Tenure Track

by Victoria Bradley

  This time Dana could not even muster a giggle. As she sobbed louder, he realized there had to be more to this situation than just getting drunk and almost getting caught. He knew this was not the first time his sister had tried alcohol, nor even her first time being buzzed, although he had never before seen her this intoxicated.

  After crying it out for a few moments, Dana finally broke down and confessed all of her sins for the night. Dennis immediately understood what it meant, though he knew no one else would. He also knew that all he could do at that moment was to hold his wombmate and reassure her that everything would be alright. As they held one another, his cell phone rang. Glancing at the screen, he grimaced, “Shit, it’s the Borg Queen.”

  Feeling the panic rise in Dana’s body, he tried to reassure her. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it. . . . Hi Mom!” he greeted cheerfully.

  “Dennis!” Jane scolded. “Where are you? You said you were just going down the street. Your friends said you came back, but left again. I didn’t hear you.” He would have to thank Chris and Duncan on the good save to credibly stretch the time of his absence.

  “Well, they didn’t have the blue stuff I wanted at any of the stores in the neighborhood, so I came back. Then Dana called. Her ride ditched her at a party and she cut her arm, so she asked me to pick her up.”

  “Is she hurt badly?” Jane asked, expressing an appropriate tone of motherly worry. “And why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Sorry, Mom. She asked me not to. She didn’t want you to worry or try to come get her. You know how it is.” Dennis squeezed his sister’s shoulder with his free hand and held his breath, hoping his fibs were believable.

  “Are you with Dana now?” Jane asked.

  “Yeah—“

  “Let me speak to her,” she cut off.

  He quietly handed the phone to his twin, silently mouthing, “Be cool.”

  “Hi Mom,” Dana said softly, trying not to let her voice crack. Dennis rubbed her shoulders supportively as she spoke.

  “Are you okay, Sweetie?” the mother asked. “Dennis said you hurt yourself.”

  “Uh, yeah, some stupid thing. I don’t think it’s bad. It really hurts, though,” she said, new tears slowly falling from her eyes.

  Hearing the distress in her daughter’s voice, Jane assumed that she was crying from pain. That indicated the injury must be serious, since physical pain rarely ever bothered Dana. Dennis took the phone from his sister’s hand.

  “Hey Mom, we’re usin’ up minutes here. We’ll tell you all about it when we get home, okay? Oh, and I think we’re near a store that might have some Romulan ale, so I’ll just make a quick stop on the way. Thanks, bye!”

  He hung up quickly, praying that she would not call him back. Immediately the phone rang again. He gritted his teeth as he looked at the screen. Chris.

  “Yeah, Klingon?” Dennis answered.

  “Dude, your mom’s lookin’ for ya. Better teleport back here at warp speed.”

  “Check. Borg Queen already made contact. Have deflected close inspection. Stick to your cover story. Text if communication needed. Picard out.”

  Dana stared at her brother through bleary eyes. “Don’t you guys ever talk to each other like normal people?”

  “Hey, we’re not normal people. We’re Trekkies, and the Klingons may have just saved your butt, so don’t knock it.”

  On the way home, Dennis ran into a big box grocery store for some blue-colored punch, strong breath mints, a double espresso, and a university rugby shirt that closely matched the one Dana was wearing, now splattered with dried vomit and blood. After Dana removed her old shirt in the backseat, he tossed it in a dumpster, then cut a matching rip in the new one before she put it on, explaining that he wanted the tear to match her injury. Realizing that his own shirt smelled of vomit and alcohol from Dana’s sobbing hugs, he took it off. He had been wearing a T-shirt underneath with an open windbreaker on top. Now he just had on the T-shirt and jacket. He figured his mother might not notice his change of clothes, and since he was responsible for washing the next batch of laundry he could cover his tracks. Dennis helped wash Dana’s face as she combed through her long brown hair and pulled it back into a ponytail. “It’s okay to look like you’ve been crying, but not like you’ve been drunk, okay? So think ‘sad sober person,’” he directed.

