* * *
When the house grew quiet, Angel climbed out of bed, crept down the hall and knelt on the hardwood floor in front of her parents’ bedroom door. She folded her hands and prayed for the forgiveness of all their sins.
Chapter 8
I woke the next morning feeling more refreshed than I had in months. No dreams littered my night, just a quiet sense of peacefulness. When I went downstairs for my morning cup of chai, Mom greeted me in the kitchen with a pan of homemade cinnamon rolls. She must have seen my body tense because her red-rimmed eyes flickered to the floor.
“I’m sorry for yesterday, honey.”
I poured milk into my mug and watched it spin in the microwave.
She shifted to lean against the wall. “And the day before. All of them, really.”
The timer beeped. I scooped powder into my cup and watched the mountain of spices sink into the froth.
“You’re right. I’m an alcoholic. There. I’ve said it. Does that make you feel better?”
I stirred my tea, unable to look at her. “No. It doesn’t. I don’t want you to be an alcoholic. I just want you to be my mom.”
“I’ll quit. I promise.”
Finally, I turned. Nothing was harder than staring into the sober eyes of an alcoholic and witnessing a thousand apologies staring back at you. I took Mom’s hands in mine, her icy fingers leaching heat from my own. “We’ve been here before.”
She shook her head. “Not like this. I can’t…I can’t stand what your father has done.”
My pulse quickened. The Big Secret was within my grasp. “What has he done?”
Mom chewed on her bottom lip. “Gemi, I can’t. We’ve both made mistakes. We all have.”
“Tell me. I need to know. I need to know what this huge secret is that everyone seems to know about.”
Mom paled. “How do you know about that?”
“I heard you and Dad talking in the car on the way to the hospital and Dad making Granny promise something. Even the old lady at the funeral knows what happened. Everybody but me.”
“Remembering doesn’t help anyone.” She laughed, the bitterness echoing in the kitchen. “Alcohol helps you forget. But what he’s doing…it isn’t working anymore. It just has to stop.”
“You have to stop.” My voice sounded harsh in the quiet kitchen. Mom was stubborn enough to keep quiet about the past, but I wasn’t going to let her off the hook for her drinking. “Both of you do.”
“I will.” She squeezed my hands—fumbled—and pulled me into a hug. Her freshly washed hair smelled of orange ginger. Clean and strong. Maybe this time would be different.
Unless…“Where’s Dad?”
Mom shrugged. “Out. He’s taking this harder than you think.”
I let the comment go. The only thing my father ever took hard was his liquor.
“Will you help me, Gemini?”
“Do what?”
“Decorate for Christmas.”
I grimaced. “Isn’t it a little late? I mean, it’s already Wednesday. Christmas is in three days.”
“Three days to enjoy the holiday season.” Mom deliberately ignored my reluctance and grinned as if our previous conversation had never happened. Even sober, she was a master at forgetting. “Come on, Gemini. It’ll be fun. It’s been so many years since we’ve pulled the tree up from the basement, I’ve forgotten what it looks like.”
Sadly, so had I. After finishing our cinnamon rolls, Mom carried the decorations down from the attic while I straightened the kitchen. In the process, I dumped out the last third of whiskey and tossed the bottle into the trash. Dried rice tumbled down over the plate shards from my tantrum the other day—a grim reminder that I also had some things to work on.
With my dad gone, we cranked the music and retrieved the artificial tree from the basement. When other kids had recited Humpty Dumpty, I’d been enamored of the folksy lyrics of Johnny Horton. Singing his songs with Mom was one of the few memories I had from my childhood. Usually, though, we were restoring old antiques like Granny’s cedar chest.
We set the tree down in the middle of the living room and surveyed the area, trying to find an uncluttered space big enough for the seven foot pine. I kicked a roll of carpet pushed against one wall. It had been there since the roof leaked two years ago and molded the wood floor underneath. It was another of my dad’s unfinished projects, and like the rest of the debris, it had become integrated into our daily living, collecting a hodgepodge of worn outerwear that had been stripped off in favor of warmer indoor temps.
