I chose the former. Resolute in my commitment to Catee, I wasn’t leaving without answers or making sure she was okay.
“Shhhh!!”
“Catee!” I whispered up. “Catee, are you all right? What happened? What’s going on?”
“I’m grounded,” she answered.
“From school? From the phone? What’s going on, Catee???”
“From everything. From life!” she kept to a loud whisper.
“Why? What happened?”
“He found the key … the broken one!”
“Oh, shit.”
We’d totally forgotten about it. It’s amazing that in spite of our best planning, we’d somehow missed something so obvious. Blinded by our office discovery, we completely forgot about the sliver of plastic we’d lost and left in the lock. I can only imagine her dad’s reaction when he went to put his key inside, and found it jammed-up with melted-down poker chips. Based on all I’d witnessed until then, I could barely fathom the rage he had to have flown into.
“Are you okay, Catee? Did he hurt you?!” I asked it like I had the stature to protect her from him.
“Not really, no.”
“What do you mean?” I took a step back to get better look at her. I squinted and shielded my eyes to see her more clearly and to look for any signs that she’d been harmed.
“Get against the house!!” she hissed, protecting me like I was trying to do for her.
“Where is he?” I asked.
“I don’t know. Somewhere.”
“Well, can you leave? Can you get out??”
“Not if I plan on coming back.”
“So, what? He’s going to keep you trapped in your room forever now?”
“Probably not.”
“What’s that mean? When’s he going to let you out? Does he have your phone, too?” I had too many questions and not enough answers.
“I don’t know how long he’s planning to keep me here. Yeah, he took my phone, too.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. He kept asking me what I was doing in his office—like he was worried; like he was hiding something; like he was scared by whatever I might’ve found. I told him I wasn’t looking for anything—that I just wanted to see inside. He didn’t believe it. He said I couldn’t be trusted and that I was hiding something.”
“That’s funny, coming from him,” I scoffed.
“Right? He told me I was grounded until I could be honest with him about what I was doing in there—until I told him what I was looking for and what I’d found inside.”
“Does he know I was there, too?”
“I don’t think so. He never asked. He doesn’t even know we’re hanging out anymore.”
“So what do we do now that—”
“WHO ARE YOU TALKING TO IN THERE!? OPEN THIS DOOR, RIGHT NOW!!” Mr. Laverdier’s voice banged around her bedroom walls and assaulted me through the window’s opening.
“You’ve got to go! Now!!!”
“But Catee—”
“Just go!!” she pushed the glass closed and disappeared from sight.
And without further argument or hesitation, I followed her directions. Thoughtlessly, I dove into the winter-thin hedges that ran along her house, squeezed through their scratchy branches, and popped into her neighbors’ backyard—to their surprise and mine.
“Hey,” I said, readjusting my clothes. “Sorry, I was just … ”
The two looked at me with confusion but said nothing in the brief seconds it took to collect myself and disappear around the front of their house, to take the long way back to school, and to avoid the front of Catee’s place. I worried about my involvement in everything, and I was guilt-ridden for whatever I’d gotten her into. I was scared by what might come next, and I was terrified by what her dad would do if he found me there.
I still didn’t have anything concrete to be afraid of, but there was obviously something going on—I’d come to that conclusion long before then. But, after he quarantined whatever she might know, I knew without question that something was wrong. He was hiding something—something that scared him as much as it did us.
By the time I got back to school, it was already afternoon block. And as I discreetly reentered the building, Ms. Lagasse was there to snatch me up. The pleasant teaching cadet, who so warmly welcomed me on day one, wasn’t so inviting as she dragged me to the office that afternoon.
“Damian, I don’t know what’s gotten into you: sneaking out of school like that.” I wondered how she even remembered my name. “Do you know we’re responsible for you the entire time you’re here, even if you cut class and something happens to you out there?” I really didn’t need her lecture. What she worried about paled in comparison to the worrisome realities I was facing: about Catee, about her dad, and about whatever was happening to her at that moment. The last thing I needed was to hear Ms. Lagasse’s rant, when all I could think about was protecting the girl who meant everything to me.
My mom was less than enthusiastic about coming to pick me up that day. She was even less enthusiastic when she got there and learned why. I made up some lie for her as we sat in parallel chairs, opposite Mr. Smithson and his desk. It really didn’t matter what I told either of them. All I’d be doing is throwing out crazy accusations with no foundation aside from teenage, gut instinct—which never seems to hold as much weight as an adult’s—and there was little that he or Mom would do with that alone. And by the time there was any hard evidence to support my suspicion of Mr. Laverdier’s instability, there wouldn’t be enough time left for anyone to do anything about it.
Mr. Smithson and my mom bought the lines I fed them about needing to get out of the building—that I’d only gone outside to clear my head on the basketball courts, alone—and I gave them vague details about the girl problems I was having.
“I remember those days all too well,” Mr. Smithson empathized.
“We can talk about this more when we get home.” Mom said, with a reach and supportive squeeze of my knee.
