At This Moment

by Karen Cimms

  Don’t make plans for tomorrow. We need to talk.

  She tore the note off the mirror, crumpled it, and tossed it into the trash, where it unfurled, refusing to be ignored. She slipped into bed, then rolled onto her side and gave her pillow a hard thump.

  “I’m an adult now. What can they possibly do?”

  Chapter Twelve

  It seemed Kate had barely closed her eyes before she woke to the sound of gentle tapping on her door. She stuck her head under the pillow. When the knocks grew louder, she forced herself to climb out of bed.

  She yanked the door open. “What?”

  Her father’s eyes widened, but he ignored her surliness. “Your mother and I would like to see you in the kitchen in five minutes.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Seven o’clock.”

  “Seven?” she croaked. “Can’t it wait?”

  “Five minutes.”

  Grumbling, she washed her face and brushed her teeth. She pulled on a fuzzy chenille robe and a pair of thick socks, then headed to the kitchen where her parents waited. The radio, usually tuned to NPR first thing in the morning, was silent. The quiet was unsettling. Kate walked to the cupboard, as her mother instructed her to sit.

  “Can I get some coffee? Jeez.”

  “You don’t drink coffee,” her mother pointed out.

  “I do now,” she snapped.

  “Kate,” her father warned, “I don’t care for your tone.”

  Taking her time and struggling to remain calm, she poured her coffee, then dropped heavily into a chair.

  Her mother took the lead. “As you can imagine, we’re very disappointed in your behavior last night.”

  “Really? Can I tell you how disappointed I am?”

  “You may not. We allowed your friend to come to our home, and we treated him politely—” Kate began to speak, but her mother held up a finger. “I’m not finished. It’s come to our attention that you’ve been having relations with this boy. To say we’re deeply disappointed doesn’t begin to express how we feel.”

  “Oh my God. Why would you even—”

  Her mother raised her hand again. Kate slumped lower into her chair. She picked up her coffee and glared at her mother. Her father sat quietly, twiddling with his spoon, looking like he’d rather be anywhere but there.

  “When I was looking through your things—”

  Kate bolted upright. “You went through my room?”

  Her mother continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “When I was looking through your things, I came across these.” She placed the envelope with the pictures that Joey had taken in New York on the table.

  Kate reached for it, but her mother was quicker.

  “Those are mine. Joey took them. You know he’s a photographer. He asked me to pose, and I did. Big deal!”

  “We all know the purpose of these photographs. No good girl does something like this.”

  Picturing her mother going through the photos that had been meant for Billy, Kate’s stomach turned. Still, she fought to remain in control. She lifted her chin. “Now I’m not a good girl?”

  Her mother slipped her hand into the envelope and pulled out the disk holding Kate’s birth control pills. Although it was a new prescription, the tray was empty. All of the pills had been removed. She lowered her eyes and stared at the mug in her shaky hands.

  “I would say no, not based on what’s going on here.”

  Even though she should be used to disappointing her mother—she’d been a disappointment for as long as she could remember—Kate felt as if she’d been punched in the stomach. She should be indignant, stand up for herself. She was an adult, dammit—

  “You will not see that boy again nor have any communication with him other than to tell him you can no longer see him. That you will do over the telephone.”

  “No!” Kate sprang from her chair.

  Her mother continued as if she hadn’t reacted. “Your father will drive you to Rutgers next week to collect your things. You’ll enroll in community college for the coming semester. If you do well and obey our rules, we’ll discuss the possibility of returning to Rutgers in the fall—or better yet, the following spring.”

  Kate spun toward her father. “You’re okay with this?”

  He glanced nervously at her mother, then nodded.

  Bursting into tears, she kicked back her chair and raced up the back stairs to her room, where she collapsed on her bed, sobbing. She cried even harder when she realized that her phone was gone. They had to have taken it last night, while she was out. She’d been too tired and too distracted to notice.

  When she ran out of tears, she tried to think. She wouldn’t be able to call Billy, at least not while her mother was home. But her mother had a hair appointment that afternoon, and in the evening, her parents would be going to a Christmas party. In the meantime, she’d just stay in her room and hope Billy didn’t call.

  When Kate heard the front door close, she stood by the window and waited until the car pulled away, then she snuck down the back stairs and through the kitchen. Her father was asleep in front of the TV, so she hurried back upstairs to her parents’ room. She had to find those photos. She searched through her mother’s chest of drawers, careful not to disturb the neatly folded lingerie and sweater sets. The scent of Chanel No. 5 wafting from the drawers was so strong, she turned to be sure her mother wasn’t standing behind her. Finding nothing, she made sure everything was back the way she’d found it, then entered the large walk-in closet.

  There was no sign of the envelope on the shelf that ran the length of the closet, but she did find a box tucked in the back corner. Inside were dozens of leatherbound notebooks. Curious, she reached for one and opened it, but when she realized it was a journal, she put it back. Then again, privacy amounted to nothing as far as her mother was concerned. She snatched it up.

