Wings

SIXTEEN

“JUST IN TIME,” MOM SAID AS LAUREL WALKED IN THE door from school the next day. “The phone’s for you.”

Laurel took the phone. She’d just left David at the corner. Why would he call her already? “Hello?” she asked questioningly.

“Hey, Laurel. It’s Chelsea.”

“Hi,” Laurel said.

“Are you busy? It’s a sunny day, so I thought you might like to go see the Battery Point Lighthouse.”

Laurel had heard of the historic landmark but hadn’t yet seen it. “Yeah,” she said. “I’d love to.”

“Pick you up in five?”

“Great.”

“Going somewhere with David?” Laurel’s mom asked after she hung up.

“Chelsea, actually. She wants to go to the lighthouse. Is that okay?”

“Sure, that’s wonderful. I’m glad to see you branching out. You know I like David a lot, but you should have more friends. It’s healthier.”

Laurel went to the fridge and opened up a soda while she was waiting.

“I got your midterm grades in the mail today,” her mom said.

The soda seemed to stick in Laurel’s throat. Up until she blossomed, she’d been doing quite well in school, but she wasn’t sure how much of that she’d been able to keep up when her life went crazy.

“Three As, two Bs. I’m pretty happy with that,” her mom said with a smile. Then she laughed and added, “Honestly, part of me is proud of myself. I must have done an okay job for you to be doing this well.”

Laurel rolled her eyes as her mom handed her the grades. The B in bio wasn’t surprising, but then neither was the A in English. All she had to do was make it until the end of the semester now. Shouldn’t be too hard. The worst was definitely behind her.

“Why’s Dad’s car here?” Laurel asked.

Her mom sighed. “Dad’s sick. He’s been sick all day. Missed work, even.”

“Wow,” Laurel said. “He hasn’t missed a day of work in forever.”

“Yeah. I made him stay in bed all day. He should be better tomorrow.”

She heard a horn honk in the driveway.

“There’s Chelsea,” Laurel said, grabbing her jacket.

“Have fun,” her mom said with a smile.

Laurel slid into the backseat of Chelsea’s mom’s car and Chelsea turned and beamed at her. “Hey! The lighthouse is awesome; it’s totally classic. You’ll love it.”

Chelsea’s mom dropped them off in the parking lot. “I’ll be back in about two hours,” she said.

“Bye,” Chelsea called, waving.

“Where now?” Laurel said, looking out at the ocean.

“We walk,” Chelsea said, pointing to an island about five hundred feet out from the shore.

“We’re walking to an island?”

“Technically it’s an isthmus when the tide is low.”

Shading her eyes from the sun, Laurel squinted out at the island. “I don’t see a lighthouse.”

“It’s not like the lighthouses you see in paintings. It’s just a house with a light on the roof.”

Chelsea led the way as they walked on a small strip of sand that connected the little island to the mainland. It was fun to be so close to the ocean without actually being in it. Laurel liked the tangy smell of the salt water and the fresh breeze that caressed her face and sent Chelsea’s curly hair swinging. It was ironic, really, that she enjoyed the smell of the ocean when she hated salty water.

When they reached the island, there was a gravel road that led up a hill. It was only a few minutes before they came around a small bend and the lighthouse came into view.

“It really is just a normal house,” Laurel said, surprised.

“Except for the light,” Chelsea said, pointing.

Chelsea played tour guide, under the watchful eye of a security guard, as she showed Laurel through the small house and explained the history of the lighthouse, including its role in the tsunamis that Crescent City fell victim to every few years. “They’re awesome,” Chelsea said, “at least, when they don’t get too big.”

Laurel wasn’t sure she shared Chelsea’s enthusiasm.

Chelsea took her out to a small yard and pointed out the purple flowers that grew up the rocks on all sides of the tiny island. “They’re really pretty,” Laurel said, bending to touch a small patch of the tiny blossoms.

Chelsea pulled a blanket out of her bag and spread it on the soft grass. They sat together, watching the sea in silence for a few minutes. Laurel felt so at peace in this rugged, beautiful place. Chelsea dug into her bag again and brought out a Snickers bar for herself and handed Laurel a small Tupperware.

“What’s this?” Laurel asked.

“Strawberries. They’re organic, if that matters,” Chelsea added.