The “relationship-problem” line always works well with adults. It strikes some chord at the heart of humanity that resonates with even the coldest and oldest person. Adults become immediately sensitive about such matters and seldom delve for the gritty details when you tell them it has to do with a relationship. It’s like a teenage “Get Out of Jail Free” card.
Unfortunately for me, it wasn’t a card I could play and put back in the deck so easily. I knew by the time we were in the car, or at the very latest, sitting down at the dinner table, Mom would be probing for more details—out of concern for me and affection for Catee. What she didn’t understand was that while I hadn’t spit a complete lie in Mr. Smithson’s office, I also hadn’t been honest with either of them. I didn’t mention that it had absolutely nothing to do with the dynamic between her and me, and I didn’t mention that it had everything to do with her crazy dad. Plus, what proof did I have of anything going on? Was there any? I didn’t even know that much. And I certainly didn’t know then, that in just three, short months, everything would change the way it did; that life as we knew it would be turned upside down in unimaginable and unprecedented ways.
Mr. Smithson dismissed us from his office that afternoon with a verbal reprimand and a supportive pat on the back for me. He asked my mom to take me home for the afternoon, and he suggested I use the time to work things out, and to return the next day with a clear head and ready for a fresh start.
But that’s one of those expressions people use, just because other people use it—it’s not even possible.
When something’s begun, it can never be fully taken back.
Fresh starts are made for Hollywood.
This was Madison.
The place where Mr. Laverdier unleashed his plague on the world.
“So, why so glum, chum?” My dad chided, as I poked my mashed potatoes with only playful interest.
“What do you mean, Dad?”
“Well, you’ve barely touched a
bite, and when your sister’s not here, we rely on you for our entertainment. Your mom and I know each other all too well already,” he laughed
“Darryl, you be careful,” Mom interjected from her end of the table.
“Relax Martha. I’m not going there.” He looked up from his half-eaten plate and shot her a wink.
“Guys, I don’t know where there is, but I really don’t think I want to go there. Can you finish this … this … whatever it is,” I pointed my fork back and forth between them, “later on, when you’re alone or something?”
“Well, well. Aren’t we feeling feisty tonight, favorite son of mine.”
“I’m your only son, Mom.”
“Well, if I had others, you’d still be my favorite,” she affirmed.
“And if you had others, you’d be saying the same things to them that you’re saying to me. It’s cool though, go on.” I spoke short and dismissively, in a way that was unfounded and that didn’t go unrecognized.
“Damian,” Dad addressed me sternly, “what’s going on here?” In a rare incident, unseen before, he set down his fork mid-meal and turned his attention to me. “This attitude isn’t like you, and I don’t think I like it very much on you. It’s not the young man I raised. If something’s bothering you, say it. You know there are no judgments handed down at this table. Whatever’s weighing on your mind, you need to get it off your chest.”
I looked to him.
I looked to my mom, who’d also laid her utensil to rest.
And then I unleashed a torrent of things that I knew and suspected about Catee’s dad. I told them about the way I’d seen him treat her, and how he was the guy who ran over that dog, and that my dad had already met him at the garage. I described how he kicked me out of their house the first time he found me there (my parents rationalized and argued in support of him on that one, and I would have agreed, had it not been for the tone, the look, and the manner in which he delivered his eviction). I told them about how he’d been spending day and night at the hospital, working way past hours on who knew what, and I tried to summarize as best I could, all those papers we read in his office. About how he’d found some sort of white blood cell enhancer—something that could’ve helped cancer patients—but that it was taken from him, twisted, and torn apart. And I told them about Catee being caught after we broke into his office, and that it was the real reason I’d left school that day—to check on her and to make sure she was okay.
My parents did little more than nod and provide one-word interjections during the length of my rant, but by the time it was through, they’d learned an entirely new dimension of the past six months, the beginning of my freshman year, and the start of the end.
Dad picked up his fork and shuffled peas on his plate while he spoke. “So, her dad drives a Mercedes, huh? I don’t know when you turned into such a gold digger, Damian, but that’s fine by me. You just remember us if he cashes out early and leaves you two with everything. Promise me that.”
“Did he even hear a word I said?” I asked, and turned to my mom instead.
“I heard every word you said. Don’t go acting like I’ve suddenly gone deaf or crazy, Damian. I heard it all. I just don’t know what you’re trying to get at here.”
“Mom,” I begged for support, “you understand what I’m saying, right?”
“I hate to say it, but I’m a little lost too, honey. What are you talking about? What do you think’s going on? Why are you breaking into this man’s office when you aren’t even supposed to be in his house?” She asked it rhetorically, because she didn’t allow time for a response. “If I’d known about all this, I would’ve had you coming home on the bus, everyday. Now I feel like I’m some sort of accomplice; I certainly hope he doesn’t think I knew about any of this.”
“You guys are missing the point!” The moment of release—when I finally revealed everything that’d been eating at me for so long—had turned into an all-adult vs. Damian and Catee offensive. They’d somehow teamed up without even knowing each other. It was like some unwritten parent-pact, designed to keep us in our place, even if we were onto something. “It’s not about you being crazy, Dad, it’s about him being crazy. And it’s not about you not doing your job either, Mom. You guys still don’t get it!”
