Pretty Things Don't Break

by Lauren Jayne

  “When I used to work with Tom Wilhite – yes, I know, I was so lucky. And I still can’t believe he’s gone. I’ll never forget the day his secretary called to tell me he’d misjudged a landing and died in his plane. Anyway, when I worked with Tom, he’d invited me to one of his big parties at the ranch. He didn’t know Joel; he was really my friend. I couldn’t go because I had just had Lauren, so I asked if I could send Joel. He’d heard so much about Tom and had been dying to meet him, but Tom wasn’t interested in Joel.” Mom laughed, and I listened. “Anyway, Joel got to the party a few hours late, as usual, and everyone was outside telling stories around the blazing bonfire. When Tom walked out, he heard everyone erupting into laughter. They were all standing around Joel, listening to him do impressions and tell stories–you know Joel. Joel met a business associate of Sid’s and he was really taken by Joel’s charm and charisma. The next day we got a call from him saying that his friend, who basically owned Sydney, was looking for someone just like Joel to head up his sales division for a new franchise. He would be responsible for selling franchises to the first drive-through car wash in Sydney. Joel was on fire; he’d never been more excited, and within a few days he’d quit his job at IBM, helped me pack up our Park Merced apartment, and we moved with two kids and a baby to Australia to work for a man we’d never met. We lived the best life; we were in our element and Joel was happier than I’d ever seen him. We were building a life there. We owned the most amazing jazz club in Double Bay and Joel sold car wash after car wash. Sid lavished us with gifts and parties and introduced us to the most amazing people. This was the life Joel and I were meant to live.”

  Mom sounded happy just talking about our old life.

  She continued, “Then, just like that, it was over. Joel came home and told me he had to leave, which he did, that night. I came a few days later with the kids; we ended up in Oregon, then Joel bought our house and went to work for his stepdad, Morris. I thought that was the end of Australia until about six years later when the feds picked him up at the house and took him away. I know, it was awful and scary. I was left with nothing-–no money, no job, no husband. So, that’s it. Joel is in jail because there never were any franchises to sell. Poor Joel was just doing his job, but because his name was on all of the newspaper ads when the people came asking for their money, Sid turned on Joel. Someone had to do the time, and it was Joel. I will get him out or die trying.”

  Chapter 9

  Dinner’s Ready

  It was fall again and with Dad still away, it was getting harder and harder to explain to nosy neighbors and seventh-grade teachers where my dad was. I lived in fear of seeing his face on the five o’clock news.

  “We haven’t seen your dad in a while,” our neighbors would say. “Where did you say he was again? Well, I’ll have to be sure to catch him next time he’s home from one of his business trips.”

  Mom was climbing higher and higher up the ranks and had more and more pins with sparkly diamonds pinned onto the lapels of her shirt. Each time she reached a new level of achievement, the notes around the house would change.

  It was Mom’s birthday, so I made shepherd’s pie while she took a nap. First, I browned the meat that I had taken from the freezer the night before, added a small can of tomato paste and a big one of tomato sauce, then opened a package of spaghetti sauce spices and stirred that in. My favorite part was grabbing the spices off the rack and adding them in a little at a time. Three shakes of oregano, three shakes of thyme, seven turns of the pepper mill, three shakes of basil and then I’d stir it and let it bubble for seven minutes. Adding the can of green beans, I carefully stirred them in and started on my potato buds. Pouring the hot water, butter, milk and a little salt and pepper, I stirred them until you couldn’t see any dry bits of potato. Then I spooned them over the tomato, hamburger, and green bean mixture as carefully as I could. If you did it too fast, the pretty white potatoes would get the red sauce on them and ruin it. Lastly, I covered it with grated cheddar cheese and put it under the broiler, making sure to leave the oven door open and not to leave sight of it, so it didn’t burn.

  When I took it out of the oven, bubbling and golden brown, I let it sit for a few minutes before I went to get Mom. Making a few finishing touches to the table, I wiped a glob of frosting that had fallen onto the cake plate with a napkin and fluffed the bow on the gift that I’d bought a week earlier at the mall. Luckily, my friend Jenny didn’t complain when I had her go into every store with me looking for just the right pin for Mom’s blazer. I told Noah to turn off the TV and went into Mom’s room to wake her up. Her light was off and the red curtains were pulled; it felt like midnight in there.