  The book was filled with diary notations, poems, and story ideas, snippets of her mother’s life. Any other time, Kate might have been fascinated by a side of her mother she’d never been privy to, but right now, she needed to find her pictures. She returned the journal to the box, but when she tried to slide it back into place, it wouldn’t go. She shimmied the box out again. A book had fallen and was wedged in the way. She pulled it out and, wondering if it was also a journal, flipped it open. The inside cover was dated September 1, 1969. She thumbed through the pages. The last entry—July 23, 1970—had been written four days after she was born.

  My heart is truly broken, and I have not been able to stop crying. Arthur has tried to console me, but in my heart I will never forgive him for this. He promised I would feel differently after the child was born, but I don’t. I feel nothing—nothing but anger and resentment. All of my hopes and dreams have been crushed under the heel of a foot that is barely bigger than my thumb.

  The blood thrummed so loudly in her ears, it was almost as if someone were knocking at the closet door. Kate slid from her knees onto the floor and stared at the words until they swirled on the page like a black and white kaleidoscope. Maybe it was the beginning of a story her mother once wanted to write—a story about someone who had a baby, a baby she didn’t want.

  She read the entry a second time, then a third. The more she read, the sicker she felt.

  It was the beginning of a story all right; it was the beginning of her story.

  Numb, Kate sat on her bed, the journal open beside her. When her eyes could focus again, they zeroed in on the framed photograph on her dresser, the one Joey had taken a few summers earlier. She was grinning, her arms around each of her parents. Her father had looked away just before the photo was snapped, and her mother wore a thin, tight smile. The Portland Head Light rose up behind them, majestic, surrounded by deep blue water that reflected a cloudless sky.

  Balancing on shaking legs, she crossed the room, picked up the frame, and slammed it into the trash.

  Neither of them wanted her. It was right there, neatly penned in black and white, every ugly word. S
he’d read them all. The entire journal. Her father had yielded because he didn’t believe in abortion and wouldn’t condone an illegal one. Her mother had been willing—determined, even—to take her chances.

  Painful as it was, her entire life began to make sense. She felt like an outsider because she was one. She was a mistake that couldn’t be fixed.

  “Not anymore.”

  After tucking the journal between her mattress and box spring, she grabbed a jacket and headed down the back stairs—straight into her father.

  The tips of his ears grew pink when he saw her, and she remembered how uncomfortable he’d looked that morning when her mother held up her empty pack of birth control pills. He held up a jar of mayonnaise.

  “Are you hungry? I can make you a sandwich.”

  “No, thank you,” she answered, curtly.

  She was starving, actually, in spite of her distress. She peeled a couple slices of ham from the packet of lunch meat open on the counter.

  “Kate, don’t—”

  The words dried up with the look she gave him.

  “I’m going to Debby’s.”

  “Debby? I didn’t think you two were that friendly.”

  She shrugged. “I haven’t had a chance to see her since I got home. Unless I’m not allowed to have any friends at all.”

  He looked at her sadly. “Of course not. Tell her parents I said hello, although we’ll probably see them tonight.”

  She forced a smile. “That’s right. The Romanos’ Christmas party.”

  Shivering in her light jacket, Kate raced across the yard. She knocked on the neighbors’ back door harder than necessary, but she had to be quick. Her mother wouldn’t be so easily duped. A dog barked, and soon a tall, pretty blonde came to the door.

  “Hey, Kate. What’s up?”

  “Can I use your phone?”

  “Your phone not working?”

  “Um, it is. I need to call my boyfriend, and I don’t want my dad to know.” She shifted her feet nervously. “Parents, right?” She waved her finger around her ear to indicate they were crazy.

  “Yeah, I hear you!” Debby pointed to a green wall unit with an extra-long cord. “You can use this one. It’ll even reach into the pantry.” She motioned toward a door under the stairs.

  A few moments later, sitting on the floor of the pantry next to an extra-large bag of dog food, Kate dialed Billy’s number. It rang several times. Please, please, please. When he finally answered, she knew she’d woken him.

  “Billy?”

  “Hey, babe. What’s up?”

  Cradling the phone against her neck, she pressed the heels of her hand against her eyes. “Can you come get me tonight? I have to get out of here.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Everything. Please.” She was trying not to cry. “I can’t see you anymore, and they’re pulling me out of Rutgers and making me go to community college.”

  “Holy shit,” he mumbled. “What’re you gonna do?”

  She hesitated. What was she going to do? “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll stay with Joey.”

  “Oh man, Katie. Let me think. I guess I can be there in a couple hours.”

  “No. Not now. They’re going to a party tonight. They’ll probably leave by six thirty or seven. Can you come around seven thirty?”

  “You sure you want to do this?”

  “Positive.”

  Billy waited down the block until her parents left, then pulled into the alley behind the house. Kate had left the back door unlocked. When she heard it open, she darted down the stairs with a load of her things, kissed him, then turned and ran back up.

  “Katie, c’mon!” he yelled after her. “I have a gig tonight, remember?”

  “Go!” she called over her shoulder. “I’ll be right there.”

  She took one last look around her room and tried to imagine what she might take if the house were on fire—her pillow, a photo album, the cassette Billy had made her, and a jar of sea glass she had collected in Maine. Her mother’s journal had already been packed in her suitcase. Before she turned out the light, she opened her diary. If her mother’s journal had been meant to destroy her, then she would make sure her mother would know that she hadn’t succeeded.

