by James Sperl
She glanced from the various shots of Abby and Tamara at the beach to a family portrait she had, more or less, forced everyone to do. Josh was the most difficult to persuade to cooperate, not so much for his distaste of staged photography, which was colossal, but more to the idea that he would have to don “nice” clothes. But even after all the bickering and pleading, the final result had proven to be one of considerable pride for her.
While viewing the pictures had given Catherine a much-needed calming effect, an immediate and sudden opposite reaction soon took hold. She quickly checked her watch. It had been seven minutes since she had spoken to Warren and her world turned on its ear. But what was pure and complete hysteria moments ago had now metamorphosed into a focused, more determined Catherine. Despite the nauseating effect it had on her, she managed to realign her priorities and fight through her deep desire to curl up in the fetal position in the corner of the room. She grabbed the portrait from the dresser, held it up close so the details were more visible: Tamara’s summer dress and golden hair; Abby’s white smile and sparkling eyes; Josh’s well coiffed hair and tidy suit; Catherine herself, in what she considered one of the better pictures she had ever taken; and Warren, as handsome as he ever was, standing over them all, the proud father he had always been.
This was what her job was now. This was and is the only thing that had ever been truly important to her. And whether she liked it or not things were going to be different after today and it was up to her to be strong for everyone, regardless of how immensely difficult it would prove to be.
She quickly stuffed the photo, frame and all, into one of the duffel bags zipping it shut with authority. She snatched both bags and the boxes and made a beeline for the door, glancing over her shoulder briefly before disappearing into the hallway.
Catherine rushed into the kitchen and quickly assembled the three collapsed boxes. She immediately began pulling food items from the pantry and cupboard and tossed them into the empty boxes. Rice, pasta, dried beans, crackers, cereal, granola bars, soups and canned goods—anything non-perishable or with a long shelf life. That’s what Warren had said.
It took three trips to get everything packed into the vehicle. Certain she was in possession of all necessary items, Catherine slid the ignition key into its slot with a shaky hand and turned, the strength required to do so seemingly more than usual at the moment. The car hummed to life as Catherine stared up at her two-story dream home. From the wrap around porch complete with his and hers rocking chairs to the enormous bay window overlooking the community lake to the pottery studio she had always wanted, Catherine had never been happier than she was here. She tried desperately not to think about what she was losing, instead trying to concentrate more on what she was preserving. But as she shifted the Toyota into reverse and made her way on to the street, the tears she thought she had cried out of herself into a near drought had managed to find moisture again as a monsoon arrived.
2
School Daze
The drawing was one of the better ones he had ever sketched. Not really one for faces, this one actually had the appearance of a recognizable human being. The ears and eyes were proportional, the nose majestic and striking and of suitable length. The mouth, with its full lips, was pursed in a pensive, yet sultry fashion. And the hair, well, it was one of his strong points; having mastered its tricky series of challenging swoops and curves long before anything else.
Mrs. Patrick continued to prattle on from the front of the class. Something about organic compounds and covalent bonds or some other such nonsense. It was a shame, too, for someone as pretty as Mrs. Patrick to be so consumed by the periodic table of elements and test tubes and beakers and the like. But she made a great model for his heroine, her curves providing a virtual still life roadmap without requiring much need for the comic exaggeration that had become such an iconic fixture in sequential art.
Josh began adding shadow tone to the breasts while simultaneously glancing at the chapter in his textbook into which he decided to pencil the drawing. Currently, they were on chapter four, a long and arduous stack of pages (fifty-four!) on the properties and dynamics of hydrogen. Josh exhaled wearily, boredom being but the simplest of words to describe the effect this class had on him.