  I tapped on her shoulder and whispered as softly as I could, “Dinner’s ready.”

  But Mom shook me off and said she was too tired to come down. The next day when I walked downstairs, my little box had been opened and the green velvety box was next to it.

  When Mom walked in that night, I asked, “Did you like your gift?”

  “Oh, you know I have to wear my pins for work. You can keep it, or why don’t you return it and get something for yourself. I’ve gotta take a nap before my next meeting.”

  I had been hoping this would be my first gift to Mom that she would keep, but I knew, if I listened as hard as I could, next year I could find her something that she loved.

  Chapter 10

  Welcome Home

  After four years of Dad being shipped around from jail to prison to a federal penitentiary, Mom had swallowed her pride and called Milton. One call to the mayor’s office and Dad was being extradited from the concrete jungle to the beach. It turned out the Mayor of Las Vegas owed Milton a favor and, within an hour, the top attorneys in the country were working on Dad’s case. A few days after the call, Dad was flown back to Australia to serve the rest of his sentence out on the beach at a white-collar facility that Sid had been in for about six months.

  Back at home, tanned and healthy, he told Noah, “It was like a country club; we got to read out in the sun. I worked in the library.”

  Noah just beamed at him.

  Since I had decided a few years ago not to open or respond to any of Dad’s letters, he wasn’t quite as happy to see me when he got back, and the feeling was mutual. My new full-time job was to be as far away from him as possible.

  One day on my way out of the house, Dad was in the kitchen slamming the cupboards open and closed, open and closed.

  “Why can’t you shut the cupboards when you’re done? You’re a lazy pig!” he yelled.

  Dad grabbed me by my throat and started to squeeze. Pushing me against the swinging closet doors, his grip got tighter. I could no longer take a breath. I wiggled loose as I watched the skin on his face turn bright red. Then Dad grabbed a wooden spoon off of the counter and charged after me.

  “Get back here now!” he screamed.

  He caught up to me and pushed me from behind, my legs giving out as I sailed onto the floor knees first.

  “Where are you going?”

  I didn’t answer him; I just got up and kept running.

  “Get over here now!” he yelled, as I ran out the front door and up to a huge tree in our yard.

  Hiding behind the tree, I saw him come out of the house. My heart was racing. Afraid my breathing would tip him off, I tried to hold my breath. At that moment, I heard Westin talking to his little sister. I looked in their direction. Westin looked at me with raised eyebrows, like he was getting ready to say hello. With a red face, I put my shaking hand up to my lips and made the “shh” sign. I knew he could tell from the look on my face that I wasn’t playing hide-and-go-seek, and he turned around.

  When the coast was clear, I headed down to the Millers’. Mrs. Miller told me I had to quit knocking and just come on in, so I cautiously opened their glass door and yelled, “Hello.”

  “Oh, hi honey, we’re up here.”

  “You okay? You look like you just ran a mile.” Mr. Miller asked after seeing how red I w
as. I just smiled at him, and Mrs. Miller asked me if I wanted some lemonade.

  When Anna, their fifteen-year-old, walked into the kitchen she said, “Lauren, look at your body! When did you get those boobs? I’m still waiting for mine and you’re two years younger, that’s not fair!”

  Mrs. Miller tilted her head and pursed her lips as if to say, “be polite.” I tried to pull my sweater out a little bit more to cover my body, but nothing seemed to make them disappear.

  *

  As I was in my room rearranging my furniture, Noah tried to open my door, and the chain link jerked it shut.

  “Are you crazy, what’s with the locks?”

  I walked over and pushed the door closed and let him in.

  “Mom said we are going on a road trip to Grouse Mountain; you have to get ready,” Noah said.

  “What do you mean? Where is it, and why are we leaving at ten at night?” I asked.

  “Mom’s weekend opened up, and Dad has been locked up and wants to get out of here; just throw some stuff in a bag and let’s go.”

