“Then he needs to get his own house.”
Shadows of Thursgood passed across the curtained windows. Something deep down in my soul told me the police couldn’t help us. Something told me we were going to have to work all of this out by ourselves in a way that cut out the middleman.
“Okay, listen,” Nash said. “We’ve got to get out of here, but it’s so quiet he’ll hear the car start. I don’t want him to know I’m watching him. I’m going to put the car in neutral and push. Okay?”
I nodded.
He pointed at the brake. “We’re stopped on a little rise so the car should roll back a ways. When you hear me whistle, put on the brake. Got it?”
“Yeah. What are we going to do if he doesn’t leave?”
Nash paused a minute, jaw clenched, fingers resting on the door handle. “Then I’m just going to have to find some way to make him leave.”
Leave? Maybe disappear. I’d wanted Thursgood to disappear forever. I’d scoured every page of my magic book trying to find a secret spell to make it all happen. It was my secret. I hadn’t actually told anyone yet. I wondered if Nash meant leave the same way I meant disappear.
He put the car in neutral and got out to push. I shimmied over on the seat to press on the brake but my legs weren’t long enough to reach the pedals. I had to practically lie down on the seat in order to touch my foot to the brake. I couldn’t see, but the window was rolled down. Twigs snapped and cracked under the tires. The car rolled backwards, picking up speed. A flicker of panic startled me when I began to wonder if too much time had passed. A quick breath caught in my throat. My foot felt around for the pedal. A second later I heard the soft whistle outside the window. I used all of my weight to press against the brake. The car slowed down, then rolled to a stop. I heard Nash running. It occurred to me he might be running because Thursgood was chasing him so I sat up quick and looked around. The car started rolling again.
Nash’s face was at the window. He ran alongside. “Put it in park.”
I pressed down on the brake again, and reached up to put it in gear.
“Good job,” Nash breathed, getting in. “Now, let’s get out of here before that lunatic sees us.”
Morning birds chirped as we walked along the metal railing to our rooms. Nash opened the door to my room and checked under the bed and in the bathroom before telling me goodnight. “Don’t open this door for anyone but me. Got it?”
I yawned and nodded my head at the same time.
Chapter 14
Since everything had gone to hell on the home front, my mother was quick to get out of Dodge. Summer vacation was only two weeks away so I wasn’t going to miss much school. Not that she cared. She took the money that Nash gave her before he left on his trip, and dragged me with her to California to stay with her friend Joanna. I was curious because I didn’t think that my mother had any friends. I’d never met one.
When we arrived at Joanna’s apartment in San Diego it was full of potted plants and unemployed surfers who sounded like they’d been held back a few grades in school. An evil cat hid behind the plants and launched himself at the ankles of unsuspecting passersby. Since I was lowest on the food chain I became his primary target.
Everything in California was bright and sunny except for my mood. Surfers stopped by to say, “Man . . . Whoa . . . Duuuude.” The furniture, carpet, walls, everything was beige and white. Three days into what my mother called “our vacation” I was so tired of eating fresh sprouts I wanted to scream. But . . . no one really screamed in California. They talked to a therapist or took a yoga class or drank a green protein drink. Joanna expressed herself by throwing very sophisticated wine parties. No one had ever heard of Spam.
To keep me quiet, my mother took me to Universal Studios, where I proceeded to elevate “surly” to an art form. I hated the Hulk. The shark looked fake. The corn dogs sucked. And that last ride wasn’t worth the fifteen minutes of my life it took to climb to the top. In the amusement park bathroom, I uncontrollably burst into tears. At eleven years old, my entire life was falling apart.
The lights in the bathroom were bright, and they buzzed. The noise from the amusement park disappeared. It was just me and the porcelain sharing a moment together. Under the buzz of the florescent lights my sobs sounded sunken, hollow, feverish. I cried to different pitches trying to get control of myself. My tears dropped to my new patent leather shoes, staining my socks black around the edges. I tried to stop the salty waterworks from staining my purple pantsuit but it was no use. Please let me stop. I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t stop anything. I couldn’t stop Nash from leaving or being stuck here or this sinking feeling that sucked me so deep inside myself I could barely breathe. I looked around. The floors were so clean it was criminal. The very idea that a public bathroom was more orderly than my life made me cry even harder.
