The Road Home

by Erin Zak

  * * *

  Lila climbs out of the shower, her hair wrapped in a towel on top of her head. She swipes a hand across the mirror. The condensation drips down the glass, so she does one more pass, this time with a hand towel. Her mind is racing, and the closer the party gets, the more she wishes she could find a way out of attending it.

  She loves Carol’s husband David. He is a good man, even if there are things about their marriage she doesn’t understand. She feels as if she’s seen all the details of a relationship she had no right to witness. It scares her sometimes, the intimacy the three of them have considering there is no blood relation. But on the other side of the argument is the glaring fact that without the Carters, Lila would have gone stark raving mad at the young age of sixteen.

  It makes her heart hurt to think about the hot mess she was when she arrived at Vale Park High School. Junior year, primetime to figure out who the fuck she was, and instead of self-awareness, she was equipped with an attitude and a chip on her shoulder. Hard to control, hated school, and hated her parents for moving her from military base to military base even more. Lila was as close to a breakdown as a teenager could be. She was slipping and could barely hold herself together anymore. Her father, a decorated Army sergeant, her mother, a diligent and submissive military wife, were not horrible parents. But they were strict and inflexible, and Lila knew from an early age she was never going to be what they wanted. She wasn’t a straight A student. She wasn’t a teacher’s pet. She was a class clown with a tendency to mouth off. And she knew by the time she was eight that girls were far more fun, far more alluring, and far more exciting to chase than boys.

  The only thing that got her through the years of not being good enough was playing volleyball. Moving to a new school every other year was hard because she had to prove herself all over again. Her father had promised her they were done moving, but the damage was already done. And when he came to her the summer before senior year and once again said they were being shipped off, this time to Germany, she knew she needed to pull a classic Machowicz and do something drastic to change the course of her life.

  After a month of moping and trying to figure out what she could do to get out of going, her mother said, “Maybe Lila can stay with my old friend Carol?” Her father was against it at first. But once Lila got wind of it, she made sure he realized how much it would mean to her. Carol and David seemed to accept her without a second thought, too, which made the transition almost the easiest of any move.

  High school graduation came and went, college graduation, too, and Lila was a permanent fixture in the Carters’ lives.

  She kept in contact with her parents, who were still in Germany, and even visited a couple times a year. They flourished, and it was easy to see why they never wanted to leave. She knew that in the long run, staying with the Carters was the best thing for her. Whatever happened between Carol and their daughter, Gwendolyn, was the only piece of information she never asked about. She wondered, though. Wondered why, oh why, did Gwendolyn never come around? Why did the very mention of her name ruin Carol’s mood? Why was David the only one who visited? She tried to ask around, but no one knew the reason.

  Bella Arleen, Gwendolyn’s best friend from high school, was the only person who spoke freely about Gwendolyn, who made her sound like a halfway normal person instead of the raging brat Lila suspected she was. And Gwendolyn was an actress, chasing her dreams in Los Angeles. Lila found it hard to believe Carol wasn’t proud of her daughter’s accomplishments, especially since she was getting more famous as the years passed.

  The entire scenario was strange.

  But what was even stranger was that Lila didn’t know if Gwendolyn knew about her. And if she did, did she wonder what Lila looked like? Or did she do her own social media stalking and discover for herself? Did Gwendolyn wonder what she thought about when she was lying in their shared bedroom?

  Lila shakes the thoughts from her head and starts getting ready. She dries her hair, curls it, and applies a generous amount of makeup. She wants to look good, after all. Gwendolyn is supposed to be there, making a cameo appearance in Lila’s life, and the last thing she wants is to not look the part.

  What part, she isn’t sure, but she knows she needs to play whatever role Gwendolyn has cast her in. She has no idea what the script says, though.

  “You need to settle down,” she says to her reflection. She’s still half-naked, only wearing a bra and panties, and for the four millionth time, she wonders what Gwendolyn is thinking about tonight. Is she nervous? Is she scared? She hasn’t been home in…Jesus, has it really been seventeen years? Can that be right?

