by Mary Strand
Cat was glaring at me, though, as if the problems in her love life were my fault. I glanced at Liz and Jane, who both seemed to be stunned into silence. For Liz, at least, it had to be a first.
Finally, Jane looked sideways at Cat, who clenched her fists so tightly, she had to be hurting.
“Cat? You and Jeremy broke up?”
She kept glaring at me. “Because of her.”
Her finger shook as it pointed at me, but I just rolled my eyes. “Right. Blame it on me when the guy probably just got disgusted when you told the whole school that I didn’t know how to play guitar. Or maybe he found someone else. Like Heather. Who just joined the band.”
“He’s not with Heather.”
“The ex-girlfriend is always the last to know.”
“Actually, she’s often the first to know.” Liz held up her hands when everyone stared at her. “I’m not saying that Jeremy has a new girlfriend.” She offered Cat a less-than-confident smile. “I’m sure he doesn’t. This is probably just a timeout, right? Like, maybe you guys had a fight, and he’ll be back. Every couple has fights, right?”
Her fork halfway to her mouth, Jane blushed.
“Fine. Everyone except Jane and Charlie. But it’s not like Alex and I never fight.”
I snorted. “Probably over which one of you gets to drive his Lamborghini.”
Grinning, Liz slapped a hand on the table. “Perfectly good example of something worth fighting over.”
Only in Liz’s opinion. I rolled my eyes. “I don’t think Cat will ever fight Jeremy for that broken-down piece of scrap metal he drives.”
“See?” Cat jabbed a finger at me. “She knows what Jeremy drives. She’s been in his car.”
When Jane and Liz looked at me, a question in their eyes, I pushed back from the table. “Hey, it’s been great. No, really. But we seem to be out of seafood delight.” I smirked at the globs of rice still clinging to Cat’s shirt. “And now all three of you seem to be cruising down that slippery slope into dementia, so I’m outta here.”
I made it three feet before a hand clamped down on my shoulder, holding me in place.
Liz’s, of course. “What’s going on with you and Jeremy?”
“Other than the fact that I’ve apparently stolen him from Cat and get a charge out of cruising around town with him in a butt-ugly, beat-up brown Hyundai?”
“He drives a Toyota. A Toyota Corolla.”
“So I was right on butt-ugly, beat-up, and brown?”
Liz didn’t say anything, but her lips twitched.
I rolled my eyes. “I’ve never been in his car. I have better taste in both cars and guys.”
When a chair slammed against the floor, I glanced past Liz to see Cat rounding the end of the kitchen table, headed for me, murder in her eyes.
“You little—”
Liz whirled in Cat’s direction, her hands releasing my shoulders in time to give me a quick escape. I didn’t hesitate. Flying out of the kitchen in the direction of the front door, I grabbed the keys to the Jeep. A minute later, the Jeep rumbled to life, and I was gone.
But where I was headed, I didn’t have a clue.
When I slipped back in the front door, four hours and one-and-a-half movies later, every light in the house was blazing, along with Dad’s eyes.
Mom, next to Dad at the front door, didn’t look pissed. I could deal with, or even ignore, pissed. She looked hurt, which was somehow worse.
“You took the Jeep.”
What was his first clue?
Dad crossed his arms. “And you threw an entire plate of food at Cat.”
“That wasn’t smart, Lydia.” Mom shook her head. “Seafood delight is the most expensive item on the menu.”
Dad rolled his eyes. “What Lydia did wasn’t nice. We don’t need to discuss whether it was smart.”
“But it wasn’t, Howard, and Lydia has always been very smart about money.”
My money, sure. Someone else’s money? Not so much.
“Not that you guys would believe me, but Cat started it. Then she came after me like some wild-ass thug, and I barely had time to run out the door before she ripped me to shreds.”
Not that I seriously thought Cat could rip me to shreds. She’d never worked out, and going out with Jeremy hadn’t helped her muscle tone. I could take her in a heartbeat.
