by L. L. Akers
Keep an eye on me? Right, Emma thought. Like that was going to happen. If Mom had really wanted to keep an eye on her, she should’ve done it in her own home. Mark would have gone, Gabby would have stayed, and this last chapter of her life could have been rewritten with a much happier storyline.
“Daniel, wake up,” Emma whispered while giving him a gentle nudge. “It’s time for you to go to work. You’re going to be late!”
Mom had been in denial about Daniel too, always claiming to everyone that he and Emma were just friends, telling the high and mighty Gabby when she visited a month ago that she was ridiculous to imply that Emma was having sex with that boy! Gabby just happened to drive up as Daniel crawled out her bedroom window—rotten timing—and Gabby had to dust off her big-sister superwoman cape as she pulled it out and started asking him his age, rank, and serial number—immediately reporting it to Mom and claiming she needed to watch Emma closer. So much for that, Emma thought.
It was too late for that bullshit, anyway. Gabby should’ve been here instead of running off and getting all fancified like Jake and his family, leaving her to fend for herself. While Gabby was living the easy life in her pretty new house, Emma would rather mooch off the welfare of Daniel, no matter what the cost, than live one more day with one of Mom’s boyfriends or ask one of her big sisters for help. If she did, they’d just ask questions, and her life consisted of things she wasn’t answering to—secrets to be kept and forgotten, buried with her someday.
Emma had seen Olivia a few times before Mark had left, and before Dad had taken her on that last road trip back to the Midwest. Olivia had been back home with Billy for a while by that time, but Dad still took Emma to visit her uncles and the Midwest, wanting her to be familiar with her roots.
That had been a needed escape from her daily life. If only Dad had known how needed and how much of an escape, he would have never brought her home. He’d gotten into sales soon after Olivia and Gabby talked him into coming back from Mississippi and was gone travelling most of the week. She clung to the anticipation of the upcoming weekends he would spend with her like a fevered castaway to a raft, floating aimlessly in shark-infested waters, taking on water until he scooped her up—saving her—if only for a short time before unknowingly throwing her back into dangerous waters.
Looking back, she should have just told him, or Olivia. But there were some things a daughter just couldn’t tell her daddy. She had sort of told Gabby when it first started and Gabby went to battle for her, losing and almost getting thrown out of the house over it. When she realized her mother didn’t believe them, she’d lost all faith in ever telling again, fearing Mom would blame her and throw her out, just as Mark said she would. She was a child when it all started—easily influenced by the lies of grown-ups and afraid of losing her mother. But she wasn’t a child anymore. That little girl was gone.
It had seemed Olivia wasn’t ever coming home for a while, like she was just going to forget about them here and live her life out on her uncle’s farm so far away. Then to everyone’s surprise, here she was—back with Billy—but she didn’t have much time for Emma, or anything except her job, and the new Billy. Or so she said, but everyone knew the truth. Billy didn’t allow her to see her family. He hadn’t changed so much after all.
Before Mom had thrown out Mark, Emma had hoped Olivia would see, now that she was home. But Emma was powerless to give her any clues; she was terrified of what Mark would do if she did, and Olivia was so absorbed with making things work with Billy that she looked right past Emma the few times she did visit.
If only she had looked through her instead of past her, maybe she would have seen the poison hiding just within, trying to bubble up and consume her... but she didn’t. Olivia may as well have still been a thousand miles away. But Emma was still hopeful and afraid each time Olivia asked her how she was. She wanted to be brave enough to tell her the truth but was too scared. She despairingly gave her what she needed to hear—what everyone needed to hear—her go-to answer of “fine.”
Yep, just fine, she thought. I survived it on my own and came through it. It’s done.
“Daniel! Get up!” Emma insisted again. “It’s Friday... last day of the week. Come on!”
She was excited about their plans tonight. Daniel had a friend that was going to loan Emma her driver’s license; the friend was eighteen. Emma had swiped a good close-up picture of Mom lying on the beach with a clear shot of her dragonfly tattoo. Tonight she would finally join her mom and sisters, united by their marks of freedom, even if divided by miles and the hidden parts of their own lives.