While being far from a four-point-oh student, he was even further removed from the bottom of the grade barrel. This was due in large part to his disinterest in core subject matter, while knowing full well the value of these classes. It had been instilled in him at a very early age, and not without physical threats to his backside, that at all times he was to give his absolute best: in school, in life, in everything. Anything less would be considered unsatisfactory, especially for his father. So it was with this nugget of sage advice that Josh did as requested and tried his absolute best not to waste any more time than was required to accomplish the same goals as someone who’d spent twice as much energy digesting information they could’ve read about on their own time.
Beginning now on the thighs, Josh noticed a sudden absence in the air. His senses were returning to him, the mind-numbing blabber, which had served as a scrim of white noise up until now, had vanished. He raised his head, searching for the source of this most welcome break from tedium.
Mrs. Patrick had indeed stopped talking, instead focusing her attention on the classroom door. A look of concern overtook her face as she strode to the entrance and spoke into the hallway in hushed secrecy.
Josh’s good buddy and fellow artist extraordinaire, Travis Enerts, leaned conspiratorially over his shoulder. “You did it now, Hayesly,” he jested, jabbing his friend in the shoulder with a dull number two pencil.
“Oh, man,” Josh began, “I hope it’s not your dad.”
“Why would it be my dad?” Travis responded, seriousness replacing the previous bout of jocularity.
“He must’ve found out about me and your mom. I tried to tell her we needed to take it easy, but she just kept asking for more and more cock. Shit, I hope she’s not pregnant.”
Travis rapidly assumed a tactical stance and let slip the dogs of war on Josh’s ear with the eraser end of his pencil. Josh cried out with a laugh as he tried to deflect further oncoming assaults by covering his ears.
“Josh?” a muddled voice seemed to say from somewhere in the distance. Josh removed his hands and looked around the room.
Everyone was staring at him.
“Josh,” came the voice again, this time clear and unmistakable. “Would you come here, please?” said Mrs. Patrick.
While initially creating quite the frenzy upon her invasion of Polk High, Catherine had managed to quell the uproar down to a mere whisper upon exiting the school. With two teachers, a security guard and most of the office staff serving as witnesses, Catherine approached principal Derris directly and, as plainly as she could put it, explained there was an emergency she was neither willing nor able to discuss at the moment. And this, surprisingly, seemed to be enough for old Mrs. Derris. With a simple nod of her head and a request for future clarification—at Catherine’s earliest convenience, of course—Mrs. Derris had allowed them all to leave.
Sitting in the parking lot of Whittier Elementary, Josh wondered if she had caused a similar hysteria in retrieving Tamara. One in which her bluntness and affability would have to be called upon again to relinquish the two of them from the evil clutches of school administration.
Josh still had no idea what this was all about and he really didn’t care. His mother had refused to divulge any pertinent information in regards to the matter, only reassuring him and Abby that everything was fine and that she would explain it all soon. And that was good enough for him. He’d just as soon pay a visit to the dentist than endure another five minutes praying for the sweet release of death from Mrs. Patrick’s lectures.
Abby, on the other hand was having a much greater difficulty in accepting the current state of events. With her phone pressed firmly to her ear she chattered on incessantly to, Josh could only guess, her friend, Sama
ntha, in a grating shrill which bordered on a mild form of torture.
“We’re here right now. Yeah,” Abby squawked in a rapid staccato rhythm. “I have no idea. She’s acting totally crazy.” Abby chomped her gum. “No, she won’t tell us anything. I wonder if she’s, like, kidnapping us or something. That would so be my luck.”
The tinny, compressed response from the other end of the phone was much louder than it really should’ve been, Josh almost able to make out words. “I just hope whatever’s crawled up her butt leaves before next week,” Abby continued. “I am not missing the end of year dance. I know. Totally.”
“She’s not kidnapping us, you dank,” Josh chimed in from the front seat, unable to endure the ravings of a fourteen year-old lunatic any longer.
Abby pried herself from her phone, covering the mouthpiece with her hand, “Shut up, Josh! I’m not talking to you.”
