Chapter 1

It was June 15th, and everyone in the world was in our front yard. Or at least, it seemed like everyone in the world to me. Life was simple back then—and so was my scope on it. “The world” to me then was a lot different than “the world” is to me now. And back then, “the world” consisted of me, my parents, my little sister Sidney, our sheepdog, Animal (named fondly after Mom’s favorite character on The Muppet Show), and the random assortment of kids that Sid and I used to play with.

It had been a great party… Mom had spent weeks planning it. The house had been decorated with streamers (pink and lime green—my two favorite colors at the time), balloons were tied to every chair, inside and outside, the front yard was filled with toys and games. And then there was the cake. Believe it or not, Mom was pretty handy in the kitchen back then. Three layers of vanilla cake, topped with sweet, creamy pink icing. It’s almost unfair to think back on it… because there hasn’t been a cake like that since that day. But that was just one thing on the long list of stuff that flew out the window on June 15th, 1995.

The party was winding down, and the kids were beginning to leave. Some of them jumped into minivans, some walked home, waving and shouting goodbye as they went, clutching the small goodie bags that were full of toy cars and mini Crunch bars.

My best friend, Becky Shaler, was the last one to leave. Becky was always the last one to go whenever the neighborhood kids would play together. She lived farther across town—too far for her to walk alone—and so her mom always drove over in their van, and we could always count on her staying and talking with Mom for at least an hour.

When Mrs. Shaler pulled up—I called her Aunt Tessa, just like Becky called my mom Aunt Margaret—she came through the gate, looking for Mom.

“Is your Mom inside?” she called up to me. Becky and I had been feeling especially daring that day, and had managed to climb up in the old willow tree.

I nodded.

“Happy Birthday, chickadee,” she said with a smile, then turned toward the house. I watched her as she went. Aunt Tessa was very tall, and had long, red hair that she let hang loosely down her back. People used to think that she and Mom were sisters, because both of them had the same fiery red hair.

Beside me, Becky said something about a spider crawling on the branch next to her.

I glanced back over at the porch.

Dad came out just then, slamming the screen door behind him as he went.

“Everything okay, Rob?” Aunt Tessa asked. Her voice sounded worried.

Dad’s eyes flashed. Even from where I sat in the tree, a good twenty feet away, I could see the anger in them. He didn’t say anything—he just grunted and walked off.

Aunt Tessa stood there for a moment, as though torn between going after Dad or going in to see Mom. Finally, she continued on her way into the house. Dad, meanwhile, went over to his truck, got in, and turned on the ignition. And then he was gone.

I remember sitting there in that willow tree, thinking—naively—that Dad had just run out to the store, or to the gas station, or something.

It never occurred to me, in my eleven year old mind, that he wouldn’t be coming home.

Time passed… I don’t know if it was an hour, or two, but finally, the sky began to get cloudy as an afternoon storm began to blow up off. Distant rumbles of thunder sounded, and Becky and I got out of our tree.

We were about to go back inside, when Mom and Aunt Tessa appeared on the porch. Mom was crying, and Aunt Tessa had her arm around her, talking to her softly.

“Mom?” I asked, unsure of what was going on, or of what I should say. “What’s wrong?”

Mom looked down at me, tears rolling down her cheeks, and said, “Daddy’s gone.”

As soon as she said it, I felt the rain.

And in a way, it feels like it’s been pouring ever since.

Aunt Tessa and Becky left soon after that, leaving us alone- just Mom, Sid and me. That night was one of the strangest nights of my life. The house felt eerie… it was quiet without Dad. Mom turned all of the lights off and sat on the couch in the living room, clutching a pillow to her chest and crying quietly. I went in at one point, tried to talk to her, but she wouldn’t respond. Outside, the storm passed over us; lightning lit up the gloomy rooms every few seconds. I ended up lying in bed with Sidney, who had also started crying—except she was only crying about the storm. She didn’t understand what was going on.

She didn’t understand that Dad was gone.

So I laid there with her, listening to the storm, wondering about what was going to happen next.

It’s amazing how easy it is for someone to just pick up and leave, you know?

I mean, we’ve certainly done it many times since the divorce happened.

There’s really nothing to it.

You just get in a car and drive, and you don’t look back.

I guess that’s just what Dad did.

He left us, and he never looked back.