But I’d rather take the Jeep. Even if it meant driving aimlessly around Woodbury until finally heading to the theater in Oakdale, where I wouldn’t run into anyone I knew.
I glanced from Dad to Mom, not eager to meet Dad’s livid gaze for more than a split second.
“Cat? Rip you to shreds?” Dad made a tsking sound, as if he expected more of me even in my fibs. “Are you sure you’re not mistaking her for Liz?”
“No mistake. Liz and Jane were there, and they saw the whole thing.”
“They did see it, and neither one seemed to think you were in great danger of being ripped to shreds.”
“Of course not. Liz knew she could handle Cat, and Jane can’t believe poor Cat would ever do anything wrong. She doesn’t know Cat the way I do.”
Mom nodded until Dad shook his head at her. But I had Mom on my side, or at least willing to listen to my side, and I counted on it.
Dad pointed to the chair next to his in the living room, as if he actually expected me to listen to a stupid lecture after already having an incredibly sucky Friday night.
I yawned. “Hey, I had a long day, and I’m tired, and you can ask Liz if you don’t believe me.” I took a step toward the stairs. “Jane has a sweet but skewed perception of reality, and Cat is just plain delusional.”
“She’s not delusional, dear.”
Dad looked at Mom and groaned. “Let’s focus on Lydia, shall we?” He turned to me. “Your own perception of reality might require some adjustment. We’ll work on that first thing tomorrow.”
“Bring it. I can hardly wait.”
Chapter 12
Lydia stood her ground, determined to hear all she could.
— Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice, Volume I, Chapter Twenty
First thing tomorrow came earlier for me than anyone else in the house, based on the utter silence when I made stealth tracks downstairs at six a.m. Dad was good with threats, but his follow-through didn’t worry me. I’d already survived far worse than Dad in the last year, hadn’t I?
After grabbing a hard-boiled egg and a banana, I headed to the basement, closing the door at the top of the basement stairs with a soft click. Even if Dad carried out his vague threats, I could chill first by getting in some time on my guitar.
At six a.m.? I shook my head, wondering if I’d had a lobotomy but hadn’t happened to notice.
I ran through my usual warm-up drill of chords and notes before opening my rock-and- roll songbook. I still couldn’t nail my D chord to save my life, but I now had a dozen chords down cold, even my C chord. I also knew some notes, which were easier and didn’t kill my swollen fingertips so much. At this point, though, the callouses on my fingertips almost made me feel like I knew a thing or two about guitar.
Even if my teacher, Jazz, didn’t seem to agree.
“Lydia?”
When Dad suddenly materialized in front of me, I jumped so high, I almost dropped my guitar.
“Dad! Geez!”
He didn’t apologize—being not only a guy but my dad, the word “sorry” didn’t seem to be in his vocabulary—but he sat down on the beanbag chair near me, nodding his head as if I should keep playing.
Right. I hadn’t played my guitar in front of anyone except Jazz, and I didn’t feel like playing for a guy who was about to lower the boom on me. With my luck, he’d increase the punishment when he heard my D chord.
Wearing his rattiest yoga pants and a stained T-shirt, Dad crossed his legs in the beanbag chair, looking both like a yoga nut and way too comfortable for a guy on the run toward fifty. “You sounded pretty good when I was coming downstairs. Before I startled you into silence, appa
rently.”
I frowned. “You don’t have to act so shocked.”
“I’m not shocked, just observing.” Dad tilted his head, studying me. “Mary used to practice in the living room, so I was in the habit of hearing her. I haven’t heard you play.”
“She played in the living room?” Weird, even by Mary’s standards. “Not even in her bedroom?”
Dad nodded. “I always suspected it was her way of needling your mother on a daily basis that she’d given up piano for guitar.” He offered me a faint smile. “Since your mother started spending longer hours at her law office, the person most affected by it was me.”
Good.
Dad gave me this weird look, as if he could read my mind. If he could, he never would’ve sent me to reform school. He would’ve asked for my side of the story and maybe even given me a hug. I’d never needed one more than during those nightmarish days in Milwaukee.
