by Rachel Hanna
Chapter 4
August 1987
“I bet you can’t do a one-handed cartwheel,” I challenge Tabitha. She’s definitely not the most agile of my friends, so it’s a pretty safe bet that she’s going to face plant if she even attempts it.
“I’m not stupid, Indy. You just want to watch me fall!”
We both giggle and fall onto the grass in my front yard. It’s getting darker by the minute which means my Dad will pull into the driveway from work soon. He has one of those cool work vans that’s filled with a lot of stuff I don’t understand. As a mechanic, he says it’s okay that his van is the messiest place on Earth. I don’t think Mom agrees.
“Indigo, dinner will be ready in about fifteen minutes. Come on in and get cleaned up,” my mother calls from the front porch. She isn’t smiling, and she’s barely looking at me before she turns and walks back inside. Normally, she at least speaks to Tabitha.
“See you tomorrow,” Tabitha says, taking a cue from my mother.
I decide to do another cartwheel before going inside. When I pop back upright, I glance at Dawson’s house. I haven’t seen him in a few days, since our kiss in the tree. In fact, I haven’t seen his mother either.
“Indigo! In the house.” My mother is stern now, the stress apparent on her face.
“When is Dad coming home?” I ask, wondering why I can’t stay outside and wait for him like I always do.
“Your Dad is on the phone.”
“On the phone? Why?” I’m very confused at this point. My Dad doesn’t normally call home. He’s supposed to be home. She doesn’t answer and walks back in the house, so I follow her.
The phone is sitting on the kitchen table, it’s extended length cord pooled on the floor. My mother walks to the other end of the kitchen and appears to be doing something.
“Dad? When are you coming home?” I ask.
There’s a pause and then what sounds like a sniffle. “I’m not, honey.”
“What do you mean you’re not?” My stomach is starting to hurt like the time I got food poisoning from that bad potato salad at the church picnic.
“Indy, your mother has asked me for a divorce.”
Divorce? No. That can’t be right. Other people get divorced. Not my parents. Not my family. My parents never fight. Everything was fine last night. Wasn’t it? I rack my brain trying to remember the last time we were together as a family. I can’t remember anything for some reason.
“No, she hasn’t. You must have misunderstood, Daddy. Right, Mom? He can come home…”
My mother is standing there, not making eye contact with me, biting her lip. Her chin is jutted out like she’s trying to keep her head above water.
“No, Indy. Daddy can’t come home. But you’ll see him every weekend…”
I look at her as if she has two heads and then turn back toward the window facing our backyard. The sun has set, and all I can see in the darkened kitchen is my own reflection in the window, tears starting to pool in my lower eyelids.
“Daddy, please come home. I’m sure ya’ll can work this out…” I don’t even know what that means. Adults are so confusing.
“Honey, I can’t,” he says through a shaky voice. “I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?” Before I can respond, he hangs up and I’m left with a dial tone piercing my ear drum. I slowly hang up the phone knowing that my mother stands behind me, waiting for some kind of reaction. I feel so betrayed right now.
“Why did you do this?” I finally ask softly without meeting her eyes.
“Indy, this is an adult issue. Your Dad and I decided…”
“No! No! You decided. I know he didn’t want this!” I run out of the kitchen and into my bedroom, locking the door behind me before falling face first onto my bed.
Once every tear seems to have fallen from my red, puffy eyes, I turn onto my back and stare at the ceiling of my bedroom. And I decide the only thing that will make me feel better is seeing Dawson.
I hear my mother on the kitchen phone, deep in conversation with her best friend most likely. I creep into my sister’s room because her window is close to the ground, and I slip out into the night air.
It’s getting cooler now, but not by much. Georgia tends to have sweltering summers that seem to last for way too long.
I see lights on in Dawson’s house, although not in his bedroom. After tapping on his window several times without getting a response, I stand there to consider my options.
I can go back home and cry all night alone, or I can chance it by knocking on his door and hoping his mother takes pity on me enough to let him come outside and talk to me.
I summon my courage and ring the bell, which elicits barking from their small, yappy dog. Finally, his mother appears in the doorway, a cigarette in her hand and a scowl on her face.
“Indy.” She says it like that’s a complete sentence.
“Hi, ma’am. Is Dawson able to come out and talk? It’s just that something happened and I really wanted to talk to him…” Now, I’m babbling.
She purses her lips. “Dawson doesn’t live here anymore, Indy.” She starts to close the door, but I push back and she looks surprised.
“Excuse me? What do you mean he doesn’t live here?”
She looks behind her, and I notice Dawson’s little sister - who has special needs - and that grungy man sitting on the sofa. He’s drinking a beer while the little girl colors, and the sight of him makes me cringe for some reason. I don’t like that guy at all. Pulling the door behind her, she steps out onto the porch with me.
“Look, Indy, I appreciate that you like Dawson. I’d hoped that having a new friend might get him to make better choices, but it hasn’t.”
“Where is Dawson?”
“He’s at a home for wayward boys in North Carolina.”
“What?” I don’t really understand what that means, but it doesn’t sound good.