She was just glad it was over. Finally, she was free.
Bang, bang, bang... As Emma tried to open her eyes, the sunlight stabbed her with hot pitchforks straight to the brain. What is that noise? Emma thought as she looked around to find herself sleeping in the chair. The room was covered in beer cans and liquor bottles and overflowing ashtrays filled with cigarettes and blunts. The smell was terrible.
Bang, bang, bang... again.
“Emma, open this door!” Mom yelled.
“Just a minute, Mom,” Emma answered back, hoping Mom could hear her barely-more-than-a-whisper response. “Give me a minute!”
“Hurry up. I’m standing out here in my pajamas,” Mom demanded impatiently.
Emma jumped up, swaying as soon as her feet hit the floor, with both her hands against her head, trying to hold it together. It felt like someone wiggling the shiny end of an axe right into her skull; the pain was ripping it apart.
She tried to hurry the few steps into the kitchen, grabbing the trash can and bringing it back to the living room where she leaned it over on one end of the coffee table and using her arm, swept everything inside. Then she quickly picked up the remnants from the party off the carpet and moved to the kitchen table, using the same concept to wipe paper plates with half-eaten pizza, chips, and more beer cans into the trash can. She twisted the top and tucked it in, hoping to block the smell, and dragged it into the hallway, away from the kitchen and living room.
“Coming, Mom!” she yelled a bit louder, quickly walking to the door and unlocking it.
“What the hell were you doing?” Mom asked, looking around as she came in.
“I wasn’t dressed. I was trying to find something to put on,” Emma lied as she slumped back down into the chair she’d slept in, holding her head in her hands.
“Emma, I’ve been hearing all kinds of stories of parties going on around here later than usual—sometimes all night—when I’m working third shift. Is that true?” Mom asked.
“I wouldn’t call them parties... I mean, it is okay to have friends over, right? Daniel’s paying for this place now, so I don’t think I can tell him his friends can’t come hang out, Mom.”
“Well, it smells like beer in here... and worse. You need to get off your ass and clean it up. I raised you better than this.”
“Mom... you know I usually keep my place clean. I’m just not feeling good today,” Emma said, defending herself.
It’s true. When I’m not drinking, I do keep my place neat as a pin, Emma thought. I’ve just spent more time drinking than cleaning lately, trying to feel good... feel right... feel anything and kill the pain. Ask me, Mom... Just ask me... You can see I’m drinking; don’t deny it... Help me put the pieces back together again, Mom. Help me put me back together... See me!
“Well, I like what you’ve done with the place, all your fairies and stuff,” Mom said as she looked around. “You’ve really done a good job redecorating, Emma.”
Mom had always been a dreamer—she loved fairies and moons and stars—but had kept her stuff mostly in her room, choosing not to press her whimsical nature onto her girls and keeping the decor neutral throughout their home.
Apparently it had rubbed off on Emma anyway. She had strands of glassy, vibrant beads hung to separate the bedroom doors from the living space, magical-looking fairies with petal-like wings hanging from the windows, and a few beautiful print
s of Orion shining his twinkling stars peppered around the living room and kitchen. Warm afghan blankets covered in starbursts of color snuggled over the couch and chair with embroidered footstools holding stacks of inviting books, hugging the corners. Emma had made her home warm and friendly—welcoming even.
“I brought you some leftover Chinese from dinner last night. Here you go,” Mom said, dropping a Styrofoam box in Emma’s lap, the smell immediately emanating to her nose, tickling her gag reflexes.
Emma jumped up and made a run for the bathroom, making it to the john just in time to have a sneak peek at what all went in the night before. That was the only way she’d know, as she’d started having blackouts.
According to Daniel, she could be acting normal—as normal as you can when you’re drunk—walking and talking, even eating, but wouldn’t remember a darn thing about it the next day, as was the case today. She didn’t even know who had been there last night, other than Daniel.