“What do we do with this carpet?”
“Burn it.” Mom’s eyes glowed with conviction.
I scooped the various sweatshirts off the carpet and threw them in the laundry room on top of the dirty clothes. When I turned, my sleeve caught on a nail sticking out of the wall where the lathe and plaster had been busted out to make way for new sheetrock. To date, the hall still had exposed wood beams for walls.
Prying myself free of the nail, I scowled at the hole in my favorite sweatshirt. “I hate this house.”
“Me too.”
I hadn’t heard Mom following me, and instantly felt a stab of guilt. “It’s just…”
“It’s nothing like Sophia’s home.” Mom fiddled with the trash bag in her hands. “You don’t have to explain. Even though I grew up in this house, I feel the same way.”
Wary of a trap, I stepped around her
“I’m not the enemy, Gemini.”
That stopped me. Something pushed against the wall I’d built between us. It terrified me to think of what might lie behind it. “Then what do you plan on doing?”
She didn’t answer until after we lugged the heavy carpet to the front yard beside the burn barrel. When the lighter she brought wouldn’t ignite the musty roll, Mom grabbed the lawnmower gas and doused the remnant. This time, flames engulfed it and lit up the front yard, casting orange shadows over the snow.
We ran back to the house to escape the noxious odor and watched the carpet burn from the upstairs landing.
“I’m going to leave him.”
“Where will you go? You don’t even have a job.”
“I have my…someone I can stay with.”
Instantly cued by her broken sentence, I wondered if this was the Big Secret. “Are you having an affair?”
Mom recoiled as if she’d been slapped. “I’ve got no need for a lover when I can’t manage the relationship I have now.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Then where are you going?”
“I can’t tell you.” Tears flooded Mom’s eyes. Her hands fluttered. She needed a drink.
Not wanting her to fall off the wagon hours after hopping on, I stilled her hands with mine. “Mom, look at me. This place you would go to, is it safe?”
She swiped a tear off her chin, another from the end of her nose. “Yes.”
“When are you going?”
“After I clean the house.”
My snort was involuntary. I waved to the unfinished walls, the subfloor we stood on, the dust and rubble. “Then it will never happen.”
“I’ll go tonight. Before he gets home.”
My phone vibrated in my pocket with a message from Travis.
On my way.
“Is that Travis?”
Guilt washed over me. I couldn’t leave her now. I nodded. “He was going to take me to the college. I’ve got a project due at the end of break, and today was the only day my partner could work on it with me. I’ll cancel.”
Her eyes darted to the untrimmed tree and boxes of decorations. The look on her face broke my heart. “I’ll cancel.”
She pulled herself up straight. “Go. Your future is important.”
You’re not responsible for your mom.
But I was. If I left, she might walk right downstairs to the kitchen and open a new bottle of booze.
Do you want to be here when that happens? Big, buff Brutus.
Or, she might stay to clean the house and ge
t caught by my dad’s return.
Since when did she take care of you? James, sarcastic and cold.
“I’ll stay.”
“Gemini, go. Live your life and let me worry about mine.” Mom’s eyes had dried. Even through the weariness, they held a glint of fire. Maybe this would be the time.
“Don’t clean and don’t decorate. Just pack now and go.” I scratched down my new phone number and handed it to her. “Call me when you get there, and let’s figure out Christmas.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll stay with Travis.” It was a lie, but she wouldn’t leave otherwise. And maybe I wouldn’t stay here. Maybe I’d live in Granny’s house. Nobody would have to know.
She ran her hand along my cheek. “I love you.”
Say it back.
I wanted to. Tried to, but all that came out was a half sentence. “You too.”
Too much pain had passed, and I didn’t remember when I’d last said those words to her. If I’d ever said them to my parents.
I gave her a hug, grabbed my bag and stumbled out the door.