  “She’s not worth any of this, Lila. She’s going to hate you. The same way you can’t stand her.” What kind of a person up and leaves their parents, anyway?

  The irony of her question doesn’t escape her. She knows she’s the pot calling the kettle black, but the point is…

  She pauses brushing her teeth. “Oh, fuck, you don’t have a point, do you?” Her words are mumbled around toothpaste and spit, and she rolls her eyes.

  The party is causing a lot of anxiety. Anxiety she is trying to hide as she dresses in the outfit she took two hours to pick out. She stands in front of her full-length mirror. Turns. Admires the reflection of her backside over her shoulder. Turns to the side. Likes the way she looks since she’s lost a couple pounds from running with the team every day. Turns to the front. Leans forward. Checks her makeup one last time, smiles, my teeth need to be whitened, licks her lips, smacks them together, runs her fingers through her curls to loosen them, and finally decides it’s now or never.

  She knows no amount of prepping is going to help. She’ll look like she arrived on the Hot Mess Express, but she has hope that by the time she gets there, people will be so inebriated, they won’t fucking notice or care.

  Preferably people named Gwendolyn.

  Chapter Three

  “Is that Gwendolyn Carter? The Gwendolyn Carter?”

  Gwendolyn turns to her dad and starts to laugh as she places the piece of cheese she’s eating on her plate on the countertop. She runs toward him, giddy and laughing. “Dad!”

  “Baby doll, it’s been way too long.” David Carter does as he’s done a thousand times and picks her right off the floor. She has her arms around his neck, and she’s squeezing him as hard as she can. He starts to laugh. “Gwen, you’re ch…choking me.”

  “Oh, shit, Dad, I’m sorry!” She releases him, and he sets her down. “I can’t believe you’re sixty years old.”

  “Don’t remind me.” He glances over at Samantha, a grin plastered on his lips. He’s such a handsome man, and Gwendolyn knows Samantha has a soft spot for him, which sort of creeps Gwendolyn out. She appreciates that her father is very nice looking, y’know, for a dad. But still. He’s her dad. He’s not supposed to be the object of anyone’s affections, especially her friends’. “Sammy, how are you?” He doesn’t hug her, which makes Gwendolyn happy, but Samantha doesn’t receive the message because she’s on her way into his arms before either of them can count to one.

  “I’m great, Mr. Carter. How are you? Happy Birthday.” Samantha kicks her leg out as she hugs him. Gwendolyn rolls her eyes.

  “Thank you, Sammy. Thank you.” He turns to Gwendolyn again. “What time did you get in? I was still at the university. Finishing up classes for the weekend.”

  “About an hour ago. We had lunch at Pequod’s first, then we drove over.”

  “Oh, yes, can’t visit the Chicagoland region without the deep-dish pizza fix.”

  “You know it.”

  Her dad looks her up and down. “You look thin. Are you okay?”

  “I ate almost an entire pizza by myself.”

  “It’s true.” Samantha laughs. “It was frightening.”

  “And I helped myself to snacks.” She spreads her arm across the center island and motions to the cheese, crackers, and assorted meats. “I figured you wouldn’t mind. Mom might, but you wouldn’t.�
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  He smiles, puts his hand on Gwendolyn’s shoulder, and squeezes. “It is so good to have you home.”

  She hides her cringe at his tone when he says home. The word causes her skin to tighten and her hands to tingle. She’s trying to relax and ease back into the surroundings she grew up in, but her insides are tense as hell. Her absence from the house, from the town, is bound to come up, and the last thing she wants to do is talk about how long it’s been since she’s graced them with her presence. “I know, I know. But you were in LA with me six months ago. You at least had your fix.” She moves back to her plate. She piles a piece of dill Havarti and a slice of pepperoni on top of a rice cracker, then shoves it in her mouth. “See? I’m eating.” Her mouth is full, and her dad can do nothing but shake his head.

  “I know I raised you with manners. You must have lost them in the past seventeen years.”

  There is it. The first of many times the length of time is mentioned. “Yeah, probably.” She glances at Samantha, who has her head buried in a tourism book. She must have known it was going to get tense.