Laurel smiled and popped the top. “Thanks. They look great.” A million times better than the candy bar Chelsea was enjoying.

“So what’s up with you and David?”

Laurel choked on the strawberry she had just started chewing and coughed energetically. “What do you mean?”

“I just wondered if you guys are a couple yet.”

“Well, don’t beat around the bush about it or anything,” Laurel said, more to her strawberries than to Chelsea.

“He really likes you, Laurel.” Chelsea sighed. “I wish he liked me half as much.”

Laurel poked at her strawberries with her fork.

“I think I’ve liked him since the day he moved here. He and I used to be on a soccer team together,” she added, smiling.

Laurel could see in her mind a ten-year-old Chelsea — opinionated and outspoken just like now, and not really fitting in — meeting David for the first time. Nonjudgmental, accepting David. It was no wonder Chelsea had latched on to him. But still…“Chelsea, no offense, but why are you telling me this?”

“I don’t know.” They were silent for a little while. “I’m not trying to make you feel bad or anything,” Chelsea assured her. “David doesn’t like me that way, I know that. Honestly, if he’s going to have a girlfriend, I’d rather it was someone like you. Someone I’m friends with too.”

“That’s good, I guess,” Laurel said.

“So…are you his girlfriend now?” Chelsea pressed.

“I don’t know. Maybe?”

“Is that a question?” Chelsea asked with a grin.

“I don’t know.” She paused, then glanced sidelong at Chelsea. “You really don’t mind if I talk about it?”

“Not at all. It’s like living vicariously.”

“You say the weirdest things sometimes,” Laurel said ruefully.

“Yeah, that’s what David says too. Personally, I don’t think enough people say what they really think.”

“You definitely have a point there.”

“So, girlfriend or not?” Chelsea asked again, refusing to let it drop.

Laurel shrugged. “I really don’t know. Sometimes I think that’s what I want, but I’ve never had a boyfriend before. I’ve never really even had a guy who was a close friend. I like it a lot…I don’t want to lose that part.”

“Maybe you won’t.”

“Maybe. I’m just not sure.”

“There could be fringe benefits,” Chelsea said.

“Like what?”

“If you guys were on kissing terms he might do your bio homework.”

“Tempting,” Laurel said. “I suck at bio.”

Chelsea grinned. “Yeah, that’s what he said.”

Laurel’s eyes widened. “He did not! Really?”

“It’s hardly a secret — you moan about it almost every day at lunch. I think he’d be a great boyfriend,” Chelsea added.

“Why are you encouraging this? Most people in your position would be trying to break us up.”

“I am not most people,” Chelsea said defensively. “Besides,” she continued in a lighter tone, “it would make him really happy. I like it when David’s happy.”

“I’m home,” Laurel yelled as she entered the house, tossed her backpack on the ground, and walked into the pantry in search of a jar of canned pears. Her mom came in a few minutes later as Laurel was nibbling on a pear half straight out of the jar. But instead of the “Mom look” Laurel usually got for not using a bowl, her mom only sighed and smiled wearily.

“Can you fend for yourself for dinner tonight?”

“Sure, what’s up?”

“Your dad’s just getting worse. His stomach hurts and is a little swollen, and now he’s got a fever. It’s not too high — around a hundred — but I can’t get it to go down. Not with cold compresses or a cool bath or even my hyssop and licorice-root capsules.”

“Really?” Laurel asked. Her mom had an herb for everything, and they worked wonders. Her friends often called her up when they were at the end of their ropes and the over-the-counter medications just weren’t cutting it. “Did you try giving him some Echinacea tea?” she suggested, since that was what her mom always gave her.

“Made him a whole batch of it, iced. But he’s having trouble swallowing, too, so I don’t know that he’s getting enough to help.”

“I bet it was something he ate,” Laurel suggested.

“Maybe,” her mom said distractedly, but she didn’t sound convinced. “He really took a turn for the worse right after you left. Anyway,” she added, snapping her head back to her daughter, “I’m going to spend the evening with him, see if I can make him a bit more comfortable.”

“No problem. I’ve got canned pears and a bunch of homework.”

“Exciting night for both of us.”

“Yep,” Laurel said with a sigh, looking over at the stack of books waiting for her on the table.