The Tiger’s Child and Somebody Else’s Kids 2-in-1 Collection

“Don’t get so bitchy.”

“You don’t know either, do you?” I said. “We are lost.”

Unexpectedly, Sheila smiled. It was a beguiling smile. “I’m always lost,” she said cheerfully. “I’ve gotten used to it.”

I tugged the atlas over into the front seat and opened it. Locating us on the map, I discovered where I had turned wrong and figured out what I would need to do when eventually we headed back to Broadview. “Okay. I’m happy now,” I said, closing the book. I started the engine.

“You’re really a control freak, aren’t you?” Sheila said. “I never realized that about you before.”

“Not really. It’s just I feel uncomfortable when I’m disoriented.”

“Ah, not only a control freak, a defensive control freak.”

If she wanted to go in this direction, I thought, well and good, we’d go. So we took off down a minor highway in a direction I’d never been before. The better part of an hour raced past, along with the scenery.

It was a pleasant drive. Sheila talked, launching into a most amazing conversation about Julius Caesar. She had read his account of the Gallic wars in Latin class and this caught her fancy, particularly his descriptions of the native Celts in Gaul. I had done Caesar myself when I had taken Latin in high school, but in those days I had been more interested to see if I could get good grades without having to read the assignments, rather than find out what the books actually said. Consequently, I had emerged from school clever but culturally illiterate and had spent most of my adult life catching up. I hadn’t managed to work myself around to Caesar yet in Latin or English, so for most of the conversation I just listened, which was probably no bad thing.

Passing through a small town, Sheila spotted a bowling alley. “Oh, look, there! Could we stop and play a game? I love bowling.”

So we went in and had three games. Afterward, I bought us Cokes in the bar. “What about pizza?” Sheila asked. “You said we could get pizza.”

“I’m thinking we might be better going back toward Broadview. We’re quite a ways out and it’s going to take a good hour and a half to get back. I’d probably find my way back better if it weren’t pitch dark.”

“God, Torey, do you get lost a lot or something? You are really hung up on it.”

“I’m driving, that’s why.”

“So, relax. We’re okay. And let’s eat around here. It’s late and I’m starving.”

“I haven’t seen a pizza place,” I replied.

“Well, let’s just keep driving.”

I was hungry too and finding myself in a not particularly good mood. The day wasn’t working out quite as I had planned. We had wandered from one thing to another, with none of it being very special. I became aware of wanting to impress Sheila. I wanted to win her over.

“There! There!” Sheila called out, interrupting my thoughts. “There’s a pizza place.”

Sure enough, there was. And like the rest of the day, it was nothing special. I thought of the old days and how my boyfriend Chad and I had taken Sheila out for her very first pizza after the hearing that had kept Sheila out of the state hospital. The place we went into now had none of the jazz-piano atmosphere of that pizzeria; this was just a branch of one of the faceless pizza chains found everywhere.

Too hungry to care, I stopped there and we went in. Placing our order at the counter, we then located a quiet table in the corner. Sheila pulled off her baseball cap, letting her long, crinkled orange hair spill down over her shoulders, and she sat down.

“I thought you might like to see some pictures from our class,” I said, opening my handbag, “so I dug some out.”

“Like, cool. Let’s see.”

“They’re from that picnic we had on the last day. We went over to the park. Do you remember that park? It had that duck pond and the little stream.”

Taking the photographs from me, Sheila bent over them, studying the faces. “Who’s this kid?”

“Emilio.”

“What’s wrong with him? Is he handicapped?”

“He’s blind,” I said.

“Oh, yeah, the blind one. What did you call him in the book?”

“Guillermo.”

“Oh, yeah, I know who you’re talking about now.”

Tongue protruding slightly between her lips, Sheila remained intent on the photos. “I think I remember that park,” she said slowly. “Did it have trees that bloomed or something? They had a really sweet scent? Because I seem to remember that.”

“Yes. The locust trees.”

“Who are these girls?” she asked, handing over one of the pictures.

“Don’t you recognize her? In the middle? That’s you. That’s Sarah and that’s Tyler, but that there is you.”

“Really? God, is that me? Shit.” She craned forward to study it more closely in the dim light. “Shit. Did I really look like that?” She looked up in amazement. “My dad doesn’t have any pictures of me when I was little …”

My heart sank. She didn’t even remember herself. Watching her as she bent back over the photos, I felt so lonely. What was I doing here with this punky-looking adolescent? This wasn’t Sheila. This was just some kid.

The pizza came just in time. We had ordered a huge one, loaded with everything save the proverbial kitchen sink, and we both tucked in enthusiastically. For several moments our attention was focused on the food.

“I’ve had so much fun today,” Sheila said as she maneuvered most of a full slice of pizza into her mouth. “You know, I think it’s brilliant that you live so close by now.”

“Good, I’m glad.”

“It’s just like the old times, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” I said, probably not too convincingly.

Sheila’s expression grew rather sheepish. “I’m sorry I don’t remember more about when I was in your class.”

“Well, you were little.”

“Yeah, but I can tell I’m, like, a real disappointment to you.”

“Of course not!” I said a little too heartily. “You were very young when we were last together and nobody remembers much from that age.”

“But you want me to, don’t you?”

“Yes, if I’m honest, I suppose I do, but just because it was a meaningful year for me and it was you who made it meaningful.”

This disarmed her. She smiled. “Really?”

“Yes, really.”