The Possibility of Somewhere

by Julia Day

  “You’re the president of the Webmaster’s Club.”

  “I can delete files from the web site, but only Mrs. Barber can upload content.” How had this happened? Had we been hacked? “I can’t believe she would’ve published it without my permission.” As I was speaking, I removed the image, but I knew—and he knew—that it was a vain effort. Things like this could go everywhere in an instant.

  “Shit.” He popped to his feet, his hands clenching and unclenching.

  I rose too and reached for him. He flinched. It was like a blow. “Don’t act like this is my fault. It isn’t.”

  “I know, but I can hardly think. This is a disaster.”

  “Hey, guys,” Mundy called from the door. “Mrs. Barber’s on her way.”

  I blinked. I’d forgotten Mundy was there.

  Ash gripped his backpack and turned to go. “We have to cancel our plans this afternoon. I’ll have to tell my parents, and that’ll take hours.”

  I followed him out into the hall, watching as he hurried away. I wanted to scream at him to come back, not to leave me. My body ached to have our perfect little world last for a day, an hour, a moment longer.

  “Hey, Eden.” When Mundy pulled me into her arms, I slumped into her like I was a rag doll that needed support. “What do you think will happen?”

  “I don’t know.” I shook my head, dazed.

  “Come on. Let’s go to class.” She lifted my backpack and tugged me along. “Time to face the fallout.”

  * * *

  Ash didn’t appear in the cafeteria, although his study group did. Their anger had a physical feel.

  They weren’t the only ones glaring at me. Other classmates were throwing speculative glances my way. I wanted to know what they thought, yet I also didn’t want to know.

  I tried to eat, but that wasn’t working either. The atmosphere in the lunchroom was too thick with tension. What was their problem? There were a few interracial couples at this high school. It couldn’t be that I was white and he wasn’t. Could it?

  Maybe it was something else. Maybe I wasn’t the right kind of white.

  I couldn’t take this any longer. Even with Mundy’s protection, the glares and whispers were getting to me.

  Popping to my feet, I said, “Can you clean up? I have to get out of here.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah.”

  I fled, hurrying down the hall, uncaring of the curious stares, completely focused on finding peace. My best option would be the computer lab. It was in a quiet corner of the building, teachers were used to seeing me there, and it was likely to be empty during the lunch period.

  But as I rounded the next corner, I halted. Murray Fielder was standing outside the lab, talking with a couple of his teammates. When he spotted me, he jogged in my direction, waving the others on.

  I turned to go.

  “Hey,” he said, stepping into my path.

  I tried to move around him. He stepped there, too.

  What should I try next? My normal response to Murray was to run, but I couldn’t tell what he was willing to do to prevent my escape.

  No, dammit. I wasn’t taking this. He’d picked the wrong day to mess with me. “Get away from me.”

  “Don’t think I will.” He took a step closer, crowding me. “Ash and Eden? Didn’t expect that.”

  I held my ground.

  He smiled lazily. “I wish I’d known you preferred dark meat.”

  “You are a worthless piece of shit.” Revulsion threw me into action. I flung myself sideways, trying to get around him, only to skid to a stop when he blocked me again.

  “Fielder! Back off.” Sawyer ran at us full speed, his shoes slapping on tile.

  Murray and I spun around in surprise.

  When Sawyer reached us, he pushed himself between me and Murray. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “I didn’t touch her.”

  “Is that true, Eden?”

  I eyed Murray with contempt. “He’s guilty of a lot of things, but assault isn’t one of them.”

  “Bitch—”

  Before he could finish, Sawyer knocked Murray back into the wall. They stared unflinchingly. Where Sawyer’s expression promised imminent retribution, Murray’s held seething defiance.

  Sawyer spoke without looking my way. “Go on, Eden. I’ve got this.”

  “What?” Murray forced out through gritted teeth. “I didn’t touch her.”