Chapter 9
Travis waited outside in his pickup.
“What’s that?” He pointed to the smoldering carpet and wrinkled his nose at the stench. After the initial gas had burned off, the flames died down, sending swirling black smoke into the frigid air. At least he hadn’t launched into his fire permit lecture.
“It’s a long story. Mind if I pass on the explanation?”
One curt nod.
With my memory lapses, I knew I’d been taking him for granted, leaning on him more than I had a right to.
And not really in the right way. Indie’s voice whispered through my mind. Indie was the flirtatious one of the Dozen and always had a sexual take on every dream she’d interpreted for our group. For once the feeling that Travis was off-limits eluded me. Maybe Mom was right. Maybe I should focus on the future.
It’s about time. Now let’s get your inner wild on.
Emboldened by her cheeky jab, I buckled up in the middle seatbelt and slid my hand onto Trav’s thigh. My first lucid, non-friend moment. A slight blush crept over his dark cheeks.
See how easy it is to make him happy? I ignored Indie’s voice. If she had her way, I’d have Travis flat on his back before we pulled out of the driveway.
“I’m fine, Trav. Really fine.”
He swallowed hard and covered my hand with his. “This kind of fine is all right by me.”
The comfortable silence of friendship on the verge of something more followed. Yet whenever his thumb stroked the sensitive skin of my palm, the nagging reluctance to date him returned. Confusion swept over me, and I pushed against my temple. All I knew was that moments like this made my head hurt and I’d forget little things, like my brain was allergic to the very thing my body wanted the most.
But I couldn’t blame him for the full-on blackouts. Those were new since Granny’s phone call at the basketball game. More terrifying was that I hadn’t gone a single day without losing time since that first one. I wrestled with telling Travis about them, as it wouldn’t be fair to pursue a relationship with him when I was so messed up myself. Yet no matter how many times I tried to say something, I couldn’t force myself to admit how broken I was.
Guilt joined me as I left Travis with his friends and slipped inside the college library to find Collin, a junior psych major at Prairie Flats University and my notoriously pompous partner.
Christmas break at PFU didn’t keep us from fulfilling our educational obligations. Neither did Granny’s death. Our stupid psych project on utopian communities would still be due the first day back, and we had gotten nothing done so far. I pulled out my notebook and prepared to do battle. Collin’s know-it-all attitude grated on a normal day. Today, it would kill me. I’d give anything to be like Indie for the next few hours. She’d flirt her way past Collin’s obnoxious behavior and flatter him into submission. Me, not so much.
By the time he arrived, I had a half page of notes completed. My sense of accomplishment deflated the second he flipped open his laptop. I should have known my contribution would be worthless.
“How was your week?” Collin’s voice was used-car-salesman slick and matched his blond pompadour. He’d asked, but he didn’t give a flying monkey’s rear end.
I sighed, not wanting to get into it with him. “Fine.”
“Great. Then let’s get started.” He turned his screen so I could see his handiwork.
“That’s a graph.”
Collin grinned. “It’s great, huh?”
“There’s nothing utopian about a graph.”
“This isn’t the community, babe. It’s just the chart to determine which traits are the most important.” He slipped his arm around the back of my chair, pulling me toward him. He smelled faintly of pine needles—or was it gin?—and reminded me of the tree Mom and I never finished decorating.
My stomach rebelled, and I leaned away from him. “Looks like you’ve already decided which traits are perfect.”
“I did.” His arm dropped over my shoulders, and he ran his finger down my arm, twirled a little circle on my bicep and traced the path back to the nape of my neck.
I jerked away from his touch, looked around for Travis to save me, and realized I’d have to save myself. I pushed Indie’s flirtatious words out of my head and riffled through Granny’s advice, discarding each quaint suggestion. Finally, I reached for an image of Brutus. He used a muscle-bound super hero as his online avatar. I spoke with his strength and authority. “This is a group project, Collin. A partnership.”
“And your point?”
“It’s not a partnership if you don’t let me help.”
