"If you need anything, man. All the guys. We'll do whatever. Money, you name it." Ramon turned his dark eyes away from him, and Carl was thankful, feeling the pulse of tears behind his eyes.
He stood up and put a twenty on the counter. "Thanks, guys. I really appreciate it. I might not be at the courts as often, but I'll be back. Soon."
Carl put a hand on Bob's shoulder and then turned and left The Big C, walking up the street instead of toward the Corvair, needing air, needing exercise, needing anything to push the feeling back inside him where it belonged. If this kept up, he'd need to borrow some of Peri's drugs, filching them at night to tamp down everything.
Just over a week ago, Carl had imagined the past--years ago, months, even days--cauterized, sealed shut, red maybe but not bleeding. Not life threatening. But it had opened up and was oozing. Time had bit him in the ass after all.
Ignoring the kids hopping up and down on the pavement waiting for their classes, the woman walking her Corgie, the man on a cell phone, Carl walked faster, his knee clicking slightly as he pushed up the street. He was sharing Peri's psychotic reaction, convinced he would burst at any moment, unable to contain the feeling that was turning his lungs into ovens. Later, he wondered what people must have thought, seeing an old, slightly drunk man in tennis shorts weeping his way up Mountain Boulevard.
SEVENTEEN
"Can we get her now? If we're going to be here for good, can we have her back?" Carly stared at her breakfast, two slightly runny eggs looking back at her with yellow eyes.
Her father put down the front page of the Saturday Chronicle. "Who? Who can we have back?"
Carly looked at Ryan, who was pretending to ignore her and read the sports section, which he didn't even care about. She cared about Maxie, though, so she repeated herself. "Maxie. Can we go get her now at Sam's? If you're going to make--if we're going to be here at Grandma's, why can't we have her? There's a big enough yard. She can stay outside. I'll take care of everything."
Her father folded the paper and set it beside his own runny eggs. "Carly. I know you miss her, but there's too much going on here right now. I always told your mother that dog was dangerous around your sister, anyway, and we just got her all set up. Besides, I don't know if your grandmother could handle anything more."
"What can't I handle?" Garnet said, clipping into the kitchen and looking around, nodding at Maritza, who was wiping down the range.
Her dad seemed to flush, and Carly saw that he was almost scared of her, as if Grandma was going to spank him for being bad. Her grandmother scared her in the same way, and for a surprising instant, she wanted to protect her dad, make up some story to avoid this conversation. But he didn't deserve protection. He needed a spanking, a big one, with a leather belt like in the old days, and she sat back in her chair, waiting for his answer.
"The dog, Mom. Maxie. Peri gave her to a neighbor when they moved."
"We didn't give her to anyone," Ryan said loudly, looking up from the sports page. "We had to let Maxie stay with someone because where we were moving, we couldn't have pets. We couldn't have anything there. We didn't have anything there."
Her father pushed a hand through his hair and then looked at Carly. The part of her that might have helped him died behind her gaze, and she stared without blinking, her eyeballs hot. He cleared his throat.
"Well. In any case, your grandmother has too much going on in this house to add Maxie to the pile."
"Do you think I can answer the question, Graham?" her grandmother said, taking a cup of tea from Maritza and sitting down at the table. "I think we can handle a dog. You and your sister had Pippin for years, and the yard was fine for her."
"But what about Eustace?" her father asked. Carly almost made a terrible sound with her lips, the kind that she used to make with Alicia and Kiana during recess when talking about Mrs. Blandi, their math teacher. A raspberry, her mother used to call the sound, a wet push of disgust through lips.
"The cat like lives under my bed," Carly said. "He'll be fine. I'll keep Maxie under control."
"Don’t forget about Brooke," her father said quietly. Carly wanted to make the sound again. Her father had barely gone into Brooke's room since the ambulance brought her home. He'd considered nothing as far as Carly could see.
"What is your problem?" Ryan asked, standing up suddenly, the table rattling with dishes. "We had Maxie with Brooke. We had Maxie with a cat! Remember Olive? Before we had to give her away, they got along great. Have you like completely forgotten that we all used to live together just fine until you left us? Are you a total asshole or what?"