“And I thank the gods for that little gift. But is there any chance you could take it down a notch? You’re at a ten and I need you at about a three. It’s like listening to a fork on a chalkboard the way you and Sam shriek at each other.”
Abby feigned a smile and, ever so ladylike, raised her middle finger, reattaching the phone to her ear. “Nothing, it’s just my dipshit brother, acting like a dipshit.”
Josh spun back around in his seat, returning in kind an equally intentioned middle finger of his own as Abby continued to babble incoherently. He stared through the windshield, the world around him deathly quiet when a single helicopter flew overhead, floating away from him toward the north side of the city. Looked like Channel Three news, he thought. Must be another high-speed chase on the freeway. Seemed like there was at least one every week or so.
Suddenly, Catherine and Tamara emerged from the school’s unassuming entrance alone—no security guard, principal or administrative official in sight.
They scurried in a half-run to the car, Catherine quickly opening and ushering Tamara into her seat, even fastening her seatbelt for her, which Josh hadn’t seen her do in years.
The consternation in Tamara’s face was apparent. Of the three children, she was the only one who actually cared for and enjoyed school. Not just the learning, but also the interaction, the process, the sense of discovery, all of it. It sometimes made Josh feel much older than he really was—and not in a good way. School never used to be such a burden, but the disinterest in classes, the cliquishness of the student body, the lack of participation in anything resembling school pride and the seeming unfairness of being forced to learn, quite simply, destroyed his spirit.
But that was him. Tamara was not like him and he was grateful for that. Knowing she needed some sort of reassurance at the moment, Josh attempted to proffer some words of encouragement as Catherine walked hurriedly around to the driver’s side.
“Everything’s okay,” he began, the anxiousness on his sister’s face all too evident. “It’s cool.”
“Where are we going?” she asked, her voice filled with noticeable apprehension.
“Not sure yet. But I have a feeling we’re about to find out real soon. How’d you do on your spelling test yesterday?” he asked in a deliberate attempt to divert his sister’s fears.
“I got an eighty-four,” she answered as Catherine hopped into the driver’s seat. “I missed two words.”
Josh stared at Catherine as she settled herself behind the wheel. “Which two words were they?” he continued, never taking his eyes off his mother.
Catherine clutched the steering wheel and breathed fast and deep, the first major hurdle accomplished. And as if to verify this, adjusted her rearview mirror to better view her daughters in the back seat.
“Tedium,” Tamara said, “And...”
Up until this moment, Josh had accepted his mother’s behavior without a whit of concern. She was a good mom, always acting in the best interest of her kids. And where most of his friends seemed to have issues with one parent or another, Josh had nothing but the utmost trust for Catherine. She had always made the right call at the right time and in instances where Josh was left to question an action, the resulting denouement had proven itself to be the accurate course. But now, as he watched his mother, he witnessed something he had never encountered before in such a large dose: doubt.
Catherine started the car, leaning forward over the steering wheel. In the subtlest of ways she glanced up at the sky, her eyes darting skittishly over the heavens. This small gesture had an earth-shattering impact on Josh. For now, not only had he seen her express uncertainty, he realized this state of being was rooted in something much deeper and more profound, something which was the driving force behind today’s events.
Fear.
“What are you looking for?” Josh asked tensely, not altogether sure he wanted to know the answer.
Catherine turned suddenly, surprised at her son’s discovery of her. She forced a wide, sweaty smile as a little voice sounded from the back seat. “Oh, I remember the other word,” Tamara said.
“Yeah?” Josh replied as he searched his mother’s face, desperately seeking any semblance of solace in her eyes, but finding none. “What’s that?”
“Emergency.”
3
Force of Convictions
Catherine sped along the freeway, utilizing the car pool lane to its fullest extent. If there were a silver lining to the chaos of the day then the sparse traffic of a Tuesday morning would have to serve. Notorious for assuming the role of a parking lot for several hours in the morning and provoking homicidal tendencies in priests in late afternoon during the most unholy of rush hours, it had become equally infamous for its desert-like population in its off peak hours.
