The Art of Being Indifferent (The Twisted Family Tree Series)

by Brooke Moss

  Which meant we had twelve more hours to wait before they would involve themselves. Twelve hours where those freaks could take Posey anywhere. Twelve hours where she could be left somewhere, beat up, shot, raped, or killed.

  Yeah. I was a bit frantic myself. Far cry from the days when Maddie didn’t call all day and I’d thanked God for His infinite blessings. Now I’d not heard from Posey in twelve hours, and I was ready to climb the walls.

  “Do you want to go back to the Coulters?” Karen asked when I stomped to the kitchen and flopped down at the table. “Maybe they’ve heard something.”

  I shook my head. “They would’ve called.”

  Once I’d relayed everything I remembered about Celeste, Norm, their special delivery box, and their sweet ride, John told me that it was probably best if I waited at home. He said he was afraid Posey would call Mac’s place looking for me, but the line on his forehead told me he was stressed to the max, and none too pleased I’d let his daughter drive off with those people.

  Karen set a plate of scrambled eggs down in front of me and gave my arm a squeeze. It was a comforting gesture I’d never received from my mother, and it sent a shot right into my heart. “She’ll come home soon,” Karen said quietly. “Once she realizes what a nice family she has here.”

  “Right.” I nodded down at my eggs and picked up my fork.

  Mac came into the room. “I’m gonna eat and run, Ma, is that okay?”

  “Why?” she asked, handing him a plate. “What’s the rush?”

  Mac sat down across from me, offering me a sheepish shrug. “I have to go to Oak Harbor for Jessa’s corsage.” When I looked back down at my eggs, stabbing them tensely, he added, “Sorry, man. Maybe she’ll be home in time.”

  In a few hours all the kids in town would be hustling around, getting ready for Homecoming Saturday. Everyone went overboard trying to outdo each other. Limos, suits, fancy dresses, hotel rooms in Langley for the after parties. The whole nine yards. For kids in a town this size, there were three major events to look forward to. Homecoming in the fall. Prom in spring. Graduation in the beginning of summer. In that order. Everybody was pumped.

  Except me. I felt bogged down by fear. Forking another bite of eggs, I closed my eyes and sighed. “Don’t worry about it. I didn’t want to go that much, anyway. Too damn expensive.”

  Karen and Mac stared at me with their heads tilted, sympathy hanging in the air between us like the aroma of breakfast. After a moment, Karen nudged Mac, who went back to stuffing his face. “Well, that’s no lie,” she said. “Right, son?”

  “Uh huh,” he grunted. “My suit’s costing me a hundred bucks.”

  Karen blew on her coffee. “Make that a hundred and ten.”

  I glanced up. “Why don’t you borrow mine?”

  I’d brought all of my clothes over to Mac’s, even the things I doubted I would ever need to use again. I mean, without a campaigning dad to stand next to at restaurant openings and Fourth of July parades, I didn’t think I would ever wear my suit again. Especially now that I wasn’t going to Homecoming.

  He looked at me. “Don’t you need it?”

  “Not anymore.” I took another bite, chewed, and swallowed. “Gotta have a girlfriend to go to the dance.”

  “No, you don’t.” Mac smirked at me. “You can go with Jessa and me. Or you can go stag. Maddie will shit her pants.”

  Karen set her coffee mug down with a crack. “Malcolm.”

  “Gah. Sorry.” Mac ducked his head. “Don’t bring out the full name.”

  “The last thing I need is Maddie thinking she’s got any shot.” I picked up my plate and walked it over to the dishwasher. “Just because my girlfriend is long gone to who knows where doesn’t mean I’m looking to replace her anytime soon. Thanks for breakfast, Karen.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  I glanced at Mac. “Just save some money and use the suit. It’s in my closet. We’re close enough in size.”

  He seemed to think about it for a second. “Fine,” he relented, before flexing his arm. “But do you think the jacket’s big enough for these guns?”

  “It’s hard to say.” Smiling despite my foul mood, I shook my head. “Karen, how did you get such a weird kid? You’re so nice.”