“Dawson isn’t coming back here, Indy. He’ll be living there for at least six months, and I’m moving in with my boyfriend this weekend.”
“Can I write to him at least?” I ask, a begging tone to my voice.
“No. He can’t have any outside contact. He needs a lot of help, Indy. That boy has problems.” With that, she steps back into the house and closes the door, sliding the chain lock as if I’m going to kick the door in with my scrawny legs.
For a moment, I stand there on the porch as it starts to mist rain. I can’t believe Dawson is gone. And my Dad is gone. And I haven’t seen my brother in weeks. I feel more alone right now than I ever have in my life.
I walk into the lobby of the school out of breath and concerned. When the counselor called me and said she needed to talk to me about Harper, my heart dropped. I remember when my mother used to get those calls about Danny.
In fact, one time the principal himself had called my mother because my brother had locked him in his office and wouldn’t let him out. At the time, I thought it was kind of funny. His principal was a bit of a dork. But later I realized how serious it had been and how scared that poor little man must have been when my gigantic, drug addled brother had threatened him.
But my mother had taken it in stride. She marched over to the school, settled my brother down and apologized to the principal. In today’s world, my brother would have been all over the news coverage and arrested. Times were just different then.
“Hi. I’m Indy Sanders. Mrs. Calloway called about my… niece… Harper.”
The woman gives me what could only be described as a sympathetic smile and nods. “Yes, let me tell her that you’re here. Please have a seat.”
She points to a small waiting area. The office is glass enclosed, so I spend a few moments watching children mill about in the hallway. This is a newer school and not the one I attended all those years ago. It’s much more state-of-the-art with computers and bright lights and shiny, peppy teachers with high blond pony tails and cheerleader looks. All of my teachers had looked like they were one step away from being cast in The Wa
lking Dead.
“Ms. Sanders? You can come back now,” the woman says. She leads me down a short hallway into a room with a small conference table. “Mrs. Calloway will be in shortly.”
A few moments later, a rotund woman with short gray hair on her head and black hair on her chin - that I’m trying hard to ignore - walks in and sits down with a grunt. Not even a handshake. This can’t be good.
“Hello, Ms. Sanders. I’m Evelyn Calloway, the counselor here at Peach Valley Elementary School.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“Well, I wish we were meeting under better circumstances.”
“Oh?”
“We’re having some… issues… with Harper.”
“Issues?” This comes as news to me mainly because Ethan and Lisa have both raved about what a great kid she is. Of course, I haven’t seen evidence of this yet.
“Well, yes. Ever since her father died… and you became her guardian… Harper has been out of sorts, it seems.”
“Okay…” I realize in this moment that I am ill equipped to be a parent, at least a parent who has been thrown into the pre-teen angsty years. “How so?”
“Today she pulled the fire alarm and then escaped out the back door of the school and into the woods. Her favorite teacher was the only one who could coax her out.”
“Sounds like you need better locks on your doors,” I say without thinking.
She takes in a long breath through her ample nose and blinks slowly. “Mrs. Sanders, I would hope you’d take this problem seriously. We’re very close to suspending your niece.”
Suspension? I suddenly realize that if they suspend her, I will be homeschooling her due to the lack of private school options in Peach Valley. And that definitely won’t work.
“What else has she done?”
“Two days ago she cut another girl’s ponytail off. And at the end of last week, she hid Mrs. Appleton’s quizzes for an entire day, causing her to be late inputting her grades…”
“Okay. I get it. No need to go on. What would you propose I do, Mrs. Calloway?”
“Well, with all due respect, she’s your child now. And I understand you’re a therapist?” She says it in a high pitched voice as if she wants me to prove this fact by showing her my degree.
“As you can imagine, we’re going through a bit of a transition, Mrs. Calloway.”
“I understand. But we must protect our school, our teachers and most importantly, our students.”
“Of course. I’ll talk to Harper this evening when she gets home, and we’ll work something out. I’m sorry she’s been such an issue.” I stand up and start heading for the door.
“You know, I was thinking you might want to talk to her favorite teacher. He seems to understand her better than anyone.”
At first, I’m surprised it’s a male, but then it makes sense to me because she was raised by her father alone. Maybe she’s just more comfortable around men.
“Okay. Is he here?”
“No. Mr. Woods was out today, but he’ll be back tomorrow. His planning hour is at eleven. Can you come then?”
I nod my head and tell her thank you for her time before I head to my car, wondering the whole time whether this situation will ever be salvageable.
I stand in my new yard and stare at the gigantic fig tree. It really is amazing how large it is, taking up a good third of the whole front yard. Still, I’ve got to do some pruning soon because it’s starting to block the view of the driveway.
“Indy! Hi! Welcome back to the neighborhood,” Lisa says as she power walks by with a big smile.
“Oh, hey, Lisa. Do you have a minute?”
She takes out her earphones and jogs over to me. “Sure. What’s up?”
“Mrs. Calloway called me to the school today… about Harper.” Lisa nods and bites her bottom lip.
“Yeah. She seems to be having some issues lately, and it’s so unlike her.”
