The Opposite of Love

by Sarah Lynn Scheerger

  “It is to me.” Rose looked through him, her eyes glassy.

  “What is wrong with you?” He pulled her closer again. “You’re not on anything, are you?”

  “It’s none of your business,” she snapped. Then, softer, “No. I’m not on anything. I’m just not sleeping. I can’t kick the flu. I shouldn’t even be here right now—I’m probably contagious. But staying home in that hellhole is not an option,” she said. “And I can’t turn my mind off at night. Maybe I’m being punished for all the crap I’ve pulled. Maybe God is punishing me.”

  “Don’t you dare buy that bullshit. Who’s feeding you that crap? Your parents?” Chase asked, but Rose shrugged. “They may say that, but that doesn’t mean it’s true.”

  “It doesn’t mean it’s not true either.”

  Chase sighed, releasing her arm. “Rose.” A dangerous thought caught in his mind. He tried to shake it free. “You didn’t take that money, did you?”

  As if he’d flipped a light switch, her face changed. Tightened. Withdrew. Hardened. “Are you serious? You’re seriously going to ask me that?” The dullness faded from her eyes, and they scared him.

  Chase sort of shrugged. He hadn’t known she’d be so offended.

  “You bastard.” She grabbed on to his shirt now, with two fists. “You probably stole that money. You thought you’d get out of it by blaming me. Well, screw you.” Each word burned through his skin and right into his soul.

  “Let go of me.” Chase felt his adrenaline pumping and that scared him too. He tried to breathe deeply, in and out, but the urge to shove her away built and built.

  “You and your freaking ‘I want to be a better man’ crap. It’s bullshit.” She beat on his chest now with her fists. “You are who you are. And you are what you do. I know I’m shit. But maybe you’re shit, too.”

  Chase clenched his jaw. He needed to run, to pound his feet against the pavement, to channel that adrenaline toward something other than her face. He stepped back toward the door, reaching for the knob.

  “You can’t handle it, Chase?” Rose had that counter-attack look. Where had he seen that before? “I thought you said your dad raised you not to be a wuss.”

  Chase felt the sting of that as sure as if she’d backhanded him across the face. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he managed through gritted teeth.

  “Hurt me?” she cackled, following him, not letting him escape. “I think you’ve already done that.”

  That was when he pushed her. Not a hard push—just a get-out-of-my-way-and-leave-me-alone push. The adrenaline had kicked in, though, so it hit her harder than he’d intended. She stumbled back a little. He thought he caught a glimpse of shock in her eyes, and that look made him feel about as small and weak and insignificant as a dead flea. Then acceptance.

  “Screw you,” she said sadly. “You’re just like all the rest.” She pressed her fingers to her temples and mumbled to herself. “This is why I never love anybody.” Then she brought her eyes back up to his. Now he saw hate, and that made him want to crawl into a locker and die. “Don’t you ever freaking touch me. I don’t care if you took that money or not. Just leave me alone. I never want to see you again.”

  Chase stumbled backward himself. Shoved open the door. Rose lunged for the trash can and puked. She brought her head up to look at him through steely eyes. “And I hope you get my freaking flu. Maybe God will punish you too.”

  35

  CHASE

  Candy got wind of the missing money before Chase even stepped foot off campus. Man, those women at Salon Joli could talk.

  After the fight with Rose, Chase took off from school running. Running past the lockers. Past the C building. Past the campus security.

  Chase barged through the front door just as Candy hung up the phone. “That was the attendance office, reporting you AWOL.” She hadn’t even set down her purse, just stood holding on to it with two hands, her knuckles turning white. Chase slammed the door behind him and went for his room. Candy blocked his path. “Hey.”

  “Leave me alone.” He tried to step around her.

  “You were right, Chase. I need to stand up and be your mother.” She planted herself directly in front of him. With her that close, he could hardly see her face, she was so short. “I’ve let too many things slide. Your grades … when you’re capable of so much more, the way you disrespect me when you get pissed, letting that girl come here at all hours of the night.” Something about the way she said “that girl” got under his skin. “So you tell me. What did you do with the money?”

