“How did you find that out?” my mother asks just as the doorbell chimes its fake-organ sound.
“He better get a new job in Sarah’s Road, because I’m not leaving. I’m not!” Elizabeth says, her voice low and tough.
“Me neither. There’s no way,” I say. “Where is Dad if he’s not in Atlanta?”
My mother shakes her head and bites her bottom lip.
“Mom, where is he?” Elizabeth asks.
The doorbell chimes again.
“He’s in Philadelphia visiting Uncle Anthony. Now who is that?” she asks, wiping her hands on a yellow plaid dishrag she keeps in her gardening pants pocket.
“Just Carol,” I say.
“Why did he quit?” Elizabeth asks.
“Look, I’m not going to play middleman here. He’s calling tonight. You talk to him about this, not me,” she tells Elizabeth, then turns to me. “Antonia, are you in trouble again?”
I shrug my shoulders. My mom’s hands fly to her head to push a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She has a pained expression on her face. “I am in no mood for this,” she says.
“I mean it, Mom,” Elizabeth says.
“Enough, Elizabeth. You’ve made your point. We’ll talk about this later.”
I give my mom a comfortable lead as she walks through the house to the front door. I don’t want her to notice I have Pistachio and tell me to put him outside. I can’t face this without him.
“Hello, Mrs. MacPherson. I’m very sorry to intrude,” Just Carol says when my mom opens the door. Just Carol is smiling hard, in a funny no-teeth-showing way.
Kate is in the living room watching TV. The doorbell rings loudest in the living room, but she probably didn’t hear it. Kate watches TV the way she counts money. If a stack of nickels is in front of her, she can’t see anything else.
“Kate, you’re going to have to turn that off,” my mother says. Kate’s whole face gets red, and she looks as if she might explode. The only time Kate ever gets mad at my mother is when my mother makes her turn the TV off. “Katherine.” My mom whispers something in her ear. Kate calms down. She still looks grumpy, but not like she’s ready to kill. She heaves a couple of times, then presses the power off. In the sudden silence, Kate’s trance is broken and she looks over at Just Carol.
“You’re the art lady for the upper grades,” Kate says.
“Yes, I am.” Just Carol smiles.
Kate settles into the sofa as if she’s going to stay.
“Kate,” my mom says, “would you go upstairs, please, honey.”
Kate smiles sweetly at my mom. “Yes, Mommy,” Kate says. She walks by me. I hear the coins jingle in her shoe. “What did you do now?” She mouths the words at me.
“So,” my mother says when Kate is upstairs, “what is this all about?” My mother is being very polite, but she has her guard up. Her mouth is smiling a pretend smile. She is standing up and hasn’t suggested any of us might sit down.
“Ant has something to tell you,” Just Carol says.
“Antonia,” my mother says.
“Antonia, yes,” Just Carol corrects herself.
My mother is staring at me now. Her mouth is not smiling, not even in a pretend way.
I look up at Kate, who is crouched by the upstairs banister, trying to hear every word. “I took Pistachio to the vet,” I say. I look down at him. He tries to wiggle out of my arms. The sound of our voices is making him nervous. Or maybe it’s just that he knows he isn’t supposed to be in the living room.
My mother waits for more.
“I took Pistachio to the vet and I didn’t pay for it,” I say.
“How much?” my mother asks. She sits down. Just Carol and I sit down, too.
“I don’t know,” I say.
“You don’t know, or you don’t want to tell me?”
“I don’t know.”
Just Carol clears her throat. Her green eyes laser through my head.
“I gave the vet the wrong address, so you won’t get a bill.” I look down at the rug. I wish I could crawl under it. This didn’t seem like such a terrible thing when I did it. It certainly didn’t seem like stealing. It seemed like taking care of my dog. But now with Just Carol and my mother staring at me, I feel like I wet my bed.
“The vet on the corner of Deeson and Meyer Way?”
“No. I went to a new one.”
My mother snorts. “And why are you telling me this?” She looks at Just Carol.