“Mrs. Calloway suggested I talk to her favorite teacher. Mr. Woods?”
Lisa grins. “Yes. Mr. Woods,” she says before taking in a deep breath. “He’s new to the school this year and absolutely gorgeous. Thick, dark, wavy hair. Eyelashes for days. Muscular…”
“Earth to Lisa,” I say, waving my hand in front of her face as she stares into space, obviously looking at this Mr. Woods character in her mind.
“Sorry. It’s just that we never see men like him in Peach Valley.”
“Well, I’m not interested in a man right now. I’m focused on getting Harper stable. So you think I should talk to him?”
“Absolutely. From what I’ve heard, he’s been the only one who could talk to her. He coaxed her back out of the woods.”
“She definitely isn’t talking to me,” I say. “After she got off the bus today, she locked herself in her room saying she had homework. That was two hours ago.” I sit down on the steps and Lisa sits next to me.
“This has to be hard for you, Indy.”
I laugh sadly. “Very hard. I have such mixed emotions about this place. This house. Even this tree.”
“The fig tree?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
I pause. No one really knew about my friendship with Dawson, and I kind of want to keep it that way. It’s like my little secret, a part of my history that no one can touch or taint with their own opinions.
“It was just always here. Through it all.”
“Well, I’d better get home. Johnny likes to have dinner on the table at seven, so I’ve got to start cooking.”
“Johnny?”
“Oh, I married Johnny Deeds. Do you remember him?”
I struggle not to laugh. Johnny Deeds was the town gigolo back in the day, or at least that’s what my sister always said.
“I do remember him.”
She smiles. “He settled down, Indy. He teaches Sunday School, and we have two little girls that he’d die for.”
Apparently some things do change in Peach Valley.
When I walk back into the house, Harper is sitting on the living room sofa to my surprise. She’s watching some teenager type show on the television while staring down at her iPod. I’m determined to have a conversation with her.
“Hey. Whatcha watchin’? I say, trying to sound a lot cooler than I am.
She turns and scowls at me. “A TV show.”
“Look, Harper, we need to talk…”
“No. We don’t.” She turns off the TV and starts to stand up. I touch her arm and she pulls back.
“Yes, we do. We can’t go on living in the same house and not speaking. I realize this is a tough transition for you, but I want to make this work. I want the best for you.”
“Oh, like you wanted the best for my Daddy?”
That stings. I wonder how much she knows about what her father did to the family. And would she even understand at her age? Would she care?
“Please, sit back down and let’s talk. Okay?”
She sucks in a shaky, angry breath and sits down, not looking at me. But it’s a start.
“Yes, your father was estranged from his family for a long time. But I’m not going to bad mouth him, especially not now…”
“Now that he’d dead, you mean? But you mistreated him while he was alive!”
“Harper, that’s simply not true. Let me ask you something. Have you ever had a kid at school who wasn’t nice to you?”
She cocks her head at me in confusion. “Yeah.”
“What was their name?”
“Dylan.”
“And what did he do?”
“It was in third grade. He pulled my hair and stole my lunch. And he would sing this song ‘I’d rather be dead than have red on my head’.”
“He sounds like a real jerk.” I kind of want to hunt him down.
“He was. He moved at the end of the year, thank goodness.”
“How did you get through the year with him?”
“I ignored him. I told him to leave me alone.”
�
��And did that work?”
“Sometimes. Not always.”
“So you tried to remove him from your life because he wasn’t nice to you, right?”
“Yesss….” she says, still unsure of what I’m saying.
“Harper, I loved your father. He was my only brother. But he wasn’t very nice when he was a teenager. He had some… problems… that made him angry. We all tried to help him, but he wasn’t getting better. I chose to protect myself. Does that make sense?”
She stares at me, her jaw tight and her lips pursed. “He was a good man! Don’t you talk bad about my Daddy!” She shoots straight up out of her seat and crosses her arms with her back to me.
“Harper, I wish I’d known him as a man. I’m sure he was a wonderful father to you.”
“You never even tried. You just left him. You left us. We had nobody.” I can hear her choking back tears.
“Honey, I didn’t even know where Danny was or that he had a daughter. If I’d known…” I wonder to myself whether I’d have even reached out then. So many years had passed, and I didn’t want drama in my life.
“Every Christmas, we had this little tiny tree in our apartment and a couple of presents. All of my friends at school had big family dinners and grandparents who visited with piles of presents. I had a frozen dinner with my Dad while we watched Disney movies.”
My breath catches. The vision of my brother, big and strong, sitting in a little apartment trying to make Christmas special for his daughter just about breaks my heart into pieces.
“They tried to take me away from him once, but my Daddy fought for me and he won.”
“They? You mean the authorities?”
“Yeah. But my Daddy told me that when you love somebody, you never give up. He said he’d never give up on me either, no matter what I did.”
I look down at my feet, unsure of what to say next. All of my training never prepared me for a moment like this. How do you make a child understand decisions you made as a child yourself?
“Your Daddy was right,” I hear myself saying. “You don’t walk out on people you love, and I’m not going to walk out on you, Harper. We’re going to get through this together.”