  A roar ripped out of him that could’ve rivaled a caged lion. Candy stepped back. He could see her face now, showing surprise, if anything. “Why do you assume I took that money?” Chase howled.

  Candy’s eyes flicked from side to side, as if she was trying to decide what to do. Chase felt like a helium balloon, hovering over himself, watching himself get angrier and angrier. He wanted to yell down at himself to knock it off, to go take another run, to do something to calm down, but it was as if he was yelling from too far a distance. He couldn’t quite hear himself. Or maybe he didn’t really want to hear himself.

  Chase moved away from her, pacing back and forth across the length of the kitchen/living room/dining room. Angry as he was, it only took him five strides to get from one end to the other. Rose’s words rang in his ears. Don’t you ever freaking touch me! Chase tried to remember. He hadn’t hurt her, had he? He wouldn’t hurt her, would he? He loved her. Just leave me alone. I never want to see you again. She couldn’t mean that.

  He’d opened himself up to her in a way he never had before. That was special. At least to him. Suddenly, everything came into focus. Maybe it hadn’t been special for her. Maybe she’d snared him in her trap just like she had done to every other fool who’d written her name on the bathroom walls. She said he was different. But maybe that was part of her game. “Bitch,” he muttered out loud.

  Candy chose that unfortunate moment to decide her course of action. “What did you call me?” She hesitated for a moment, then barreled on ahead. “This is exactly what I mean. Your lack of respect.” Chase continued his pacing. “Look, Chase. I know you’ve been trying hard to control this temper you’ve got. That’s why I don’t understand why you’d take that money—”

  Chase hunched over and screamed into his stomach like he was in searing pain, his fists balled. “Mom!” he yelled through gritted teeth. “Don’t you know me at all? Don’t you owe me the courtesy to get my side? No! You just assume I did it!”

  Again the hesitation. Her voice grew quieter. “So tell me. Tell me what happened.” Her hand reaching for his shoulder.

  “Don’t touch me!” He twisted away from her. “Nothing happened! Okay? All I know is that money got stolen.”

  “But they saw you there—”

  “I work there!” He turned to her, pain and hurt welling up. “Have I ever stolen anything in my life?”

  Silence.

  “A stick of bubblegum? Candy from the drugstore? Any freaking thing?”

  “I … ”

  “That’s right. You don’t know. Because you weren’t there. And if you were there, you were talking to your friends with me tagging along like a little freaking puppy dog.” His breaths came out in little puffs now. “But if you had been paying attention, you would know that I never in my whole pathetic life have ever stolen a damn thing! If you knew me, you wouldn’t accuse me of this.” He crouched over again, this time feeling tears rush in behind his eyes. “But maybe nobody knows me.” Not even Rose.

  “Maybe that girlfriend of yours took the money,” Candy back-pedaled. “People talk about her. Say she’s no good.”

  Chase grabbed her then. By the shoulders. Grabbed his own mother and shook her. “Shut up!” he yelled. “Don’t say that!” She looked like one of those bobblehead dolls, eyes wide open and goggling, her head movi
ng back and forth.

  She brought her hands to his, holding on like it might steady her, and she dug her nails in. “Stop it!” she screamed back. “You are out of control! Stop it!”

  So he did. But not before he backhanded her. Across the face. He wanted her to stop yelling, which she did. He watched her, slow motion-like, twist in the direction of the blow, spiraling almost. Her hands immediately clutched her face, before she even hit the ground. Her cheek turned a stinging red. She lay there, breathing heavily but still, as if she was playing dead. He wondered if she’d tried that trick with Walter. But he wasn’t Walter. He wasn’t. Then why did he feel like him?

  With a sudden jolt, he was back in his body, no longer watching from the helium safety above. And Jesus Christ, it hurt. He hurt. His chest ached. His soul ached. And oh-my-god—he had hit his own mother. Oh. My. God.

  For the longest second in history, Chase stood staring at his hands. They did not look like his own. Large. Rough. Calloused, as if he’d spent his first sixteen years roofing houses with Walter instead of holding a No. 2 pencil. His hands were shaking now, as if they understood what they had done. They had betrayed him.

