The word “dog” seems to trigger it. The snuffling, panting noises that come from the kitchen. A blue collar and a green collar. Muzzles gray and hazy old eyes.
“Galileo!” I drop to my knees. “Isaac!” My long-dead dogs waddle into my arms. I press my nose into their necks, breathing in their musty fur. Galileo’s tongue sweeps across my cheek.
“Oh,” I sob. “That was even better than a kiss from George!” I scratch and rub and nuzzle, using the top of Isaac’s head to dry my tears.
I’m in a dreamlike state, time slipping by unnoticed, until Dad’s voice—“Hello!”—is the unwelcome alarm. The dogs shuffle away from me, toward the front door. “We’re home,” he announces.
Dad and Willow are back from their honeymoon! I don’t want to see either of them. I need to get back to the tree. I’m finding it hard to breathe through the panic, to move through the kitchen toward the laundry room, toward the garage.
“Ruby? Is that you?”
“Uh.”
Dad drops his suitcases and pounds across the room. “What did you do to yourself?” He slides his hands across my head. “Your hair!”
“Your weight!” I say.
Dad is a good fifty pounds heavier. His shirt stretches across his belly. The worn holes in his belt mark the progression of his weight gain.
“Turn around,” he commands.
Before I can comply, he twists my body by my shoulders. “Easy!” I protest.
He rubs his thumb into my neck. “It’s real?” He goes to the sink and wets a paper towel.
“It’s not coming off,” I say, ducking out of the way.
Dad throws his hands into the air. “I hardly recognize you!”
“The feeling is mutual,” I say. Behind him, Willow watches, wordless. She’s still holding her suitcase. Kandy stares at the television.
“Why aren’t the two of you in school?” Dad asks.
“I was just heading there now,” I say, angling for an opening, a way past his hulking body. “Welcome home.”
“Welcome home?” Dad puffs. “Outside. Right now. We’re taking a walk.” He grabs my forearm (Patrick-style) and leads me through the living room, out the front door. We walk down the driveway, then stop. Dad looks up and down the street, trying to decide which way to go. He’s already out of breath. “Ruby.”
“Dad.”
“What’s going on?”
“I could ask the same,” I say. Dad’s eyes are practically lost in his fleshy face. “You’re a cheeseburger away from a heart attack.”
Dad thinks for a moment. “Is that what this is about? You’re sending me a message about how I look?”
“Sure. Why not?” I glance over my shoulder, in the direction of the school and the tree. On the lawn, not twenty feet away, is the bike I borrowed, lying in the grass.
“My divorce attorney warned me that this could happen. Teen rebellion. I never imagined this.” He waves his hands at me, like I’m the dictionary definition of stark raving mad. Unglued, crackers, bats in the belfry.
“It’s just a haircut.”
“Next thing you know you’ll be dyeing it pink.”
“Not likely.”
Dad’s eyebrows are pressed together into a solid line of furrowed anger. “What does all that scribble on your neck mean? It looks Satanic.”
“It’s a math equation.”
He rubs his temples. “How could you have changed so much while I was away? I should’ve never left town. Let’s walk. I need to clear my head.”
I start toward the bike but pause. “How long have you been doing that?” I ask, pointing to the wheelbarrow in the front yard’s landscaping bed.
“What?”
“The white impatiens spilling from the tipped wheelbarrow.”
“I don’t know. As long as I can remember.” He huffs through his nose. “Why are we talking about flowers?”
Because they remind me of Mom. Because they’re a reflection of love, one of those touches that makes a place feel like home. Because you wrenched me away from my home in California.
“Those flowers are important,” I say. “They mean something. To me. A lot of things mean something to me, and you don’t know how much. And then you take them away.”
There’s so much anger inside me—more than I realized—and now it’s rising like hot air, pushing its way up. Suddenly, I feel like hurting Dad as much as he’s hurt me. I want to take everything out on him, for falling stupidly in love with Willow, the stupid move to Ohio, his stupid job, and even things that weren’t his stupid fault, like Mom’s death.
I blurt at him, “You’re just stupid selfishness, everywhere I go! Look at yourself!”
“Come on, Ruby,” Dad says wearily. “Aren’t you sick of fighting? Could we please stop this never-ending screaming match?”
Screaming match? I never once let Dad have it back in Universe One. I’ve kept it nearly vacuum-sealed, a snide comment here and there.
“You never think about how your decisions affect other people.” It feels so good to unload. “How they affect me!”
“That’s not true!” he says, but then he seems at a loss for words. He has no defense.
“Obviously you have no trouble feeding your own needs,” I say, motioning to his belly.
Dad grabs his gut with both hands, gives it a squeeze. “This is what a failed marriage does, okay? I ate my way through the unhappiness.”
I cringe at the word “failed.” “Things could be different,” I say. “If you’d worked on it harder, we could be together. Right here. I wouldn’t have to go searching.”
“We’re all searching, hon. That’s life.” Dad leans in, cups my cheek in his hand. “I’m sorry, Ruby. I’m sorry for everything.”
I yank my face away from his fingers. “I mean, this could be the right place! The high school is amazing. Downtown is amazing. Even George Pierce lives in this universe! How perfect is that?”
“Hey, my little girl,” Dad says. “You’re confusing me. What are you talking about?”
“And the dogs!” The thought of leaving Galileo and Isaac behind shatters me. Why are they alive here and not in Universe One? Did they really die of cancer? Or did Dad give them away? I was only ten. Still easy enough to lie to. “You ruin everything!”
“I don’t know what else to do but say I’m sorry.” His face collapses into defeat, sorrow. “I’m sorry, Ruby.”
Forget the extra pounds, Dad’s eyes are the same, and I’m reeled in by a force that feels magnetic, irrepressible. He said he was sorry, and he sounded like he meant it, and I wish I could accept his apology and tell him that I’m okay with the entire broken, divorced/widowed, complicated mess. But I’m not okay. I take a deep breath and step back. “I’d like to be alone, if you don’t mind.”
Dad extends his hand, but I’m beyond his reach. “Where are you going?” he calls after me as I trot toward the bike. I bite my lip, ignoring the jab of pain my leg inflicts with each stride.
“Ruby!” Dad shouts as I ride off, a hint of panic in his voice. “Come back! It’s starting to rain.”
I glance over my shoulder at him, still standing at the end of the driveway, his arms outstretched like he’s expecting me to return to him, to simply fold into his embrace.
Chapter Thirteen
I can see them from the high school parking lot. Two boys stand in front of the giant oak tree, their bikes on the ground.
“Get away from there!” I scream, limp-hopping toward them.
They look at me, panic on their faces. Like they’ve been caught. One glances at his bike, then his friend. I’m feeling my fair share of panic, too.
“Whatever you do, don’t touch the knob,” I say. “It electrocutes the hell out of you. Heck. It electrocutes the heck out of me.”