  In bold black marker she penned one last entry: And she lived happily ever after. She bookmarked it with the pen and set it in the middle of her bed. Then she raced downstairs and out the back door, straight into the arms of the unknown.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Billy pushed the metal door open and held it. “Welcome home.” He attempted a smile but didn’t quite pull it off.

  Kate squeezed past him into a long narrow hallway, careful not to scrape the wall with her suitcase, although the plaster was already in pretty rough shape. The kitchen was immediately to her left. The light was off, but she could see the room was large enough to hold a small table and not much more.

  The living room at the end of the hall held a battered-looking orange sofa, a television and elaborate stereo system, several guitars and amps, and a weight bench and weights. Other than a poster of Jimi Hendrix thumbtacked over the sofa, the walls were empty. Her heart sank. She didn’t know what she’d been expecting, but it wasn’t this.

  She set down her purse and suitcase.

  “I’ll get the rest.” Billy pointed toward the bedroom at the end of the hall. “There’s a set of clean sheets on the dresser. I haven’t emptied any drawers for you yet, so there’s no point in unpacking.” He spoke as if he’d rented a room to a stranger.

  Nodding, she blinked back tears. It was almost three thirty. She assumed he was tired. He’d done a lot of driving, from Bayonne to Belleville, then back to Tewksbury, and then Bayonne again, not to mention playing for four hours and lugging all their stuff. The new guys were great, and the band sounded phenomenal, but there seemed to be a lot of tension between him and Pete. Or maybe she was reading too much into it.

  Tossing her coat on the sofa, she headed for the bedroom, where she found a king-sized bed taking up most of the room. While she stripped the bed and put on clean sheets, Billy noisily dropped off another load and headed back through the large cement courtyard to the van. She hadn’t been able to see much of the neighborhood, but the building was old and rundown, and the hallway had smelled rancid, like something had gone bad. It didn’t matter. She wasn’t going back.

  After she’d located her overnight bag and gotten ready for bed, she found Billy in the dark kitchen with a bottle of Molson’s, staring out the window at the city lights in the distance. She slipped her hands around his waist.

  “Is that New York?”

  He stirred as if he’d just realized she was there. “Yeah. The shitty side of Staten Island.”

  “Oh.” She waited a moment. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “You don’t seem like yourself. You don’t seem very happy.”

  He snorted. “Happy? What am I supposed to be happy about?”

  Her hands fell to her sides, and she took a step back.

  “I’m sorry.” He turned and leaned against the windowsill. “That didn’t come out right.”

  “Not really, no.”

  “Look, Katie. I love you, I really do, but this is a big step. I don’t wanna stop seeing you, so I get this is the only way, but I’m kinda freaking out here. I’m just not sure I’m ready—that either of us is ready for this. Hell, this apartment isn’t even big enough for me, but it’s the best I can do.”

  Tears burned her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’ll call Joey in the morning.”

  Even in the dark, she noticed the tightening of his jaw. “No,” he insisted. “I don’t want you to live with Joey. We’ll just make the best of it.”

  We’ll make the best of it? She blinked several times and bit the inside of her cheek to keep from crying.

  Billy set the empty bottle on the counter and took her hand.

  “C’mon. I’m tired. We’ve got a long day tomorrow.”

  He
led her to the bedroom, leaving her on her own while he used the bathroom. She dropped her robe and climbed into the enormous bed, not sure which side to lie on. After moving back and forth several times, she split the difference. When he slipped in beside her a few minutes later, she leaned over to kiss him, but all he did was brush her lips.

  “I’m sorry, babe. I’m beat. I just can’t.” He rolled away from her onto his side.

  She moved to the far side of the bed, afraid to speak. Afraid of what sound might escape if she tried. Everything that had happened over the past twenty-four hours replayed in her head, taunting her in the dark.

  It was too soon to live together, but she wouldn’t go home. If he didn’t want her, she’d stay with Joey. Her head throbbed. She was so tired the room seemed to be moving. The sheets were clean, but cheap and scratchy, and cold against her bare skin. She curled into a ball and shivered. She hadn’t bothered to pack pajamas, but right now, she’d settle for that hideous Christmas nightgown.

  “You cold?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “C’mere.” He rolled toward her and draped his arm and leg over hers. “I love you,” he murmured, kissing the back of her head.

  The tears came anyway, but her heart didn’t hurt quite as much.

  There was no point in going to Rutgers to pick up her things, since they had no way to get into the building. There was only one person Kate could think of who might be able to help.

  “What’s up, Buttercup?” Toni said when she heard Kate’s voice.

  “I hate to bother you, but I have a huge favor to ask.” She told Toni everything except the part about the journals.

  “Holy shit! Let me think. I might know a guy. Let me make some calls and see what I can do.”

  The phone rang a short time later. “Any luck?” Kate blurted.

  “Er . . . Hello?” It wasn’t Toni.

  “Sorry,” she apologized. “I was expecting someone else.”

  “I guess.” The woman’s voice sounded disinterested. “Is Billy there?”