Dark Song

by Gail Giles

  Em didn’t wait for her mother to bat an eyelash and continued in almost the same breath. “Your mom seriously needs to loosen up. Have I mentioned that before?”

  “A few too many times,” I said. “She does sometimes. We oil up her joints on occasion and it lasts awhile.”

  To be honest, I needed my joints to be oiled up on occasion, too. That’s why Em and I were such great friends. There was something in me that wanted loose. I didn’t know what it was. Em usually drank and toked without me as her accomplice. One of us had to be straight to find the way home when she was under the influence. Without me, she would’ve shown up buck naked on YouTube a year ago.

  Em hopped to some gossip and we rode on to school. We bailed out of the car, and soon as we were out of earshot, Em started plotting. “By the way, Mom’s been way too interested in your Picnic with the Penguins vacation. She’s been quizzing me like a game-show contestant. Let’s cut first hour and hit a coffee shop. We’ve got more important things to discuss.”

  “Seriously? You think I’m going to cut class? We can talk at lunch.”

  “Arrrgggh. This is, like, major.”

  “Drama Queen.”

  “Geek, Nerd. Dud.”

  “See you at lunch then,” I said. “And penguins are on the other side of the world, Your Dimness.”

  “I could care,” Em retorted, and we parted where the corridors merged.

  I headed toward my first class wondering what Em was stressing about this time.

  I bumped shoulders with Edwin Myer as I entered the door to our calculus class. He’s the nerd of my famous only date. Having inherited no DNA for tact from my mother, I had refused a second date by telling him that I found him boring. Okay, a little harsh, but if I have to pick between Edwin feeling the sting of rejection and me feeling the horror of death by dreariness, I’m not apologizing.

  Now, Edwin wants to prove he’s “dangerous.” He does this by baiting our teacher Mr. Bivens.

  “Hey, Ames. I’ve got a good one today.” He winked at me.

  I guess he thought it was a bad-boy wink. He looked like a nerd with a twitch. We took our seats and in no time Edwin was casting his lure.

  “Mr. Bivens, we’re studying etymology in our English class and I know this is calculus not algebra, but the root word alg translates to pain. Don’t you think that’s interesting?”

  Quiet snickering.

  Mr. Bivens, who clearly thought Edwin was a dolt but was more polite than Edwin, sighed. “Algebra is not taken from the Latin but from Arabic. Its name is derived from the Islamic Persian mathematician, Muhammad ibn Mu¯sa¯ al-Khwa¯rizm¯ı who is considered the father of algebra. The word Al-Jabr means ‘reunion.’ ’’

  Edwin’s blush showed he clearly didn’t appreciate being one-upped in the trivia department. “Maybe. Alg means pain. I just don’t think it’s a coincidence.”

  Edwin got his laughs. Mr. Bivens allowed them with a courtly bow.

  Edwin was trumped with old-world graciousness.

  Lesson missed.

  Dorks like Edwin don’t understand that you don’t impress anyone, you aren’t the big shot, if you go after your opponent by tweaking him or biting him on the toe.

  Get savage and go for the jugular or shut up. Go for it or go down.

  At lunchtime I strode into the cafeteria and headed for the table, where Kim studied a stalk of celery and Layla and Reggie leaned heads close, whispering. Em cut me off and herded me off to an empty table in the corner. “Here, I got your lunch. We don’t need to talk to them.”

  “Why not?”

  “First, Reggie is telling everyone that your slumber party is straight out of fifth grade. Parents, no alcohol, no dope, no porn, no guys. Popcorn and movies, fake mimosas. Layla thinks all the time you spend with your parents is creepy and Kim thinks the fact that your parents never have adults to the house is Witness Protection Program strange.”

  “These are my friends?”

  “Oh, please,” Em said. “We say worse about them. Now, they’re whispering about other stuff, too.”

  “Oh, don’t tell me they’re that stupid. They do think we’re lesbians?” I was being sarcastic, but the fifth grade comments made me want to kick in a few laser-whitened teeth.