"Ryan, sit down immediately," Grandmother Mackenzie said, rising in her seat like a cartoon giant, her face looming over the kitchen table. "I won't have that kind of talk in my kitchen."
Ryan did as he was told and glared at their dad, who fiddled with a fork.
"It's also that you might be moving to Phoenix with me. And then we'd have to do something with Maxie again."
"We couldn't take her with us if we had to go with you?" Carly asked, surprised by his hurt look at her words. She wondered if he really didn't know she'd rather die than live with him. Did he really not see that?
"Blair--your stepmother--is allergic to animals."
"Here is what I think could happen." Grandma Mackenzie put down her teacup and wiped the corners of her mouth with her napkin. "I believe we could go and retrieve Maxie and let her live here for the duration. This case could go on for months, Graham. Why not let the children have their dog? We'll put her outside in the old kennel."
Her father nodded weakly, sighing. "Fine. Why not."
Carly kicked Ryan gently under the table, and he looked at and smiled the biggest smile she'd seen since before they moved, since before the divorce.
Her father had made a very quick call to Sam's mom, and late that afternoon, Carly and Ryan sat in the back seat of Grandma MacKenzie's Lincoln Continental. Their grandmother had handed them a folded tarp before they left, saying, "Put this down on the back seat before you let the dog in." Grandma probably didn't want Maxie at all, and Carly was surprised that any of this was happening at all. She didn't care why it was happening, she was just glad. And as they drove through the Caldecott Tunnel and pushed out into the air of Monte Veda, she felt her blood tingle under her skin. She was home. She was going to have her dog back. Brooke was upstairs at Grandma's house. If their mom was all better and they could live in Monte Veda again, then maybe everything since her father left would pop open and blow away like a bad dream, one she felt she might be waking from. If they were getting Maxie, who knew what else good could happen?
Slowly pulling up to Sam's house, the last of the plum blossoms dotting the asphalt like tiny wings, her father braked and the cut the engine, gripping the steering wheel, and not saying a word.
"Dad?" she asked.
"What?"
"Let's go get her already," Ryan said.
"Why don't you two go. I don't even know--Maxie would be happier to see you."
"If she even remembers us," Carly said.
Her father turned and looked at them over the seat. For an instant, he was the dad she remembered, taking her to Saturday art classes, dropping her off at the first day of school. He was the dad in the second row at the dance recitals, videotaping everything, even the final bows. But he wasn't that dad any more. He'd forgotten how to take care of her, and now he was too chicken even to go get the dog they'd had to get rid of because of him. "Just run to the door. It'll be fine."
Carly and Ryan slid out of the car, tugging the tarp over the seat before they walked up the driveway toward the house. They could hear Maxie barking behind the closed front door.
"He is such an asshole," Ryan muttered.
"Well, we're getting Maxie back at least."
"At least."
As they began walking up the steps, Sam opened the door, and Maxie sprinted out, jumping up on Carly, exactly as dog school and Ryan had taught her not to do during all those w
eekly Tuesday evening classes. Wagging and bumping into Carly's shoulders, Maxie licked her wet red tongue up and down Carly's entire face, including her lips. She didn't care, leaning into the dog's long, soft fur, pressing her hands against Maxie until she almost felt Maxie's quick breaths were her own. Carly closed her eyes, hearing the familiar jangle of dog collar and tags, and she imagined concentrating on the steel clack long enough to turn today into a year ago, Maxie's excitement an everyday occurrence, none of this--not one bit--out of the ordinary.
Maxie stilled, licked Carly once more, and then wagged over to Ryan, who knelt and held her in his arms, murmuring "Hey girl. Hey girl. That's my girl." He avoided Carly's gaze and blinked fast, one two, one two, finally burying his face in Maxie's shoulder.
"Hi," said Sam, looking at her shyly, as if they hadn't played together for years. She thought about asking after her friends Kiana and Ashley, but then Sam's mom Lara came out to the front porch, smiling. Carly felt like turning, grabbing her mother's hand, walking into the house to the food she knew Lara would have laid out, smelling the coffee made just for her mother who liked it. She and Sam would play for hours before turning on the television set to watch a movie, Beethoven, the one about the dogs. After a while, her mother would say "Let's go, squirt," and they would drive to the soccer field, where Ryan ran back and forth, his shin guards streaked with dirt, his face red, his hair blown wild.