Mom followed, grabbing her long hair just in time and pulling it back to keep it from getting wet and nasty in her vomit. Emma heaved a few more times and then sat back against the wall, wiping the long streams of thick spit with one swipe of her arm.
“What the hell is wrong with you? Are you pregnant?” Mom asked.
“No, Mom. Just hand me a washcloth, please,” Emma answered.
Mom reached into the cabinet and pulled out a washcloth, wetting it and handing it to Emma. “Well, then, what is it? Why are you throwing up?”
“Because I got drunk last night, Mom,” Emma said, deciding to throw some truth out and see how Mom could deal with it.
“Oh, Emma. You’re not even old enough to drink,” Mom answered. “Seriously, did you pick up a bug?”
“No, Mom. I told you. I got totally wasted last night. I also got the tattoo,” Emma insisted, stooping again over the toilet, feeling another wave coming on.
Mom pulled out the neck on Emma’s stretchy pajama top and gasped. Emma snickered. Mom’s righteous indignation was enough to strengthen her stomach for one good laugh.
“How in the hell did you get that? You aren’t even old enough to get a tattoo!” Mom shouted, causing Emma to put her hands over her ears.
“Yeah, yeah... I’m not old enough to live on my own or quit school or a lot of other things either, Mom... but here I am,” Emma said, the sadness dripping through her sarcasm.
“Well, you wanted all those things, so don’t come bitchin’ to me about it now. I never could control you girls,” Mom said, walking out of the bathroom. “Call me or come on over if you need to go to the doctor to see about that virus.”
Emma threw the wet washcloth out the door where it hit the hallway wall and splattered, then slid to the floor. Mom had jumped back into the River of De’Nial and there would be no pulling her out.
Emma had been drinking frequently, in secret, for a year—the hard stuff—to get through her life, even leaving the empty bottles in the bottom of her closet in plain sight. The bottles were invisible to Mom, just like Emma seemed invisible to the whole world—except Mark—who she had never seemed to be able to disappear from when she needed to.
Now she’d outright told Mom the truth—one of her truths—and she still basically accused Emma of being a liar. Why would she lie about doing something she wasn’t supposed to be doing? What the hell sense did that make?
She really was on her own, but at least she was free.
Emma and Daniel kept house—two kids playing grown-up, without interference from anyone. Emma spent her days cleaning house, doing laundry, and getting dinner ready for the two of them, sometimes inviting Mom and her new boyfriend over when she’d taken special care to learn a new recipe.
The evenings were a different story. It was quickly made known to all the teenage kids within a twenty-mile radius that Emma and Daniel had a cool place to hang, without the meddling of parents. If someone wanted to hang out and party all night, cool. If they wanted to bring their friends too, even better.
Life was one big party to Emma and although she had given up her childhood, being an adult wasn’t so bad without fear’s ugly shadow breathing over her shoulder, keeping her on red alert, listening and watching for the slightest hint that her privacy was about to be invaded.
She slept in the comfort and protectiveness of Daniel’s arms and thought life couldn’t get any better. Daniel provided for them well enough, and when they needed something, Mom was right across the street, picking up the slack.
She didn’t need Gabby’s perfect husband and house or Olivia’s wonderful but broken life. This was all she wanted; this was what it felt like to be free. At fourteen, she had it all.
CHAPTER 20
Gabby pulled into the parking lot of her new job. It was full as she arrived for her first day as an executive secretary for the French-owned company. She was extremely nervous. She still couldn’t believe she applied, made it through the interview, and was chosen for the position: a fancy title, a five thousand-dollar increase in salary, and a bump up in the world!
Gabby had started her life with Jake with a new job, working at a ladies clothing distribution center. No one—not the supervisors, coworkers, or the management team who periodically walked through the distribution center—thought she’d last a week. At barely a hundred and fifteen pounds soaking wet, she was tasked with working the denim line. This included pulling a picking ticket, finding the location to be shipped to, waiting for the proper boxed and banded product to come down the conveyor, and pull it off, sticking the address label onto it, then swinging the box onto a different conveyor to be checked by the next person in line.