I jerked a big wad of toilet paper from the roll. After a few minutes my head fell into my hands and I gave up. I stopped trying to hide behind be a big girl or chin up or everything will be okay. With my pants hanging down around my ankles I sat there and wept until my mother came looking for me.
“Tupelo Honey,” she screamed, banging the bathroom door against the wall, scaring the crap out of me. “What the hell are you doing? I’ve been waiting out here for half an hour.”
Lucky you, I thought. I’ve been in here crying for half an hour.
The gig was up. I had to come out of the stall. Trying to dry my tears, I fanned my face with the backs of my hands. I didn’t want her using my own pain to torment me. I took two deep breaths, pulled my pants up and hurled myself out before I burst into tears again.
With her hand perched on the hip of the designer jeans Nash had bought her, she demanded, “Why is your face so red?”
I grabbed the first lie to come along. “I think I’m having an allergic reaction.”
“Oh,” she said.
I stepped to the side of the sink and washed my hands. “Can we go home?”
“No,” she said, irritated. “Hurry the hell up.”
The door slammed shut behind her.
I flipped her the bird.
For the rest of the day I was the only one at the amusement park who was not amused.
For weeks we went to malls and ate vegetarian food. Nash ate steak. I hadn’t seen a proper slab of meat in weeks. I got the message. No more meat. No more Nash. There’s a new dietary sheriff in town. That moment of keen awareness arrived right about the time my mother began getting friendly with an Eskimo named Mike. How convenient. Mike lived in LA. I couldn’t figure out for the life of me why an Eskimo would live in a place with no snow, no sled dogs, and no igloos. So, I asked him if he lived in an apartment made of ice with a hole in the middle for fishing.
He laughed. “No. I live in an apartment off Ventura Boulevard.”
Well, there you have it.
Not only was my mother a big fat cheater, but Eskimos lived by the beach. It was like the whole natural world collapsed around me. The entire episode was carried out in such a shameless display of flirting and kissing and wink wink nod nod that I thought I’d barf. I scowled from every corner of the room, wedged in between a potted plant and something made of bamboo. Thank you, I wanted to scream from the top of my lungs, but we won’t be having anymore wink wink, Mr. Eskimo. We have a boyfriend at home. But I didn’t scream. I ate my crab puff and shut up. Then, due to circumstances beyond my control, I turned into a total pain in the ass.
One morning after a lot of kiss kiss wink wink, the Big Fat Cheater and I were driving to a bakery in Joanna’s car.
“Well, at least we get to go home tomorrow,” I said, wiping my brow in a whew kind of way.
She drove, hands firmly gripping the steering wheel. Her frizzy hair swirled on top of her head. She was too quiet. It made me nervous.
“Gosh, it sure will be great to get home and sleep in my own bed,” I blabbered on.
Silence. Not even a humph, or grunt, or a snort. At a stoplight, cars w
hizzed by in front of us.
I couldn’t stop myself. “I am so happy we’re leaving tomorrow. I miss Inca. I bet Nash will be at the airport waiting on us.”
The light changed to green. My mother gave the car too much gas, and it lurched forward. I had never heard so much silence from her in all my life.
Determined to push the ticket, I said, “So, if you don’t mind, after we get back to Joanna’s I’ll just go and pack.”
She made a right-hand turn and glanced over at the side-view mirror, attempting to avoid my gaze. “Don’t bother,” she said. “We’re not leaving.”
I’d suspected this but it didn’t stop me from blurting out, “What? Are you joking?”
“I am not joking.” She jerked the car into a parking space and slammed it into park.
“We’re supposed to leave tomorrow,” I wailed, feeling trapped inside the car, holding onto the dashboard for dear life because the carpet had just been yanked out from under me.
“Well, supposed to and are leaving are two totally different things . . . ”
“I want to go home,” I interrupted, defiantly. “I don’t want to stay here. I want to go home.” Muscles tensed in my neck. I could hear my teeth grinding.