  As I walked away, pretending that I didn’t have the shakes, I heard Sawyer say, in a chilling voice, “It takes a special kind of asshole to pick on a girl. I think you have a lesson to relearn.”

  23

  A Film of Tears

  “Marnie,” I called out as I pushed open the trailer’s front door with a hip. Continuing into my room, I dumped my stuff next to the bed and stood motionless. It had been a horrible day.

  Ash left school after third period. I’d tried texting him. There had been no reply.

  How had his parents taken it? Not well, probably.

  My turn, but I’d make sure that Marnie was alone first.

  Had she responded to my call? I hadn’t heard her. Maybe she was back in her bedroom. I started across the den, then faltered to a stop.

  My stepmom sat on the love seat, lips pressed tightly together. She watched me through red-rimmed eyes.

  “Marnie, what’s happened?”

  “You’re dating Ash Gupta.”

  I staggered as if someone had smashed me with a bat. How had she found out? She should have heard this from me. “Yes, we’re dating.”

  Tears spilled down her cheeks. She choked on a sob. “You should have been the one to tell me.”

  “I’m sorry. I was going to.”

  “When?”

  “Today.” Carefully, I sat next to her on the love seat and braced myself. The accusation in her voice cut with a razor-sharp sting. “Who told you?”

  “Desiree Barber.”

  Tiffany and her mom ought to know better than to take me on. “When did you find out?”

  “An hour ago.” Marnie averted her face. “How long have you been dating?”

  “Three weeks.”

  “He was over here this weekend.”

  “Yeah.”

  A shudder rippled through her. “You don’t trust me.”

  “Yes, I do trust you.”

  “But not enough to let me know about Ash.”

  “We kept it a secret from everyone.”

  “Even Mundy?”

  Damn. “She knew, but she was the only—”

  “Save the explanation.” Marnie mopped at her cheeks. “Why, Eden?”

  “I wasn’t sure what you’d think.”

  “About what? That your boyfriend is attractive? Rich? Smart? Yeah, moms hate those things for their daughters.”

  I hung my head, too guilty to reply.

  “You thought I wouldn’t want you dating an Indian.”

  No point in denying it. I nodded.

  She sprang off the love seat and stalked to the opposite side of the room. “What kind of person do you think I am? I’ve never said or done anything to make you think I don’t like them.”

  “But Dad—”

  “I’m not your father.” She sucked in a ragged breath. “There are things about Byron I don’t like. He blames all immigrants for losing his job. He thinks awful thoughts, and sometimes they pour out his mouth. But I’m not him.” She paced across the carpet, arms crossed, shoulders hunched. When she spoke again, it was in a whisper. “You didn’t trust me to be happy for you.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Not good enough.” She headed to the back hallway, stopping to look at me over her shoulder. “You tell your father when he gets home.”

  “Where is he?”

  “At Granny’s, fixing her stove.”

  “I’m not talking to him unless you’re here.” I perched on the love seat, staring at my hands. Without her around, any conversation with my dad would rage out o
f control within seconds. My stomach twisted into knots. “He won’t listen.”

  “The time for listening is over,” my father rasped from the kitchen.

  Marnie and I stared at each other in surprise. How long had he been standing there?

  I glanced at his hardened face and swallowed convulsively. He’d heard enough.

  She faded into the shadows of the hallway, leaving me alone with him. My heart thudded into overdrive.

  Dad crossed to the kitchen table, spun a chair around, and sat. “A white guy wouldn’t have you, so you’re slumming with an Indian.”

  I should thank him for leading off with something foul. It flooded me with disgust, muffling the fear. “I guess you’d know about slumming.”

  “When were you planning on telling me?”

  “Never.”

  “Because you’re ashamed.”

  “No, because you’re racist.”

  He popped out of his chair and walked over to me, halting when the tips of his shoes bumped against mine. “His folks hang out with their kind. White folks hang out with our kind. If that’s racist, then we’re both guilty.”