  “Sorry, being gay would make you more interesting,” Em joked. Then she leaned in and the always-a-smart-remark mask Em wore was gone. “Nope, there’s something in the air. I told you, the Boulder Beehive is buzzing. My mom has been way too friendly over the holidays, pumping me for info about you and your family. ‘Ames left town so unexpectedly. Then her dad took such a long time off work. Isn’t that really unusual for him? How does Ames seem? Her mom? Did you see her dad? How was he?’ ”

  I put down the Coke I was sipping. “Why —”

  Em put up a finger to stop me from talking. “None of this was all at once and none of it’s direct quotes, but when was the last time my mom was so interested in my friends? I mean she’s all with the good manners to everyone when she sees them, but once they’re out of sight, trust me, out of mind.”

  “Em!” I put both palms on the table top. “Will you get to the point?”

  Em looked around and lowered her voice. “There’s something going on. It’s about your dad and his job. But I don’t know what it is. I know if I ask Mom she won’t tell me. I thought your dad or mom would have told you something if the whisper campaign is already this heavy. The info from Reggie or the Dumbo Duo isn’t to be trusted.”

  “What info? Em, spit it out.”

  “I just said.” Em appeared to be losing patience with me. “Something about your dad and his job. If people are whispering, it’s not a promotion. There’s something wrong.” Her face and tone were filled with concern.

  I sat a minute. Then — the first flicker of mistrust.

  Dad had been tense. And he’d been on the phone in a closed room. A lot. I shut my eyes. Pushed it away. Away. Gone. I took a swig of my drink and breathed easy again. This was nothing Dad couldn’t explain.

  “Nope. If there’s something big going on, there’s one thing I know for sure. Dad doesn’t know about it, or the whisper campaign is wrong. No secrets in our house.”

  By the time school was out I can honestly say I’d brushed off any uneasiness Em had managed to dangle before me at lunch. I danced my way through the back door, hooked my backpack on the brass hook that waited for it like a quiet butler, and stopped short to see Dad sitting at the kitchen table.

  “Hey, big guy,” I said. “What are you doing home?” I kissed his cheek. His breath already smelled of his Happy-to-Be-Home-Jack-Attack. That’s the one glass of Jack Daniel’s Dad has when he gets home and loosens his tie and props up his feet. It’s a ritual.

  He smiled. Wide smile. Happy, happy. “Playing a little hooky. Took off at noon. You won’t tell?” My dad is the giant clock that keeps my world ticking at just the right speed. He’s tall, lean, and athletic. Makes you feel like he could single-handedly take on a mountain lion to protect you.

  “Can I play hooky tomorrow?”

  “Nope, you have a test tomorrow.”

  That’s my family. We’re kind of in each other’s pockets. Know what everybody’s doing all the time. So it felt off to see him home when he hadn’t said anything this morning.

  “Where’s the Commander?” I asked. Mom is always at the computer desk in the kitchen when I come home. She and Chrissy play educational computer games together or Mom plans menus and Chrissy draws and colors. Lately Mom has been teaching Chrissy the wonders of origami.

  “Mom’s upstairs. She has a little headache. I told her I’d grill some fish for dinner. Six, okay?”

  I shrugged. It had been a full thirty minutes since I’d talked to my friends and I had some IMing to do.

  When I buzzed past Mom’s door I saw that she had her eyes covered with a wet washcloth. This wasn’t a bit of a headache. Wet washcloth meant migraine. That meant major stress.

  I swung into my little sister’
s room. I can always count on Chrissy to have the inside story. “What’s up, Munchkin?”

  “Nothing,” Chrissy murmured. She was teaching school to her row of dolls and stuffed bears. “Dad’s home. He and Mom whispered for a long time. Then Mom got a bad headache,” Chrissy said. She’s six, but she’s a great reporter. Just the facts and she tends to get them right.

  “Do you know what they whispered about?” Whisper had a whole new sense of worry for me now.

  “Nope.”

  “Why not?” I asked.

  “Sent me to my room. Told me to close my door.”

  Close the door? Again, worrisome, but… everything was fine. “Later,” I said.

  “Mr. Brown Bear has been bad. I have to make him stay after school. What is that called? The big word they use in your school?”

  “Detention.”

  “Mr. Brown.” Chrissy frowned at one of the stuffed animals. “I detention you.”