“Too bad,” she said, getting out of the car. Standing outside, she yelled, “Are you coming?”
I shook my head so furiously I started to see stars.
“Fine.” She shrugged, walking away.
I hated her. I was suddenly seized with so many conflicting feelings that I couldn’t sort them out. I wanted to spit, scream, shred the upholstery, jump up and down. All of these feelings were so bunched up in my head they started pushing tears against my eyelids, which were already pinched shut. I will not cry. Salty drops descended down my cheeks. I will not cry. The back of my hand flew up, swiping the dreaded tears before they laid claim to how I was feeling. I will not cry. Dammit. I hated this place. I wanted to run wild in Marmalade’s backyard with Randall eating potted meat and mayonnaise sandwiches. I was so angry I wanted to rip the carpet from the floorboard with my teeth.
I looked across the street. Through the plate glass window of the bakery I saw my mother. She stared into a display case, pointing. I spat on my hands, then wiped them all over the steering wheel. I will not cry. My tears were so heavy I fell under their weight. Sweet Jesus. I collapsed into a pile of sorrow.
Cars swooshed by, stirring up the sick feeling in my chest. I wanted to go home now. I didn’t want to stay and play footsie with the Eskimo. My chest was so clogged that air just circled around in my mouth, trapped. In a fit of panic, I hurled myself upright, staring at my mother again.
There she was, kneeling in front of the display case, still choosing pastries for the big make-out session that night. Oh, god . . . my heart thundered. Okay . . . okay. I must have a plan. If I could actually pull myself together then I could devise a plan. Oh, god . . . I’ve got to pull myself together. How am I supposed to get out of here? Oh, god . . . where’s a telephone? Maybe I can get Marmalade to send some money or I can call Nash. Yeah, that’s it. I’ll beep Nash and when he calls back I’ll beg him to please help me get home. Oh, sweet Jesus. I looked up in time to see my mother crossing the street. Cheater.
I nearly knocked myself out trying to wipe the tears from my face. I’ve got to get a plan. I was in potted-plant hell.
My mother slammed the door, leaning around to put the pastry box in the backseat. I wanted to stomp on it and watch the cream ooze all over the seats. I wanted to be old enough to say things like, you can shove that pastry up your ass.
“I hope you’re done with your little episode.” She started the car.
“I want to go home,” I demanded.
“Tough titty.”
“That’s not fair! You stay here! I’m going back home!” The shrill hysteria in my voice frightened me and I recoiled to the farthest side of my seat, clutching the door handle.
I felt the back of her hand hit my face before I saw it. Blood trickled into my mouth. My tongue ran quickly over my teeth, making sure they were all there. I felt her eyes on me. I stared straight ahead.
“Don’t tell me what’s fair,” she hissed in my direction. “I make the rules around here.” As punctuation she jammed her finger into my cheek, hard. “Got it?”
I swallowed a mouthful of blood and spit.
“Got it?”
“Have you had sex with the Eskimo?”
Something sinister crept into her eyes. “That’s none of your business.” Throwing the car into gear she pulled out onto the street. “And screw you for asking.”
“Thanks,” I snarled, in the meanest, shittiest voice I could muster.
We did not speak to each other for the rest of the day.
I made six collect calls to Marmalade’s house. No one answered. Randall must have fallen into the commode and drowned. Finally, on the seventh call, I was saved. I heard the operator’s voice say those magic words, “I’ve got a collect call from Tupelo Honey . . . ”
The wind returned to my lungs, exhilaration flooded my brain. The heavens opened up. I danced a jig next to the phone. The angels were about to sing when to my utter horror I heard Thursgood snarl, “Tell that little rat turd to go away.” He slammed the big rotary phone back on the hook. The line was still open. The operator sighed. “I’m afraid he’s refused the charges. Is there anything else I can help you with?”
Yeah, can you give me a ride?
