nothing for a moment. âItâs just awesome, Spain. Why do you think Iâve been taking Spanish these last six years?â
âI have no idea why you kids do half the things you do.â
âI want to go. Iâm not a child anymore, Dad.â
âIf youâre such an adult,â said Jimmy, âthen what are you talking to us for?â
âI need your help with the passport.â
âOh, now she needs us,â Jimmy said. âA signature. No help, no advice. No money. Youâve got it all figured out, big girl.â
âI donât, but . . . itâs just a few weeks in Europe, Dad. Itâs not a big deal. Lots of kids do it.â
âLike who?â
Chloe stumbled. She didnât know who.
âItâs the worst place, by the way, to have a vacation,â Lang cut in.
âYou mean itâs the best place! Have you been there, Mom?â
âI donât need to go to Calcutta to know I donât want to go to Calcutta.â
âCalcutta? Mom. Itâs Barcelona! Itâs on the sea. Itâs nice. Itâs fun. Itâs full of young people.â Did she sound calm? She didnât think so. Things were getting away from her.
âDid I hear your mother correctly?â Jimmy asked. âThe two junkyard wildings down the road want to go with you?â
Well, at least it was out there. The pit in her stomach couldnât get any bigger. âWhy wildings? Itâs Blake and Mason. You like them.â
âDonât put words in my mouth or feelings into my heart.â
âYou do like them. Mr. Haul is still your friend. Despite everything.â Chloe took a breath. âYou help him out with money, you lend him your truck, you barbecue with him. You exchange Christmas presents. Mom gives them tomatoes.â
âWhat does that prove? Your mother gives tomatoes to everyone, even the Harrisons who tried to have Blakeâs dog put down that one time. And in my line of work, Iâm forced to talk to a lot of unsavory characters.â
âYes; Mr. Haul is not one of them. And Mom and Mrs. Haul are friends.â
âDonât get carried away,â said Lang. âI drive to ShopRite with her. She is not the executor of my will. So donât hyperbolize.â
Chloe took a breath. âNow whoâs hyperbolizing?â
âI donât know why anyone, especially my daughter, would want to go to Spain of all places,â Jimmy said, getting up from the table, as if done with the conversation he was himself continuing. âDo you think thereâs any place more beautiful than coastal Maine? Than the White Mountains of New Hampshire?â He snorted as he scraped the remains of his dinner into the trash. âYou have staggering beauty outside your own door.â
âThatâs what I told her, Jimmy.â
âWould that I had a chance to compare,â said Chloe.
âIâm telling you how it is.â
âSo I have to take your word for it? I want to see for myself, Dad! Why canât you understand that?â
âWhere did this crazy idea come from? Lang, did you know about this?â
âJimmy,â said Lang, âshe doesnât know anything about Barcelona. If she did, she wouldnât want to go. Believe me.â
How did one stay calm when confronted by a mother such as Chloeâs mother? âMom,â Chloe said slowly. The slower the speech, the more she wanted to shout. At the moment, she was positively hollering. âI know you think I might not know anything about Barcelona. But what in the world do you possibly know about Barcelona?â
âChloe! Be respectful to your mother.â
â That wasnât respectful?â If only her parents could hear how Hannah talked to her mother.
Lang raised her hand. She was still at the table, across from Chloe. âNo, no. Chloe makes a valid point. Clearly she thinks Barcelona has virtues Maine