Then she turns and looks at me, really looks at me. I'm not sure if she thinks I'm lying or if she's just shocked.
"I'm sorry," I say, getting to my feet now. "I shouldn't have dumped this on-"
"No." She holds up her hands. "You sit back down, Ruth. Tell me what's going on. Maybe there's something we can do to help."
So I tell her a little more. Not about my cutting, of course. But I give her more details-about Dad's tirades. About his unreasonable demands. For some reason I want her to know how it feels to live in our house. I want her to feel our pain. And maybe to take some responsibility for it. After all, she and Grandpa raised this cruel man. They must know why he's like this.
"And it just doesn't make sense," I finally say. "I mean you guys don't seem like that at all. I've never heard you or Grandpa say a mean word to anyone. But Dad is so-"
"Let me tell you something, Ruthie." She sits back down and pulls her chair closer to mine. "Something you should've heard long before now, I'm afraid. But better late than never." She closes her eyes, as if she's trying to pick a place to start. "I'm not your dad's real mother. I married Grandpa when your clad was fourteen. Your dad's real mother had some, uh, mental problems." She shakes her head and sighs. "I actually thought it was such a strange coincidence that your father married a woman with, uh, similar problems-"
"She was fine," I say in my mom's defense. "He made her that way. His constant yelling and screaming-nothing ever good enough-"
"I know," she tells me in a soothing voice. "I'm starting to get the whole picture now. Anyway, your father's real mother was very hard on the boys. Not just with her words either. She beat on them on a regular basis."
"Grandpa let her do that?"
"He didn't always know." She shakes her head sadly. "Unfortunately she used your father as her worst whipping boy. Garrett was older and managed to escape a bit more. But one day she beat your father so badly that your grandpa had to take him to the hospital. Well, it wasn't long before everyone knew what was going on, and your grandpa told Marie to leave or face criminal charges. She left."
"Wow," I say, letting this all sink in. I can't imagine anyone, let alone a woman, beating on my dad. It just makes no sense. But then why would Grandma lie? "That is so weird."
"Your grandpa eventually divorced Marie, and I came along a few years later. And, well, we just never felt the need to mention any of this to the grandchildren. Until now, that is."
"Do you think that's why Dad is like that?"
"Well, I don't know much about these things, but I do watch that Dr. Phil on TV, and I suspect he'd think that was the problem with your father. Trouble is, I'm not sure what he'd do to fix him."
"You really think he can be fixed?"
"I don't know, honey. But I sure hope so. In most ways, your daddy is a fine man. I had no idea that things were so messy at home."
"He's good at keeping up appearances, Grandma. And so were we. Well, until Mom lost it. And it seems like Caleb and I have been steadily losing it ever since."
Now she stands up and comes over and hugs me. A soft, warm hug that almost breaks loose the tears. But not quite.
"I'm sorry it's been so hard on you, Ruthie. But things are bound to get better now. Don't you think? I'll talk to Grandpa when he gets back from golfing with his buddies. I'm sure he'll know what to do."
"I hope so. Because, seriously, I feel like I can't take it anymore. And I miss Caleb." I don't mention that I miss my mom too. Somehow I don't think her issues are going to be easy to fix. To be honest, I can't imagine how any of this can really be fixed. But I do feel a tiny bit relieved to hear this story about Dad's childhood. Who would've guessed? And I do plan on sharing this news with Caleb. Not that it will change anything for him. But maybe it'll help him to understand. Maybe that's a beginning.
And so, as I slowly walk home, not overly eager to get there, I tell myself that maybe this is going to change things. Maybe Grandpa can talk some sense into my dad. Maybe things will get better. It could happen.
twelve
INSTEAD OF GOING HOME, WHERE I'M SURE TO GET IN TROUBLE FOR LEAVING without telling my dad, I walk to a convenience store, buy a soda, and make a phone call from the pay phone. I call information and ask for the phone number of Rod Udell, my mom's brother, and wait as they put my call through.
"Hello," says a guy's sleepy voice.
"Uncle Rod?"
"Who is this?"