“Oh come on, Gemini. I have two more years in this field than you, and I’m your peer mentor.”
“Your point?”
“I know more than you.”
Brutus’s mantra flitted through my mind. If it’s in your way, remove it.
Preferring to remove myself, I gathered my papers. “Fine. Then you can offer your project with your name on it. I’ll turn in my own.”
“That’s not how it works. As your mentor and partner, your grade on this project is my grade. Whatever you do this year affects me.”
“And everything you do affects me. Adversely, at the moment.”
“You’re hurt.”
“Duh, Mr. Psychology. And you’re an ass.”
Collin raked a perfectly manicured hand through his hair and shot me a playboy grin. “I’m sorry. We’ll work on this together.”
My insides convulsed. “I don’t think so.”
“Well then, have fun telling Professor Balt you’re the quitter.”
I froze at my dad’s favorite word for me.
Just like your daddy. The old biddy from Granny’s funeral.
Feeling backed into a corner, I slammed my books on the table and sat down. “I’m not quitting.”
The librarian walked by and shushed me.
Collin treated me to another of his slimy grins. “Of course not, babe. You’re better than that. Now what do you have?”
Knowing my input was worthless, I gritted my teeth. “You first.”
He started his dry PowerPoint. When he finished, he leaned back, beaming. “So, did I get it all?”
“Yep. It looks like you covered everything. Except I happen to disagree.”
“How so?”
“For starters, I don’t think the way to manage a utopian society is to control everyone’s entire life. Rigorous laws don’t create happiness. Running naked through the street at midnight does.” Collin’s hand snaked up my thigh. I turned on him, pausing until he met my eyes. “Which people should be free to do and not end up sexually harassed. So get your hand off my leg. Now.”
He grabbed his notebook and began writing. When he sat back up, a physical distance separated us. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but you think sexual freedom makes a utopian world?”
My cheeks burned. “I did
n’t say that specifically. I just meant that freedom equals happiness. Stringent laws for the sole purpose of controlling people breed discontent.”
“But don’t people need to be controlled?”
“Sometimes, yes. But not in everything. I mean, for crying out loud, Collin, you have people on block A shopping on Tuesdays. Block B gets to do their laundry then. What if I don’t feel like scrubbing my jeans on Tuesday? What if I run out of milk and want a bowl of Fruity Tulips instead?”
“What the hell is a Fruity Tulip?”
“Cereal. The kind I want to eat in my utopian world. It’s the perfect combination of sweetness and…”
“Then eat them. Because in my world, you won’t run out of milk. You would have bought another gallon on Sunday.”
“No, I wouldn’t have. I would have been wearing my pajamas at noon and reading the second book of a trilogy on my granny’s front porch.” Heads turned as my voice escalated into the near silence of the library. The corners of my vision darkened with the familiar fog.
“So that’s your perfect world? Everybody gets to be lazy?”
Walk away.
I wanted to, but the price seemed too high. I’d made a stand, and I had to stick to it. Besides, it was a topic I was passionate about. I truly believed that if my parents could keep it together long enough to hold down a job, they would be happier. “I expect to work. In a lot of ways, that is utopian. People need to feel needed.”
Collin leaned backward, balancing on the back legs of his chair. “Continue.”
“No alcohol. No gambling. No…”
“Back up. Now you’re taking away freedoms that are currently legal.” He let out a low whistle. “Talk about controlling.”
“No different than you telling me when I can’t shop.”
“First off, there’s nothing better than slugging down a cold beer while watching the Super Bowl. And secondly, it’s called controlling the chaos. Don’t you hate it when you get to the grocery store and everybody else in town is there?”
“A little wait in line isn’t going to kill anyone. Drunk driving can.”
I grabbed the seat of his chair and pulled it down so I could see him through the creeping darkness. “And for the record, there is something wrong with ‘slugging down a beer.’ Because if you slug down one, a second always follows.”
Whispering Minds Page 5