Along for the Ride Read online

  Initially, I was too focused on getting my caffeine levels up to pay attention to them. Also, I’d kind of mastered tuning Heidi out, if only out of necessity. But after I’d had a half a cup I began to notice something was amiss.

  ‘Caroline,’ she was saying in a singsong voice, drawing out each syllable. ‘Who’s my pretty Caroline girl?’

  I filled my cup up again, then walked into the living room. She was leaning over the baby, who was on her stomach, struggling to hold up that big, possibly flat head. ‘Caroline,’ she said, tickling the baby’s back. ‘Miss Pretty Caroline West.’

  ‘I thought her name was Thisbe,’ I said.

  Heidi jumped, startled, then looked up at me. ‘Auden,’ she stammered. ‘I… I didn’t hear you come in.’

  I looked at her, then at the baby, then back at her again. ‘I was actually just passing through,’ I told her, and turned to go. I thought I was safe, but then, just as I reached the stairs, she spoke.

  ‘I don’t like the name!’ When I turned back, she looked up at the ceiling, her face flushed, like someone else had said this. Then she sighed, sitting back on her heels. ‘I don’t,’ she said slowly, more quietly. ‘I wanted to name her Isabel. It’s the name of one of my best friends here in Colby, and I’d always loved it.’

  Hearing this, I looked longingly up the stairs in the direction of my dad’s office, wishing, as I always did, that he was here to deal with this instead of me. But lately he’d been even more immersed in his book, the apples piling up uneaten.

  ‘So,’ I said to Heidi, walking back over to her, ‘why didn’t you?’

  She bit her lip, smoothing her hand over the baby’s back. ‘Your father wanted her to have a literary name,’ she said. ‘He said Isabel was too pedestrian, common, that with it, she’d never have a chance at greatness. But I worry Thisbe is just too unusual, too exotic. It’s got to be hard to have a name hardly anyone’s ever heard of, don’t you think?’

  ‘Well,’ I said, ‘not necessarily.’

  Her mouth dropped open. ‘Oh!

  Auden! I wasn’t saying that yours –’

  ‘I know, I know,’ I said, holding up my hand to fend off this apology, which would likely have gone on for ages. ‘I’m just saying, from experience, it hasn’t really been a hindrance. That’s all.’

  She nodded, then looked back down at Thisbe. ‘Well,’ she said. ‘I guess that is good to know.’

  ‘But if you don’t like it,’ I told her, ‘just call her Caroline. I mean –’

  ‘Who’s being called Caroline?’

  I jumped, turning to see my dad, standing at the bottom of the stairs. Clearly, I was not the only one creeping around. ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘I was just saying it’s the baby’s middle name –’

  ‘Middle name,’ he repeated. ‘And only because her mother insisted. I wanted to name her Thisbe Andromeda.’

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Heidi wince. ‘Really?’ I said.

  ‘It’s powerful!’ he replied, pounding his chest for emphasis. ‘Memorable. And it can’t be shortened or cutified, which is how a name should be. If you were an Ashley or a Lisa, and not an Auden, do you think you’d be so special?’

  I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to answer this. Did he actually expect me to agree that it was his choice of name, and not all my hard work, that had gotten me where I was?

  Luckily, it seemed to be a rhetorical question, as he was already en route to the fridge, where he pulled out a beer. ‘I think,’ Heidi said, glancing at me, ‘that while names are important, it’s the person who really defines themselves. So if Thisbe is a Thisbe, that’s great. But if she wants to be a Caroline, then she has that option.’

  ‘She is not,’ my dad said, popping his beer, ‘going to be a Caroline.’

  I just looked at him, trying to figure out when, exactly, he’d gotten so pompous and impossible. He couldn’t have been like this my entire life. I would have remembered it. Wouldn’t I?

  ‘You know,’ Heidi said quickly, scooping the baby up and coming into the kitchen, ‘I don’t even know your middle name, Auden. What is it?’

  I kept my eyes on my dad, steadily, as I said, ‘Penelope.’

  ‘See?’ said my dad to her, as if this proved something. ‘Strong. Literary. Unique.’

  Embarrassing, I thought. Too long. Pretentious. ‘That’s lovely!’ Heidi said too enthusiastically. ‘I had no idea.’