  I left her uncorrected. I liked it. It had clout.

  IT’LL ALL BE FINE

  Mom picked at her grilled fish. Her eyes were puffy and red. She said her allergies were kicking up. Dad had made chocolate pudding for dessert. Dinner was quiet and he had three glasses of wine instead of his usual two.

  “The pinot noir is perfect with the fish,” Dad said. “Sure you won’t have a glass?”

  “You’re having enough for both of us.” Mom smiled, but her face was tight.

  Something was… I couldn’t put my finger on it. It was like when a picture was hanging just out of square but I couldn’t decide which way it needed adjusting. We usually discussed happy stuff at dinner. Schedules. Trips. Problems went away by themselves if you didn’t talk about them. Dad made bad vibes vanish with chatter and fun. Mom cold-shouldered it and starved it to death. Dad tried for some chat tonight but this time it was like those dubbed movies when the words and the mouths aren’t moving in sync. It made me fidgety.

  Our big kitchen felt claustrophobic, and the quiet was way too loud. I felt… yeah, unbalanced. Maybe the whisper campaign, the buzz, had merit.

  Dad finished his pudding. Put his spoon across the edge of his plate. “Girls, there’s something we need to discuss as a family. You don’t need to worry about this. Not even a little. It won’t affect your lives at all. But your mother and I want you to know everything.”

  I put my spoon down. Dad was all wrong with the Robo-speak. Short, choppy sentences. Not his easy-breezy tale-telling style. He seemed… rehearsed?

  Something shadowy entered my head. Em rehearsed when she lied to her parents. No one has to rehearse the truth, right?

  “I’ve been let go from my job. It’s all very complicated. They’re downsizing. Several people have been let go.” Dad sighed. He toyed with his pudding spoon.

  I sat in my chair feeling like someone was tugging on the rug underneath. Downsized. That sounded a lot like “fired” wearing a prom dress.

  “We get a severance package, which is quite a bit of money, and benefits, so that’s why your lives won’t be different. Nothing will change except that my job now will be looking for a job. I’ll be at home for a while doing a job search.” He dropped his spoon. Pushed his bowl back and laced his fingers, hands on the antique oak table. “It could take a few months. Upper-level jobs like mine take a while to find. It goes without saying that I’d rather not move.”

  The muscles in Mom’s jaw were hard under her skin. Dad looked up and smiled. The smile he uses for corporate photos, the one with his teeth set together and his mouth just so.

  He looked at me, then at Chrissy, but avoided Mom. “It’s important to me that my girls’ lives aren’t disrupted. Nobody loses their friends or routines. I’ll be looking for things where I can commute from Boulder.” Dad’s smile seemed to gain more confidence. “Everything will be fine.”

  But Dad smelled of guilt. He was too cheerful, too… toothy, then backing away too fast like a pup that doesn’t want you to find the wet spot on the carpet.

  Mom folded her linen napkin, creasing the edges with her thumb in short, hard strokes. “I can’t stay here right now. I still have a…” She shot a venomous glare at Dad. “Headache. I hope you can manage without me.” She left.

  I wanted to hug Dad, tell him that money didn’t mean anything as long as he was here with us. But Mom had somehow put a frost on all of us.

  Before I even had a chance to do anything, Dad stood up and did that lame thing like he was pinching off Chrissy’s nose and said, “Remember, my new job now is finding a job. I’ll be at the computer.”

  And then he left, too.

  This had happened before — never. Nobody left the table without permission from the rest of us. We had rituals. Mom did the dishes and I helped. She asked about my day, and I chatted about the homework I had. I told edited versions of what Em was up to. Sometimes Dad and Chrissy stayed in the kitchen and we all told jokes or made plans for the weekend.

  Now Dad had just dropped a major bomb and both of them left, no discussion, no questions about how Chrissy and I might be feeling about it. It was like someone made a marionette Dad and dangled him into place, eyes painted on and jaw moving but the words coming from some other direction.

  Em always told me that there should be a big neon sign on adults’ heads that says RARELY TRUSTWORTHY.

  I had always believed what Dad said. And Dad was saying it was no big deal.

  End of story.