  As he worked to erase all signs of her previous inebriation, Dennis went over their cover story for her injury. Some of the kids were horsing around in the backyard. She was trying to ride piggyback on another girl’s shoulders when she fell and sliced her arm on some wire garden fencing. He needed something that sounded just stupid enough to be plausible. As they pulled onto their street and went over their cover story again, Dana looked at her rescuer in awe. “You really need to join the CIA.”

  “Not enough money. Space exploration’s more fun,” he replied bluntly.

  By the time they entered the house, the two espressos had overcome the most obvious signs of intoxication. Dana already had her sleeve rolled up, exposing her bandaged wound. It had stopped bleeding, but blood had soaked completely through the bandage, making the wound look much worse than it was, perfect for their plot.

  Jane immediately met them at the door. From the corner of his eye, Dennis saw Chris and Duncan peering out from the rec room.

  “Finally!” Jane sighed as she grabbed Dana’s arm firmly, but tenderly. “Dana, that looks awful! Do we need to take you to the emergency room?”

  “No, Mom. It looks worse than it is. ‘Just a scratch. It’s not deep at all.”

  ‘Well, I want to take a look.” Jane ushered Dana into the downstairs bathroom to change the bandage and inspect the scratch more closely. While she was occupied, Dennis dashed into the laundry room and tossed his shirt into the washing machine, followed by an entire basket of dirty clothes. He quickly threw in some washing powder and turned the machine on. Suddenly remembering to cover all bases, he dashed to the bathroom. By this time Dana had her bandage off and Jane was cleaning out the scratch again. Standing outside the open bathroom door, Dennis yelled, “Hey Dana, give me your shirt and I’ll wash it for ya. Ya got blood on mine.”

  Acting before Jane could realize that there was no blood on the clothes she was wearing, Dana rapidly withdrew her arm from the running water and pulled off the brand new shirt, tossing it to Dennis like he was getting ready to go for a lay-up. At the doorway to the basement, Chris and Duncan strained their necks to catch a glimpse of Dana, now wearing only a bra and jeans. Jane’s gaze was focused on the cut. The force of pulling the shirt across the fresh wound opened it up again, oozing a new trickle of blood.

  Returning upstairs after adding Dana’s shirt to the wash, Dennis heard his sister say that she wanted to take a shower. He tossed his windbreaker onto his bed and returned to the rec room holding a loaded grocery bag. His two pals were seated on the couch just as when he had left, their feet propped up on a coffee table, watching the Enterprise in action. He plopped down in between them, setting three Dixie cups on the table, into which he filled equal amounts of the overly sweet blue punch. He took a swig like he was downing a shot of whiskey, then refilled his cup. Once the next commercial break broke their gaze, Chris and Duncan stared at him from both sides.

  “So can you tell us what that was about?” Duncan asked.

  “Nope, still classified,” Dennis responded, staring straight ahead at the television set. “Let’s just say mission accomplished. Excellent work, gentlemen.” He raised his cup of faux Romulan ale to his comrades. They picked up their cups and returned the salute. Chris then asked Dennis for his share of pizza money. “Sorry, Dude. This Romulan ale tapped me out.”

  The twins temporarily succeeded in keeping Dennis’s rescue mission secret, but were ultimately done in by the two forms of mass media to which their mother paid the most attention—the local newspaper and Uncle Perry.

  The morning after the incident, all the teenagers slept late, tucked snuggly under protective b
lankets of warmth. Jane rose early to nurse her morning coffee and peruse the newspaper before the hungry hoards descended on the kitchen. Usually on such Saturday mornings when the kids’ friends stayed over and she had no other appointments she cooked brunch for the crew, no small task when it came to filling the bottomless stomachs of three teenaged boys. It was a small gesture of maternal love that she actually enjoyed and would sorely miss after the kids left home.