  I didn’t say anything, instead just downed the rest of my coffee and put the cup in the sink. I could feel Heidi watching me, though, even as my dad headed out onto the front deck with his beer. I heard her take in a breath, about to say something, but luckily, then my dad was calling her, asking what she wanted to do for dinner.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ she said, glancing at me as she put Thisbe in her bouncy seat, which was on the kitchen table. She fastened her in, then shot me an apologetic look as she stepped outside to join him. ‘What are you in the mood for?’

  I stood there for a moment, watching them stand together, looking out at the water. My dad was drinking his beer, and as Heidi talked he looped his arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him, and she rested her head on his shoulder. You just couldn’t even begin to understand how some things worked, or so I was learning.

  On the counter, the baby made a gurgling noise, waving her arms around, and I walked over, looking down at her. She couldn’t look you in the eye yet: instead, her gaze always found the center of your forehead.

  Maybe she would be a Thisbe, after all, and never even consider Caroline. But it was the thought of my dad’s face, so sure, as he stated otherwise that made me lean in close to her ear and christen her anew. Part her given name, part the one Heidi had wanted, but all mine.

  ‘Hey, Isby,’ I whispered. ‘Aren’t you a pretty Isby girl.’

  • • •

  There’s something about living at the beach in the summer. You get so used to the sun and sand that it gets hard to remember what the rest of the world, and the year, is like. When I opened the front door to an outright downpour a couple of days later, I just stood there for a moment, realizing that I’d forgotten all about rainy days.

  Since I had no rain jacket, I had to borrow one from Heidi, who offered me three colors: bright pink, light pink, and, in her words, ‘dusky pink’, whatever that meant. I picked the light one, yet still felt positively radioactive as I walked down the gray, wet sidewalk, boldly contrasting with everything around me.

  At Clementine’s, Maggie was behind the counter, in a miniskirt, flip-flops, and a worn T-shirt that said CLYDE’S RIDES on it, bicycle wheels in both the Ds. She was bent over a magazine, most likely her beloved Hollyworld, and gave me a sleepy wave as I approached.

  ‘Still coming down out there, huh?’ she said, reaching into the register to hand me the day’s receipts.

  ‘Yup,’ I replied. ‘Any shipments?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  I nodded, and then she went back to her reading, turning a page. While Esther and Leah sometimes attempted more conversation with me, Maggie always kept it to a minimum, which I actually appreciated. It wasn’t like we needed to pretend we were friends, or had anything in common other than our employer. And while I had to admit to still being somewhat surprised by what I’d seen her do at the jump park, otherwise I figured I pretty much had her pegged, and knew she probably felt that exact same way about me.

  I went to the office, which for some reason was freezing, so I kept Heidi’s jacket on as I got settled, pulling out the checkbook and finding my calculator. For the next hour or so, the store was pretty dead, aside from a couple of groups of girls coming in to pick through the clearance rack and moon over the shoes. Occasionally I’d hear Maggie’s phone beep as a text message came in, but otherwise it was pretty quiet. Then, at around six, the door chimed.

  ‘Hi there,’ I heard Maggie say. ‘Can I help you find anything?’

  There was a pause, and I wondered if the person had heard her. Then, though, cam
e the voice I knew better than just about any other. ‘Oh, dear God no,’ my mother said, and I could hear the shudder in her tone. ‘I’m just looking for my daughter.’

  ‘You’re Auden’s mom?’ Maggie said. ‘That’s great! She’s in back. I’m sure she –’

  I sat bolt upright, then pushed my chair back and scrambled to the door. Even though I got out to the floor as fast as I could, it wasn’t quick enough. I found my mother, dressed in her customary all-black – dress, sweater over it, hair piled on her head – by the makeup display. She was holding a glass bottle at arm’s length, her eyes narrowed as she examined the printed label.

  ‘Booty Berry,’ she read slowly, enunciating each word. Then she looked over her glasses at Maggie. ‘And this is?’

  ‘Perfume,’ Maggie told her. Then she smiled at me. ‘Or, actually, body spritzette. It’s like perfume, but lighter and longer lasting, for everyday use.’

  ‘Of course,’ my mother said, her voice flat. She replaced the bottle, then took a long look around the store, her displeasure more than evident. When she finally got to me, she didn’t look any happier. ‘Well. There you are.’