  I gave Dad some time and space while I did my homework, then went down to his office. He had a glass of Jack Daniel’s on his desk and he changed screens when he heard me come in. Writing cover letters when you’re a grown man must be embarrassing.

  “Ames, shouldn’t you be doing homework? I’m kind of busy here,” Dad said.

  When had he not rolled his chair back and welcomed me in for a visit? What’s the word for that? Rebuffed.

  “Dad, can we drop the act? I know this has to be a lousy day for you. But it’s just a day. You’re my dad. And you’re acting like I’m not going to love you or something because you don’t have a job.”

  Dad rubbed his forehead with his fingertips and wouldn’t meet my eyes.

  “Hey, you’re, like, WonderDad or something. You taught me to ride a bike and swim and ski. You chased all the monsters out of the closet and from under the bed. Anybody who can do that can get another job. It’ll be a piece of cake.” Dad still stared at the jumbled surface of his desk. I drifted over and slid my arm across his shoulders. “I’ve got your back, Dad. I know Mom is freaking out, but she can’t help it.”

  Dad made a throat-clearing sound and reached for his glass.

  “She’ll calm down,” I said.

  Dad took a long swallow, draining his glass. “Maybe not this time,” he said. When he looked up at me, his eyes were wet. He rolled his chair so that my arm fell away from his shoulders.

  NOT SO FINE

  Mom’s eyes had luggage underneath them the next morning, and she peered at us through reddened slits. Had she cried all night?

  “Allergies,” she said. But there was no sniffling or sneezing.

  “Mom, if you’re crying because Dad lost his job, just say so.”

  Mom’s back stiffened. I mean, I could see her seize up like a board. Her eyes flashed at me through the puffed slits. “You’ll not say a word to anyone about this, Ames. I have allergies.”

  Her voice was quiet, but her meaning roared: You know nothing.Stay out of this.

  “Are you kidding me?” I took my last bite of breakfast, Cheerios with chocolate milk, my elementary school holdover that Em declared gross beyond all reasonable thought. “How do you think I’m supposed to keep the fact that my dad’s unemployed a secret from the rest of the world? That’s insane.”

  “Ames, don’t be such a drama queen. All I’m saying is just don’t repeat our family’s business to your school friends.”

  I turned and stomped to the front door so she could hear my anger loud and clear. It wasn’t unusual for Mom
and me to be like two rocks inside a tin can. We’d bounce and bang into each other, ricocheting off walls, me hoping with each chip we took out of each other that our edges would wear smooth and we could find a place to fit together.

  That obviously wasn’t going to happen today.

  * * *

  Dad drove us toward school and stopped at Em’s. She bounced into the car and did a double take when she saw who was behind the wheel. “Hey, Mr. Ford.”

  “Hi, Emily. Mrs. Ford is under the weather today.”

  Under the weather? Dad lied to Em in front of me. That meant I would have to lie to my best friend to support Dad’s lie, or else make him look like a reptile.

  Why doesn’t he want anyone to know he’s been “downsized”? My stomach went on the spin cycle. Suddenly I couldn’t think of a thing to say. We could have been traveling to a funeral. Em gave me her through-the-eyelashes look, which meant I’d be grilled later.

  When we got out at school, Em didn’t even wait for the car to get out of sight. “Did he catch you having sex? Robbing an ATM? Uploading a nudie picture of yourself on Facebook? How long is he gonna be your guard dog?” She was walking backward in front of me.

  Then, a sure sign my life had already changed: I would lie to my best friend for the first time. “Dad just wants to hook out from work today. Says he’s stressed out. He calls it a mental health day.”

  “I’m so not buying what you’re selling.” Em dropped back to walking beside me. “What’s such a big secret?”

  I’d given Dad a pass this time with all the stress, but the irritation clung to me like a bad aftertaste. By the time we reached the T in the school corridor, I was still not telling.

  Em turned her back on me and walked away. “Do not talk to me again until you’re ready to tell the truth.” She flung this over her shoulder.

  Tears stung my eyes. Kim Banks stopped dead center in front of me. “Is the world coming to an end? Is Ames Ford crying? What’s the deal?”

  I ground the heel of my hand into my eyes. “Allergies,” I said.