No One Ever Asked

by Katie Ganshert

  The nurse swabbed the back of Paige’s throat.

  She gagged softly. Tears welled in her eyes, but she quickly blinked them away, slid off the examination table, and sat in Camille’s lap.

  The nurse gave Paige an affection tap on her nose. “This will only take a few minutes, and then we’ll know.”

  With a swell of pride, Camille wrapped her arms around her daughter and kissed the crown of her head. Swabs weren’t fun, especially not when your throat was already tender and you had to cut a fun day at the pool short in order to get one.

  “All that noise is making my head hurt,” Paige said.

  Camille placed her hands over her daughter’s ears. “I’m sorry, honey.”

  “Why is she being so loud?”

  “I think she must be scared.” Camille drew Paige’s legs to the side and leaned her back against her chest.

  “She doesn’t sound scared. She sounds mad.”

  Camille silently agreed. At the moment, Jubilee didn’t even sound mad as much as she sounded feral. Poor Jen. She had looked so flustered when the nurse came out and called Jubilee’s name. This must have been why.

  “Will I have to get my tonsils out?” Paige asked.

  “We’ll have to wait to see what Dr. Porter thinks.”

  “I hope he lets me keep them.”

  “Even if they’re making you sick?”

  “They are attached to my body, Mom. I don’t want anyone to saw them off.”

  “Nobody is going to saw them off. The doctor will take them out while you’re sleeping. You won’t feel it at all, and when you wake up, you get to eat all the ice cream you want.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Just ask Austin.”

  “Never mind, then. I want these puppies gone.”

  Camille laughed. Where in the world had Paige learned the phrase these puppies?

  Her phone chirped inside her bag.

  When she fished it out, Kathleen’s name lit the screen. Camille hit the Talk button and pressed the phone against her ear. In the other room, the screaming had turned into distressed moans.

  “Is Paige crying?” Kathleen asked.

  “No. It’s a little girl in the other room.”

  “It sounds like a dying cow.”

  Somehow Camille doubted Kathleen had any idea what a dying cow sounded like. “Are you still at the pool?”

  “I brought Bennett and Austin home with me to get out of the sun. I didn’t want them to be wiped out for the game tonight.”

  “You brought me home too, Mom!” That was Dane, and he didn’t sound too happy about the arrangement.

  “Cody and Taylor stayed at the pool. How’s Paige?”

  Camille stroked her daughter’s corn-silk hair. “We’re waiting for the nurse to come back with the results.”

  “So that means you’re sitting down?”

  “Yes.” Camille’s skin flushed. “Why?”

  “I just talked to Jill.”

  “And?”

  “They chose us.”

  “What?”

  “At the meeting today. The superintendent of South Fork made the announcement. Apparently, this transfer law requires them to provide transportation to a nearby district. It’s us, Camille. They’re going to bus their students to Crystal Ridge.”

  Six

  Jen felt like the Tin Man from Oz as she opened the box marked Family Pics and pulled out the framed eleven by sixteen that had hung in their old home—a photograph of the three of them, smiling together in the airport terminal. Leah had snapped it. Jen ran her thumb across her frozen smile—the Proverbs 31 woman, the one from the Bible, who laughed without fear of the future, because that future would hold her daughter.

  Now here she was, sitting in that future, the makings of bruises on her legs where Jubilee kicked her, surrounded by fun-sized candy-bar wrappers and blank beige walls and boxes she didn’t have the energy to unpack. She raised another 3 Musketeers in mock salute. To the mother who went to every adoption class, attended every seminar, quoted the adoption guru Karyn Purvis like a Bible scholar quoted Scripture, and possessed all the arrogance that came with too much knowledge and not a lick of experience.

  She stuffed the chocolatey nougat into her mouth when a rummaging sound came from downstairs.

  Jubilee was up and on the move.

  With her hand against her lower back, Jen stood from her spot on the bed and made her way into the kitchen. Her daughter was standing on the counter, digging in the cupboards with a blanket wrapped around her waist.

  “What are you doing?”

  Jubilee turned around, a box of Cheez-Its in hand as a strong, unmistakable scent hit Jen with full force. Her sore muscles tensed. “Jubilee, did you have an accident?”

  Jubilee shook her head.

  Jen nodded at the blanket. “Can you take that off?”

  Jubilee shook her head again. Proof that she was lying. That she had, in fact, wet her pants. The blanket might be covering the visual evidence, but it could not mask the incriminating smell. It filled the kitchen with an odor that had become all too familiar.

  “You need to go upstairs, take off your shorts, and get into the bath.”

  “No accident!”

  “You did too have an accident.”

  Jubilee’s head shaking moved into her hands. She waved them in the air and the blanket fell away, revealing a wet stain on her shorts.

  Jen took her hand and pulled her off the counter. “Come on. Let’s get into the shower.”

  Jubilee’s body slid to the floor like a rag doll.

  Freaking out over needles, Jen understood. That hysteria at least made sense. This, however—wanting to sit in her own urine? Refusing to get clean? The illogicality of it had Jen’s blood pressure rising. For an infinitesimal moment, she relished it. Tangible proof that she wasn’t made of tin. A human heart beat inside her chest after all.

