Murmur.
"Look, when she's up I'll tell her you called."
Murmur.
"Goodbye."
He was still talking when she hung up.
93
When Sarah woke, it was almost four in the afternoon. The August heat had nestled back into the apartment, making her sticky with sweat. As her eyes opened, she heard Tiff talking in her baby voice.
"Who is-so-great? You are-so-great! Who is-so-great? You are-so-great!"
She sat up, wincing at the kink in her neck. Her head was a block of concrete. She stumbled toward the bathroom, did her business, and peered into the mirror.
She looked like shit. There were massive bags under her eyes, her hair was a rat's nest, and the throw pillow she'd slept on had carved its design into her cheek. She took a couple half-hearted swipes with the brush, trying to get her hair, at least, into a semblance of order, but it didn't accomplish much.
Abdicating all her responsibilities as a mother, she got in the shower.
Like everything else about this place, she hated the shower here. The shower she'd used growing up in her mom's house had had a window with a translucent curtain in it, making her feel like she was bathing in sunshine. This one was dark and cramped. She might have been in a prison cell. It made her feel secretive. Ashamed.
It got her clean, though. When she finally emerged from the bathroom - shrouded in her favorite puffy bathrobe, her hair limp against her neck - she felt guilty but rejuvenated.
"Sorry," she said. Tiff and Becca had moved to the couch, where Tiff was administering a bottle. "I had to take a shower. I couldn't stand it."
Tiff shrugged. "Did it help?"
"Yeah. I think." The memory of her mother's cry, of her own panicked scream, flared like a flashbulb. To get away from it, she asked, "Did Cal call earlier?"
Tiff nodded. "He sounded weird. Something was bugging him. He wanted me to wake you up. I told him you'd call when you got around to it." She nodded toward the kitchen. "There's a burger in there, if you want it." Sarah's stomach growled audibly at this news. Tiff gave her a lop-sided smile. "Guess so."
It was still in the pan, but it had cooled down, so Sarah scooped it out and threw it in the microwave. She grabbed a handful of chips while it warmed up. She was actually salivating.
"Thank you," she called from the kitchen.
"Yeah," Tiff said. "Not a big deal."
Sarah came into the living room. "It is. You didn't have to do this. None of this. Becca's my kid, and I spent the whole day sleeping. You took care of her, you made food, you let me sleep, you... you didn't have to do that." She didn't mean to sound accusatory. She had earned these problems; she deserved to be alone with them.
"Sare..." Tiff was shaking her head. She stood up, her face serious. Then she just said, "Eat your burger."
94
"Do you think I should call her back?" Sarah asked when she'd finished.
"Your mom?"
"Yeah."
Tiff shrugged. "Why?"
"I don't know. Try to smooth things over, or something."
"She's probably in Pastor Dennis's office right now, sacrificing a goat or some shit to try and break the spell on you."
Sarah laughed. "They don't sacrifice goats."
"They did in the Bible."
"Yeah, but..." Sarah waved it off. "You don't think I should call her."
"I don't think there's anything you could say to her that's going to make her be okay with this. Give her some space."
"It'd be great to know if I need to pay my own rent in a week."
"Yeah, I know. But I'd give her a little time. You call her now, you're just going to end up screaming at each other again." She shrugged again. "That's what I think." She rolled her shoulders and neck, wincing. In her arms, Becca gurgled.
"Oh, god. Here, let me take her. God, you've been holding her for like an hour."
"She's heavier than she looks, after the first forty minutes or so," Tiff admitted.
"Sorry. Sorry." Sarah scrambled over and retrieved her daughter. "Hey, you," she whispered. "Sorry I was sleeping all day."
"Hey, if she can sleep all day, I don't see why you can't."
"I'm supposed to be taking care of her." Just another thing I'm screwing up. God, she felt guilty about everything.
"It's supposed to be a two-person job, Sare. Give yourself a break."
The door buzzer sounded. Sarah glanced toward it, weirdly nervous.