I set my guitar back on its stand.
“You don’t want to play anymore? Didn’t you just start?”
I glanced up at him, then quickly back at my guitar when I felt a stupid teardrop threaten. Dad could punish me all he wanted, but he’d never see me cry. Not in this lifetime.
“You said you wanted to punish me first thing today.” My voice sounded a little funny, but I just talked faster. “I’m sure you don’t want to waste your day waiting.”
When Dad didn’t say anything, I finally looked at him.
“Lydia, it doesn’t have to be this way.” Dad leaned forward, his elbows on his knees.
I fiddled with my amp, even though I’d already turned it off. “But it is like this. You take everyone’s word over mine, and you get your kicks by punishing me. So bring it. I don’t give a flying fuck in space.”
“You shouldn’t—” Dad shook his head, but he had to realize it was too late to change my language. “I don’t get my kicks, as you say, from punishing you or any of your sisters.”
“Yeah? Could’ve fooled me.”
“Cat and I struggled through a few things last year.”
“Well, raise the flag.”
He kept going as if I hadn’t said a word. Or, as usual, he just didn’t listen to a word I said. “It’s normal. I struggled against my parents, too.”
I just stared at him. Dad thought any part of his life was comparable to mine? The thought was so ludicrous, the last trace of tears vanished in a heartbeat.
“No kidding. Did your dad ship you off to reform school without even asking for your side of the story? Must’ve been a major drag. I bet you’re still recovering, huh?”
Dad gave me one of his long-suffering looks. “It was the only choice I had.”
Right. “Is that what you told your shrink? Did your shrink believe it?”
He does actually go to a shrink. Mom likes to claim it’s part of his spiritual journey as a yoga master, but she might not want to think about the fact that he first saw the shrink after Mom went off her bipolar meds for a few days and played bumper cars in the parking ramp at the Mall of America.
Right now, he flinched as if I’d slugged him with a baseball bat—something I’d wanted to do since the day he told the judge in Milwaukee that, yes, he and Mom agreed that reform school was the best thing for me. He hadn’t even told Mom about Shangri-La; he lied to the judge. But adults lie all they want, no problem. Teenage girls who commit the heinous crime of trusting a guy get shipped to reform school. In my life, anyway.
He didn’t say anything, just stood up and walked to the stairs, head down, as if I’d totally slaughtered him.
Served him right.
So when I heard the door softly shutting at the top of the stairs, I don’t have a clue why I started to cry.
I didn’t touch my guitar again, but I stayed downstairs watching Animal House, so busy wondering when Dad would summon me upstairs for my punishment that even John Belushi couldn’t make me laugh.
At least, not much.
“Lydia?” Mom, not Dad. With any luck, coming to ask if I wanted to go shopping. “You hurt your father’s feelings, dear.”
“Yeah?” My gaze didn’t leave the TV screen, but it’s possible that I smiled. “He has feelings? Who knew?”
“I don’t understand this. You’ve always been such a good girl.”
Only in Mom’s opinion. Not even in mine. And definitely not in Dad’s.
“And you’re home now and, well, safe. Safe from all those nasty creatures they send to reform school.”
Blinking, I finally darted a glance at Mom. “Nasty? You mean, like me?”
She waved a hand, but she seemed more nervous than her meds usually allowed. “Of course I don’t mean you. That was a mistake. You never should’ve been sent there.”
I glanced back at the movie. “Have you mentioned that to Dad? He’s the one who sent me.”
“The judge insisted on it. Your father told me so.”
I snorted. “My father lied to you. I was right there in the courtroom, Mom. The judge gave Dad a few options. Dad picked the most convenient one. For him.”
“He did not— He wouldn’t.” Mom sputtered, but the wild look in her eyes had nothing to do with bipolar disorder and everything to do with finally realizing that Dad really was an asshole.
I nailed his coffin shut. “He totally did. He also told the judge not to mention the other options in his court order, since he figured you’d eventually see it.”
A few tears gathered in my eyes, but they were pure crocodile. I’d already cried enough real tears over what Dad had done to fill a bathtub.
