Luis: But you’re my most favorite friend.
Claudia: Thank you.
Luis: On my way.
DIRECTIONS
YOUR TRIP TO:
Reading, PA
2 HR 59 MIN 165 miles
Driving time based on traffic as of 7:06 AM on July 18, 2015.
Current Traffic: Moderate
Merge onto I-495N/Capital Beltway toward Baltimore
Keep right to take I-95 N toward Baltimore
Merge onto I-695 W via EXIT 49B on the left toward Towson
Continue onto I-83 N
Take exit 19 for PA-462/Market St
Continue on US-222 N
Exit onto US-422 E Penn St/Reading
VIDEO TRANSCRIPT
INT. CAR—DAY
Papa is driving. Mom sits in the passenger seat. Claudia is filming from the back seat. It’s a clear morning, the sun glinting off the river as they drive over a bridge.
For a long moment, no one says a word. Finally, Claudia clears her throat.
CLAUDIA (O.S.)
So, Mom, what do you think? About Dad . . .
MOM
Are we taking a poll? Raise your hand if you believe he’s . . .
CLAUDIA (O.S.)
No. I just thought we could . . . never mind.
They lapse back into silence, but Claudia doesn’t turn the camera off. Papa glances up into the rearview mirror, and the camera catches a glimpse of his eyes as he looks at his granddaughter. Mom sighs.
MOM
I’m sorry, Claudia. I don’t mean to be snippy. I don’t know what I think. My thoughts are so jumbled. All those years—why did I just keep waiting and hoping things would get better?
PAPA
It’s good to be patient.
MOM
To a point. But then you just turn into an ostrich with your head in the sand. Where’s the line?
CLAUDIA (O.S.)
Were things that bad?
MOM
I don’t know. I mean, I was lonely, I knew something was wrong, but I just ignored it. I didn’t ask questions or change anything or . . .
PAPA
Ignoring problems is a perfectly legitimate way to maintain a marriage!
Mom tries to laugh.
PAPA (CONT’D)
This is not your fault, Jenny.
MOM
Whose is it, then?
Papa shrugs.
PAPA
No one’s. Jeff’s. Or maybe mine.
MOM
Yours? Why would it be your fault?
He changes lanes before answering.
PAPA
Do you remember that church Lily and I used to go to? The one you and Jeff didn’t want to get married in?
MOM
Yes.
PAPA
Ever since . . . I read the letter, I keep thinking about some of the things our old pastor used to say. Horrible things.
CLAUDIA (O.S.)
Like what?
PAPA
Like AIDS was God’s punishment for homosexuals.
CLAUDIA (O.S.)
Did your pastor really say that?
PAPA
Yes, he did. In the 1980s, people said worse. I didn’t agree, even at the time, but I didn’t say anything. I didn’t speak up. And so Jeff probably thought I agreed with him.
MOM
It’s not your fault either, Walter.
PAPA
Isn’t it?
He drives in silence.
PAPA (CONT’D)
I want to hate that pastor for all those horrible things he said. But when Lily was ill, he and his wife checked in on us. Every single week. They’d call. Or drop by groceries. Or send a card.
He shakes his head.
And now I feel bad about that. Like I was betraying my son by accepting their help.
Mom pats him gently on the shoulder. Claudia sighs.
CLAUDIA (O.S.)
When Dad first left, I blamed myself too. But now . . . I mean, I don’t think people choose to be gay.
MOM
I don’t think so either.
They drive for a minute.
CLAUDIA (O.S.)
So, do you think Dad is?
MOM
That is a question for your father.
NOTE TO READER
I JUST REALIZED ANOTHER reason I like taping conversations: The camera makes people feel brave. Like it’s really important. Like they should risk asking and answering the hard questions, because the tape is rolling and it really counts.
I tried to hold on to that feeling as we drove up to Amanda’s house.
VIDEO TRANSCRIPT
EXT. AMANDA’S HOUSE—DAY
It’s a nice country house, white, two stories, with a big front porch. Papa checks the address on the mailbox.
PAPA
This is it.
MOM
Okay. Come on.
The car doors slam and the picture wobbles as Claudia gets out of the car. Mom and Papa walk slowly toward the front porch.
There are big slate pavers leading to the steps. A well-manicured lawn. Two wooden rocking chairs on the sunny front porch. A pitcher of tea sits on a ledge, the sun shining bright through the mint, tea bags, and water.
Mom walks up to the front door and knocks. After only a moment, Amanda answers the door.
Amanda’s blond hair is just beginning to thin and streak with gray. She’s got an apron over her jeans and T-shirt and a baby balanced on her hip. She smiles extra big when she sees Mom.