  For all his striving-to-be-a-better-man crap, he’d just turned into the guy who beats on his own mom. Chase wasn’t sure whether to run or to cry. But then he realized his cheeks were wet. He was already crying, the pain seeping out his eyes. Candy cried too, peeking up at him at first like a rabbit from a den, then relaxing visibly, like she knew the rage was over.

  “I’m sorry, Chase,” she started, holding out her hand. “You are out of control.” She hesitated, and then went ahead and said it. “Just like your father.”

  Chase couldn’t breathe. It was like an air bag had exploded into his chest in a 90-mile-an-hour collision. Head on. His brain buzzed from lack of oxygen. Just like your father.

  Candy spoke almost to herself, pulling her bare knees inward. “I don’t know what to do.” Chase let himself fold and crumple to the floor so that he was sitting an arm’s length away from her.

  “I’m sorry for the things I let happen to you and for the things you had to see. I’m sorry for trying to be your friend instead of your mother.” Candy gathered herself up so that she crouched, rocking back on her heels. Her cheek looked redder by the minute, like a boiling lobster. “But now I see you with this anger, this rage, that’s bigger than you are. And it scares me.” She wiped her eyes with one finger, trying to catch the mascara before it rolled down her crimson cheek in a black trail.

  Chase whispered, “It scares me too.”

  “I’m gonna say something that might piss you off, Chase, but I don’t care. I’m your mother and I need to say it.” She didn’t need to worry. Chase felt deflated, limp, like his bones had turned to mush. “I think you might be better off living with Walter.”

  The mention of his name was like scraping a match to the matchbox. Only today the match was wet. Chase expected a flicker, a flash, a fire, but got nothing. Rose didn’t want him anymore. No reason to stay for her. He deserved to lose Rose. She did not need a guy as messed up as him in her life. They thought he took money from the synagogue. He’d probably be fired from the day care. No reason to stay for that. The only reason to stay was Daisy … and Daniel.

  “He’s sober now. He’s got ten months sobriety. I called him. We talked.” Candy paused for a moment, like she was waiting for a pat on the back. Chase just stared at her. “I mean, he’s still Walter. He’s no saint. He’s got a short fuse. But now that he’s pulled himself together a little, maybe he can help you figure yourself out.”

  “You’d send me there?” If he could feel anything, he would have felt worry. Dread. Fear. But he couldn’t feel a damn thing.

  “If he’s the same, you can come right back. But if he’s different … if he’s grown up now, maybe it’d be good for you.”

  “I’m sorry, Candy—Mom.” His voice sounded flat.

  “I know. I’m not trying to hurt you. I’m trying to help you.”

  “What about Daisy? I watch her more than you do.”

  Candy looked embarrassed by that, or maybe it was just the ever-deepening red on her cheek. “Then I guess I’ll have to grow up too, won’t I?”

  36

  ROSE

  Rose confessed to taking the tzedakah money three hours before they found it. Turned out the whole thing had been a misunderstanding. Keeping that amount of money in an unlocked cash box in the temple office had always been an area of concern, apparently. The rabbi deposited it in the bank every two weeks.

  The word was that Mrs. Rosenberg, as assistant rabbi, had made an extra bank run the evening before her annual young adult camping trip. She explained that the box seemed full, and, well, why take the risk of waiting the extra week? Problem was, she forgot to tell the rabbi before she left. Or the office manager. Or leave a note for Mrs. Stein. As far as everyone knew, the money had gone missing.

  Rose figured she had nothing to lose by taking the blame. Chase wouldn’t call her anymore. She’d burned that bridge, and thank god. She decided to confess the moment the thought entered her mind. That would clear Chase’s name. Sure, he’d hate her even more, but that was okay. It would make it easier to hate him back.

  The Parsimmons accepted her confession with no more than a raised eyebrow, but their heads practically spun in circles when Mrs. Stein called to clear things up, and they figured out her confession was a lie.

  Mrs. P. slammed the phone into the charger, her eyes wild. “What is going on? Are you crazy? Are you on drugs?”

