Saving Myself For You

by Teresa Hill

  But he never told me this before. I never had a clue until last night, and this is bigger than what’s going on with his mom right now. This is everything. His substitute parents. His family. His home. He has to know he will never lose that, and now that I know he thinks he could, I have to figure out what to do about it.

  I think I have to tell someone, because I can’t stand the idea of him being afraid of something so basic as losing his home, losing all of us. He won’t be happy about me telling. I’ll be breaking the friend code, but I think for this, I have to.

  There’s no way what he’s thinking is true. I’m sure of it, and I wonder how he can’t see that. How is that even possible? I don’t understand.

  Except that I’m a shrink’s daughter, and my mother’s voice comes back to me, the one thing she says more than any other when I’m trying to figure out something about someone’s behavior that makes no sense to me. She says our feelings aren’t logical. They’re often not based in reality, but in our perception of reality, filtered through all of the experiences we’ve had in our lives.

  That’s the only way I can begin to understand what Peter thinks.

  He’s not being logical. He’s feeling, and those feelings aren’t based in fact.

  So, if that’s true, if that’s the problem, then I doubt that anything I say can change his mind. I’m not the one he needs to hear from about this.

  It has to be Uncle Zach, I realize. If Aunt Julie tells him, he’ll think it’s only because she’s his sister. Yes, it has to be Zach.

  I call him as soon as I make up my mind about what to do. He stops by on his way to work, but is in a hurry. My school’s on his way, so he offers me a ride.

  “Hey,” he says, as we get into the car. “I meant to ask you yesterday and got distracted by this stuff with Peter. Want to come to California with me next month?”

  “What?”

  “I’m speaking at a symposium at Stanford on the juvenile justice system in America. Julie planned to come with me, so we already have plane tickets but ... Well, she doesn’t think she can make the trip.”

  “You mean, she doesn’t want to leave Peter alone?”

  “Maybe. She’s worried about him. But Grace, too. I think she was already looking for an excuse to stay behind. It’s not like a juvenile justice symposium is the most interesting thing in the world to people who aren’t a part of the legal system. Or those who might be one day.”

  Zach’s talking about me. We’ve discussed me becoming a lawyer. I’ve been interested since I got to high school, because of what we do on student court. We handle most discipline matters at school that way, with students defending, prosecuting and serving as judges on cases.

  “Stanford has one of the best law schools in the country,” Zach says. “I know the dean. Bet I can get you an extra-special, in-depth tour and a few nights in one of the dorms. Give you a real taste of what it’s like there. Plus, UC-Berkeley is right up the road. We could tour both. What do you say? California. The ocean. The sun. Surfer-boys.”

  “Sure. I’ll talk to Mom and Dad about it.”

  I like to argue, especially with Uncle Zach. I really like to be right, to be able to talk people into seeing that I’m right and doing what I want. Which I try to do in the most pleasant, sometimes sneaky way possible, because I don’t want people to hate me and because it works.

  Which is what I need right now from Zach.

  “Great. We’ll have fun,” he says. “Now, what’s up with you?”

  “Well, the first thing is, I’m breaking the friend code to tell you this. I don’t like to do that.”

  “Right. So this is about Peter. About the poker game? The money?”

  “Not exactly,” I say. “Tell me you and Aunt Julie didn’t freak out on him last night after the three of you got home.”

  “You got me over here so you could ask me to go easy on him about that?”

  “No,” I say. “Friend code, remember? Breaking the friend code.”

  “Okay, so, it’s more important than that, otherwise you wouldn’t be telling me, and I need to try to handle whatever this is without letting him know how I know about it.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Deal,” he says. “Tell me.”

  “Peter’s mother’s getting out of prison soon?”

  “Well, he’d say out of prison. She’s been in a halfway house on conditional release for a few months. It was supposed to be longer, but the prisons are overcrowded, and when that happens, they start with non-violent offenders closest to the end of their sentence and release them to halfway houses. If the halfway houses are too full, other people get out of the halfway houses early. That’s what’s happening to her. Soon. I don’t know much more than that yet, but I will.”