  Jane never verbally expressed her enjoyment of such domestic duties, an admission that would seem to betray her feminist ideals. Now, preparing for her younglings to leave the nest, she often found herself seized with regret that perhaps she had not embraced the joys of motherhood as fully as she could have. In some ways she blamed Mark for this predicament. As much as she loved her husband, she could not shake a lingering resentment that he had usurped her role as the primary parent in their family. Rationally, Jane knew she should have been happy having a husband who embraced fatherhood, but their roles were still unequal. With Mark insisting on playing the part of “pal,” Jane found herself forced into the role of authority figure, insisting that both kids and husband follow household rules. She did not enjoy always playing this role, but someone had to be the grown-up in the family. She could not recall the last time Mark had ever raised his voice to the children, much less imposed a punishment for any infraction.

  So it was not surprising that Jane picked up the first clues as to her children’s deception. As she sipped her dark roast coffee with cream, her eyes scanned the Metro Section of the newspaper. Her pupils registered a small notice that the previous evening police had raided a private party in Forest Green Estates, taking more than 20 juveniles into custody for possession of alcohol and charging two adults with serving alcohol to minors. No names were listed, as the report had barely made the deadline for publication. Jane knew the party Dana had attended was in swanky Forest Green, one of those gated golf club communities for the nouveau riche. Suspicion passed through her mind for a split second before she moved to an article on gardening tips.

  Close to noon, zombified teenagers began shuffling into the kitchen, stirred by the aroma of homemade pancakes. The boys were dressed to spend the rest of the day working in Duncan’s makeshift garage laboratory, but they were more than willing to put off their experiments until after brunch. As the threesome dove into huge stacks of buttered flapjacks with syrup, sausages, fruit, milk, and juice, Jane marveled once again at the amount of food three skinny boys could pack away. Dennis’s two friends thanked her profusely for the meal.

  “Next year, can we still come by for Saturday breakfast?” Duncan asked through a muffled mouthful of food. Both he and Chris planned to attend a small college only 45 minutes away from home.

  “Hey, ya moocher!” Dennis said, punching his friend in the shoulder.

  Feeling flattered by the compliment, Jane responded sincerely, “Anytime you boys want—just call first.”

  As the boys downed their massive breakfast, Dana shuffled down the stairs. She usually spent her free Saturday afternoons at the gym, but at that moment looked like she preferred to stay in bed. She stumbled into the kitchen, still wearing her pajamas, bathrobe and large fuzzy slippers made to resemble basketballs. Her face was pale as a ghost, with dark circles under the eyes, and hair matted to her head. She seemed oblivious to Dennis’s guests, who still stared at her like she was a beauty queen. “Uh, lookin’ good there, ‘Sis,” her brother greeted sarcastically.

  Dana glared at him. “Yeah, it takes a lotta work to be a goddess,” she croaked, groping around the refrigerator for an energy drink.

  Jane offered her some pancakes, but she declined. “Is your stomach bothering you?” the mother asked.

  “A little,” Dana replied hoarsely as she sucked down the blast of caffeine, vitamins, and various other ingredients designed to quickly revive a tired brain.

  Dennis chimed in, “Why don’t you try a little plain pancake, Sis? Sometimes that helps.”

  Dana reluctantly took her brother’s advice, nibbling a dry flapjack in her trembling hands. Jane’s motherly instincts told her that something fishy was going on, but she did not want to embarrass the twins by calling them out in front of their friends.

  Just then, the telephone rang, causing Dana to jump as if a dart just whizzed by her head. Since Jane’s hands were wet from washing dishes, she hit the telephone speaker with an elbow. “Hello?” she asked, still trying to figure out what the twins were hiding.

  “Hey Janey girl! Whatcha know this beautiful day?”

  “Hey Perry!” the whole group chimed in unison.

  Realizing he was on speaker, Perry asked for a roll call of those present, lest he need to temper his language for underage ears. “Well, I’m glad the kiddos are there. Now I can get the real scoop.”

  All four teenagers cast worried glances at one another. “I heard there was some kind of a scandal last night at Forest Green,” the older man went on. “A bunch of St. Luke’s kids got busted at a kegger. You two weren’t involved, were you?”

  Jane studied the children’s reactions. Dennis was the first to speak, feigning ignorance. “No way, Pere! I was here with the guys. What happened?”