But never in front of anyone.
“He didn’t.” The look in Mom’s eyes, almost deadly, was what made her a good courtroom lawyer. It terrified the crap out of me, even though Dad was the one who should start running. And packing his bags.
Without another word, Mom marched toward the stairs. As she hit the bottom step, she looked back at me.
“Don’t worry about being punished, dear, but I hope you’ll get out in the sun. It’s a nice day. At least, it was.”
When the shrieking started a minute later, I knew it wouldn’t be a nice day for Dad.
Excellent.
I hesitated as I passed my old bedroom on my way to my new one. Cat was flopped on her bed, The Catcher in the Rye in her hands, but it looked like she’d barely made a dent in it.
I shook my head.
“Like you’ve read it.”
“I have.” Twice, I could’ve said, but the dark circles under Cat’s eyes told me that more torture would just be overkill.
“Right. I heard what happened in English. Now you’ve got Skamser wrapped around your finger? How’d you do that?”
I rolled my eyes. “I slept with him. Satisfied?”
“Ew.” Cat looked like she wanted to puke. “Only you would do something like that.”
Unbelievable. I shot her a nasty look, then stomped down the hall to my room. Reaching the door to it, I whirled and headed back to Cat’s room. Crossing to her bed in three pissed strides, I grabbed The Catcher in the Rye out of her hands and flung it through the still-punched-out window screen.
Cat leaped to her feet, following me to the window. A squirrel was already rubbing its tiny paws over the book like it was an overgrown nut.
“Where the hell do you get off? You’re buying me a new one, and I’m telling Dad.”
“Dad won’t be much help to you.” I jabbed my thumb in the direction of the shrieks still coming from downstairs. Dad was toast. “But you didn’t used to be a squealer. Yet another ugly change you’ve made in the last year.”
“And you didn’t used to—” She broke off, glaring, as if she wished she had the guts to finish her sentence.
I crossed my arms. “I didn’t used to what?”
“You didn’t used to—” She took a deep breath, her nostrils flaring. “Sleep with every guy you met.”
My eyebrows went up, but my stomach lurched.
She made a face. “I mean, you always a
cted like it, but I thought you were just toying with people.”
“Yeah? The way you claim Tess toyed with you?”
Cat nodded, her lips quivering, even though it’d been six months since the band fiasco went down, and she’d wound up with the drummer in the band.
Oh, wait. Not lately.
“What is up with you and Jeremy? Did you guys really break up?”
As I asked the question, I knew she wouldn’t answer. Cat hated me now, even though I didn’t have a clue why.
Her lips were still quivering. “You know we did. And you know why.”
“Wrong on both counts.” I met her hostile gaze. “Unless I was right about the Heather scenario.”
“This has nothing to do with Heather!”
I held up a hand. “Whatever. It also has nothing to do with me. No matter what you say.”
“Kirk said—”
I frowned. “I thought you didn’t talk to Kirk. Or Amber or Tess or any of them.”
“I don’t unless I have to.” Unable to look at me, Cat glanced out the window, where a bunch of squirrels were having a raucous party on The Catcher in the Rye. Even if they didn’t eat the pages, at this point the only thing in that book’s future was a pair of rubber gloves and a one-way trip to the garbage can. “But Kirk still talks to me. At least, if it affects his stupid band.”
“Jeremy’s in that stupid band, you know.”
“No kidding.” Cat flicked a glance in my direction, but she seemed to be a million miles away. “Kirk told me Jeremy was quitting the band if you joined it. That’s when I told them you didn’t even play guitar.”
I sucked in a breath, unable to process it. Jeremy would quit if I joined the band? What would be so horrible about me joining the band? They put up with Mary! Worse, even though I knew Cat had been the one who ratted me out, hearing it directly from her quivering mouth still hit me between the eyes.
Which was exactly where I wanted to hit her.
Visualizing it, I punched my right fist into the palm of my left hand. “You little shit.”
“But you don’t play. I mean, you just started.”