For that instant, everything was like it had been, before Brooke.
"Now this is nice. Just what Maxie was waiting for," Lara said, putting her smooth hand on Carly's arm. "You've grown! My goodness, Carly. Your mother must be . . . " Lara brought a hand to her chin, as if she could whisk away the mistake. Carly's mother must be nothing in terms of Carly. She must be crazy. And that was all.
"Good girl. That's a good girl," Ryan said, petting Maxie's face and neck.
"Where's your dad?" Lara looked down the long driveway.
"He's in the car." Carly bit her lip, wondering if this was the time to ask for help again, like she did with Rosie. But how could Lara help them now? Everyone knew about what had happened--cops, doctors, social workers, her grandma and grandpa--and she was still stuck with her father. No one could change anything.
"I think I'll go say hello," Lara said.
"Good idea," Ryan said. He avoided Carly's surprised look and took the leash from Sam and clipped it on Maxie's collar. Carly picked up the bag on dog toys and peeked in, almost laughing as she remembered buying them with her mother at The Smart Pet. "She'll love this one!" her mother had said, holding it up and squeezing it so Carly could hear it squeak. "And look at this dog dish--Killer. That's Maxie all over!"
The four of them walked toward the car, and Carly paid attention to the shadow figure of her father, the way he shifted, sat straighter and then stepped out of the car altogether. He might run down the street before daring to face Sam's mom or even Maxie, who didn't seem to smell him yet. Maybe even Maxie knew what he had done and had decided he wasn't worth the effort.
"Graham? Hi. How are you?" Sam's mother smiled one of those fake smiles Carly knew from years of going with her mother to mother/daughter cookie parties and holiday bazaars and mother-in-the-class days--a wide toothy flash that said "I'm really thinking something terrible about you," no flicker or secret in her eyes, dead set on her father, who shuffled and then put his hands in his pockets.
"Hi, Lara. Things could be better. Obviously. But really, thanks for keeping Maxie. The kids were desperate to get her back."
"Really. Of course. Too bad it had to happen in the first place." Lara smiled her fake smile again, and Carly began to like her more than ever. "So how is Brooke?"
Her father nodded and kicked at a magnolia petal that had floated next to his shoe, a pair Carly didn't recognize. Nothing he had on was familiar, his wedding ring a new, wider, bigger band. What had he done with the old one?
"A lot better than when they found her. Peri--" he started, and then stopped, looking up at Lara and then coughing. "Well, thanks again. Come on, kids. Let's take Maxie to Grandma's."
As her dad opened the rear door and made sure Maxie was settled on top of Grandma's tarp and not under it, Lara walked over to Carly and put her hand on her shoulder. "Don't blame your mom for all this," she said quietly. "I should have seen something. So should a lot of other people. Remember she's sick, okay?"
Carly nodded and then opened the other door and sat down, holding Maxie over her shoulders, accidentally touching Ryan's hand as he did the same thing. Neither of them moved.
Her father didn't say another word to Lara, and as they drove down the street, Carly turned, watching Sam and Lara and Monte Veda disappear, just as they had before. But this time, there was nothing calling her home.
Back at their grandmother's, Carly and Ryan stood in the backyard with Maritza watching Maxie sprint around, stopping to sniff the base of a tree or plant, and then sprint some more.
"Su pero is muy loco," Maritza said.
"Si," Ryan said.
"Huh?" Carly asked. “What did she say?”
"She's acting crazy. Look at her. It's like she's been locked up or something," Ryan said.
He and Maritza were right. Maybe Maxie imagined that this yard would also disappear, and she had to memorize it all right now before it was gone, a car dumping her off at another house with other people. But she seemed to be enjoying herself, looking back occasionally at them, wagging her tail, and then tearing off again.
"Si esa mujere espera que yo limpia la miedra, sera loca," Maritza said, nodding at Ryan and walking back toward the kitchen.
"What was that all about?"