"It's Ruth. You know, Fran's daughter."
"Oh, yeah. What's up, Ruth?"
"I wanted to get in touch with Caleb. He told me I could find him through you."
"He did, did he?"
"Look, Uncle Rod. Things aren't going too well at home right now. I need to talk to Caleb. I need to tell him something important."
"You sure you're not going to tell your daddy where Caleb is staying?"
"I could've already told him that Caleb's at Grandma's out on Ferris Road. But I didn't. I wouldn't do that."
"Where are you now?"
So I tell him where I am and he says to wait there, and that he'll come and get me. "I need to go out that way anyway," he says.
So I sit down on the curb by the convenience store and wait until an old brown pickup pulls up, making a cloud of exhaust, and my uncle waves from behind the steering wheel. He's wearing a beat-up straw cowboy hat and a friendly grin.
I wave back, surprisingly glad to see him. I think it's been several years now But for some reason I've always liked this guy. Maybe because he's so laid-back, so totally different from my dad. His black hair is long, pulled back in a tail, and tied with a piece of leather. And he has several tattoos on his arms.
"Hey, you're all grown up, Ruth," he says as I climb into the truck. "You're getting to be a real pretty girl too."
"Thanks," I say, feeling self-conscious.
"You know, your mom was a real beauty when she was younger."
"I know ..."
"So how's she doing anyway?"
"Not so good."
He frowns. "That's pretty much what Caleb said. I don't see why she doesn't just pack it up and leave Stuart for good. Can't she see that he's no good for her? He's no good for any of you."
"I think she's kind of stuck. I think we're all kind of stuck."
"At least Caleb had the sense to get away"
"But for how long?" I ask. "I mean, Dad's going to find him eventually."
"There are people who can help." He turns onto the highway.
"Like social services?" I ask. "I've heard about how lielpful they can be."
"You never know. I had a girlfriend once who was a social worker for the state. I know she tried to help people. But it wasn't easy."
I want to change the subject. "Are you still doing your art?"
He nods. "Yep. And music too. My hand has been getting some pretty good gigs lately"
"I'm into art too."
"Really?" He tosses me a sideways glance. "Cool."
So I tell him a little about the art fair and the kinds of stuff I really like doing. And he tells me about a mural he's working on. And suddenly I'm thinking, This feels like family. This feels like what I've been missing. But my dad has made sure that none of my mom's relatives ever feel comfortable at our house. Mom used to take Caleb and me to visit them, without letting my dad know. of course. But we didn't go nearly as much as we got older. And even less when Mom started getting "sick."
Uncle Rod turns onto Ferris Road, goes about a mile or so, then turns onto another road, this one is gravel. I'm actually trying not to pay too much attention, just in case my dad grills me on where Caleb is. I don't really want to know how to find this place.
Finally we pull up in front of an old mobile home. The kind that is long and narrow and pretty cheesy looking. But there's a covered deck attached to the front and lots of good shade trees around, and I see a barn and what looks like a couple of paint horses back to one side of it. In a way, this whole place is kind of sweet looking. Kinda funky,
homey. And I remember now that Grandma Donna always liked horses. My first memory of her is of her putting me on a pony and leading me around in a circle. I think the pony's name was Sugar.
"This is it," says Uncle Rod. "Mom's brother, my Uncle Lane, owns this piece of property. But he's letting her use it for as long as she wants. Needs sonic work, but it's not too bad."
The inside of the mobile home is shabby but cozy. The furniture is draped in several of the same kind of brightly colored afghan throws that my morn uses, giving the house kind of a carnival feel. My grandma loves to crochet, and she loves wild color combinations. She used to ask me what colors I would want in one, but at the time I wasn't too interested. Maybe I am now. Maybe I'll be like Mom and keep one of Grandma's afghans as a security blanket when my life totally falls apart.
No one seems to be around. "Hello?" calls Uncle Rod.
"Coming," calls a woman's voice from one end of the long, shadowy house. "Is that you, Rodney?"
"Yeah, and I've brought a visitor."