  ‘Hi,’ I said. She was studying me with such seriousness that I was instantly nervous, then even more so when I remembered the pink jacket I had on. ‘I, um… when did you decide to come down?’

  My mother sighed, turning past Maggie – who was now smiling at her, for some reason – to the bathing suits, which she surveyed with an expression one might reserve for observing some sort of tragedy. ‘This morning,’ she said, shaking her head as she reached out to touch an orange bottom, trimmed with ruffles. ‘I was desperate for an escape, but I seem to have brought foul mood and weather with me.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about that,’ Maggie said. ‘The rain’s supposed to taper off tonight. Tomorrow will be gorgeous! Perfect beach weather. You’ll get that suntan yet.’

  My mom turned back to look at her as if she were speaking in tongues. ‘Well,’ she said, in such a way I knew she was holding back everything she was actually thinking, ‘won’t that be nice.’

  ‘Have you eaten?’ I asked her, too eagerly. I took a breath, then said more calmly, ‘There’s a really good place just a bit down the boardwalk. I can probably take off for an hour or so.’

  ‘Of course you can!’ Maggie said. ‘You should totally hang out with your mom. The books can wait.’

  My mom eyed Maggie again, as if doubting she could recognize a book, much less read one. ‘I could use a drink, at any rate,’ she said, taking another look around the store before starting for the door. Even her stride was disapproving. ‘Lead the way.’

  I glanced at Maggie, who was watching her, fascinated. ‘I’ll be back in a little bit, okay?’

  ‘Take your time!’ she said. ‘Really. I’m fine here alone.’

  My mother snorted softly, hearing this, and then, thankfully, we were out the door, back into the rain. As soon as it swung shut behind us she said, ‘Oh, Auden. It’s even worse than I expected.’

  I felt my face flush, although I wasn’t surprised she was so up front. ‘I needed a rain jacket,’ I said. ‘I wouldn’t normally –’

  ‘I mean,’ she continued, ‘I knew any business Heidi owned would probably not be to my sensibilities. But Booty Berry? And what about those Lolita-esque swimming bottoms? Are we packaging women to look like little girls now? Or little girls to look even more so, in order to exploit their innocence? How can she be a woman, not to mention a mother, and condone this sort of thing?’

  Hearing this, I relaxed, as my mother’s rants were as familiar to me as nursery rhymes. ‘Well,’ I said, ‘the fact is, she knows her market. That stuff really sells.’

  ‘Of course it does! But that doesn’t make it right.’ My mother sighed, opening her umbrella and raising it over her head, then offering me her arm, which I took, stepping beneath it with her. ‘And all that pink. It’s like a giant vagina in there.’

  I stifled a laugh, covering my mouth with my hand.

  ‘But I guess that’s the point,’ she said, sighing. ‘It’s just so bothersome because it’s the most shallow, base depiction of the female experience. Sugar and spice and everything nice, peddling packaging, not substance.’

  We were at the Last Chance now, where for once there was no line. ‘This is the place,’ I said, nodding at it. ‘The onion rings are to die for.’

  My mother peered in the door. ‘Oh, no, no. I’ll require at least tablecloths and a wine list. Let’s keep looking.’

  We ended up back at the hotel where she was staying, a small boutique place called the Condor just off the boardwalk. Its restaurant was tiny, crowded with only a few tables, and dim, heavy red curtains hanging from the windows, the carpet a matching shade. My mother settled into a booth, nodded her approval at the flickering candle on the table, and ordered a glass of cabernet from the hostess as she shed her sweater. After a pointed look, I took off Heidi’s jacket, stuffing it under my bag, out of sight.

  ‘So,’ she said, once her wine had arrived and she’d taken a big gulp. ‘Tell me about your father’s book. He must be done by now, ready to send it off to his agent. Has he let you read it?’

  I looked down at my water glass, moving it in a circle on the table. ‘Not yet,’ I said carefully, as I knew she was looking for more than just the answer to this question. ‘He’s working day and night, though.’

  ‘Sounds more like writing than revising,’ she observed, picking up the menu and scanning it before setting it aside. I didn’t say anything. ‘But then, your father did always have odd work habits. Writing never came easily for him, as it does for some others.’