  When we got down to the car Mom told me that she was driving, and Dad got in the back with me. I just rolled my eyes and got in, knowing if I said anything about it, they would all call me a spoiled brat. Being trapped in the back seat of my Dad’s car with old pipe smoke surrounding me made me sick to my stomach. Crammed to the furthest side of the bench seat, I made myself stay awake as we bombed down the highway. As we headed north on I-5 my head started to nod and my eyelids grew heavier and heavier. Knowing I had to stay awake at all costs, I stared out the window.

  I must have dozed off because all of a sudden I woke up to Dad right next to me, his hand on my jeans. I was frozen as he rubbed his big hand on my thigh, and as he slid his hand up and touched my bare stomach I tried to scoot back, but I was already up against the window. I sucked my stomach in as hard as I could to keep his skin off of mine, but it was useless. His hands went up and then down; when he popped open the button to my jeans with one hand and ran it down, I knew that if I didn’t do something quick, Dad’s fat fingers would be in my body. At that moment a huge semi-truck drove toward us, its light filling our car, and in an instant Dad snapped out of his hazy-eyed state and I was staring right into his eyes. I yanked down my shirt and grabbed his hand from where it was in my pants and squeezed his wrist.

  At the exact second that the truck’s lights illuminated the back seat, I said, “NO!” in my sternest, strongest voice - a voice I had never heard come out of my body, a voice I didn’t know I had.

  Dad scooted back to his side of the seat and I sat on mine, staring out the window and wondering how Mom didn’t hear or see anything going on back there as we drove on to Grouse Mountain.

  *

  Dad was out in the yard playing ball with Noah and within about ten minutes there were fifteen kids in our yard playing football.

  “Over here, pass the ball! Nice throw,” Dad said to one of the neighborhood boys who was thirteen, like me. “Are you guys thirsty? Check out my pop machine in the garage?”

  Everyone piled into our garage and Dad showed them his new pop machine that dispensed ice-cold bottles with a simple pull, letting the narrow glass door snap shut. He started a game of darts, and as the kids took turns he sat on our carpet-covered garage steps and watched. I happened to look over when Carrie, my neighbor friend, jumped on his lap and flung her arm around his neck.

  “Hey Carrie, I need to show you something!” I yelled.

  She jumped off my dad’s lap.

  “What’s going on, what do you need to show me?” she asked.

  “What are you doing? My dad is so gross,” I said, pulling her outside.

  “Have you seen my dad?” Carrie said. “With a straight face and a button down shirt, even on the weekend? He’s a dork, and your Dad – well, he’s cool and funny and always the life of the party. Let’s go back,” she said.

  “No, let’s go on a bike ride; I want to show you something at my school,” I replied.

  *

  Coming out of the shower, I could hear that Mom and Dad had just come home from a meeting. Dad was telling her, “You were so amazing, Mom! Can you believe the money you are making? Good on ya, Sandy. I knew you could do it.”

  As I lay on my bed, Mom walked in and told me that she had to go on a business trip for a few days, but Dad was taking my friend Carrie and me on a camping trip.

  “Mom, what are you talking about? Why?” I asked.

  “Well, I’m going out of town, and you can’t stay here alone,” she said.

  “Mom, I’m here alone all the time. I’ll be fine. I can’t go. I’m not going.”

  “Lauren, it’s done. Dad already rented a camper and talked to Carrie’s parents. Try to have fun. Maybe you and Dad can get over this little rift you have. You leave in the morning.”

  As I threw my things in a bag, I considered running away, but thought he might just go with Carrie, and then we’d really be in trouble. Knowing I would have to keep her busy, I thought of everything we could possibly do while camping.

  We stepped up into the long RV and put our things in the back. When I saw that there were two bunk beds, I almost barfed. When Dad was giving us the tour, he pointed out how the table pushed down and another bed went over it. That didn’t help too much. Dad got in the driver’s seat, and Carrie and I played cards at the small table in the back of the bouncing camper. A few hours later Dad slowly turned into a campground and then wound around the lake further and further and further into the thick woods. As soon as he stopped the car, I told Carrie to follow me. Grabbing her hand, we ran into the woods. Leading her to a stream, we walked across the slippery rocks, slowly heading down the bank, chatting. Pointing out all of the trees, I made up a new game.