"I guess we're going to have to clean up after Maxie." Ryan smiled. "But I don't care."
"Me, either." They were both quiet for a second, the afternoon turning to that perfect gold light Carly had always loved, the way it slid liquid across the shiny backs of oak leaves and trailed across shingled rooftops. Piedmont was so much like Monte Veda that if she closed her eyes, she could imagine she was in her old backyard.
"What are you going to do tomorrow?" Ryan asked, sitting down on the thick wood chair and putting his feet up on the table.
Carly sat down, too, folding her hands between her knees. "What do you mean?"
"I mean about the visit. You know. With Mom?"
She shrugged, but she wanted to know if she really had any options. Could she not go? Her stomach felt empty from the last time, and simply thinking about her mother's sad, tired face made her stomach swirl as if she'd swallowed jungle bugs, creatures with long legs and prickly antenna. And then she remembered what Lara had whispered earlier in her ear. Remember, she's sick.
Maxie tore down the slope and then stopped at the patio, finding her water and lapping at it, her tags banging against the bowl. "Do you think Mom is sick? Is it, like, a disease that she's got?"
"That's what Grandpa said. Depression with some kind of reaction. He said it was as if her brain kind of made another universe that only she lived in and only she knew the rules to. And she thought she was acting fine because in her world, she was. To us on the outside, she was doing crazy shit."
"Like leaving Brooke in her bed. Like leaving me to take care of Brooke, who had a fever, who could have died."
"Yeah. That's the shit. That's the stuff that somehow made sense to her."
"What did she say to you after I had to . . . ."
"What? Crap your guts out?"
Carly flushed. "Shut up."
"Just kidding," Ryan said, leaning back, his arms so long the armrests seemed like wood stumps. He closed his eyes and tilted his head up, the sun lighting the five long hairs on his chin, the vague red stubble above his lip. "Well, she said she was sorry. That she didn't mean to hurt us. That she loved us." He squeezed his eyes together, as if the sun were bothering him through his eyelids.
"Did you believe her?"
"Yeah. She wasn’t always like this, Carly. You know that."
Shaking her head
, Carly looked at her hands in her lap, the slick clear nail polish her grandmother had let her use flickering in the light. Ryan was right, but that old mother was as far away as her old father. Once upon a time there had been laughter and warmth and fun, like in a fairytale. Her mother took her shopping and braided her hair and came into her room at night and read Pig William, the story about the stubborn pig that wouldn’t go to school. Somehow, though, that mother became the mother who was on the phone or in Brooke’s room or meeting with therapists and nurses. And then that mother became the one who hid under her blankets, struggling to get up every morning just to feed Brooke. Now, there was yet another mom, one who was on drugs to make her normal, on drugs so she wouldn’t bash anyone else’s front door.
"Are you going to visit?" Carly looked at her brother.
"Yeah."
"Even after what she did?"
"Because of what she did," Ryan said, sitting up, turning to Carly. "She's in trouble, Carly. If she didn't know what she was doing, I can't blame her. Fran told me she wasn't herself. And our being pissed at her probably won't be her only punishment. She might--she might go to jail. It's like we have to see her now."
Carly bit the side of her cheek. It was just like Ryan to be all wise now, after the hard part was over. Back when their mother was under the blankets and Brooke was falling out of her bed, he'd been like a dream she'd had once, something she could almost remember. Now that the adults were involved and Dad was back, everyone knowing exactly what was going on, it was easy to be big, act like he had the answers to the questions he couldn't even ask before. And while he was running around cutting class and smoking Lucky Strikes, there she'd been, pushing formula through a syringe into her sister's stomach.
Maxie was barking at the end of the property, and Ryan stood up, ran up the slope and then over past the oak trees on the crest, and then the barking stopped, but he didn't come down. For a few minutes, Carly sat still, closed her eyes, let the air wrap around her face like a friend who'd been gone and was now back in town, so happy to see her. After a while, she sat up and followed Ryan's path up the slope, past the fancy landscaping her grandmother's gardener tended, bushes with fuzzy purple flowers, plants that seemed to wave at her with yellow hands.
When You Go Away Page 17