  I stared straight ahead, my eyes on a level with the tool belt slung low around his hips. Did he ever wonder if they stuck together because his kind worked so hard to keep them out?

  No, my dad didn’t wonder. He was just smug about the righteousness of his point. No use in trying to rebut it. He didn’t want to understand my side of the story.

  Of course, I didn’t want to understand his either.

  “I hear his type treat their women like dogs. Is that how the boy treats you?”

  “He treats me better than any guy ever has.”

  “Is the boy banging you?”

  The question swirled around me like a toxic wind, threatening to immobilize me. I wouldn’t give in. “His name is Ash.”

  “All right, then. Is Ash the Indian banging my daughter?”

  From the corner of my eye, I noticed a movement in the darkness of the hall. Marnie hovered nearby.

  “I don’t ask you about your sex life. Don’t ask me about mine.”

  “I’ll ask you whatever I want.” His hand shot out and hauled me to my feet, his fingers biting into my upper arm. “Are you on the pill? I won’t put up with little brown babies in my house.”

  “You’re a pig.” I yanked my arm from his grasp. “I don’t need lectures from the dickhead who knocked up the town slut.”

  “Whore.”

  “Loser.”

  He backhanded me.

  I stumbled over the love seat, crashed into the wall, and slid down until my butt met carpet.

  Silently I sat there, cheek aching, eyelids floating on a film of tears. In the background, Marnie screamed “Stop” at least a thousand times. I wanted to ask her to hush, except it hurt too much to move my jaw.

  “Sweetie.” She knelt beside me. “Let me help you.”

  “Don’t.” I struggled to my feet, moving in stages, while the room swam around me. I let the wall hold me up.

  “Do you need me to help you stand?”

  “No.” The room had righted itself.

  “Eden,” Dad’s voice trembled. “I didn’t mean to.”

  I didn’t look at him.

  “Please, baby girl. I didn’t mean to.”

  I took hesitant steps past him toward the sliding door.

  “Where are you going?” Marnie asked.

  “To the bay.” The door shushed open.

  “Marlene,” he said.

  “Shit, Byron,” she hissed, “have you lost your mind?”

  “Doll—”

  “Get out of my way.” Her feet thudded on the deck behind me. “Eden, wait.”

  I stopped. She circled around me and scrutinized my face. After pushing away a lock of hair with gentle fingers, she gasped. “Sweetie, I’m sorry.”

  “You left me alone with him.” The words seemed to scald my throat. How could she have let this happen? She should’ve known how it would go.

  “I’m sorry.” Her fingers started to explore the side of my head. “How hard did you slam your head?”

  I jerked away from her touch. “Hard enough.”

  “Do you have a lump?”

  “Stop, Marnie. I need the bay.” Before I fell apart.

  Her hand dropped. “You’re babysitting tonight.”

  “I won’t be late.”

  I went to the water.

  * * *

  It was almost seven before I made my way back to the house. My time at the bay had calmed me, as I knew it would, but it hadn’t helped me understand how I felt about what happened.

  When Boone and I were little, Dad had whipped us often enough, as spanking was one of the few tools in his parental-discipline toolbox. He’d always been matter of fact. This is going to hurt me more than it does you.

  No, it hadn’t, but whatever.

  Marnie hated spanking, so it stopped when she came to live with us. Boone had been paddled a few times since, but not me. Twelve years had passed with no physical punishment.

  Until now. I didn’t know what to do about it.

  I ought to feel … something. But what? I wasn’t sad. I wasn’t scared. I wasn’t mad.

  I felt betrayed. By my dad, for hitting me. By my stepmom, for not protecting me.

  When Mundy saw the bruise on my face, she would ask if I’d done anything about it, like march my father down to the sheriff’s department.

  But what would they charge him with? Being a redneck? A racist? I wasn’t going to bother. Our local law enforcement didn’t care if a father gave his mouthy teenaged daughter a little skin-on-skin discipline.

