CHAPTER ELEVEN
I helped Dad up from his terrible fall. Mom had slammed him dead on the nose with the stone, which tumbled him directly into the coffee table. Mom ignored us. She began to recount the day’s events from waking up at noon to what lead her to walk up the driveway, gracing us with her presence. She described the sweat that matted the hair to her face when her eyes opened from the total blackout the night before. Apparently, we were witnessing an improved version of her makeup as well. Though, the detail she clung to was the red stone that greeted her on their lamp table.
Dad said, “Dear—” as he rubbed his nose, but Mom pressed on.
“This stone in my hand,” she said with a venomous tone, warning Dad to clear out of the way to avoid any further injuries, “was given to me by none other than Darius. Wasn’t that nice of him?”
The insensitive utterance of his name stung my soul. I figured she couldn’t possibly have known what happened to him if she was going to refer to him like a pile of trash.
Dad cheerfully said, “Old Darius came to see you, eh? I figured he was the one that bought this shiny new piano. There are few people I can count on in this world and he is one of them,” he turned to me, “You know, he hired me as a correspondent for his last book.”
He scratched his head, “What was it called? Dreamheaven or World of Dreams or—”
I sat down at the couch with him, “Dream to Dare.”
Dad’s eyebrows rose. He slapped his knee, saying, “That is exactly what he told me he was going to call it. I just did not think he would ever use it. He has a silly moniker he goes by. It is—”
I finished, “Darius the Extraordinaire.”
“Ten out of ten, Alan Quinn. I knew I introduced you to him years and years ago, but I did not believe you would remember.”
My voice quiet, I said, “I met him for the first time yesterday. He was a good man.”
Dad said, “Was?”
Mom interrupted, “Well, your listening skills have not altered much. He was here in our house just the other night, which is where my story can continue if you will allow me to speak! You disappear for three weeks and still demand control of the conversation? I hope the bruise on your skull leaves a permanent mark.”
Dad lowered his head like a sad dog. For a brief moment, he reminded me of Peaches when she would get caught tearing up one of my books.
Mom took the stage like she had done so many times in the past. She held the stone up like it was one of the props required for a fantastic monologue. An anxious feeling was rising in my chest as I waited for her to finally speak.
She said, “Darius came into our house at the request of your son. He entered with a box filled with a stone and tried to tell me it were going to help us open a portal to Dramamine or something.”
Dad uttered, “Draio,” but Mom’s reaction made him regret it. He went back to lowering his head.
Mom continued, “I knew what he was trying to do.” She took moments in her speech to cross stage left and stage right, carefully adding dramatic pauses in the right spots. “He was trying to convince me that everything you had been piping about was true.”
Dad snuck a peak at her to see her reaction.
Mom said, “Well, I kicked him out, but he left this stone on our kitchen table. The last thing I remember,” she stopped and omitted the part where she told me she wanted to divorce him, which I took that as a good sign, “is Alan walking the dog and then I woke up in our bed, but I was not alone—
“When the only thing I saw was that stone, I figured it would do something magical like you said. I was ready to believe,” she said, prompting Dad to perk up. “For once, I thought my loving husband wasn’t completely six marbles short of a—a—marble bag. I started to get the feeling it was telling me to search the town for you. I left when Alan went to school this morning. I took a walk.”
Mom had explored Main Street. She went into Victor’s and the few coffee shops around town. She saw all the fliers I had hung up even though she told me not to, but grabbed one and used it to show to whoever would listen. The stone gave her a new sense of purpose. It gave her hope, but then the story took a turn.
She said, “It lead me back to our neighborhood and down the street to the park, which has a gorgeous lake by the way. I walked around the lake and towards the forest. In the bright sunlight, I could make out these glowing blue marks on all the trees. It reminded me of a dream I had that Peaches was in. She was like a magnificent glow worm—never mind.”
“I entered the forest. There were stickers on some of the branches and little plants that kept wrapping around my legs and tripping me over. I thought about turning around but it wasn’t any use. I had already gone so far. Something in my being just knew I was going the right way.”
I wanted her to stop her story desperately. What if she had seen something out there that would lead back to me? I wasn’t prepared to talk to them about Andrew Lathon.
“Go on, honey,” Dad said. “What did you see?”
“I came to a clearing where the trees appeared to be in a circle. In the center was a pile of sticks, but they were arranged to spell a word. It was s—”
I stood up in protest, “Don’t.”
Mom looked at me like I had committed a hate crime. I sat back down.
She continued, “It said Stupid Face. Some of the neighborhood kids had to have gone back there and set it up. To me, it was juvenile, but it was very poignant.”
“How so?” Dad questioned.
She smiled at both of us, “It was poignant because I was being a stupid face. I turned around, miraculously found a trail of glowing ink that lead me back out of the forest, and walked home. Before I knew it, your stupid Jaguar was in the front yard. The town prince had finally returned home, leaving me feeling even dumber than before for relinquishing you of my doubt.”
She threw the stone under the kitchen table. It slid against the wooden floor and smacked the wall, chipping some of the paint.
“Where were you, Reese?”
“Maggie, I—”
“Just say it.”
“Davison and the boys have an apartment together outside of town in Dahlgren. I was with equals.”
Not surprised, she said, “Equals? How cute. The boys got together to get away from the scary old witch of a wife your father has, Alan. I have the right mind to rip you apart with my bare hands.”
“Things would go a lot smoother if you refrained from the body ripping,” Dad said lightheartedly. “Things were not running well. I thought we could use a break from each other.”
Mom relaxed her body, letting her guard down. She was slowly but surely accepting that Dad was home. She said, “All we have ever gotten is breaks from each other. My God, Reese, your son hardly knows who you are sometimes. You are a walking false hope and broken promise. How do you expect for us to go on living this way?”
Dad looked at me, “Is that how you feel?”
I nodded.
He said, “We will start fresh. We can move.”
Mom stomped her feet, “You don’t get it, Reese. We do not want to move anymore. This family has already found the soil. Now, it is time to dig our feet in and survive together.”
Dad switched his focus back and forth between Mom and me. He said, “Then, we will.”
Mom gave in. I watched them embrace and get mushy. It was refreshing to see them happy but having a front row seat to the Ballad of Maggie and Reese was growing harder to bear. I worried it would never last.
I let them have their time together and went upstairs to enjoy the rest of my day off from school.
The Silhouette (Alan Quinn and the Second Lifes) Page 14