“We ask it something,” I say.
“Do you think it will really be able to answer us?” Ray asks, looking much more serious about this game than he should.
“Of course not,” Lola says, but inches down beside us on the floor.
We look at each other, waiting for someone to start. In the dim light from the lamp and the moon outside, we could be kids again. The kids we were before the world shifted course. The kids we could have been. But who would those kids be now? I think that obsessing over the way it all might have been has kept me from seeing the wonder of what is. I think about my ruined marriage and my ruined relationship with Cassie. Hindsight is a ghost floating just over my shoulder. I send him outside with my old friend, guilt. Maybe they can go trick-or-treating and bring me back a chocolate bar.
Ray takes the ball and holds it in his hands. He closes his eyes and just when I think he might ask a serious question, he puts on a canned séance-style voice and says, “Will Nina ever learn to mind her own business?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I say.
“What does it say, Ray?” Lola asks.
“Hey, this thing really works,” Ray says, looking at the answer window. “It says ‘Don’t count on it.’”
They laugh out loud at my expense, and I couldn’t be happier.
I watch the two of them giggle and carry on. Lola hasn’t asked Ray yet for details about Michael, nor has she told him about Peru. Maybe it’s not my place to force their secrets out of them. I think they’re just enjoying each other for the moment.
This night is like a pit stop. Like stopping at a hotel in the middle of a long trip. Limbo. Once the car is moving again with the destination in sight, you have no choice but to head full steam into whatever is waiting for you when you get there.
“Let me ask it something,” I say and reach out for the ball.
Ray holds it tight to his chest and shakes his head. Children’s voices pitch through the night; countless kids are somewhere out on the sidewalk making plans, collecting candy.
“No way,” he says. “This thing is mine. Magic 8-Ball, did Mom buy any candy for the trick-or-treaters?” He turns it to face us. “‘My sources say no.’”
“Looks like neighbor kids are going to T.P. her house,” Lola says and laughs.
Ray looks very sternly at the 8-ball.
“What about her mints?” I say. “We could pass those out.”
“Her mints!” Ray shouts. “I forgot all about those.”
Our whole childhood smelled like those pastel mints at the register of the Chinese restaurant.
“Where do you think she keeps them?” I ask. “In case the bell rings and we’re on the spot.”
“Let’s ask Dad.” Ray shakes the ball. “This thing says it has sources—maybe Dad is one.”
“Don’t you dare,” Lola says. “If that thing starts answering like Dad, you’ll see a Lola-sized hole in the front door.”
“Is that actually what you’d want to ask Dad?” I say, realizing Ray is serious. “If you could really tune him in on this silly thing.”
“Like a transistor radio?” Ray smirks.
“Dad, does Mom keep the mints in the pantry?” Lola asks the ball and looks at me sheepishly. “Shake it, Ray.”
Ray looks up to the ceiling, suddenly anxious and breathy. He shakes the Magic 8-Ball. “‘Most likely,’” he whispers.
“I don’t want to do this anymore.” I stand up quickly, retreating to the other side of the room. “Maybe this was a bad idea.”
Ray squints his eyes at the ball like he’s trying to see inside it, like he believes that it’s really Dad.
“Do you still mean what you said?” Ray asks.
I think he’s talking to me, but I soon understand that he isn’t.
“Stop,” Lola whispers. “It’s over. Let it go.”
“It’s not over for me,” Ray says, shaking the ball.
“This is a bad idea,” I say. “Let’s play truth or dare or something else childish. Ray, you start.”
Ray shakes the ball and asks again, “Do you still mean what you said?”
Lola runs out of the room, and Ray sets the ball down and goes out the front door. I pick up the ball and look in the little plastic window.
Without a doubt.
◆ ◆ ◆
After a few minutes, I go outside looking for Ray. Late October is something akin to heaven, I think—golden and easy. The hardened leaves that still clinging to the trees rustle together in what must be the sound of perseverance. I find Ray sitting on the steps of the front porch.
“What a weird night,” he says. “I guess Lola saw me on the news.”
“Before it went viral on YouTube.” I sit down beside him. “Or so I hear. I don’t know how Mom doesn’t know.”
“Momland,” Ray says. “You remember that?”
“I do,” I say. “I feel like we’re all on the edge of a cliff. Does it seem that way to you?”
“Always.”
“I need to tell you something,” I say. “I wanted Lola to tell you herself, but maybe it’s better that you have a heads-up.”
“Don’t say things like that,” Ray says. “I think the prelude to the bad news is worse than the news.”
“Lola is going to Peru on a mission trip. Some artist thing. But what scares me is that I’m not sure she plans to come back.”
“Ok, the prelude is not worse than the news,” Ray says, putting his hands over his ears like if he can shut out the sound of my voice none of it will be true. “Peru? That’s far away,” he says when he finally takes his hands down.
“Yeah.”
Kids run across the front lawn unaware that we can see them. Darkness and costumes are a cloak of invisibility.
“I’m supposed to be the one who leaves,” Ray says, shaking his head. “That’s going to sting. What about this commercial character she’s dating?”
“Chris. He’s not going to replace you if that’s what you’re worried about.”
He chuckles. Pegged.
“Why don’t you think she’ll come back?”