  “You need to talk to him about what’s going to happen when she gets out.”

  “You mean, legally? She’ll be on parole, so unless she commits a new crime, she’ll be out. That’s it?”

  “No, not about her. About Peter, with her out.”

  “She’ll probably want to see him,” Zach says. “But it’s up to him, if he wants to do that, although if he doesn’t--”

  “No, about his life, once she’s out.”

  “His life?” Zach gives me a blank look.

  “Okay, I’m just going to come out and say this. I think he’s worried that he’s with you and Julie only because you feel a sense of obligation to have him in your home.”

  Zach looks puzzled. “He said that to you?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Dana, nothing’s really going to change with his mother out of prison.”

  “I know that, but I don’t think he knows.”

  I keep thinking about how hard Peter tries to do the right thing most of the time. I used to think he was a lot like me, with one of those little voices inside that says you do your best, all the time, no matter what, no excuses. But I do it because … I don’t know. I just do. I might be a tad obsessive-compulsive. I like order. I like to have a plan. I like my routines, and part of that’s wanting to do everything right. But this isn’t about me. It’s about him. What if he does it for a different reason? What if it’s worry? Even fear?

  I can’t stand that idea, of Peter being afraid all the time.

  “It’s possible he thinks if he had any place else to live -- like with his mother, who’s getting out of jail -- or he gave you any kind of excuse, say by messing up badly enough, you and Julie would kick him out.”

  “Jesus,” Zach says. “He told you this?”

  “Not exactly, but I think it’s how he feels.”

  Zach gets quiet, and it’s like I can see him running through different things in his head, like he’s trying to make sense of what I just told him. “The kid’s not much trouble anymore.”

  “I know.”

  Zach shakes his head. “At first, it was pretty rocky. He didn’t trust any of us, not really, and he was really angry, with good reason. He could be a real pain in the ass. But he really doesn’t need much from us now. He takes care of himself, and I thought … Shit. I thought we were doing such a good job as parents. I thought we had it all figured out, because there he was, a really good kid mostly, and all this time, he thought one wrong move, and he’d be gone?”

  I nod my head, and Zach looks so sad and a bit mad, and still stunned.

  “I guess we aren’t doing such a great job as parents, huh?” he says finally. “I didn’t see it. Not at all.”

  “Me, either. I feel so bad--”

  “Hey, you’re a kid,” he says.

  “I’m his friend. I should have seen it. You’ll talk to him? You’ll fix this?”

  “Yeah, I will. And Dana? You did the right thing by telling me. You know that, right?”

  “Yes, but he’s going to be mad at me if he finds out.”

  “He’d get over it. He couldn’t stay mad at you for long, even if he tried.” Zach’s still staring at me. “Are you okay? You’ve seemed … not as happy late
ly as you usually are. Anything you want to tell me?”

  “No. I’m fine.” I shrug.

  “Why do I not believe that?”

  “It’s nothing for you to worry about. Promise.”

  “Okay. You need me, you know I’m always here.”

  I do know that. He parks at the curb in front of the school to drop me off, leans across the console and gives me a big hug, and I hope I did the right thing, talking to him about Peter.

  * * *

  Chapter Seven

  Peter

  I get home the next day after school and working a few hours, and Zach and Julie are in the living room waiting for me. They want to talk, and I think … Shit. Is this about Mom or the thing last night with the cop? How bad is it going to be? I worked today after school with Dana’s dad pissed at me every time he saw my busted lip, and now this?

  I take a seat in the recliner across from them, and it feels like the bottom drops out of my world. Like there’s nothing beneath my body but air. I’m falling, and it’s so far down. I keep thinking about what it will feel like to hit bottom, how bad it’s going to be.