  Right, I thought. Time for a subject change. ‘The baby’s pretty cute,’ I said. ‘She still cries a lot, though. Heidi thinks she has colic.’

  ‘If you think a baby has colic, it probably doesn’t,’ my mother said, taking another sip of her wine. ‘You know. With Hollis, there was no question. From the first night home, he screamed his lungs out. It lasted for three months.’

  I nodded. ‘Well, Thisbe’s pretty fussy…’

  ‘Thisbe.’ My mother shook her head. ‘I still cannot believe that name. Your father and his delusions of grandeur. What’s the middle name? Persephone? Beatrice?’

  ‘Caroline.’

  ‘Really?’ I nodded. ‘How quaint. And unlike him.’

  ‘Heidi fought for it, apparently.’

  ‘She should have fought harder,’ my mom said. ‘It’s only a middle name, after all.’

  The waiter came by then, asking if we wanted appetizers. As my mother picked up the menu again, ordering us some scallop ceviche and a cheese plate, I looked down at Heidi’s jacket, the pink now barely visible against the dark red of the booth all around it. I had a flash of her face the day we’d been discussing names, how she’d rushed to compliment my own cumbersome middle name, just because she assumed it would make me feel better.

  ‘Then again,’ my mom said as the waiter left, ‘I doubt your father picked Heidi for her fortitude. Quite the opposite, in fact. I think all he really wanted was someone fluffy and insubstantial, so that he could be absolutely sure she’d always follow his lead.’

  I knew that she was probably right. After all, it wasn’t like Heidi had showed any great backbone in the last few weeks. And yet, somehow, I heard myself say, ‘Heidi’s not completely ditzy, though.’

  ‘No?’

  I shook my head. ‘She’s actually a pretty sharp business-woman.’

  She turned to face me, her dark eyes meeting mine. ‘Really.’

  ‘Yeah. I mean, I know because I’m doing her books.’ I’d forgotten how penetrating my mother’s looks could be, and I broke quickly, turning my attention back to my water glass. ‘Clementine’s could be just a seasonal business, but somehow she’s managing to turn a monthly profit all year long. And she’s really savvy when it comes to catching trends. A lot of the stuff she ordered last year at this time went on to be huge.’

  ‘
I see,’ she said slowly. ‘Like, Booty Berry, for instance?’

  I flushed. Why was I even defending Heidi, anyway? ‘I’m just saying,’ I said. ‘She’s not just what she appears.’

  ‘No one is,’ she said, once again managing to both have the last word and make it seem like she’d been right all along. How she always did that, I had no idea. ‘But enough about Heidi. Let’s talk about you. How’s the reading going for next year? You must be getting a lot done.’

  ‘I am,’ I said. ‘It’s slow going, though. The textbooks are pretty dry, especially the econ stuff. But I think –’

  ‘Auden, you can’t expect any subject to simplify itself for you,’ she said. ‘Nor should you want it to. A challenge only means you’ll retain the information that much better.’

  ‘I know,’ I replied. ‘It’s just kind of hard, doing the reading without any direction from a professor. I think once I’m in the class, it’ll be easier to know what’s important.’

  She shook her head. ‘But you shouldn’t need that. Too often I have students who are happy to just wait for me to explain to them what a line of dialogue or stage direction means within the context of the play. They don’t even think to try to figure it out themselves. But in Shakespeare’s time, you had only the text. It’s up to you to decipher the meaning. It’s the only pure way to learn.’

  She was getting fired up, clearly. Which was probably why it was a mistake to say, ‘But this is economics, not literature. It’s different.’

  Now she really zeroed in on me, narrowing her gaze. ‘No, Auden, it’s not. That’s exactly my point. When have I ever taught you to take another person’s view on anything?’

  I just sat there, this time knowing better than to answer. Thankfully, then our food arrived, and she got this last word, as well.

  Things did not really improve from there. She gave up on me as a source of conversation, instead ordering another glass of wine before launching into a long, protracted story about some curriculum dispute that was apparently draining all her time and energy. I half listened, making affirming noises when necessary, and picked at my salad and pasta. By the time we were done, it was past eight, and when we stepped back outside, the rain had stopped, and the sky was now streaked with pink.