Tiff arched a brow. Her eyes said, Your mom?
"Who is it?" Sarah asked into the intercom.
"Hey, you're awake," Cal's voice crackled back. "Let me in, we need to talk."
"I just got out of the shower. Can I call you later?"
"Well... no, obviously I'm here, I want to talk to you in person. Is Tiff still there?"
Sarah felt a flash of annoyance. "Yeah, actually she is, and we were talking."
Cal answered with several seconds of silence. Then, "You were talking in the shower, or...?"
Sarah glowered. "Cal, if you want to come here, you need to call first. All right? This isn't a good time."
He didn't answer. Through the intercom, she heard the front security door clicking closed.
"Damn it. Someone let him in."
"Why don't you go get dressed, I can hold her for a few more minutes."
"You've been holding her all day. God, what is his problem?"
"It's all right. Just go ahead."
Sarah sighed and handed Rebecca back. "Don't let him in until I -"
Three heavy knocks echoed from the door - knocks made with a fist, not knuckles.
Sarah marveled. "Did he run?"
"Sarah!" Cal called through the door. "Come on, just a few minutes."
"Just leave him out there," Tiff said. "You didn't invite him over."
But she was too angry for that. Who the hell did he think he was?
Tiff read her face. "Sarah, it's all right - just -"
"No," she snapped. "No, this is bullshit." She stalked to the door and tore it open.
95
"What the hell are you doing here?" she demanded. "I told you no."
"I need to talk to you. We have to figure something out. Can I come in?"
"No, Cal, you can't come in. Are you listening to me?"
He started past her. She stuck out an arm to block him. He barged through it.
"What the fuck," Tiff said. She pulled Becca closer, shielding her in her arms.
"I'm just not gonna stand in the hall like some... beggar," Cal said. "All right? Just calm down." He glanced back at Sarah, took in her bathrobe and limp hair, then again to Tiff. "Nice. Were you guys in the middle of something?"
"Cal," Sarah said, "get out of my house."
"No," he said. "You're not hanging up on me again. Just listen."
"I am not going to talk to you like this, with you barging in here without my permission. Get out, or I'm calling the cops."
He snorted. "The cops? What the fuck, Sare? That's my daughter."
Sarah grabbed her phone.
"All right, all right! Christ. Look." He paused. There was a fire in his eyes, blazing. "Meet me for dinner tonight. I'll pick you up in an hour."
Sarah gaped at him. "What?"
"Just... why, how much time do you need?"
"Get out of my house!"
"Why are you freaking out? I just want to take you to dinner. We need to talk. I just realized we've been doing this all wrong, okay, we keep fighting and shit and there's no need for that. I want to treat you right."
"You want...?"
"I just want to sit down and talk. All right? We never did that. We need to do that." He gestured at Becca. "That's a fucking baby, Sarah. We need to talk about this."
"Jesus Christ," Tiff breathed.
"Would you shut up?" he asked, amicably enough. "No offense, but this has nothing to do with you." He looked back to Sarah. "Something happened. All right? I just - I'm not gonna talk about it in
front of her." He nodded toward Tiff. "It's hard enough already."
He was frightening her; the air around him crackled with fervency. But there was something behind the heat in his eyes she'd never seen before: fear, or desperation.
He was Rebecca's dad; he wasn't going away.
"Fine," she said, "but not right now. I have had an incredibly bad day, and you can't just barge in here and start making demands. You don't live here. You need to leave, and I'll call you to set something up. All right?"
His eyes flashed - for a second she thought he was going to retort - then he nodded. "Okay. All right. I'll be around." He pulled out his smart phone, fiddled with the settings to make sure the ringer was on. "All right." He brandished the phone at her. "I'll be waiting."
96
Sarah closed the door behind him, and Tiff said: "What. The. Fuck."
"I don't know." Sarah took Becca back, kissed her on the forehead. "I don't know."
"Was he on something? Christ, he looked completely insane."
"I don't think so. Maybe."