AMANDA
Hello. What can I do for you?
MOM
Hi. Are you Amanda Vanderweele-Blume?
AMANDA
Yes, I am.
MOM
This is a little awkward. You don’t know me, but I’m looking for Jeff Dalton.
Amanda turns and calls into the house.
AMANDA
Jeff! You have visitors.
She looks back at Mom and smiles again.
AMANDA (CONT’D)
How do you know Jeff?
MOM
I’m his wife.
Amanda laughs.
AMANDA
Sweetie, I think you must have the wrong Jeff. ’Cause this one is gay.
Mom turns pale. She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out.
PAPA
Is that what he told you?
Amanda glances at him. For the first time, she seems to realize that something is odd about the situation.
AMANDA
Do I know you, sir? You look kind of familiar. And why does that girl have a video camera?
A door slams inside the house. The stairs creak as someone walks down them.
DAD (O.S.)
I wasn’t expecting . . .
Dad comes to the door. He’s grown a short beard and wears biking shorts and a T-shirt. He stares at the three of us, eyes wide, as if we were ghosts. When the blood drains from his face, he looks like the boy from the video, after the Death Star blew up.
No one speaks.
CLAUDIA (O.S.)
Hello, Dad.
AMANDA
Have you been lying to me?!
MOM
Claudia, turn off the camera.
The screen goes black.
NOTE TO READER
AND THEN THERE are some things you shouldn’t film, cause they’re just too personal or upsetting or whatever. I remembered how I felt when I was reading the letter and I asked Luis to turn off the camera. So when Mom asked, I hit the off button.
But I can tell you about it, and I gotta say, seeing my father again wasn’t exactly like I had imagined. He did give me a hug, an awkward, one-armed thing, but then Amanda started freaking out about how Dad had been lying to her. Mom ju
st stood there calmly, but I felt a little glad that someone was yelling at him.
Then Amanda’s baby started to cry and her other four kids ran out, and finally, we decided that she would take the kids to the park, Mom and Dad would sit on the front porch to talk, and Papa and I would go to a local coffee shop to wait until they were done.
RECEIPT
Maple Hill
—CAFÉ—
134 Washington Street
Reading, PA 19601
7/18/15
3.00
Iced Mocha (extra whipped cream)
3.00
Coffee
3.00
Carrot Cupcake
3.00
Apple Pie
Subtotal: 12.00
0.72
Tax:
12.72
Total:
—————————
VIDEO TRANSCRIPT
INT. COFFEE SHOP—DAY
Papa and Claudia sit in a booth by a window. The shop isn’t very crowded. They each have a cup and a plate with a treat in front of them.
CLAUDIA
It isn’t fair that Mom gets to talk to him first! I mean, he’s your son. And I’m the one who did all those puzzles!
Papa smiles.
PAPA
Yeah, well, there’s not exactly an etiquette manual for this sort of thing.
CLAUDIA
Guess not.
She takes a sip of her iced mocha.
PAPA
How’s your cupcake?
CLAUDIA
Kinda dry. How’s the pie?
PAPA
It’s okay. Listen, um, you’re probably going home after this trip, but I just wanted to say, I’m really glad you came to stay with me this summer.
CLAUDIA
Me too.
PAPA
Watching all those home movies with you, well, it made me realize I wasn’t really the father I wanted to be with Jeff. And with you here this summer, and us working together on that treasure hunt, it’s like I got a second chance with you.
Claudia smiles.
CLAUDIA
Oh, Papa, that’s so nice!
He reaches out and pats her hand, then looks away, embarrassed.
PAPA
This pie could really use a scoop of ice cream.
CLAUDIA
Everything’s better with ice cream.
PAPA
That was my one parenting trick. If things are going badly, buy the kid a snack.
CLAUDIA
Works for me! Remember those Popsicles we had before the merry-go-round?
PAPA
I think my fingers are still sticky.
Claudia laughs.
CLAUDIA
I don’t think you did such a bad job, Papa. At least you didn’t with me.
PAPA
Thanks.
They smile shyly at each other. Then Papa pulls out his phone.
PAPA (CONT’D)
I gotta call the hotel. Make sure they don’t give away our room.
NOTE TO READER
WHILE PAPA CALLED the hotel, I wandered over to the back of the shop, where there was a big table and a basket full of jigsaw puzzle pieces. Those puzzle pieces looked better to me than all the cupcakes in the display window. Finally, something familiar that I knew how to handle.
I dumped out the basket and started sorting. After a few minutes, I figured out there were three or four different puzzles, all jumbled up together. They were kid puzzles, none of them more than one hundred pieces, so they weren’t too hard to put together, even without boxes to tell me the pictures.
