After Dakota Part 16

His mom knocks on the door. He says, "Enter" as he rips the offending paper out of the typewriter.

"Am I interrupting?"

"No, just brainstorming my college essay."

"I don't know how you can write with this music blasting." She turns it down, then sits on the bed and lets out one of her sighs. "I went on the world's worst date last night. We're talking Ripley's Believe It or Not."

"Worse than the guy who didn't believe in deodorant?"

"Reed was Prince Charming compared to this." She had to pick this guy up because he lost his driver's license, he announced he hadn't been on a date in nine years, he pocketed rolls from the table after dinner. "I pulled up outside his house, I'm ready to do anything it takes to get him out of the car, when guess what he says. Guess!"

"'Thanks for a nice evening?'"

"Ha! He says, 'Let me see if my parents are asleep before I invite you in.' His parents! It's like I was on a date with one of your friends."

The scary thing is, Cameron has several friends who would jump at that chance.

Molly goes on, "If a man gets to be forty years old and he's never been married, that's a signal there might be something wrong with him."

But Don't marry before your thirtieth birthday. Right, Dad?

"Anyway, I'm going with Jillian to this singles mixer tonight. She won't let me give up and ek cetera." She runs a finger along his windowsill, holds it toward him.

"Uh-huh." The one room she's banned from cleaning.

"In case I don't meet anybody, will you be my date for New Year's Eve, Cam?"

"Um..."

"Oh, what am I saying? You'll have places to go and people to see. Don't let me "

"No, no. I can be your date. Just, y'know, let me know if you want to."

"You're the best. Have I told you that lately?" She kisses the top of his head, walks out.

His dad still hasn't told her the news about Louise. He's getting married and his ex-wife is going to something called a singles mixer.

Cameron rolls a fresh sheet of paper into the typewriter.

He could tell the college admissions office the truth, that while other kids are planning campus visits he's always known where he'll be heading; the quality of the campus is secondary to simply getting out there. He plans to get a degree, make a ton of money, and buy his mom a house in California so she never has to see her ex-husband again. So neither of them do. Maybe the essay readers would like to hear that instead of the drivel they get from the other applications.

He starts typing: Does it even matter what I write in this essay?

53.

After church, Pastor Mark and six new members of the congregation a family of four Chinese and a chubby couple who look like married twins come to Bryce's house for baptism, which is held a few times a year at different members' pools. Pastor Mark stands in the shallow end, wearing a white smock and a swimsuit; the newbies step into the warm water (heated just for this occasion) one by one. Bryce's mom stands by with a stack of a.s.sorted beach towels from the linen closet.

Inside, Bryce sits at the kitchen table, college brochures fanned out in front of him like he's Kenny Rogers as The Gambler. His dad pours a mug of coffee and sits down opposite for their strategy session. "I hope this isn't the time your lack of extracurriculars comes back to bite you," he says between slurps.

"I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit" comes in through the window, followed by the splush of a dunk.

While Cam had been on student council for two years, Bryce has a lot less to brag about. The short-lived comic book club (total members: six) doesn't count. No instrument. No sports. He would hate to bring up his time on the Scroll, the school newspaper, where the tyrannical uppercla.s.smen editors ran the show. Leigh Worthington used about two whole pens worth of red ink on Bryce's first story, then hung it on the wall of the journalism room as an example of what not to do (though at least she had the decency to scribble over his name). He thought he had a perfect solution when he suggested becoming the staff artist, but Leigh replied, "I don't think anyone's a very good artist when all they can draw are flat cartoons."

"I baptize you in the name of the Father..."

"...the Son..."

"...and of the Holy Spirit."

Splush, splush, splush.

With his coffee breath, his dad adds, "The good thing about extracurriculars is, you get to meet folks outside your normal circle," then slurps again for good measure.

He's apparently trying to will a different reality into existence. If only that were possible, Bryce would have used the power in many areas not related to college applications. Bryce will have to rely on his essay writing skills and his robust 3.2 GPA.

"And let's be realistic in our targets," his dad says. "These applications aren't free."

Let's be really realistic and not apply at all.

On the back porch, six smiling, wet faces wrapped in colorful beach towels.

On the flyers, smiling young faces reading in circles on the gra.s.s, walking along tree-lined paths, sweaters tied around necks.

The life that could've been awaiting Bryce, if only his left ball hadn't gotten in the way.

After the baptism and the hot chocolate, Bryce follows Pastor Mark outside. His holy bathing suit drips a puddle on the porch.

"Pastor, what's the best way to pray?" Bryce asks, closing the front door behind him. "I've been doing it but I don't think G.o.d is listening."

Mark smiles. "This wouldn't have anything to do with college decision time, would it?"

"It's not that. I have a... problem."

"G.o.d hears you. He hears you always. People think the only time He listens is when they pray, but prayer is for you to focus, not Him."

"How do I know if it's working? I'm all mixed up right now."

"You'll find you're in good hands, Bryce. Come to my office after service next week and we can talk some more. Right now, I promised I'd check in on your neighbors."

Mark switches his Bible to his left hand so they can shake. He walks over to the Vanzants' house, leaving Bryce alone on the porch in fall's mix of cold and warmth.

In bed that night, Bryce stops kidding himself. Stops with the might be's and maybes.