"You're not really gonna go meet him, are you?"
"I don't really have a choice. He's not going away. I can't just ignore him."
"Sare, I don't like this."
Sarah shook her head; she knew where Tiff was going. "Look, I'll meet him in public. It's not like we're gonna be in a dark alley or something."
"What do you think he wants? 'Something happened?' What does that mean?"
"I don't know. Maybe his dad cut him off." That would be funny. Both of them cut off by their parents on the same day? What were the odds?
"Let me come with you."
"Tiff, you heard him. If you're there he's just gonna flip out again. He wants to meet alone."
Tiff was shaking her head.
"Besides, I don't want to bring Becca along. Can you keep an eye on her?" She paused. "It's not like I can call my mom."
"Come on, Sarah. Andrea Miller had a black eye for damn near two weeks."
"That wasn't him. Look, it doesn't matter. He's not gonna punch me in the face at a Starbucks. Okay? But I have to..." She took Tiff's hand. "I can't just string him along. We need to get straight."
She had dealt with her mother. She could deal with Cal Werther.
97
She didn't want to lay Becca down for a nap so late in the day, but the girl was whiny and yawning, so she did it anyway. Then she got some clothes on and put her hair in order. When she got done, her phone was ringing.
"I thought you were gonna call me," Cal said.
"It's been like an hour. I was getting ready."
"All right, so you're ready. Where are we meeting?"
Sarah bristled. "Why are you being so pushy? You really freaked us out over here. You're acting like a nut."
"You said you were gonna meet with me."
"I will! But you need to tell me what's going on."
"And I said I will. In person."
Sarah fought the urge to start screaming. Do you know what happened to me earlier today? Do you realize I could be homeless in a couple months? Quit being so goddamned coy! She took a second to collect herself.
"Hello?"
"Yeah, I'm here." God. "How about Starbucks? There's one just up the street here."
"All right, cool."
"Maybe around 11 tomorrow?"
"What? Tomorrow?"
"Yeah."
"Why not right now?"
"Because I have company, because I'm not gonna just jump when you tell me to, and because it's late." And because I want you to take some time to calm down.
"Late? It's not even six o'clock." He sounded incredulous. "And you have company? So fucking what? I drove -" He snapped into sudden silence. "Sorry. Sorry. All right, tomorrow, that's fine. Bring the kid. I want to see it."
His abrupt shift in tone gave her whiplash. "I... don't think that's a good idea."
"You can't just leave it in the house alone, Sarah. It's just a baby."
"Thank you, Dr. Phil. She won't be here by herself."
"How are you...?" He fell silent. "You're gonna have Tiff watch her."
"If she'll be so kind, yeah."
On Riverside, a car honked. "Whatever. See you tomorrow." He hung up, and she stared at the wall for a minute, wondering what the hell she was doing.
Then her mom called.
98
"Hello," Sarah said. She was greeted with silence. "Hello?"
"Hi honey." Her mom sounded tremulous and fake. Sarah braced herself. "I, uh... I'm sorry. For yelling at you earlier."
"Okay," Sarah said, carefully. A part of her melted to hear the words, a part that was desperate for her mother. She reined it in, forced it down, waited for the other shoe to drop.
"I was just really surprised. I thought you were happy with Cal before, and I don't know why you would do this."
A spasm of impotent rage kicked in her chest. She doesn't get it. She wanted to scream; she always wanted to scream. She felt her knuckles tightening on the phone and forced them to relax. "Mom." The word slipped through gritted teeth, a steam valve cracking slowly, trying to keep from exploding. "Okay. Listen to me. I didn't 'do this.' Do you know how much I prayed about it?"
"You prayed about it?" She sounded relieved, hopeful. "Well, honey that's great. That's what you -"
"No. Listen to me. I've been praying about it since I was nine. At first I thought it was a demon -"
"Well, it probably is! Honey, that's what I was trying to tell you! And that's scary, I know it is, but we can beat that!"