  But I have a plan, I remind myself, trying to calm down. I have some money saved, a little more than four grand, and I can probably keep working with Sam and Dana’s dad. I used to be the one who tried to juggle the bills when I lived with my mom and dad, trying to keep the lights on and food in the house. I figure it’ll be easier without my parents around to mess things up. Plus I’m older. I can earn more money.

  And maybe -- just maybe -- Sam will let me live with him and Rachel. They’ve always been great to me, and it’s just the two of them in that big house. I can be quiet¸ help around the house. Even pay rent. I won’t ask for a handout. They’re my first back-up plan, along with the money I saved. I can do this, I tell myself.

  “Peter?” Zach says, and I realize he’s been talking, and I haven’t been listening at all. Shit.

  “Sorry,” I say. I have to get myself together somehow.

  “So, three weeks,” he says.

  And I think, I have three weeks to be out of here? I turn to Julie, and it looks like she hates this, absolutely hates it. So, that’s something I guess. She doesn’t want me to go. Zach doesn’t even look mad when he says it. He looks … like he’s trying to make this easier.

  Easier?

  Nothing about this is easy. Yell at me. Throw my stuff on the fucking lawn. Asking me nicely to get the hell out doesn’t make it any easier.

  “Okay,” I manage to say. “Three weeks.”

  I’ve gotten soft, I realize. I’ve actually started trusting that I’d get to keep this nice, easy life. When the hell did that happen? I haven’t really trusted anyone for years. I know better. Shit. I can barely breathe for a minute.

  Vaguely, I hear Zach going on. “… thought I’d save the two of you the trouble of having to talk to her yourselves to find out what she’s going to do. She doesn’t seem to have any plans, except to come back here, and she said she wants to see you both.”

  Julie shoots me a look, a shared misery kind of thing.

  Wait … what?

  It sounds like he’s talking about Mom. She wants to see us? I thought he and Julie were pawning me off on her. To live with her.

  “Apparently, she’s done better this time in structured release,” Zach says.

  She’s not actually in jail anymore. She’s been in this halfway house on something called structured release, so she has a curfew and supposedly can’t drink and has to work. She made it that far before and then violated the terms of her structured release and got sent back to prison. I keep hoping that will happen again, but I guess not this time.

  “If I were you two, I’d pick a time and go see her at the halfway house, get it over with. That way you won’t be waiting and watching for her to show up. Do it on your own terms. And then set down some rules with her, what you want, what you don’t want. Like does she get to just show up here at the house? Does she get to come to things at school, like your basketball games, Peter?”

  They’re talking about keeping her away. Well, trying to keep her away, I realize.

  They’re not kicking me out?

  God … I’m almost sick with relief. I really thought I was gone. It’s so hard for me to come back from that place that I can barely keep track of what Zach’s talking about. Like he’s about a mile away, and I can see him and kind of hear him, but it’s not easy.

  “ … part of trying to keep inmates from ending up back in jail, the department of corrections tries to get in touch with inmates’ families and get them involved in the reintegration process, so they have a support network--”

  “Wait,” I ask. “We’re supposed to help her? Is that some kind of a joke?”

  “No, you don’t have to help her. I’m just warning you, someone from the corrections department may be contacting you, asking if you’re willing--”

  “No,” I say. “No way.”

  Zach nods. “So if someone calls you, tell me. I’ll take care of it.”

  “Thanks,” I say.

  He is actually trying to make this easier. I’m so damned grateful.

  “So, once she’s out, she’s coming here?” I ask. I’m pretty sure he already said this, but I was so freaked out, I didn’t hear it, and I need to know. I have to, because, please God, don’t let her be right here in this town.

  Zach nods. “Sorry. That’s what she says she wants. If she can find a place to live and a job, she can be in this town. We don’t have any say in that.”

  I think about having to see her, maybe running into her on the street or even worse, her showing up at one of my ballgames. Right now, I’m so damned glad basketball season is all but over. It’s not like people at school don’t know about her. They do. All of them. But it’s one thing for them to know and another for them to see her.