  Purely for spite, Rose picked at the loose fabric on the underside of a couch cushion.

  “Are you trying to make me crazy?” Hursula leaned against the couch arm for support, then switched tactics and spoke to Mr. P., who sat on the LazyBoy with his arms and legs crossed. “We need to watch this child twenty-four hours a day. Either that or send her to some kind of locked boarding school.”

  “We looked into those last time,” Mr. P reminded her. “Their monthly payments are more than our mortgage.”

  Hello? I’m sitting right here. Rose glared at them and yanked harder on the loose part of the cushion. With any luck, she’d ruin it completely.

  “There’s only one thing left to do. It’ll be tough on all of us, but I see no other choice.” Hursula sank down onto a couch-chair, her voice grim. “Home school. Then we can watch her. All the time.”

  That snagged Rose’s attention like a thorn. Her heart missed at least three beats. “No way!” she yelled, standing up, forgetting her mission to silently destroy their couch. “No way in hell!”

  “Watch your language in this house,” Mr. P. said, standing up too. “We’ll do what we see fit.”

  “I hate you!” Rose screamed, pulling fistfuls of her own hair. “I hate you! You’re ruining my life!”

  “Well, that may be the case,” Hursula said, her voice gathering strength as she went on, “but we’re your parents and we have to do what we think is right to keep you safe.”

  “You are not my parents!” Rose screamed so loud she thought her brain might burst. They just stood there staring, mouths open. She slammed her way into her room, knocking over a lamp on the way in. The sound of ceramic shattering was music to her ears.

  Mrs. P. came in to talk to her a few hours later. Rose spent the whole time lying on her bed with her face to the wall. Hating her. Trying not to cry any more. Her face ached, swollen from all the tears.

  “Oh, Rose,” Hursula sighed. “When are you going to grow out of this silent treatment thing? It’s so juvenile.”

  And the light in Rose’s brain clicked on.

  The Silent Treatment. The only real way to make a statement. They’d taken everything that mattered to her. The only thing she had control over was herself. Her voice. And that’s when Rose decided to stop talking again. Completely. No matter what.

 
Rose didn’t have a clue that, at that very moment, Chase sat packing his bags for the move to Bakersfield.

  37

  CHASE

  Within two days of his arrival at Walter’s pink stucco condo complex, after Chase had braved the new school, Walter gestured for him to pull up a folding chair for a man-to-man chat. Even though so much seemed different about Walter, Chase felt his palms grow moist and his heart race around in his chest like it was training for the Olympics.

  Besides, Chase wasn’t sure how much of the difference was Walter and how much of it was him. When Walter left three years ago, Chase had been almost fourteen, getting ready to start high school. And now Chase was one year shy of being a grown man, and side by side to Walter, he stood nearly as large.

  Walter. The new Walter took up two-thirds of the doorway as he ducked through it, looking like a cross between a gorilla and an out-of-shape surfer. He spoke softer than Chase remembered. “Dude,” he started. Since when did Walter call him ‘dude’? “Once school gets out, you’re with me for the summer. Understand? You need to learn a trade anyway.”

  A trade? Chase considered Walter’s thick, sandpaper-rough hands—lined with deep grooves and calluses. Chase turned his own hands over to look at them. “You want me to roof with you?”

  “Yep. It’s a good honest business.”

  “I’m sure it is,” Chase stammered. “I just—I want to go to college.”

  “Last I heard, your grades were Cs and Ds.”

  Last you heard? Last you heard? Chase wanted to yell in his stubble-dotted face. What do you know? Chase balled his fists. “Whatever,” he mumbled, mentally checking out. This was not going to work. He’d give it a week or two and then head back home.

  “Listen here, Chase.” Walter’s voice lowered and toughened. Chase snapped back to focus like one of those rubber-band slingshots he made in elementary school. “I’m glad to have you here. I wanted to have you here. But I understand the reason your mother sent you was for a little attitude readjustment.” He paused for a moment, and Chase met his eyes head on. Steady. Serious. “Don’t worry. I won’t readjust your attitude the way I have before.”