Chapter 6
INDYA
Age Eleven
I tapped Mom’s shoulder, waiting until she looked up from her book.
Then I pointed from the soccer ball tucked beneath my arm to the cabin’s door.
She nodded with a smile, then gave me a wink.
Dad was asleep on the couch. His feet were on Mom’s lap, and he was snoring. Loud. He’d never hear us if we whispered, but we stayed
quiet anyway.
“I love you,” she mouthed.
“Love you too.”
Mom and I were good at reading lips. We’d had a lot of practice talking without a sound during Dad’s naps, both at home in Texas and here in Montana. She said he didn’t get enough sleep, and the reason she loved our vacations to the Crazy Mountain Cattle Resort was because
they forced Dad to rest.
He always took naps when we were here.
Not me. I didn’t want to miss anything on these trips.
I blew her a kiss, then tiptoed outside, careful not to let the door slam behind me. Then I ran down the porch stairs, bouncing the ball off my knee when I reached the ground. A curl fell into my face even though I’d pulled my ponytail tight. Not tight enough. I hated my hair.
I really wanted to cut it short. But whenever I asked Mom, she said no. She told me it was too pretty to chop off. I think she just didn’t want me to look like a boy.
She already grumbled about my clothes. She wanted me to wear dresses and skirts. I hated dresses and skirts. I wore them only to church on Sundays.
I didn’t like pink polka dots or purple ruffles. I liked shorts and T- shirts. And I wanted short hair. I was sick of it always getting in my mouth when I played soccer. During one of my games this spring, a clump flew into my eyes, and I missed a goal.
I usually missed kicking goals, with or without my hair in the way, but for sure that time I missed because of my hair.
Dad told me he thought soccer was helping me become more coordinated. I think he was just saying that to be nice. I still tripped a lot.
After tossing my ball to the ground, I kicked it along the stone path toward the lodge. We’d gotten in late last night and gone straight to the Beartooth Chalet, so I hadn’t found West yet.
Did he play soccer? I was the worst one on our team, but I could still teach him how to play if he didn’t know how.
The lodge door opened, and West’s grandma walked outside with Jax.
He was a lot bigger now and the cutest little kid ever. He didn’t really look like West or Curtis. Jax had blond hair and blue eyes. How old was he? The first time we had come to Montana, he was only a baby.
This was our third vacation here, so he was probably four.
The grandma held his hand as they walked down the stairs. She smiled at me, her hazel eyes twinkling. “Hello.”
“Hi.” What was her name again? “Hey, Jax.”
“Hi.” He waved his whole arm, not just his hand. He had a pair of goggles on his head, pushed into his blond hair. His swimming trunks were neon orange and matched his flip-flops. “We’re going to swimming lessons.”
“That sounds fun.” I giggled as he put the goggles on his eyes, giving me a smile that lit up his face.
“We’d better get to town,” the grandma said. “Bye, Miss Keller.”
“Bye. See ya, Jax.”
“By-eee.” He skipped to her truck, then stood on his toes to reach for the door’s handle, but it was too tall.
I picked up my ball, then carried it up the porch stairs as they drove away.
No one was at the front desk when I walked into the lobby. The dining room doors were open. Inside, a waitress sat at a table, rolling silverware into white cloth napkins. But no West.
There was a hallway past the front desk. Guests probably weren’t supposed to go down there, but on our last trip, West had shown me all around the lodge. We had been playing in his fort and had run out of snacks, so we’d sneaked into the kitchen to get granola bars from the chef.
I took a few steps down the hall, checking over my shoulder to make sure I was alone. The sound of raised voices made me freeze.
“I can’t do this anymore, Curtis.”
“Lily, please.”
Curtis and Lily. West’s parents. Lily was usually at the front desk.
She was nice. She was really pretty, too, and I loved her silky dark hair.
“It’s too hard.” Lily sniffled, like she was crying.
Every time Mom and Dad caught me eavesdropping, I got in trouble. But I didn’t move. I flattened my back against the wall and held my breath as I listened.
“What am I supposed to do?” Curtis asked. “He’s my son.”
Who were they talking about? West?
“I know,” Lily whispered. “He’s precious. He truly is. And I love
him.”
“But . . .” Curtis trailed off.
“I’ve tried. For four years, I’ve tried. But it’s not working, and it hurts too much. I can’t do this anymore.”
There was a long pause, the perfect time for me to leave. But I stayed completely still, my heart hammering as I clutched my ball, making sure I didn’t drop it to the floor.
“What are you saying?” Curtis asked.
“I want a divorce.”
I gasped. Divorce? They were getting divorced?
“I’m going to find a job in town,” Lily said. “I’ll find a house.”
“And West?”
“I’d like him to move with me.”
“No. You can’t take him from me. This is his home. This is where he belongs. Where you both belong.”