  “I blame it on his father.” She smiled kindly, then looked at her watch. “Ouch. I’m going to be late for work.” Reaching into her pocket, she produced her cell phone and handed it to me. “I gave the Coulters my number. Why don’t you keep this today, in case they call.”

  “No, I…” I swallowed. What if Posey did come home? I wanted to know she was safe, even if she didn’t want to have anything to do with me. I pressed my lips together and took the phone. “Thank you. I’ll return it this afternoon.”

  “Good.” She patted my arm and scooped up her purse. Bending to kiss her son, she said, “Mac, make sure you put your dish in the washer. And I’ll be home by four to help you get ready and take pictures. All right?”

  Mac waved off her affection, and took his plate to the dishwasher. “Come on. Give a guy some dignity.”

  As soon as both of them left, their tiny house was very still and very quiet. Maybe I should’ve gone to Oak Harbor with Mac. Being alone with my thoughts wasn’t a good idea. I kept replaying my last words to Posey in my head. And her last words to me. There were at least a million things I wish I’d said to her. I’d never had a breakup that hurt like this. Like I’d been punched in the chest, and left hollowed out.

  Hell, had it even been a breakup? I mean, we’d not said we’re finished or anything. But maybe Posey’s F-you was intended to be a sign.

  I thought about the box of drugs, the screwed up look on Norm’s face, and the scabbed spots on Celeste’s skin. I pictured the gun on the floor of the car, and the gritty part of Seattle Celeste had said Norm’s apartment was. My fists clenched, and my throat tightened.

  I picked up the home phone, listened for a dial tone, then set it back down. “Damn, Po, where are you?”

  The doorbell rang and I jumped about a foot off the cushion. I dove for the door, my heart hammering in my ears. Posey.

  I unlatched the door and swung it open, finding myself face to face with my mom.

  “Hello, son.” She smiled tightly. She was wearing her fur coat and glancing around her like we were in the ghetto. “May I come in?”

  I stiffened, unconsciously blocking the doorway. “I don’t know…”

  If my words offended her, she didn’t let on. “Andrew, I need to tell you something.”

  “I’m waiting for a call.” I looked over her shoulder, down the road, hoping to see the Coulters beat up minivan lumbering towards the house. But it was just my mother’s Mercedes SUV parked in the drive. “I’ve had a long night.”

  My mom’s hand touched my elbow for just a second. It was probably the first time she’d touched me affectionately in a year or so. “I know. I heard what happened with Posey.”

  Blinking at her, I asked, “How do you know?”

  “This is a small town.” Her thin shoulders rose and fell. “Word travels fast. Mac’s father was on duty when the Coulters called the police last night. He called your father shortly after he left their house this morning.”

  I looked down at the ground. “I’m sure Dad had a heyday with that.”

  “Your father’s opinion doesn’t matter.” She gestured inside. “May I?”

  I reluctantly stepped aside. When my mom walked into Karen’s living room, her nostrils flared. It wasn’t exactly the kind of opulence she was used to. The main room in my parents’ house was decorated to the nines and roughly the size of Mac’s entire house. Karen’s room was paneled in wood, had mismatched furniture, and covered in hand knitted pillows and afghans.

  “Have a seat,” I offered.

  She sat down on the edge of the couch. “How are you doing?”

  I looked away from her. “I’ve had better days.”

  “I know it looks bad right now. And I know you’re wor
ried about the girl you care about,” Mom said. “But Posey will get through this. I promise you.”

  “How would you know?” I glanced at Karen’s cell phone. No missed calls. Looking up at her, I glared. “You don’t even like her. You said she’s trash.”

  Mom touched her hand to her forehead, then fluffed it over her hair. “I may have been quick to judge Posey.” She looked at me, then quickly looked away. “And the Coulters.”

  “Why?” I asked. When she didn’t answer right away, I raised my voice. “Why, Mom?”