Her dark eyes grow large when she steps out into the living room and sees me. "Frances?" Then she stops and sort of laughs when she realizes it's not her daughter. "Well, of course not. Why, this must be Ruth!" She hurries straight toward me and hugs me tightly against her bony self. Then she holds me back by the shoulders and really looks at my face. "You sure threw me for a loop there, girl. I thought you were my Frances. You look a lot like her, you know?"
"That's what I hear." But all I can imagine is how old and tired my morn looks these days, shuffling around in her grungy green bathrobe, stringy gray hair hanging in her face. Not a pretty picture.
"How is she?" asks Grandma Donna. "Is she okay?"
"Yeah. I mean, she's pretty much the same as when Caleb left. Nothing's wrong, if that's what you mean. I mean, nothing new anyway."
She nods knowingly then sighs.
"Where's Caleb?" I ask.
"Out tending the livestock."
"I saw horses. Is there more than that?"
"Two paints, a couple of steers, several sheep, and too many chickens."
"Wow. How much land do you have?"
"Lane said it's about twenty acres. Not much, but more than enough for an old woman like me."
"I'll go out and let Caleb know you're here," says Uncle Rod.
"Has it been nice having Caleb here?" I ask hopefully. "I mean, is he helping you some?"
She smiles, revealing a missing tooth off to one side. "Caleb's a pure delight. And what a worker. I guess he learned that much from your father." But the way she says this doesn't make it sound like a genuine compliment.
"And you have enough room for him here?" I glance around the small living room.
"I've got two bedrooms. One was full of my junk. But Caleb and I got it cleaned out and moved to a shed out back, and he seems just fine."
"Are you worried about what my dad's going to do?"
She frowns now. "Well, I've wondered if we should call someone." Then she shakes her head. "I wanted Caleb to tell his mother where he was, but he refused. He says she'll tell your dad and that he'll be in bad trouble for sure."
I nod. "Yeah, that's probably true." I'm actually wondering if there's enough room for me to hide out here too. But I know there's probably not. Besides, Grandma Wallace knows what's going on now. She might help to get things changed.
When Caleb comes in, we go out onto the front porch, and I tell him about my conversation with our other grandma. I tell him about what she said about Dad.
"So?" he says finally in a blase tone.
"Well, I thought you might want to know." I feel slightly defensive. "I thought it might give you some hope."
"Hope for what?"
"That maybe things could change. Maybe Dad will listen to Grandpa and Grandma. Maybe he'll start treating us right."
Caleb kind of laughs now. "You really think so, Ruth? You honestly think that Dad can change?"
I shrug. "I don't know. Why not?"
"I think you're as dumb as Dad says you are." He turns away from me and I suspect he's thinking about my dirty little secret now.
"Thanks a lot." I stand up, mad that he'd say something like that. Especially after I came out here to encourage him.
"Don't get mad at me," he says, standing too. "Dad's the one who screwed everything up."
"But maybe things can get better. I mean if Dad changed, maybe Mom would get well. Maybe we could-"
"Be one big happy family?" He rolls his eyes. "Yeah, right. And maybe we'll win the lottery too. And maybe there's a Santa Claus and an Easter bunny Get real, Ruth. Nothing's gonna change. And if you're smart, you'll figure out how to take care of yourself before you go down with them."
Now I don't know what to say. I wonder why I even bothered to come out here.
"And just for the record, I am not going home." He shoves his hands into his jeans pockets. "I'd rather run away for good and live on the streets. Anything would be better than living with Dad."
"Well, maybe you'll get to stay on here," I say, forcing my voice to be light and positive. "Maybe Grandma Donna can help you figure things out so it'll be legal. And since there's only a couple more weeks of school, you'll have all summer to work things out." I want to add, "And aren't you the lucky one?" I want to let him know that he's not making life any easier for me. And that the anger Dad used to divvy up between the two of us is totally mine now. But what would be the use? Caleb has obviously landed in a good spot. Why try to take that from him? Besides, maybe I'll have Grandma Wallace to back me now. And Grandpa too. Maybe things are about to get better.