  “Well,” he began, excited to be first in the know about their high school happenings, “my sources tell me that the party was at the home of some kid named Hunter James.” Jane reflexively jerked, recognizing the host of the party where Dana said she had been. She immediately looked at her daughter, who sheepishly sucked on her drink as Perry continued. “Apparently it was wild! Drunken teenagers everywhere. The parents were hosting. I heard one of the coaches was even there!” Jane’s leg jerked reactively again at the mention of a coach, wondering if it could be John Gibson.

  Before either child could say anything else, Jane jumped in to save them from incriminating themselves. “I’m sure the police took care of it, Perry,” she said, squinting her eyes at Dana.

  “Ooh, I wonder if anyone was beaten?” Perry asked salaciously.

  “I’m sure only those that wanted to be!” Dennis deadpanned, earning a chuckle from Chris, Duncan, and Perry.

  “I wonder if any of your friends were involved?” the older man inquired of the teenagers.

  Jane interceded again. “Perry, leave the kids alone. I’m sure we’ll get the full story by Monday morning. I’ll fill you in.” The twins breathed a grateful sigh of relief as Jane changed the subject, but neither one would look at her as she glared back and forth between them. The only sound in the room beyond Perry’s half-heard chatter was the clink of forks and knives against plates as the ravenous guests downed more pancakes.

  Once off the phone, Jane allowed Dennis to leave with his friends, warning him that she wanted to talk later. She knew her strategy ran the risk of allowing him more time to create a cover story, but years of motherly experience told her that she might have greater success by grilling Dana first. She waited to make her move until the boys had left and Dana was in her room changing into workout clothes. Jane stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame as her daughter tugged on her socks, followed by a grimy pair of workout sneakers. “So,” Jane began, closely watching her daughter’s reactions. “How’s your arm?”

  Dana looked at the still-bandaged cut. “Mhhmm, better. It doesn’t hurt so much anymore. I’ll still be able to practice.”

  “Mmhmm. . . . Whose house did you say it happened at?” Jane quizzed.

  “Uh, Hunter’s,” Dana answered, still lacing up the shoes. “I guess we got a little carried away goofin’ around. Uh, his parents were both there.”

  Jane bounced slightly against the doorframe, hands held tightly behind her. “The same Hunter James whose house was raided for a keg party?”

  “Oh, Mom, you know Perry gets stuff mixed up all the time. Who knows if he’s even right about this.”

  Jane lowered her eyes. “Dana Elizabeth Straussman, don’t you lie to me,” she ordered in a calm, but firm voice. “It was in the newspaper. I kno
w there was alcohol at that party.”

  Dana blanched, exposing her guilt. She leaned her arms on her knees and stared straight ahead.

  “Just tell me one thing,” her mother continued, “did your brother have to bail you out of jail last night?”

  “Duh, no!” Dana replied emphatically. “He just came to get me. Tiff freaked out and left me there, so I didn’t have a ride. Most of the other kids had been drinkin’, so I called Dennis. I was just trying to be safe, Mom.”

  Jane looked into her child’s ashen face. Something told her she was still not getting the entire story. “Were you drinking?”

  Dana shrugged. “Yeah, a little.”

  Jane wavered as to what to say next. If Mark were there, he would no doubt be playing good cop to her bad cop, insisting on leniency by pointing out that most teenagers do drink alcohol and that at least Dana was responsible enough to call her brother for a ride. Then it would be Jane’s task to point out that Dana should have left the party with Tiffany as soon as she realized there was underage drinking going on, and that both the twins had lied about the situation. But Mark was not there. She was on her own, free to choose whether to be good cop or bad cop.

  Mulling her options, she pressed on with another line of questioning. “Was Coach Gibson there?”

  Dana bit her bottom lip before answering. “I didn’t see him, but some kids said they heard he was comin’ to bust us. I think somebody narc’d to him and the cops both.” Probably Tiffany. The skank! “I got outta there before then.”

  Jane nodded, still stalling for time as she pondered her reaction. “Well,” she said slowly, “I wish you had called me, but at least you had the good sense to call your brother. Go to your workout, but come straight home. I’ll talk to both of you about your deception tonight.”

  “Oh, okay,” Dana replied, her mouth slightly agog at the lack of fury from her mother.