  But then Jubilee began to flail and scream, and Jen’s blood pressure rose to dangerous heights. She bent over to pick Jubilee up just as her daughter reared back and spit. A glob of white saliva stuck to Jen’s cheek.

  Sound and time froze.

  Mother and daughter stared at each other in shocked, still silence.

  Jen touched the sticky goo with her fingers, and something snapped—broke like the walls of a dam holding back a river of rage. Months’ worth of rage. Or maybe years. It rushed out of her in a deranged wail—a scream without words that rivaled every horror film put together. And there were no watching nurses to stop her. No friendly stranger with an adorable matching daughter listening in the next room. It was just them alone in this new house with no witnesses. The blood-curdling sound rattled the walls and excoriated her throat—so frighteningly loud and long it had Jubilee ducking away, scrunching up her shoulders and covering her ears.

  When it ended, Jen bellowed, “That is how you sound!”

  She dragged Jubilee up the stairs and deposited her outside the bathroom. She glared at the little girl with snot and tears running down her face and pushed her words through clenched teeth. “Take off your clothes, and get into the bath.”

  Jen stalked back down the stairs, her entire body shaking as she sat on the couch, bent over her knees, and curled her hands around the back of her neck. She should go to her daughter, repair the breach her outburst had just caused. Take Jubilee into her arms. Do what Karyn Purvis would do and rock her like a baby. But Jen was afraid she would hurt the baby. Jen was afraid she would shake it to death.

  So she stayed where she was, curled into the fetal position while Jubilee cried upstairs, until the sound of a lawn mower kicked to life. Jen sat upright. It was a sound that wouldn’t be so loud, except for the open window behind her.

  Horror turned the lava in her blood to igneous rock.

  Everything went cold an
d dead.

  She had just thrown an adult-sized temper tantrum. Loud enough for the entire neighborhood to hear. Loud enough for the entire town of Crystal Ridge to hear. And her living room window was wide open.

  * * *

  By the time Nick got home from his first day of work, Jen had eaten three more fun-sized candy bars. She could practically feel the fat cells multiplying on her hips. Mercifully, the scale was packed away in one of the many scattered boxes.

  As soon as he walked in the door, Jubilee catapulted herself into his arms, clinging to him like Jen clung to Leah’s words on the phone. Yelling does not make you a bad mom. It just makes you a mom who’s had a bad day. Jubilee buried her face in his neck as he walked through the living room into the kitchen, where Jen was sautéing garlic in a pat of butter—a smell that was as comforting to her as the taste of her mother’s homemade mashed potatoes.

  “I got four ouchies today,” Jubilee said, pointing at the brightly colored Band-Aids on each of her thighs.

  She also spit in mommy’s face.

  But Jubilee didn’t mention that.

  “Four ouchies? Oh man, Juju-bee. I’m so sorry.” Nick kissed Jen’s cheek. “That smells delicious.”

  “Da doctor is bad.”

  “The doctor is trying to make sure you stay healthy. And you know what? I’m pretty sure you won’t have to get anymore ouchies for a long time.” Nick looked over the top of Jubilee’s head and mouthed the word, Right?

  Jen lifted her shoulder and moved the minced garlic around in the pan, watching as the butter browned and bubbled at the edges.

  Nick set Jubilee on her feet. “Why don’t you get out your markers and draw me a picture of your day.”

  Draw him a picture of her day. What kind of a superhero dad was he? And why did Jen sometimes resent him for it?

  He waited until Jubilee was gone, then snagged an apple from the bag on top of the refrigerator and passed it from one hand to the next. “What’s up?”

  What was up.

  Oh, nothing much. She was just going crazy. That was all. In fact, today she screamed like a psychotic banshee—so loud she was probably already a scary story that the neighborhood kids would tell. “Stay away from the Covington home. I heard there’s a mean ghost lady who lives inside.” Maybe the nice man who was outside pruning his rosebushes had already called CPS and someone would show up and take Jubilee away. Maybe she wouldn’t be sad if they did. It was a horrible thought. One that made her feel ungrateful and mean.

  “Jen?”

  She turned off the burner. The garlic stopped sizzling. “I want to go back to work.”

  “Okay.”

  But it wasn’t a supportive okay. It was a wrinkle-your-nose, pull-back-your-chin, I-don’t-think-you’re-in-your-right-mind okay.

  Well, maybe she wasn’t in her right mind.

  But his response still made her feel prickly. It made her feel like an agitated porcupine. “Pretty soon, Jubilee’s going to be in school full time. What am I supposed to do—sit around in this house all day?”

  “I’m sure you’re not going to have as much time as you think.”

  She dumped the sautéed garlic into the pasta sauce and brought the buttery pan to the sink, where she began to scrub it with a ferocity bordering on manic.

  Nick came over and shut off the faucet. “Babe, for as long as I can remember, you’ve wanted to stay at home. One of the reasons I took this job was so that you could stay home.”

  “So I’m not allowed to change my mind?”

  “Of course you are. I’d just like to understand why.”