My outreach had turned around to bite me in the butt. I’d crossed a line and misjudged their support of my decision-making—good or bad—and their tolerance was being tested. Their allegiance to me, their son, or to adulthood, their silent partner, was being weighed, and I was losing. Miserably.
“Well, Damian, it seems to me like we need to get some answers and get you some closure, and there’s only one way that’s going to happen.” The break in Mom’s words couldn’t have seemed longer. “So I’m going to invite Mr. Laverdier over for family dinner—Catee, too—and we’re going to see if we can’t get to the bottom of all this. Plus, we’ve got to set things right with him, especially if everything you say is true and the two of you have been violating his privacy, breaking and entering, and doing everything else you just admitted to.”
“Mom! You can’t do that!! Dad!” I turned back to him. “Talk to her! Say something! He can’t come here! We can’t let him in this house!!”
“Damian, I’m with your mom on this one.” Dad rose to clear his half-eaten plate and moved with it toward the kitchen. “You guys had no right breaking into that man’s office and—”
“But didn’t you hear anything I just said!? Did you even listen to what I said about the dog? Or the way he threw her in the car? Those papers? How about the way he’s keeping her locked in her room!?”
“We heard, Damian. We heard you tell us about a man who lost his wife. About a man who is suffering and who’s just trying to piece his life back together and to salvage what he can of it. I’m sure he’s just protecting Catee the best way he knows how.” Mom rose to join my father in the doorway. “And if anything ever happened to your father, I think I’d be acting a little crazy, too. We need to do something all right, but you’ve got your priorities all wrong, Damian. What this man needs is people around him right now. Caring people. Sympathetic people. Just imagine how he must be feeling right now: a stranger in a new place—his wife gone, and a daughter who won’t follow rules while he’s working his hardest to keep everything afloat. It’s just terrible to think of. And so he is going to be coming over here. And we are going to treat him like a respected guest. You will apologize for sneaking around when he clearly asked you not to. And we will support him in any way this family can. That’s how good people act, Damian, and I’m shocked and disappointed that you haven’t been able to do that much on your own.”
I couldn’t believe it. I was totally dumbfounded. My eyes moved pleadingly to my dad, hoping he’d had some change of heart in the moments that’d passed.
“Don’t go looking at me like that,” he said. “I’m with your mother on this one. I don’t know the guy and, good or bad, you’re the one who made the wrong choices here. Like it or not, you’re going to have to set things right again.”
“But what about the office stuff? You aren’t going to tell him about that, are you?” I knew I wasn’t going to get them to back down on their dinner invitation, and I immediately started processing the conversations that might take place around our table. “Catee said he doesn’t even know I was there … that he doesn’t know I’ve been back since he kicked me out. We don’t need to tell him that. You guys aren’t going to say anything about that, are you?”
“Your father and I will discuss that later, Damian. But as of right now, you’re officially grounded, too.” My dad looked at her with surprise, mystified by what that would look like. They’d never grounded me or Nicole before; it was a family first. “Make sure you leave your phone on the table when you get up from dinner.”
“My phone? Dad! Say something!”
“And from now on, and until you hear otherwise, you’re riding the bus home until your mother or I says different.”
&n
bsp; I couldn’t believe what I was hearing from them, and there was nothing I could do about it. That’s the problem with being fourteen. You’ve got no good options when your parents turn on you. You’ve got to cling to your life raft, weather the storm, and wait for it to blow over. The problem was, this wasn’t a storm. It was more like an earthquake. I’d felt its rumblings, and I’d sounded the alarms, but no one was listening. And by the time they felt it for themselves, the world would be crumbling around them and it’d be too late to do anything about it.
February 12th:
My mom called Mr. Laverdier later that night, and she apologized for my behaviors and for the loss of his wife. She said he couldn’t have been friendlier and that he graciously accepted her dinner invitation for the following night.
My stomach spun full circle with her disclosure.
“Mom! You guys can’t say anything about his office! Please! Please don’t tell him I’ve been back in his house. He doesn’t know, and he doesn’t need to know! Please, Mom! Please don’t say anything about it!” The unbridled panic in my words alarmed her.
“Damian? What’s wrong?? Why are you so scared of telling him the truth? Why are you so afraid of this man?”
“I just am, Mom. Please, PLEASE, PLEASE! Don’t say anything!”
She looked at me with contemplative concern and searched for the unspoken things I might be keeping from her. Thankfully, she opted to trust the fear that plastered my face.
“Okay, Damian. We won’t. I promise we won’t say a thing about any of that. I’ll speak to your father, but you will apologize to that man when he gets here.”
As acrid as it would taste coming from my mouth, I had no choice. Given the options, it was one I’d settle on as the best of the bad.
The doorbell rang the next night: Sunday at 6:00 PM sharp. I jumped in my skin as I finished setting the table, knowing who stood on its other side. I hadn’t been able to speak to Catee since Friday, so we still hadn’t had a chance to set our stories straight. We couldn’t stumble and admit to things the other hadn’t, and we couldn’t go implicating each other in things we weren’t suspected of.
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