laugh and waves her hand like I misunderstood. “We’ll talk about this later.”
“I could go with you. I haven't even unpacked yet. I can be ready in five—”
She puts her hands on my shoulders. “Look at me, Rae.” It’s hard to see her through the blur of tears. “I know you want to come with me, but I think it’s best you stay here. Dad’s going to drive me home so I can get my car. I’ll be back on Sunday night.” She gives me a tight smile.
“Mom, please?” I hate the whine that creeps into my voice. I peer into her eyes and beg her to reconsider. But it’s clear. Her mind’s made up.
Dad walks back in. “Listen to your mother.” He puts on his jacket and searches for his keys. Wow, they’re serious about leaving. Well, I’m sure not going to sit around and wait for him to return. I batt Mom's hands off my shoulders, grab my sweatshirt and tear down the stairs.
She shouts after me, “Rae, come back. Where are you going?”
I ignore her and head out to the garage to get my bike.
Before the door clicks shut, I catch Dad saying, “Let her go, Olivia. She'll be all right.”
As I pedal down the street, those words zip around in my head. How will I ever be all right again?

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