  “Let’s see if we can find a tree that is bigger than both of our arms.”

  Walking through the thick forest, we linked our hands around the base of the beautiful evergreens, tree after tree, until we found one that was so massive that both of our arms linked around it weren’t long enough to enclose it. Then we lay under it and stared up through its protective canopy. I was hoping that somehow, if I stopped talking, Carrie would fall asleep under the tree and we wouldn’t have to go back to my dad. After a few hours in the woods Carrie was hungry and said she was heading back to our camp.

  Dad had built a fire and was opening a can of baked beans when we walked up.

  “Have fun in the woods, girls?” He was using his sweetest voice.

  “We had a blast. We went down the river and skipped rocks on the pond; we found butterflies. But now we’re starved,” Carrie said.

  “Well, I’m going to whip us up a feast – want to help?”

  Dad and Carrie cooked over the stove and I sat in a folding chair poking at the fire with a stick, keeping one eye on Dad. After dinner we got things cleaned up and got ready for bed; every time I heard Dad and Carrie laugh, my skin crawled. Not wanting to leave her side, I told her I’d be right back and I went to the tiny, woodsy-smelling bathroom and brushed my teeth as quickly as I could. When I came out, Carrie was standing in the dark, cramped hallway staring at me like she’d seen a ghost.

  With terror in her tear-filled eyes, she said, “Your dad – he grabbed me like we were going to dance, but then he put his hands on my butt, then in my sweats and down my underpants – your dad was rubbing my butt.”

  Just then Dad came back from the front of the camper and pushed me aside. While everything whirled around me, I grabbed the cold round handle, twisted it, pushed the door open, and dropped down on the spiky metal stairs–one, two, then just dirt under my feet. In the dark, I made my way to the picnic table and slumped onto it, my feet on the bench. I sat there, shaking, my head on my knees, tears streaming down my face onto my pajama pants. Darkness surrounded me and my world went black.

  Chapter 11

  Sunday Brunch

  While I was checking our mail, Mrs. Miller saw me and waved me down. Running down the street, I w
as happy to be burning a few calories.

  “Hi sweetie, are you going to the picnic?” she asked.

  “No, I can’t, I have too much to do.”

  “Oh, you have to! Why don’t you come down; we are leaving at noon, which gives you over two hours to get your chores done. I hope you’ll join us, honey.”

  Walking into the house, I was torn – I really didn’t want to go to the picnic – I was having a fat day and felt disgusting, and I had too much to do. But the thought of letting her down was worse than my lack of desire to go. I sat down at my desk and stared at my list. Breakfast (half of a grapefruit) – check. Organize the linen closet – check. Prepare lunch –check.

  After organizing the linen closet by color and size, I went down to the empty kitchen and measured and cleaned everything for my lunch. Quartering the chicken breast I had bought on Sunday with Mom, I cut it up and removed the skin and bone and all of the weird, gross, tendon-looking things, leaving four pieces of meat that were each about the size of a halved banana. Wrapping each of them in a piece of cellophane and putting them back in the fridge for later, I washed and portioned out some broccoli so it was ready to steam at exactly 11:33. Knowing that everyone would be eating at the picnic made my heart race. What would I do? What would I say? Having until noon, I knew if I ate my lunch early I wouldn’t have to lie to Mrs. Miller when she asked why I wasn’t eating. At 11:03 I turned on the oven to 350 degrees and put three inches of water in a pot to boil on the stove. When the oven was hot, I unwrapped my portion of chicken and placed it on a piece of aluminum foil. Then I placed my washed and trimmed broccoli in the bubbling water and put the lid on for exactly three minutes. When the chicken was ready, I removed it and put it on my plate with the broccoli and doused them both with fresh-squeezed lemon juice. Making sure to take tiny bites and chewing each piece seven times, the lemon made my eyes squint and my mouth pucker. With some time to spare, I went up to pick out an outfit.