I looked at Crenshaw. He held up his paws. “Don’t ask me. Human children are infinitely more complicated than kittens.”
“Please go back to bed, Robin,” I pleaded.
“I don’t mind waiting,” she said.
I stood.
I went to the door.
I hesitated.
I opened it.
Robin came in. She had Spot, her pillow, and her Lyle book.
I looked at her.
I looked at my note.
I crumpled it up and tossed it aside.
We read Lyle together until we both fell asleep.
50
When I awoke, Robin, Aretha, and Crenshaw were spread out on my mattress. Robin and Aretha were both drooling a little.
Sitting on the floor across from us were my mom and dad. They had on their bathrobes. My dad had my crumpled note, flattened out, in his lap.
“Good morning,” my mom whispered.
I didn’t answer her. I didn’t even look at her.
“Fact,” my dad said softly. “Parents make mistakes.”
“A lot,” my mom added.
“Fact,” said my dad. “Parents try not to burden their kids with grown-up problems. But sometimes that’s hard to do.”
Robin stirred, but she didn’t wake.
“Well, it’s hard being a kid, too,” I said. I was glad I sounded so angry. “It’s hard not to know what’s happening.”
“I know,” said my dad.
“I don’t want to go back to that time,” I said, my voice getting louder with each word. “I hated you for putting us through it. It wasn’t fair. Other kids don’t have to sleep in their car. Other kids aren’t hungry.”
I knew that wasn’t true. I knew that lots of other kids had it worse than I did. But I didn’t care.
“Why can’t you just be like other parents?” I demanded. I was crying hard. I gasped for breath. “Why does it have to be this way?”
My mom came over and tried to hug me. I wouldn’t let her.
“We’re so sorry, sweetheart,” she whispered.
My dad sniffed. He cleared his throat.
I looked over at Crenshaw. He was awake, watching me carefully.
I took a deep, shuddery breath. “I know you’re sorry. But that doesn’t change the way things are.”
“You’re right,” said my dad.
No one talked for a few minutes. The only sound was Crenshaw, purring gently. And only I could hear him.
Slowly, very slowly, I began to feel my anger changing into something softer.
“It’s okay,” I finally said. “It’s really okay. I just want you to tell me the truth from now on. That’s all.”
“That’s fair,” my dad said.
“More than fair,” my mom agreed.
“I’m getting older,” I said. “I can handle it.”
“Well, then here’s another fact,” said my dad. “Last night I called the guy who wanted to buy our guitars. He told me his brother owns that music store down by the mall. He needs an assistant manager. His brother also has a garage apartment behind the store that won’t be occupied for a month. It’d give us a roof over our heads for a little while, anyway. Maybe some more work.”
“That’s good, right?” I asked.
“It’s good,” my dad said. “But it’s not a certainty. Here’s the thing, Jackson. Life is messy. It’s complicated. It would be nice if life were always like this.” He drew an imaginary line that kept going up and up. “But life is actually a lot more like this.” He made a jiggly line that went up and down like a mountain range. “You just have to keep trying.”
“What’s that expression?” asked my mom. “Fall down seven times, get up eight?”
“More fortune cookie wisdom,” said my dad. “But it’s true.”
My mom patted my back. “Starting today, we’ll be as honest with you as we can. Is that what you want?”
I looked over at Crenshaw. He nodded.
“Yes,” I said. “That’s what I want.”
“All right, then,” said my dad. “It’s a deal.”
“Fact,” said my mom. “I’d really like some breakfast. Let’s go see what we can do about that.”
51
The music store looked pretty run-down. We waited in the car while my parents went to talk to the owner. It took a long time. Robin and I played cerealball with her T-ball cap and some sugarless bubble gum.
“You remember those purple jelly beans?” Robin asked.
“The magic ones?”
Robin nodded. “They were maybe not so magic.”
I sat up straighter. “What do you mean?”
“They were from Kylie’s birthday party.” Robin pulled on her ponytail. “I just wanted you to think they were magic. But there’s no such thing. Of course.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Could be magic happens sometimes.”
“Really?” Robin asked.
“Really,” I said.
When my parents came out of the store, they were smiling. They shook a man’s hand, and he gave my dad a set of keys.
“Got the job,” my dad said. “It’s part-time, but with everything else, it should help. And we can stay in that apartment for a month, anyway. Hopefully by then we’ll have come up with yet another plan. We really want to keep you and Robin at the same school. We’re going to do our best, but there are no guarantees.”
“I know,” I said, and even though it didn’t solve all our problems, I felt a little better.
The garage apartment was tiny, with only one bedroom. There was no TV, and the carpeting was a weary beige.
Still. It had a roof and a door and a family who needed it.
52
The article I read about imaginary friends said they often appear during times of stress. It said that as kids mature, they tend to outgrow their pretend world.
But Crenshaw told me something else.
He said imaginary friends never leave. He said they were on call. Just waiting, in case they were needed.
I said that sounded like a lot of waiting around, and he said he didn’t mind. It was his job.
The first night in our new apartment, I slept on a chair in the living room. I woke up in the middle of the night. Everyone else was sleeping soundly.
As I headed to the bathroom to get a drink, I was surprised when I heard the water running. I knocked, and when no one answered, I opened the door a crack.
Bubbles floated and danced. Steam billowed. But through the mist I could make out Crenshaw in the shower, fashioning a bubble beard.
“Do you have any purple jelly beans?” he asked.
Before I could answer, I felt my dad’s hand on my shoulder. “Jackson? You okay?”
I turned and hugged him hard. “I love you,” I said. “And that’s a fact.”
“I love you, too,” he whispered.
I smiled, recalling the question I’d been meaning to ask. “Dad,” I said, “have you ever known anyone by the name of Finian?”
“Did you say Finian?” he asked with a faraway look in his eyes.
I closed the bathroom door, and as I did, I caught another glimpse of Crenshaw. He was standing on his head. His tail was covered with bubbles.
I squeezed my eyes shut and counted to ten. Slowly.
Ten seconds seemed like the right amount of time for me to be sure he wasn’t going to leave.
When I opened my eyes, Crenshaw was still there.
There had to be a logical explanation.
There’s always a logical explanation.
Meantime, I was going to enjoy the magic while I could.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
My heartfelt thanks to
• The Feiwel and Friends pantheon: Rich Deas, Liz Dresner, Nicole Moulaison, and Mary Van Akin for their patience and breathtaking talents; Liz Szabla for her TLC, remarkable insights, and gracious good humor; Angus Killick for his leadership and enthusiasm; and Jean Feiwel for just about everything;
• Elena Giovinazzo, agent extraordinaire, at Pippin Properties, Inc., for her guidance and friendship;