  The Mundys of the world believed in a sunshiny legal system that would find a way to make this type of situation better, complete with suspended sentences, community service, anger-management classes, and family counseling. I knew better. The Edens of the world grew up in trailer parks, and they had different rules.

  Justice changed depending on where we lived.

  I would handle this myself, and it would be effective. Dad ought to be worried about what I would do next.

  My first objective was to hide the bruise on the right side of my face. I’d have to get up an hour early tomorrow and see what the wonders of makeup and hair style could achieve.

  It was time to head out for my job and do everything I could to avoid looking my boss in the eye. She might feel obligated to report this.

  I fumbled in my closet for a different shirt, since I would have to wear longer sleeves to hide the bruises he’d made on my arm. As I was making a final check of my backpack, something bumped into the door to my room.

  Marnie leaned against the doorframe, keys dangling from her index finger. “Ready to go?” she asked, her voice rough.

  I hesitated. Of all the people in my life, Marnie was the only one I’d never fought with. Not in any real way. We’d always had an amazing relationship. Until this evening. “I don’t want to say good-bye like this, Marnie.”

  “Yeah.” She opened her arms and I fell into them, shuddering while she murmured comforting words that made no sense but that I understood. Once the shudders slowed, she tucked a finger under my chin and turned my head to the side.

  “Crap,” she muttered. “It’s looking worse.”

  I said nothing.

  A grim expression settled on her face. “I told your father if he hits you again, you and I are leaving. Forever.”

  Damn, I loved her. “Has he…?” I frowned, wondering if she would tell me the truth. “Has he ever hit you?”

  “Once. When we were dating.”

  “Then why did you marry him?”

  “My first husband smoked too much, drank too much, and had another girl on the side. With Byron, it’s been better. He adores me, he doesn’t care that I can’t give him kids, and he’s great in bed.”

  I cringed. I would’ve preferred a life that didn’t include knowledge of that last part.

  “Mostly, though, I m
arried your father because it was the only way I could have you and Boone.” She kissed my good cheek. “Sweetie, if you want to leave anyway, I’ll figure something out.”

  The offer surrounded me like a soothing hug. In a way, I should feel sorry for my dad. If his kids had been the main draw, what would happen to their relationship after I left? Maybe Boone and I were the glue that held them together. Did Dad worry about that? Was this why he’d been so insistent that I live at home? Was that even more important than having me work at the hardware store or go to Cape Fear?

  If saving his marriage was the real explanation for all of the grief he’d been putting me through, Marnie’s reaction today must terrify my father. Too bad I didn’t have any sympathy to spare him. “We don’t have to make any decisions.”

  She nodded. “Do you want to take the car?”

  “Aren’t you working in the morning?”

  “I can drive Byron’s truck.”

  I took the keys. “What about him?”

  “He’s running scared right now. He won’t argue with me. A day stuck on the property will do him good.”

  “Okay, I’m out of here.” After grabbing my backpack and a change of clothes, I headed for the front door. She turned away.

  “Marnie?”

  She looked over her shoulder.

  “Will you please quit working at the convenience mart?”

  “Yeah. Soon.”

  “By Thanksgiving?”

  “Probably.”

  “Definitely. Promise?”

  She gave me a half smile. “Promise. Now leave.”

  24

  In Jeopardy

  I made it through the evening and the next morning with head bowed, lots of makeup, and loose hair, parted to hang over my bad cheek. Mrs. Fremont would’ve said something if she’d noticed, but she hadn’t. Maybe my plan would work.

  When I got to school, I waited outside on the bench under the big oak tree, hoping to catch Ash as he walked in from the senior parking lot. His entourage stood not far from me on the sidewalk, occasionally throwing tense glances my way. Clearly, they blamed me for what was going on.

  Ash wasn’t with them.

  They stirred as a group and turned toward the bus lane as a tired yellow school bus slowed and stopped. The doors opened and students spilled out. Ash was the last one off.