  “And how have things been? Did you hear about the role you were so excited about?” He sounds genuinely interested.

  His interest isn’t shocking because he is always supportive. Almost to a fault. The idea of discussing things with him doesn’t normally cause Gwendolyn any sort of anxiety. But today, her stomach drops. If she had good news, she would be thrilled. But after not getting the part, after feeling like a complete and total failure again, and after none of her dreams panning out the way she hoped, she fears this conversation without question. She wants to hide or run away to a place where she can never have this conversation with anyone. Not with her dad. And certainly not with her mother, who thankfully isn’t home yet.

  But of course, like summoning a demon by thinking, the back door swings open with a clang. Instead of anger or irritation, though, a very giddy voice echoes through the house. “We won! We won!” A giggle follows it, and the sound shoots up Gwendolyn’s spine, into her neck and the base of her skull until it has settled in her jaw between her teeth where it’s held as if it was a piece of rawhide.

  A hand rests on her back, and she hears a gentle, “Stop clenching your jaw. You’re going to crack a tooth.” She does as Samantha instructs but not before she pulls a very, very deep breath through her nose. She holds it for a beat, two beats, three, before she pushes it out, slowly, through parted lips.

  The first sight of Carol Carter takes Gwendolyn’s balance away. She grips the edge of the countertop and waits. Waits for her mother to say something awful. Or something horrible. Or something insane. Or something heartless.

  But…but…she doesn’t.

  She smiles a smile Gwendolyn hasn’t seen since before she left northwest Indiana for college, for a new life, a fresh start. “Gwendolyn, my love, you look breathtaking,” her mother says as she holds her hands out and motions for a hug.

  Gwendolyn stares blankly. Her eyes move from her dad to her mother. She can tell he wants to encourage the hug but has reconsidered it, and rightly so. Gwendolyn blinks a few times rapidly before she smiles and waves off the offer. “I think maybe we might work up to hugs.”

  Her mother falters, a hurt expression on display, but she doesn’t stay motionless for long. There’s the hint of an understanding smile on her lips when she takes a couple steps toward Gwendolyn and places both hands on her arms. There is a gentle squeeze before she says, “I am so glad you came home for this.”

  “Thanks.” She watches as her mother doesn’t seem to let the awkward moment survive for long as she leaps into action, talking about the tournament win, the volleyball girls, the way the other teams looked, all of it. Her behavior isn’t out of the realm of normality for Carol Carter. She often covers up uncomfortable situations with a volleyball discussion. And oddly enough, it always works.

  * * *

  When Lila arrives at the party, the music is pouring out the open windows and front door of the classic Washington Street home. The home she grew up in. The home Gwendolyn grew up in. The irony is not lost on her at all. None of this is normal. And the idea of finally meeting someone who has organically evolved into a nemesis is causing Lila to second guess everything about the last fifteen years of her life. She would wager a guess that she spent more time in the house than Gwendolyn ever has, but she’s probably wrong. Only because Gwendolyn is older, which for some reason gives Lila a sense of righteousness. Gwendolyn may be the perky blond actress, but she’s a good five years older. So ha!

  After gathering her last shreds of courage and trying to shed her attitude, Lila walks up the steps of the wraparound porch, the steps she has tripped over more times than she’d like to admit. Sober, drunk, she was always a klutz. But the best story was when she was drunk, and she was trying to act sober. She biffed it so hard, she slammed into the door, which was swiftly opened by David, who was on his way out for the night. He caught her, helped her to bed, and promised not to tell Carol, who apparently witnessed the entire thing. Lila didn’t find out until years later when she was bragging about how she was never caught drunk. Carol’s knowing smile was the end of the era.

  Lila glances around the packed house after she’s made it safely inside the foyer. She had no idea there were going to be so many people in attendance. Carol mumbled something about fifty to sixty, but this crowd is closer to a hundred. The music is David’s style, fifties, sixties, and seventies. Anything which sounds like it’s from The Big Chill. Lila stands on her tiptoes and scans the crowded living area. The decorations look fantastic, tasteful with Edison lights strung along the ceiling rafters, and absolutely no streamers, per Carol’s request. She finds Bella across the room, and they lock eyes, and Bella’s hand shoots into the air. She isn’t busy, which is shocking, but Lila takes the moment to sneak through the crowd and grab her before she’s swept away with the party’s execution.