  Her eyes seemed to fill up, and she started to blink rapidly. “My parents drank a lot. And… they had rotten tempers. My sisters and I were afraid of them most of the time, and we always did everything we could to stay away from home as often as we were able. My mother had a fondness for pouring either ice cold water or scalding hot water over our heads when she was angry.”

  My eyes widened. I’d only ever met my maternal grandparents three times in my life, and each of those times had only lasted for about an hour or so. They were cold, unaffectionate people, and they never remembered my birthday.

  “When I was a sophomore in high school and my younger sister, Caroline, was in the eighth grade,” she went on, “my mother got mad at her for sneaking out one night, so she poured boiling water on Caroline’s head. It burned the back of her neck and shoulders so badly, it blistered. Some of the skin on Caroline’s neck was hanging. It was repulsive.

  “She tried wearing her hair down so it wouldn’t show, but eventually our Sunday school teacher saw the burns and called the police. The police contacted social services, and before we knew it, we were being removed from our parents’ home, and thrown into some dirty, filthy foster home for three weeks.”

  “I… you… what?” My mouth was gaped open. My mother grew up in Lake Oswego, an affluent suburb of Portland, Oregon, where one would never expect a kid to get abused on a regular basis.

  Kind of reminded me of something.

  She sniffled a bit, then dabbed at the corners of her eyes with her fingertips. “Our foster home was a horrible place. It was grungy and it smelled bad. The foster mother was at least four hundred pounds and literally never got out of her chair. The foster father was always leering at us girls, and wouldn’t let us close the bathroom door when we showered. He was a pervert, and we insisted on sleeping in the same bed together at night—both of us—because we were so scared he would creep in on us during the night.

  “We had to go to a different school in downtown Portland. One full of gangs and thugs, and we didn’t fit in at all. We didn’t have our clothes with us, so we had to wear hand-me-downs from the foster family. Kids at the school made fun of us, and shove us around on the school bus. Boys would proposition us. It was humiliating. And terrifying.”

  I didn’t know what to say. I’d gone eighteen years without ever knowing this about my mother, but to be honest, there was very little I knew about her past. Mac knew his mother’s favorite color, her favorite band, and which book in the freaking bible she read every night before bed. I knew my mother’s name. Oh, and what kind of wine she liked to pair with salmon, and all about my father’s extracurricular activities. That was about it.

  “I had no idea.” I stared at her while she sat Karen’s plaid couch crying. “When did you go back?”

  “Three weeks, two days, and four hours later. We went to my grandparents’ house.” She forced a smile, even though her eyes still shone with tears. “We stayed there for another three months, but they lived close enough to our home we were able to go to our old school. My grandparents told everybody we’d been on vacation, and we were staying in their home while our parents continued traveling out of the country. Everybody believed it, thank God. I just wanted to put it all behind me. I didn’t want to think about the time I spent in that awful house with those horrible people.”

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. For as long as I could remember, my mom looked down on the Coulters, calling them white trash because they were a foster family, because all of the kids ran around in worn clothes. Little did I know that she said those things because the foster parents she’d had still haunted her.

  “What did your mom and dad have to do to get you back?” I asked.

  She looked out the window wistfully, her icy demeanor coming back. “Oh, they jumped through all the hoops. They had to do anger management and alcohol counseling. When they got us back, they even tried to keep their tempers in check for a while. My mother especially. But after a while they went back to normal.” She brought her eyes back to mine, and forced a terse smile. “They were just more careful after that. They used ice cold water instead of hot. They threatened us quietly, instead of yelling. We were the perfect family, except the fact that my sister and I were petrified. Petrified of our parents. Petrified that we would wind up back in foster care with those horrible people. Petrified we would wind up back in that school in the middle of the city.”

  “Why didn’t you ever tell me any of this before?” I asked, my voice hoarse.

  She fidgeted with the clasp on her purse. “You’ve seen the house I grew up in. You’ve seen my parents a couple of times. Would you have expected them to be bullies who terrify their daughters into obedience?”