  Especially if she’s drunk and really loud, maybe really mean. Those were the really fun times, her drunk in public and me trying to manage the situation somehow. Plus, some of the people she hung out with? The ones she brought home at times? Really scary people.

  I turn back to Zach. I have to have this spelled out for me. I ask the hardest thing of all. “So, if she comes back here … What happens with me and her?”

  “Hopefully nothing,” Zach says. “Life goes on. Julie’s your legal guardian. Your mother could petition the court to try to get you back--”

  “Then, that’s what she’ll do,” I say. She’ll do the thing I’d hate the most, the thing most likely to screw up my life, because that’s what she’s like.

  “Peter, she can try, but we’ll fight it, and I think we’ll win. Plus, you’re seventeen. You’ll have a say in it, and social services will listen. You and Julie both can tell social services what it was like to live with your mother before, why you don’t want to do that again.”

  My stomach turns at the idea. I look at Julie and can see she hates it, too. And the idea of people knowing some of the things she did to me … I can’t stand that. I can’t.

  “It will help if it looks like things are going really well with you, living here with us,” Zach say. “So, like I said last night, no getting into trouble, do well in school, all that stuff.”

  “Okay,” I say, hoping I haven’t screwed it all up with last night’s little mess.

  “Peter, you can get up in somebody’s face and let them know their behavior is unacceptable without hitting them, you know?”

  Even though I haven’t found that always works, I nod. I want to agree to anything Zach says right now.

  “So, we’ll just see what happens. Your mother might show up here, but we don’t even have to let her in the front door. Other than that, life goes on the way it has been.”

  “That’s it?” Because I have to ask one more time.

  “That’s it,” he says. “So, it’s my night to make dinner, and I don’t want to. Take-out pizza or Chinese food? What do you say?”

  * * *

  Peter />
  Even the next morning, I’m still almost dizzy with relief, thinking that if Mom shows up, Zach and Julie still want me to live with them. Dana was right, and I wonder if she said something to Zach, if that’s the reason he had that talk with me.

  Although Mom is getting out soon. We knew it was coming eventually. And Julie would want to know about that as much as I would. Zach takes care of her in a way that … He’d do that for her. He’d make the call and find out what was going on with Mom and offer to deal with the family outreach people for Julie, so she doesn’t have to. It’s a kind of caring for her, taking care of her, that still surprises me and makes me so damned happy for my sister.

  We didn’t grow up with that kind of life. You took care of yourself. It was like Survivor Island-Family Edition. We survived, barely.

  So this is all new to my sister. I’ve watched her be surprised by it and touched by it and hesitate to trust it, to expect it, to depend on it, because that’s what you do when you’ve never had it. Depending on having someone in your corner seems dangerous. It’s like it makes you soft, like you’re setting yourself up for disappointment.

  But they’ve been together for three and a half years now, married for two and a half, and Zach just keeps taking care of her. He’s always trying to make her life easier, make it better, be there for her, do silly little things to make her happy.

  So, yeah, this could just be something he did for her, and as an aside, he thought I’d like to know what he found out, too.

  Or it could be Dana, looking out for me the way she tries to do, and the only way I can find out for sure is to ask her.

  I don’t want her to know about all the crap in my life, in my head. She already knows enough, and I sure don’t want to talk to her about my mom. But if Dana engineered this… I want to know.

  I wait until lunch to try to talk to her at school. It’s almost warm outside, and we can sit and talk in the big courtyard.

  She sees me heading toward her and looks a little nervous, I think, but then she smiles and says, “Hi.”

  “Hi.” I could stand here all day and look at her, thinking about how pretty she is with her long, dark hair and ivory skin. She doesn’t tan, not at all, and her skin is perfect. Her mouth is the color of a reddish plum, and her eyes are like warm chocolate with crazy thick, curly lashes.