  “Lila,” Bella shouts as she throws her arms around Lila’s neck. “You look so fucking cute. This whole running with the volleyball girls is totes working for you.”

  “Oh, you’re too kind.” Lila places her hands on Bella’s cheeks and looks into her eyes. “You look so great. I love your eye shadow.”

  “It’s yours. No wonder you like it. You left it when we got ready for that dumb band we went to see.” Bella is practically shouting. She plugs her ears and laughs. “I gotta move away from this speaker. Come on.”

  Lila follows her through the kitchen to the bar where Logan is the night’s bartender. His face lights up when he sees her, and she immediately feels guilty. His crush has survived since high school. His smile and personality have almost been enough to sway her. Unfortunately, she can’t quite get past him having a penis. Making him believe her is another story altogether.

  “What would you like?” His eyes are glued to her, and she can practically feel him peeling her mustard colored top off, which is ridiculous. If she didn’t like him so much, it would be creeping her out something fierce.

  “Logan, honey, my eyes are up here.” She bends to make eye contact, and after being called out, he blushes ten shades of red. The color of his necktie matches the actual color of his neck.

  “Sorry,” he mumbles. She hates how cute he is because she should be pissed off, but she can’t be.

  “She’s hard to not admire.” Bella nudges her, drapes an arm over her shoulders, which is awkward since Bella is a good four inches shorter. “Give her the new rosé.” Her eyes follow Logan’s movements, the way he opens the bottle, the way he throws the twist cap away, the easy way he pours the pink wine into a plastic glass. She has always had a crush on him, but it’s escalated since he started bartending for her at parties. Lila wonders if her cop boyfriend knows or if he cares.

  “You know the way to my heart.” Lila raises the glass as they walk through the crowd toward the back porch. Carol and David are surrounded by people, so she figures it’s okay to chill out before needing to rush over and say hello.
And truth be told, her nerves are shot thinking about eventually meeting—

  “Gwendolyn is here,” Bella whispers before she takes a long drink of water. She never drinks alcohol when she’s working and “on.” Lila admires her for that choice and sort of wishes she could also leave it behind. It would make her life a lot easier…a lot fewer one-night stands, and a lot fewer hangovers.

  “Oh.” Lila breathes out. She hates that the very mention of this woman’s name makes her skin feel as if it’s on fire. Why? Why does it happen? And why, oh why, does she even care about Gwendolyn Carter? Is it because she’s semi-famous? Is it because she’s drop-dead gorgeous? Is it because she’s a lesbian? Is it because Carol rarely speaks about her, but when she does, she gets a far-off look in her eyes that is reserved for her real daughter?

  “I think we’re doing brunch together tomorrow. You, me, her, Carol, and Sabine.”

  “Sabine, hmm?”

  “Well, Carol invited her. They’re best friends. And she’s in town for the party.”

  “I can’t stand Sabine.”

  “I know,” Bella says with a laugh. She shakes her head and leans against the porch railing. “She’s so hoity-toity. Like, you live in Chicago. Calm down.”

  “Right? I’m sorry you had to drive here in your Mercedes.”

  “She sure does love Carol, though.”

  Lila sighs. This conversation is boring her to no end. “I am so nervous.”

  Bella is about to drink again, but she stops and pulls her head back, squints, and laughs. “About what?”

  “Gwendolyn.”

  “Oh my God. Stop. She’s fine. She is a very awesome person. You might actually like her, y’know?”

  Lila wants to say so badly that she already hates Gwendolyn, but the harsh reality is she knows, deep down, all of this probably means she has a stupid crush. Not a big one. But one she can’t seem to find a way around. The nagging feeling inside is making her want to lash out. She wants to tell Bella about how Gwendolyn is a spoiled asshole and should have visited more, should have helped out more, should have fucking been there. “I’m sure you’re right.”