“Because Just Carol says I have to straighten this out, otherwise I can’t go to the zoo anymore.” I pet Tashi, hoping my mom doesn’t tell me to take him out of here.
My mother nods her head. Her tongue rolls over her teeth.
“So it wasn’t your idea to tell me, it was Miss Carol’s.”
I look down at Pistachio.
“You’re the art teacher?” my mother says.
“Yes.”
“So what are you suggesting?” my mother asks Just Carol.
“I think you and Antonia need to go to the vet and find out how much is owed and then figure out a way for Antonia to work it off. And I think”—Just Carol is looking shaky now—“you need to work out an arrangement for vet care for her dog. Because I feel like this is going to happen again unless Ant—Antonia can feel as if she is taking responsible care of Pistachio.”
“Responsible care,” my mother says. She has been fairly calm until now, but this last statement seems to have irked her. “And tell me how this has anything to do with the business of art?”
“It’s only my business because Antonia told me about it.”
“So you’ve come here to tell me I’m a bad mother and I’ve made bad decisions.”
“Not at all, Mrs. MacPherson.”
“Sure you are,” my mother says, taking a Kleenex from her pocket and blowing her nose. My mother is the only person I know who can blow her nose this delicately. The rest of the world honks away, but she sniffles sweetly and politely. I don’t see how she can get her snot out this way.
“That’s what you were saying with that trip to the principal’s office. You were saying I am such a bad mother that my child wants a new one. As if I didn’t know she had this whole adoption fantasy going. You were trying to rub my nose in it, but luckily your principal saw through you.”
“I can see how you could feel that way.” Just Carol is focusing all the intensity of her green eyes on my mother. “I’m sorry I handled that the way I did.”
This stops my mother. She seems surprised that Just Carol has said this. She takes a breath and starts again. “And as for Pistachio, Pistachio is old. And if Antonia had her way, that dog would be going to the vet twice a week. I mean, what can a vet do about old age? Or is this my fault, too?”
“I’m not trying to make any of this your fault,” Just Carol says.
“I don’t take him every week. I only take him when he’s sick,” I say.
“Well, perhaps we could start a vet fund. And Antonia could do some extra work in order to have enough money to take him when you both decide he needs it.” Just Carol looks at me and then at my mom.
“Are you a new teacher?” my mom asks.
“I’ve been teaching for two years.”
“That’s not a very long time.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Look, I know you’re trying to help Antonia, but I can’t help thinking you’re going about it the wrong way,” my mom says.
I look at my mom. I can see how hard she’s trying to control herself.
“You may be right. But I’ve made a promise to your daughter that if she takes care of this vet bill problem, she will be able to continue with the zoo program, and I’d like to be able to keep that commitment. But I think she needs your help to resolve some of these issues.”
“Why are you sticking your neck out for her?”
“Because I like her,” Just Carol says.
My lips smile. I feel a warm flush come over me. For a second I’m afraid I might cry.
I wonder if Kate heard this. I hope she did. I hope she tells Elizabeth about it, too.
My mother looks at me as if she’s trying to understand why. She’s quiet for a minute, then she nods. Her head barely moves. “I do fine with the other two,” she says softly. “I’ve never been called on the carpet about them.”
“Mrs. MacPherson, please, I’m not calling you on the carpet. It’s just that we have a problem, and I think we need to address it.”
“With Antonia everything is a problem.”
“Antonia, why don’t you go upstairs. I want to talk to your mom for a minute, alone,” Just Carol says.
I shake my head no in an exaggerated way. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I whisper.
“I do,” Just Carol says. There’s an edge to the way she says this. Like if you touched her words, they would give you a paper cut. I go upstairs.
Kate is sitting on the top step. “You’re not supposed to take Pistachio in the living room,” Kate says. She has her notebook in her hand as if she has already recorded this. “And I don’t see how you could get in trouble in art. How can you do art wrong?”
“I didn’t get in trouble in art,” I say.
“What did you do, then?” She leans forward. Her mouth open. Her blue eyes glowing.
“None of your business,” I say as I close the door of my room.