  She was suffocating. That was why. Today’s events had turned into two hands wrapped around her throat. Yes, she had talked about this for years. Quitting her job. Staying at home to raise their children. It was everything she thought she wanted. Everything she had desperately prayed for. But now? Now the idea of being in this house, her life revolving around that particular girl while she grappled with these particular feelings, made those two hands squeeze and squeeze and squeeze until she couldn’t breathe anymore.

  “I’m sorry. I thought it was what I wanted, but I don’t think I’m cut out for it.” She wiped at her forehead with the back of her wrist, pushing aside her bangs. “And Jubilee needs to go to South Fork.”

  “Whoa. We should probably talk about that one a little.”

  “What’s there to talk about? She needs to be around kids who look like her. I don’t want her feeling more different than she already is.” And also, Jen wanted to avoid the enthusiastic woman from the pediatrician’s office from now until eternity, and she wouldn’t run into her at the drop-off line in South Fork.

  “I completely agree.”

  “Crystal Ridge is ninety-five percent white.”

  “I don’t think it will be next year.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s all anyone could talk about today at the store. I guess South Fork lost their accreditation last January, and parents have been fighting to get their kids transferred to an accredited school ever since. Today the superintendent at South Fork announced that any kids wanting to transfer would be bussed to Crystal Ridge.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.” With a gentleness that pierced her, Nick turned Jen around and pulled her into a hug. He smelled like everything good and familiar—more comforting than all the sautéed garlic and mashed potatoes in the world. “If you want to go back to work, it’ll be easier if Jubilee goes to our neighborhood school.”

  Seven

  Announcement on the Crystal Ridge district website:

  South Fork District Superintendent, Dr. Robert Joiner, announced today that South Fork will provide transportation to the Crystal Ridge Community School District for students wishing to transfer out of the South Fork District. According to state law, unaccredited districts must cover the transportation costs for students to one accredited district in the same or an adjoining county. Neither the board nor the superintendent had a role in this decision. Please note, the Crystal Ridge Board of Education has no authority to supersede a ruling of the Missouri Supreme Court.

  We invite you to attend a public meeting in the high school gymnasium from 6:00–7:30 p.m. on Monday, July 9. This meeting will be an open forum in which the board will answer questions and address concerns about the transfer process.

  Camille scrolled down the page in search of more information, but there was nothing more to read. That was it. A short announcement and a public meeting that wasn’t for another two weeks.

  “Camille?” Neil popped his head into the office. “Have you seen my phone?”

  It couldn’t be true. South Fork couldn’t just choose them without their input. There needed to be collaboration. A call for a vote. Instead, their voices had been completely erased from the equation.

  “Camille?”

  She blinked up at her husband.

  “Austin and I should have left five minutes ago.” He was looking at her like it was her fault. Like she purposefully gave Paige strep throat so she could call Neil home early from work and force him to take their son to his baseball game. And to top it off, she went and hid his phone to make the whole ordeal that much more bothersome.

  “Did you check your car?”

  “Yes. And the kitchen, and my briefcase, and the couch cushions…,” he said as he put on his watch—the sporty one she got for him last Christmas.

  “Did Paige take it?” Their youngest was in the habit of snagging their phones when they weren’t looking and snapping several—usually hilarious—selfies. Sometimes one turned out so impressively well that Camille would print it on a small, square canvas and hang it in the art room in the basement.

  While Neil went in search of Paige, Camille rolled the chair away from the desk and went into their bedroom to help him search, her mind chewing over th
e announcement, disbelief morphing into outrage. As she got down on her knees to look beneath the bed, she began compiling a list in her mind of legislators and politicians she and every other concerned parent would call to let them know how absolutely unacceptable this was. She would put it together and email it out tonight.

  Camille stopped her searching.

  Didn’t Neil have that important meeting today?

  Anytime he had an important meeting, he wore a sport coat to work. His phone was probably hiding away in one of the pockets.

  Sure enough, she found it in his lightweight, navy-blue sport coat. As soon as she pulled it out, it vibrated in her palm. She turned it over and saw a text message. It was a single emoji—the eye-rolling one. And it came from someone named Jas.

  Jas?

  Curious, she hit the message with her thumb. The text message appeared, along with the one before it and the one before that.

  Hairy Gary is fighting 4 the guns.

  R u serious?

  As a heart attack. Pretty sure he doesn’t even know the difference b/w a rifle & a shotgun.

  Camille scrolled up. The messages kept loading. Loads of them. Mostly one or two liners. A couple of those supposed-to-be-funny Chuck Norris memes. One was a group picture. Camille didn’t know anyone in it except Neil. Everyone was dressed in workout clothes, smiling at the camera as they flexed their muscles in coordinating poses, her husband included.

  “Paige said she never took it.”

  Camille quickly jabbed the Off button and spun around just as Neil came into the closet doorway.

  “Any luck?”

  She held up his phone with a smile. “Coat pocket.”

  “Oh, right.” He came inside the closet and took it from her with a quick, perfunctory kiss on the cheek. “Thanks. I’ll make sure to record him when he’s up to bat.”

  Eight

  “He died last night.”

  “That poor man,” Deb said.