I paged Nash three times in a row and hovered near the phone for half an hour, but he didn’t call back. Tonight was going to be a regular hoot. Joanna had prepared another dinner party. After the cat attacked me, I locked myself in the bathroom and pretended to take a bath in order to bide my time and come up with a plan. After half an hour of sulking, the best I could come up with was nice first, ruthless second. Out in the living room I heard a knock. Okay. Deep breath. I jerked the bathroom door open and hurled myself into the hall.
People were arriving. I plastered on my biggest smile. Look at me, I’m an angel, my words and deeds proclaimed. My mother looked very guarded. She folded her arms across her chest and didn’t take her eyes off of me. So what? I was too full of please and thank you to notice.
There was another knock at the front door. I danced gaily around the potted plants, ready to charm the dickens out of anyone. I threw open the door, thrilled to be attending such a fabulous party. It was the Eskimo with no igloo. I greeted him warmly. This immediately aroused all kinds of suspicions. Everyone in the entire room turned to stare at me. They acted like I’d dropped my pants and peed on the floor. “What?” I said, exasperated. “I’m just trying to be nice.”
“Nice is not your strong point,” my mother said, slipping her arm around the Eskimo, leading him over to the couch. The seat of sin.
“It’s not yours, either,” I said, wearing the biggest grin of my life.
Bleah. Yuck. Ick.
For the next hour I made a concerted attempt to be polite and gracious even though my mother, the big fat cheater, was sucking face with the Eskimo. Out of the corner of my eye I saw her toss her head back and laugh at one of his stupid jokes. She was wearing the pearl necklace Nash had bought her. I wanted to choke her with it. No, I want to walk over, rip it off her neck, and slap her with it. Twice. No, three times.
At some point my Nice-O-Meter reached its maximum capacity, and though I fought it, I had to return to Plan B: Ruthless.
“Tupelo Honey,” someone said to me. “Are you enjoying yourself?”
Are you kidding? My whole life is falling apart. It’s just peachy.
“Can I have a glass of wine?” I ventured, sure no one would hand it over but willing to try nonetheless.
“That’s so cute,” Pauline cooed.
“I’m not trying to be cute, lady. I was thinking about practicing to be an alcoholic since my mother is a big, fat cheater.”
The entire room went silent.
It was impressive.
In the calme
st, deepest voice I’d ever heard, my mother said, “Get your ass back to that bedroom. Now.”
“Gladly,” I stomped off down the hall, swerving to avoid being attacked by the cat.
Chapter 15
For what seemed like a very long time, I sat on the edge of the bed, willing myself not to cry. Without warning, it happened. First, an overwhelming feeling of despair crashed down around me, followed by the certainty that I was about to lose everything important in my life. Tears flooded down my face in a waterfall of sickening grief I never knew existed. Dammit.
With no other sensible thing to do, I just sat there and counted the tears as they fell to my legs. One two three four five six . . . fourteen fifteen sixteen . . . When I got to thirty-two I stopped counting. Not a single soul from that crap-ass party came to check on me. No one cared. They were out in the living room talking, laughing, eating berry tarts and rum-soaked cakes, and no one cared enough to come back and ask me if I wanted to go live in an orphanage.
Well, I cared.
That was the most empowering thought I could come up with. I looked down at my shoes dangling over the edge of the bed.
I can leave. I can walk away. I know I can.
All I needed was a plan.
Marijuana smoke drifted down the hall, seeping under the door like an insidious ghost. Good. That would keep them occupied long enough for me to make a getaway. First, I needed to sneak back down to the bathroom and pee and get my bottle of Fracas.
When I got back to the bedroom I shoved a pillow under the blankets, packed my rabbit, pink scarf, plaid bell-bottoms, and my purple sweater in my hatbox, took twenty dollars from a purse on the floor, brushed my hair, checked my courage, turned off the lights, climbed out the window and ran like hell. Seriously.
Four blocks into my escape, I realized I’d forgotten to close the window. Standing on the sidewalk, I wavered back and forth over returning. I could blow my cover. Dammit. All of this indecision was making me lose my nerve. I turned to the right but suddenly couldn’t remember how to get back to the main street. Everything was so clean and spacious. Pavement rolled away in all directions.
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