16
NOSE
Now I’m dialing Just Carol’s number wanting her to answer for once, instead of the recording I’ve heard so often. Nope, it’s the recorded voice again. I hang up without leaving a message and then I sit, staring at nothing. If I don’t care about her one way or the other, why do I call her so much?
My mother is in the garage. She is opening old packed boxes. I hear the blade of her scissors cut the brown tape, then the rip of cardboard as she pulls open the flaps. She is checking to see if she still wants what’s inside. I go in the living room to put on a CD and drown the sound out. Your Highness beats me to it. Neither of us can stand the sound of my mom cleaning the garage, because we know it means she thinks we’ll be moving soon. We remember the last time and the time before that.
Now it’s almost time for my father to call. He is supposed to phone at 7:30. I check the clock in the kitchen. It’s 7:15 every time I look. Finally it moves—7:18. The phone rings. I get the downstairs extension. Elizabeth rips it out of my hand.
“Dad!” I hear Elizabeth say as I run for the upstairs phone. “You’re not looking for a job in Philadelphia, are you?”
“What about hello? Don’t we usually start with that?”
“Antonia called Leebson in Atlanta. They said you weren’t working there anymore.”
“Oh, she did, did she.”
“Yes, I did,” I say.
“Hello, Antonia.”
“Dad. We have to stay here, you know. You can’t get a job in Pennsylvania.”
“No hello. No how are you. You girls are a tough crowd, I’m telling you. But in answer to your question, No, I’m not looking for a job in Philadelphia. Happy now?”
“Why’d you leave?” Elizabeth asks.
“I gave my notice at Leebson because it was time. I had planned to stay there until they found a replacement, but my crazy ex-boss, Dave, got so upset he told me to pack my desk and get out. It’s just as well. It wasn’t the right place for me. This is a very positive move.”
“Why didn’t you tell us?” I ask.
“You didn’t give me time.”
“Fine, Dad, but we’re not moving,” Elizabeth says.
“Boy, are you two feisty today. Settle down, okay? There’s nothing to worry about.”
“But where are you going to work now?” Elizabeth asks.
“Elizabeth, it’s been seventy-two hours—eighty maybe—since I left the last job. I don’t know yet where I’m going to be working. But I’m not planning on moving you to Siberia, I promise. Of course, I’ll try to stay in northern California. I know you girls like it there and so does your mother.”
“You’ll try?” I say.
“Yes, I’ll try. Now put your mom on. I’m tired of getting the third degree.”
“You have to do better than that,” Elizabeth says.
“ELIZABETH! Don’t talk to me that way! Now get your mom, please!”
I put the phone down. I don’t want to hear any more. Elizabeth comes upstairs. Kate follows. She has heard what happened, but she doesn’t totally get it. She still trusts my parents in a way Elizabeth and I do not.
I don’t know what Elizabeth and I thought we’d get from talking to my dad. But whatever it is, we didn’t get it. We waited for nothing. No information. Zip.
We sit down in the doorways of our rooms. This is neutral zone. Elizabeth rolls a pink rubber ball to me. I roll it to Kate. Kate rolls it to Elizabeth. We listen to my mom speak to my dad on the phone—a distant talking sound, rising and falling. It stops after a few minutes. Fewer than normal.
We are like zombies hypnotized by that ball, rolling it back and forth. Back and forth. After a while, my mother walks by with a load of laundry. I’m happy to see this. The laundry is an ordinary chore, nothing to do with moving.
My mom steps over Elizabeth, then stops. It’s unheard of for the three of us to be doing something together. My mother seems to notice this. “So, what are you playing?” she asks.
“Nothing,” Elizabeth says. Elizabeth’s head is rocking as if she’s keeping beat to a song that only she hears. She does this when she’s upset. My mother watches Elizabeth. She waits for more. Elizabeth is staring at the ball as if stopping it with her hand and rolling it to me requires all her concentration. “We’re playing with a pink ball,” she replies.
“I can see that,” my mom says as she sets a stack of neatly folded laundry on Elizabeth’s bed.