So far, everything had worked to her advantage.
“Mom, seriously. This has gone on long enough,” Abby blurted, piercing the silence of the car. “Where are we going? Does dad even know you have us?”
“He knows, honey. He knows,” Catherine affirmed just as one of the ubiquitous directional signs of the interstate passed overhead. Signaling her car, Catherine moved into the right lane and exited.
Josh, now astutely aware of his mother’s actions, also noticed the sign, but couldn’t begin to discern a rational explanation as to why they’d be heading the way they were.
Catherine quick-checked her watch and mumbled incoherently to herself, gripping the steering wheel with a white-knuckled intensity as the car began to accelerate.
This was all Josh could tolerate. “Mom! Enough, okay?”
Catherine whipped her head around briefly to meet Josh’s puzzled expression.
“I mean, Jesus,” Josh continued. “I think we’ve been pretty patient, don’t you? You yank us all out of school, shove us in a car, don’t tell us word one about what’s going on, only that we should trust you and that everything’ll be okay?”
“Yeah, mom,” Abby attempted to concur, “Why can’t you just tell us what you’re doing? Don’t you trust us?”
“Of course I trust you. I trust all of you,” she said, just able to intercept a lone tear with a quick swipe of her hand before it announced itself on her cheek. “It’s just that this...”
“This, what?” Josh asked, his volume rising. “Tell us.”
Catherine swallowed hard, readjusting her sweaty fingers on the wheel as she checked the rearview mirror. She glanced fleetingly at Josh who immediately grasped her unwillingness to comply.
“All right, fuck this,” he declared, turning around to face Abby. “Give me your phone. I’m calling dad.”
“You’re not supposed to cuss,” Tamara interjected.
“Sorry, Tamara,” Josh responded heatedly, snatching Abby’s phone from her extended hand. He instinctually flipped open the pink sequin-encrusted handset and started dialing.
“You can’t call your dad,” Catherine said.
“Yeah? Why not?”
“You just can’t.”
“Watch me,” Josh challenged. He put the phone to his ear.
“Josh, I’m tell
ing you—”
“Why are we headed to the marina?” he yelled, surprising everyone with his outburst.
“We’re going to the marina?” Abby said, sitting up.
“What’s at the marina?” Tamara wondered aloud.
“Boats are at the marina,” Josh railed, focusing his attention back on Catherine. “I saw the sign, too. Back there where you turned. For Sandy Shoal? That’s where we’re going, isn’t it? Why are we headed that way, mom, huh? What’s at Sandy Shoal?”
Catherine knew she couldn’t reply. Not yet. It devastated her to keep her kids in the dark like this, staggering around like drunken sailors on a merry-go-round, but she knew—knew—this was what she had to do. A plan was in place and there was no deviating from it.
Straightening herself in her seat, Catherine made eye contact with her daughters in the rearview. “Listen to me, all of you,” she started, “I love you, do you understand? I love you. And I know you all have a lot of questions. My God, who wouldn’t? It’s completely crazy what I’ve put all of you through this morning, coming in and pulling you out of school the way I did. I would be just as bewildered as you are right now.” Catherine signaled again and maneuvered her car into the exit lane. A sign indicating the Sandy Shoal turnoff breezed past.
“What does bewildered mean?” Tamara queried the car.
“It means pissed off,” Abby snarled.
“Shut up, Abby,” Josh said, turning to Tamara. “It means confused.” He then shifted and eyed his mother. “It means really, really confused.”
“That’s right, honey. It does mean confused,” Catherine repeated, glancing at Tamara. “And you all have every right to be. I knew this wouldn’t be easy. You all probably have many other emotions going on inside you, too. Fear. Maybe anger. It’s all okay. And I promise all of you that I will explain everything and answer any questions you have. All I ask is that just for the moment, just for this immediate time, you trust me. Can you all do that for me?”