  I shook my head. My mother had a framed picture of her parents in the den at our house, and it showed no indication of the monsters they apparently were. Just two old people in nice clothes, smiling regally against a grey background.

  “When I went off to college, I fell in love with your father so quickly. He was so handsome and charming. He was my first boyfriend. My first everything.” She blushed and looked down.

  I glanced away, embarrassed.

  “The more we got to know each other, the more I realized how similar our upbringings had been,” she said quietly. “He listened to me talk about my parents’ terror for hours and hours, and he promised if we wound up together that things would be different. That we would move to his hometown on Whidbey Island and he would be the kind of man the whole town respected. I fell in love with the idea that we would be like small town royalty, and that my new life would be so different from the one I had in Portland. Little did I know that once we were a few years in, I would look around and realize that our life was almost identical.”

  “Why didn’t you leave?” I gripped the arms on the chair I was sitting in. How could she not have tried to protect me? “Why didn’t you try to make things better?”

  Moms’ eyebrows tilted down at the ends. She looked wounded. “I… I didn’t know how. This is the only life I’ve ever known. I wouldn’t even begin to know how to live in a normal family, with a normal house and normal habits. I’ve been living like this for so long that I-I’m not sure I can even imagine a life without the mayhem.”

  All the puzzle pieces in my head clicked into place. Years of watching my mom drown her sorrows in a wineglass while my dad yelled at me so hard the windows rattled. She’d always worked so hard to make sure we looked perfect on the outside. Our lawn was always perfectly trimmed and manicured. Our Christmas decorations were always the biggest and fanciest in town. And our family portraits were always taken by the best photographer on the island, then submitted to Whidbey Weekly so everyone on this rock could see how perfect we all were.

  “I guess this all makes sense, then.” I said finally. I hated to kick my mom when she was down. But since she’d come over here looking to have some sort of heart-to-heart with me, it didn’t make sense to hold back. “So, if you can relate to being a foster kid, and how awful it is… why do you hate Posey so much?”

  She shifted in her seat, looking down. “I don’t hate her, I—”

  “Oh, come off it, Mom.” I moved forward in my seat, shortening the space between us. “For as long as I can remember, you’ve called Paula and John Coulter trash, and said even worse things about their kids. If you’re not that different from Posey, then why do you consider her to be below you?”

  “I just… I jus
t…” She closed her eyes and grimaced. “I don’t know. At first Paula was just the girl who had your father’s heart. I felt like I was Curtis’ second choice. And then when she married John Coulter and they became foster parents, it brought back all of that insecurity and fear from when I was a girl. Every time they drove around town in that beat up car, or walked around in those second hand clothes, they reminded me of that time in that terrible house. They reminded me of how scared and angry I was. I hated them for bringing up a part of my life I’d tried so hard to bury.”

  “What about Dad?” I asked. “What was his excuse?”

  My mom’s face crumpled and fell into her hands. “He was angry because he thought John Coulter was trying to show him up. He wanted to be known as the most generous man in town, and the Coulters stole his spotlight. Plus, when he saw how agitated it made me, it just made him hate the Coulters even more. I’m so sorry, Andrew. Things just got out of control over the years. My distaste for them had little to do with the Coulters as people, and more to do with how much their lifestyle brought back bad memories for me. As it turns out, they were the opposite of everything I’d assumed.”

  “Geez, Mom.” I leaned back in my chair and rubbed my eyes. “I had no idea how rough things were for you growing up. It sure explains a lot.” When she looked at me, I added, “You haven’t exactly been the warm fuzzy type they have on TV, Mom.”

  “Ouch. I guess that’s what I get for keeping secrets from you.” She wiped her face on a tissue produced from her purse. “I just wanted to help you understand why things are the way they are. I guess I wanted to help you understand me better.”

  “Thanks.” I looked at the phone, and swallowed. “I wish I could say I feel better, but…”

  When my words trailed off, she nodded. “But you don’t. Andrew, I want you to know something.”

  “What?”

  “Posey will be back.”

  My heart tugged, and I dragged my eyes back to hers. “How do you know?”