Sarah blinked. Her face felt like it was on fire. "No. Stop." You're not listening to me. "It's not. That's what I'm trying to tell you. It's just how I am."
"Honey, you don't know that."
Her control was fraying. "So... what? I was just praying about it wrong? Every night for ten years wasn't enough? I wasn't asking nicely enough?" She didn't want to scream at her mother again. She wanted things to be right.
Why couldn't things be right?
"Sweetheart, we can talk to Pastor Dennis -"
"Fuck Pastor Dennis! Are you listening to me?"
"Watch your tongue with me," Mom snapped.
"You watch yours! You called me!"
A stung silence. "I just don't think you've thought this all the way through."
Sarah fought back an incredulous snort.
"How are you going to raise your daughter, Sarah? Have you thought about that? Is she going to grow up thinking being gay is normal? How could you do that to her?"
"Maybe it is normal," Sarah threw back. She didn't know if she believed that, but she wanted to see how the words tasted.
"How... how could you think that? You know better than that! I raised you better than that!"
"I don't know. I know I didn't choose it. That's what you don't get. I didn't wake up one morning and suddenly go, 'Gee, Tiff is pretty, I think I'll be gay now.' It's just how I am. I was already gay. I was born like this. I think she's pretty because that's how I view the world." She was trying, she really was. Am I getting through to you at all?
"Well, of course you think that. Is that what she told you?"
"Mom - !"
"Sarah, the gay agenda -"
"Oh, for fuck's sake."
"Your mouth is just atrocious since she came back. Listen to yourself."
Silence.
"Okay, fine. Just pretend that's true, Sarah. I don't think it is, but just pretend for a second. People are born with illnesses all the time. I pray to God I didn't do anything that made you have this problem, but maybe I did. I know I drank more coffee when I was pregnant than I should've. I -"
"Mom, it's not an illness! I'm not a cripple!"
"That's what I'm saying - that's a good way to think of it. Like a handicap."
Sarah fell silent, stunned.
"You know, like if you'd been born missing an arm. Or born a dwarf."
She felt a tear on her cheek. God damn it.
"That wouldn't be
your fault. I'd still love you. But you'd still have to make a choice about how to act. And being with some girl, giving in to those urges, that's not... that's not right. I can't condone that."
Her rage drained away. This was it. "So what are you gonna do?"
Her mother didn't say anything.
"Mom? What are you gonna do?" She waited, her heart broken and limping. The next words were like opening that basement door in her nightmare, the dread of discovering a demon on the toilet. "Are you gonna disown me?"
"Why can't you come to church?" her mom pled. "Why won't you talk about it with Pastor Dennis?"
"Because that's not the answer." She was sick of being told she was broken.
"If you're choosing this life, Sare..."
"I didn't choose this life!"
"If you're choosing this, instead of fighting it, I can't... I won't condone it."
Something burst past her defenses, something mewling and weak. It sneaked through her lips before she could stop it, before she could even think about whether she wanted to hear the answer. "Do you still love me?"
The question hung in the air. Finally, her mother said, "I don't know."
She was sick of crying. She had her heart in a vise grip, but the god damned tears were leaking past it.
"Well, fuck you too," she said to the phone. "Fuck you too. I don't love you either, you fucking bitch." She grabbed the phone and stood up, took an aimless step toward the kitchen.
She should've hung up. She meant to. But she couldn't; her hands were paralyzed. Her mom would come around now. She'd realize how much she'd hurt her. She'd -
"I didn't say I don't love you," Mom answered coolly. "I've just never had to deal with this, Sarah. I need to pray, I need to find out what the Scriptures say about -"
"Fuck you!" she shrieked. She held the phone in front of her mouth like a megaphone, and launched her pain at it. "FUCK! YOU!"
99
She hurled the phone at the wall; watched in slow motion as it exploded into three different pieces. In the instant aftermath of its impact she heard Rebecca screaming, woken by Sarah's rage for the second time that day. She whirled on her, watching her tiny limbs flail in the swing.
Rebecca Page 18