One puzzle had a picture of puppies dressed like clowns. (Why? Who knows.) There were about three pieces missing from that one.
The next was a farm scene, and someone had chewed on all the pieces of the animals’ heads. So strange. That one was missing five or six pieces. My bet was that some kid had eaten them.
Then there were a bunch of random pieces from some weird puzzle that I imagined must have been called “Zebras and Candy Canes.” I’d never seen so many crazy stripes. There weren’t enough pieces of that one to bother working it.
And finally, there was one more puzzle, probably about a hundred pieces. When I was done with that one, I saw a jungle scene, kinda like the one we had done with Nana before she died. A leopard family, a monkey, a parrot. Somehow, there were no pieces missing. I traced each piece slowly with my fingertips, wishing I could go back to the day before Dad had disappeared.
My phone beeped and I saw a text from Mom.
We’re done talking. Dad says he’s tired and he’ll speak to you and Papa tomorrow. Come pick me up.
I couldn’t text her back. I couldn’t move. Dad was tired?! I was tired. And angry. And frustrated. Mom was right. I didn’t want to be patient anymore. I wanted answers. Now! Or I wanted to put all the pieces back into the box and start again. Pick out a different puzzle. A different story. A different family. But I couldn’t. There wasn’t even a box. This was the puzzle I had gotten.
Then I had an idea.
I went to the barista and offered her five dollars for the pieces, but she said, “Just take whatever you want, no one ever works the puzzles anyway.” I went back to my table, flipped the jungle puzzle over, pulled out a Sharpie from my purse, and wrote a message on the back. The nice barista gave me a plastic Ziploc bag, and I broke up the pieces and put them inside. Then I wrote on the outside of the bag: To Dad.
PHONE TRANSCRIPT
Claudia Dalton’s Cell Phone | Tuesday, July 21, 2015, 5:23 p.m.
Claudia: And we drove back and picked Mom up. Since Dad was too “tired” to talk, I handed him the plastic bag.
Luis: And?
Claudia: And I’m sitting in the hotel game room now. There’s a sad-looking foosball table and a couple of board games.
Luis: Did you tell your dad there was a message on the back of the puzzle?
Claudia: Nah. He can figure that out himself.
Luis: Yeah.
Claudia: I mean, duh, it’s a message, right? That’s how we communicate in my family—by jigsaw puzzle.
Luis: [LAUGHING] Some people use sign language . . .
Claudia: Some people speak French . . .
Luis: But you guys . . .
Claudia: It’s tabs and pockets all the way.
Luis: Yup.
Claudia: He’s pretty much an idiot if he can’t figure that out.
Dad: [MUFFLED] I am an idiot.
Luis: Who’s that?
Dad: [MUFFLED] Your mother said I might find you down here.
Claudia: [TO LUIS] I have to go.
PUZZLE
VIDEO TRANSCRIPT
INT. HOTEL GAME ROOM—DAY
Claudia and her father sit across from each other, interview style. The bag of puzzle pieces rests on the table between them.
DAD
Do you have to tape this?
CLAUDIA
Yes.
DAD
I’d rather you didn’t.
CLAUDIA
I’d rather you hadn’t disappeared.
DAD
Fair enough.
Dad stretches. He’s trying to stay calm, but his hands are shaking.
DAD (CONT’D)
What do you want to know?
CLAUDIA
Are you gay?
DAD
Not going to ease into this with a little small talk?
CLAUDIA
No. Are you gay?
DAD
Yes.
CLAUDIA
Can you say it?
DAD
What do you want, Claudia?
CLAUDIA
I want you to say it.
She crosses her arms.
DAD
Sweetie, I want to talk to you, but I need you to—
Claudia stands up and slams her hands down on the table.
CLAUDIA
I don’t care about what you need! What about what I need?!
Dad sits there for a moment, staring at her. Finally, he takes a deep breath.
DAD
You’re right. This conversation is for you. What do you need?
CLAUDIA
Answers.
DAD
Okay. Then just sit back down and . . .
He gestures to the bag of puzzle pieces on the table.
DAD (CONT’D)
We can do the puzzle and I’ll answer your questions.
Claudia thinks for a moment. Finally, she nods and sits back down. Dad dumps out the pieces and begins sorting.
NOTE TO READER
OKAY, SO I hadn’t realized I was so angry. I’d spent the past few weeks desperately trying to find him, wishing he would come back, thinking everything would be okay once he did.
I hadn’t really thought about how hurt or scared I’d been. Until I saw him again. I knew I was acting like a jerk, but I just couldn’t help it.
I needed a chance to think and calm down. Luckily, our conversation was saved—once again—by a puzzle.
VIDEO TRANSCRIPT