Lily sniffled again, and when she lowered her voice, I couldn’t make out the words.
I backed away, a sinking feeling making my stomach churn. I shouldn’t have listened. That wasn’t my business. I turned, ready to sneak outside, when I smacked into a body.
West’s hands gripped my shoulders before I could fall on my butt.
But the hold I’d had on my ball slipped. It bounced so loudly on the floor that I flinched.
The door behind us flew open, and Curtis stepped outside, a frown marring his face as he saw us in the hall.
“Sorry.” I peeked up at him as I bent to snatch my ball.
He wasn’t looking at me. He was staring at West, and the sadness in his gaze made me feel like crying.
Did West want to cry? If he did, his face gave nothing away.
“Go outside, son.”
Lily emerged, her face splotchy. When she saw West, tears flooded her eyes, but she smiled anyway. “Hey, bud. Why don’t you two go play? Let us finish talking.”
“You’re getting a divorce?” West looked between his parents. “And you want me to move?”
Lily’s arms wrapped around her waist. “We’ll talk about it, okay?
We’re not making any decisions today.”
“I’m not moving.” He scowled at them both, then turned and stormed down the hallway.
Following him seemed like the best idea, so I hurried to catch up, tripping on the toe of my new Nikes, but I caught myself on the wall before I could crash. And I didn’t drop the ball again.
West was really tall now. Way taller than he’d been two years ago.
When we made it outside, I had to run to catch up because he was
walking so fast.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
He kept walking. “Yeah.”
I knew what it was like to tell people you were okay when you really weren’t. When Dad was sick, I lied all the time, even though lying
was bad. Mom did too.
“Want to play soccer?”
“Nah.” West walked faster, like he didn’t want to be around me.
So I slowed, watching as he shoved his hands into his jeans pockets
and walked down the road. Alone.
I kicked the ball back to the chalet.
Dad was still sleeping and Mom was still reading when I came inside, so I went to my room to play my Nintendo. I’d brought it only for the plane. Video games seemed like a waste of time on a vacation when we could be doing other stuff, but we weren’t doing a trail ride until tomorrow.
Finally, after an hour of Mario Kart, Dad knocked on my door.
“How about a game of horseshoes?”
“Okay.” I leaped off the bed and followed him outside.
Other guests were outside, too, lounging in the chairs set up around the lawn and firepit behind the lodge. An older couple was playing cornhole. A group of men in fishing gear were visiting and drinking beers from an ice cooler.
As Dad and I played horseshoes, I kept looking for West. Was he okay? If Mom and Dad got divorced, I wouldn’t be okay.
West didn’t come back to the lodge. Not a single Haven was at dinner in the dining room.
It was still light outside when one of the staff members lit the evening campfire and brought out supplies for s’mores. After I ate three, I went to the cabin to get the paper I’d brought along for the trip.
Sometimes I liked to color and draw. But tonight, I felt like making paper airplanes.
I was at an empty picnic table, making my first fold, when West slid
onto the bench across from mine.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Making a paper airplane.” I flipped the page over and made my
second fold.
“You’re doing it wrong.”
“No, I’m not.”
Mom had bought me a paper airplane book for my birthday. I’d been practicing this design—the flying ninja—because it was the best flyer.
West snatched a piece of paper and began folding.
His design was the dart. A classic, according to my book. “You didn’t come last summer.”
If he’d noticed, that made us friends, right? “Dad was too busy with
work. Mom took me to London instead.”
“London. Wow.”
“It was fun.” The telephone booths were cute. It had been exciting to explore the palaces and fancy buildings. Mom and I had spent hours shopping and even gone to a musical. “I like our Montana vacations
more.”
He nodded and kept folding.
“You got really tall.”
West shrugged. “I guess. I’m thirteen.”
“I’m eleven. How old is Jax?”
“Four.”
“Oh. You probably can’t play with him very much. But at least you have a brother.” Being an only child was boring sometimes.
We finished our planes at almost the exact same time.
“I bet mine goes farther than yours,” he said, climbing off the bench.
“No way.” I followed him to the grass, then stood at his side as he lifted his plane and sent it flying.
West’s plane soared straight before taking a nosedive into the lawn.
“Your turn.”
I pinched the bottom fold of mine, turning sideways as I lifted my arm. Then with a smooth motion and slight flick of my wrist—that was the best way to throw it according to my book—I launched my ninja into
the air.
It floated way past West’s dart.
His shoulders fell as he stared at them, two paper planes on soft green grass. Then without a word, he turned and walked away, past the campfire and around the lodge until I couldn’t see him anymore.
I didn’t see him again all week. Maybe he went to live with his mom. Maybe he just didn’t want to play with me anymore. It kind of hurt my feelings, but I thought maybe West’s were hurting more.
The morning that we left, while Mom and Dad were packing, I took the best paper airplane I’d made all week.
And left it in West’s fort.