We talk a little more, and I can tell that Uncle Rod is antsy to go. So I tell Caleb I love him and that I hope he can stay on here. Then I hug Grandma Donna again, and I tell her that it might help Mom if she would come visit sometime. "I mean, when Dad's at work," I say quickly.
"Yes," she says sadly. "I'm not stupid, Ruth. I wouldn't dream of coming around when Stuart's at home. That wouldn't help anything."
I feel slightly encouraged as Uncle Rod drives us back to town. I ask him to drop me a few blocks from the house and he just laughs. "Don't want your old man to see who's bringing you home, eh?"
"Well, he might suspect that I've been to see Caleb. He might figure out that you're involved somehow" And while that's partly true, I am actually more worried about myself. I am trying to avoid the tongue lashing I will surely get for having gone someplace with someone from my mom's side of the family. Some Native American heritage might rub off on me, for crying out loud.
To my relief, Dad's not even home when I walk into the house. It's nearly three now, and I suspect I should hang around here and lay low until Dad gets back. Maybe I can pretend like I haven't been gone at all.
Dad gets home around five. As it turns out, he's been over at his parents' house. Apparently they called him when Grandpa got home from golfing, and they have spent the entire afternoon talking. Talking and talking and talking.
Now, if my life was bad before I told Grandma Wallace about Dad, it's gone totally to hell now. Not only did Grandpa not say anything to straighten Dad out but the tables have turned, and now everyone thinks I went crying to Grandma simply because I'd been "disciplined" for dating a boy without Dad's permission. That's the picture Dad painted when he went to "smooth things over" with them. Apparently they believed him too, because according to my dad they're now convinced that both Caleb and I are real juvenile delinquents.
"I'm sick and tired of the way you kids are behaving!" Dad yells at me as he storms into the kitchen where I've retreated, thinking he was done lecturing me. But it seems he is only getting warmed up. I lean against the kitchen counter and stare blankly at him, bracing myself for the second half.
"Getting your grandma all worked up over nothing! You should be ashamed of yourself, Ruth. That poor woman already has high blood pressure and diabetes, and now she's sick in bed from all your stupidity."
He shakes his finger in my face now, so close tha
t I can smell the nicotine on it-although he pretends that he doesn't smoke. "I'm warning you, Ruth Anne, don't you go shooting your mouth off to them again-not ever again! It's bad enough your brother's gone missing. I don't need you running around town trying to stir things up, making things worse."
I'd like to say that I was trying to make things better. But I know it's useless. I can't actually speak at the moment, and even if I could, he wouldn't listen.
"And, just in case you didn't know it, you're grounded, young lady! I don't want you going anywhere besides school and home until the school year ends. And you'll be riding the bus from now on. No more running around with your stupid friends!" He swears now. "It's probably those useless peers that are influencing you like this."
So many things I wish I could say to him. How I'd like to straighten him out. I wish I could yell and scream too. I wish I could tell him that he's a big, stupid jerk and that our messed up lives are all his fault. I wish I were brave enough to ask him how he used to feel when his mother treated him like this-and is he proud of himself for being just like her? But, as usual, I keep my mouth shut so tight that my jaw begins to ache. And then, when he is finally done, I turn and walk away.
And I know where I'm going, I know what I'm going to do. And I just don't really care anymore. Why fight it?
thirteen
IT'S NOT EASY TELLING MY FRIENDS THAT I'M GROUNDED. FOR ONE TILING, IT sounds so juvenile. I don't know anyone my age who gets grounded anymore. At least not that they talk about.
"That is so lame," says Abby when I call her on Sunday night, after my dad's gone, and tell her that I can't ride to school with her anymore. "What difference does it make how you get to school? I mean, as long as you go."
"I know. It's totally ridiculous. But when has life with my dad ever made sense?"
"And until school's out? Man, that totally sucks. You're going to miss some really good parties, Ruth."
Right, like my dad even lets me go to "really good parties" anyway. But I just say, "Yeah, I know."
"What happens after school's out?"
Blade Silver: Color Me Scarred Page 8