It's cancer.

It is cancer.

"I, Bryce Rollins, have..." Say it. "Cancer." The word tastes sour on his lips.

He tries not to go to his Dakota memory, the one place he can retreat from all this. Tries, then gives in.

54.

Cameron stands at the mailbox, holding two envelopes, both with identical Berkeley, California addresses on the outside.

Inside envelope #1: A college application for Cameron Andrew Casey. A traditional application essay, addressing an issue of national concern (affordable college education for all). He felt like vomiting as he typed the words.

Inside envelope #2: The same application, a very different essay. The honest one. The one he felt good writing.

The rational side of him knows to send #1. He's starting to hate that side of him. The fact is, he cannot screw up this chance. Period. Not after all the work, all the hours of studying while his friends goofed off. With that in mind, which face would be best to present: the real one, or the one colleges are probably looking for?

He cannot screw up this chance.

He places an envelope in the mailbox and raises the red metal flag.

55.

Claire dreams she's on Fantasy Island, where the mysterious Mr. Rourke makes wishes come true, only the wishes don't always turn out how the customer wants. Claire steps off the plane: there are the dancing hula girls, and Mr. Rourke saying, "Smiles, everyone, smiles" in that accent of his.

Claire knows she's got the perfect fantasy, the one with no loopholes.

She snaps awake in Dakota's room. Noni sleeps in a gray ball at the end of the bed.

The Vanzants left on vacation a few days ago. Claire came over last night, happy to have a place to escape her family. Their dad and Bryce returned from the mountains after cutting down a Christmas tree, and when they spilled needles all over the floor bringing it inside, guess who got to clean them up? Claire didn't even want a real tree she liked the fake white kind that Meredith's family put up every year.

After pot roast dinner, she, Bryce, and their mom hung tinsel and ornaments; their dad started the fireplace, then sat on the never-used-except-for-company living room couch and watched them, drink in hand. "Dad doesn't partic.i.p.ate, Dad supervises," was his line any time someone questioned him.

Christmas music played on the stereo, the old records that came out once a year. Bing Sinatra or whatever his name was.

Their mom insisted on hanging the hideous ornaments Claire made in elementary school, the ones with photos of her on the front and Merry Christmas Mommy and Daddy in a child's writing carved into the back.

The log in the fireplace spit and popped.

They were about done and Claire could go hide in her room when her dad said, "Sweetie, why don't you move that Santa up higher? The branch there looks a little crowded." He rattled the ice in his gla.s.s.

Claire set down the last strand of tinsel, said, "I'm suddenly so tired," and walked out. She stayed in her room until the house went still, then snuck over to the Vanzants'.

She gets up off Dakota's bed. Noni lifts her ears but otherwise doesn't move. 4:30 a.m. according to the grandfather clock.

Claire opens the front door to a cold slap in the face. The first snow of the season, the cul-de-sac painted like a postcard village. She zips her jacket and steps out. The world is perfect white silence, glowing unearthly in the moonlight. Maybe this is what nuclear winter will look like: emptiness. She crunches down the driveway, her breath a series of cloudbursts.

She stands still in the exact center of the street as scattered flakes pa.s.s her on their way to the ground. Steve and Bo left their porchlight on, the only other sign of life.

"Dakota, it's snowing!" you call from the living room window. Just the two of you tonight, with your parents at a Christmas party, and Bryce staying over at his friend's house to play the dragons game.

Dakota has been sitting at the kitchen table since she got here. Sitting, dialing the phone every few minutes and hanging up. You suggest fun things but the reply is "Not right now."

You close your eyes and ask G.o.d to make the snow fall faster, so maybe you can make a snowman that Bryce won't laugh at. The windowpane chills the tip of your nose.

You open your eyes when Dakota stands behind you. "You think your mom would care if we went for a drive in her car?"

"You have your license already?" you ask.

"Close enough."

Of course your mom would care. You say, "I think it's fine."

You don't need to ask if you're going someplace fun with Dakota, everything is fun. This night has been a hiccup so far, that's all, and now things are getting back to normal.

The two of you armor up in winter gear, then drive to a Four Hills neighborhood, where all the houses are vined with colorful lights. Dakota parks across from one that has a group of plastic reindeer grazing on the front lawn. She rests her forehead on the steering wheel; you open and close the glove compartment full of maps; snow constellations form on the windshield.

You sit and sit until a black truck pulls into the driveway. When Dakota sinks down in her seat, you do likewise. A man gets out of the truck, so bundled up all you can see is a mustache and gla.s.ses. He stamps his feet on the front porch before going inside the house.

"D'you know him?" you whisper.

"He's n.o.body important."

You sit some more without talking. You play with a loose string on your mitten, to keep your teeth from chattering.

"Um, do you think we could turn the heat on?" you ask. "I'm freezing to death."

Dakota never looks away from the house. "Freezing's the best way to die, y'know. You fall asleep and never wake up."

The man appears in the tall window, where he plays with a kid boy or girl, you can't see for sure in diapers.

This night is different from all the others of your life. Not just the driving part, but the way the world feels. Every moment like going super high on a swing so you think you can do the impossible and loop all the way over.

"I'm in trouble," Dakota says to the window.

"Can I help you?"