It’s amazing how much a box of jeans weighed when there were two dozen pairs of them together. But Gabby figured out a way to do it, different than everyone else, getting the job done by using the yellow bands around the box to sling it onto her right leg while she balanced on her left and taking a big hop to the next conveyer, then sliding it aboard while slapping on the label she’d positioned just barely in her mouth in anticipation of it coming down the line. It was hard work, but she never complained and never fell behind the few months she was “on the floor.”
When a clerical position was posted for upstairs—the corporate office—she was encouraged by her supervisors to try for it... adamantly refusing, saying she had no office experience. But they pressed her to apply anyway based on her attitude and perseverance, and they had backed her with glowing references.
Gabby knew the only reason she got the office job was because of them. She could just picture them upstairs hulking over the “office people,” bullying them into taking her. However it happened, she was moved upstairs. At that time, being promoted to the accounts payable department seemed like huge and exciting break for someone as young as Gabby, having no experience or accounting degree. Looking back, it wasn’t exciting, just a break... another stepping stone.
She’d been assigned a claustrophobia-inducing cubicle, processing accounts payable bills for their seven hundred-plus locations. Boring didn’t begin to describe her typical day there.
There were five other accounting clerks surrounding her in their own cubicle worlds—each day not unlike the day before, filled with wearied sighs mingling with the sounds of six adding machines, seeming to race in their quest to crunch the numbers and burp up matching tapes. Six rubber stamps roughly massaging the utility, lease and sanitation bills and six electric staplers pounding almost in rhythm with one another... completing each package, only to start all over with the next one on the never-ending, never-changing stacks of invoices. She felt lost amid the mounds of paperwork and symphony of adders, stampers, and staplers—the life being sucked out of her, burying her alive in her own cubicle where one day they would dig through the pile looking for past-due bills and find her body. Cause of death: excessive boredom.
After a combined year at this company between the two positions, Jake had encouraged her to try for something different. He believed she could do anything, so she
answered an online ad for an executive secretary that offered a much higher salary. The timing was perfect.
She and Jake had just moved into their new home two months ago and money was very tight. While a small ranch-style home and a piece of the woods might not seem like much to some people, to them it was a dream come true. To save money, they’d suffered through living with his parents for over a year while the house was being built. While they adored them, they missed their first place together. Any four adults in one house can take the patience out of anybody. It had taken every dime of their savings to build and they were mortgaged up to the huckleberries, as Jake liked to say. It was by far the nicest home Gabby had ever lived in during her twenty years and the only new home.
As Gabby stepped out of her car in her new Anne Klein suit and chunky heels, she felt on top of the world. Having met the controller and the assistant controller offsite for the interview, this would be her first time seeing the office. If the way the controller had been dressed was any indication of the dress code here, she was far from it but as close as her already-extended budget would get her, this suit and shoes being the nicest outfit she’d bought.
At the interview, she couldn’t help but notice the controller’s crisp French-cuffed sleeves with gold-monogramed cufflinks, his tailored suit with Italian leather shoes, and his gold Rolex. The tie he’d worn looked like it probably cost as much as Gabby’s entire new suit.
She’d been creeped out at the interview as Mr. Arnaud, the controller, just sat at the end of the table with his fingers steepled under his chin, watching her the entire hour. Mr. Hort, or Danny as he told her to call him, facilitated the interview, sometimes looking to Mr. Arnaud as if to ask if he had anything to add. But he never did. An introduction and handshake was all Gabby got from Mr. Arnaud... and a handshake out the door. She really thought she must have botched the interview from the lack of interaction she’d gotten from him. She went home depressed and defeated and resolved to just stick to accounts payable a while, but no sooner had she walked in the door when Mr. Hort called to ask when she could start. She was ecstatic. She gave her company two weeks’ notice, and here she was today, feeling polished and professional and ready to start something new—and better.