My mom comes out of Elizabeth’s room and goes into Kate’s. When she passes by again, Elizabeth says, “We don’t want to move.”
“Your dad didn’t say we were moving,” my mom says, running her manicured nails through her neatly curled blond hair.
“He’s got to get a new job now. You know what that means,” Elizabeth says. She is still concentrating on the ball. Her head is down, her blond ballerina bun is up. Usually Elizabeth is pretty neat, too, but today her hair is falling out of her bun and she is wearing sweat shorts with holes in them. Her fair skin is blotchy, like it gets when she’s been crying.
“There are plenty of jobs around here, you know,” my mom says. She tries to say this in a matter-of-fact way. But the words wobble when they come out.
“See,” Kate says. “Didn’t I tell you?”
Elizabeth rolls her eyes.
“There always are plenty of jobs, but Dad never takes them. He takes the ones that mean we have to move one thousand miles or more and miss my performances,” Elizabeth whispers, staring hard at the ground.
“What?” my mother asks.
“There is no way I can leave, Mom. You know that,” Elizabeth says, loud now, so my mother can hear. Elizabeth has the ball and she’s bouncing it low and hard like a basketball dribble. “I absolutely can’t. I’m going to be in The Nutcracker this year. Don’t you even remember that?”
“For goodness’ sakes…no one is asking you to give up The Nutcracker. Didn’t your dad say he’d try to find a job here? What else can he do?” my mother asks. This is her I-don’t-want-to-hear-any-more-about-it tone of voice. It’s surprising to hear her speak this way to Elizabeth. I am happy to hear it…thrilled, actually. But then I start thinking about Harrison and Mr. Emerson and Just Carol and all the things I’ll lose if we move and the happiness fades away.
“Why are you cleaning out the garage, then?” I ask.
“Because it’s dirty,” my mother says.
“You’re not going to get us up in the middle of the night, are you?” Elizabeth asks. Her voice is soft now. She is scared.
“Elizabeth, I don’t know where you get these ideas. It was a vacation. We got you up in the m
iddle of the night because we were driving across the desert and it was too hot to go in the day. What has gotten into you?” she asks, picking up her empty plastic laundry basket. She shakes her head and mutters, “You’re starting to sound like Antonia.”
“What?” Elizabeth asks.
“Never mind,” my mother says, and then she is gone down the stairs.
“I am not going to leave,” Elizabeth says when we hear the kitchen door swing behind my mother.
“I’m not going to leave, either,” I say.
“They can’t make us,” Elizabeth announces. Refusing to do things is unusual for Elizabeth. Generally, she gets what she wants in a sneakier way.
“Sure they can. They can make us do anything they want,” I say. I have had a lot more experience with disobedience. This is my area of expertise.
“We could run away,” Elizabeth says, her blue eyes all lit up in her blotchy face.
I snort. “Elizabeth, they don’t have street shelters with pink canopy beds, you know.”
“Shut up, Ant,” Elizabeth says.
I’m surprised to hear her call me Ant. It makes me happy, even if it is preceded by “shut up.” I look at her. I have never seen her so unhappy. She is rocking back and forth and tears are spilling over her eyelids and running down her cheeks.
I bite my lip. I’m not quite sure what to do now. It seems weird for Elizabeth and me to both be mad at our mom.
“Antonia, did you leave this mess down here?” my mom calls up the stairs.
“Better go down.” Elizabeth nods toward Mom.
Usually, Elizabeth and Kate love when I get in trouble. They eat it up. Right after my mother gets mad at me, they run around helping her do chores for a while just to prove how much better they are than me. But today, Elizabeth doesn’t seem to want me to be in trouble.
“I didn’t leave the mess,” I tell Elizabeth.
“Yes, you did. It’s from when you brushed Pistachio.”
“Oh. Maybe I did.” I smile.
“Antonia!” my mother calls louder this time.
I shake my head and get up.
Elizabeth has the ball stopped with one hand. “She doesn’t hate you as much as you think she does, you know,” Elizabeth says.
Notes from a Liar and Her Dog Page 10