“She’s Stu’s,” Dania said and I could hear the regret in her voice.
“Stu’s? Really?” Stu and Dania had always had a strange relationship. They epitomized dysfunctional.
“Yeah and he has nothing to do with either of us if you were wondering. I’m pretty sure he’s in jail anyway. I’m doing this alone. I messed up with Brandon. I wasn’t going to fuck up twice,” Dania explained angrily, defensively.
I held up my hand. “I wasn’t saying anything about Brandon,” I argued.
Dania’s mouth set into a grim line. “But you were thinking it. And I don’t blame you. I think about him every day.” Dania kissed the top of her daughter’s head and put her back in the seat of the grocery cart.
“I’ve got to go. Lyla needs a nap.” She pushed the cart down the aisle without a goodbye.
“Dania!” I called out just before she disappeared around the corner.
The woman who had been my only family turned around, her eyes sort of sad. “You don’t have to say anything, Ells. I get it. I really do. It was good seeing you,” she said, not giving me a chance to say anything else.
Chapter Seven
-Ellie-
“Can I keep her?” I asked, running my hands through the soft, thick fur. A wet, sloppy tongue lapped at my cheek and I laughed. A honest-to-goodness laugh. I didn’t laugh much. It felt good.
Julie gave me a look that I had come to hate. It was like she was saying that she was sorry before opening her mouth. I knew exactly what she was going to say.
“You know you can’t,” she said, putting her hands on my shoulders and steering me away from the line of dogs and cats up for adoption outside the local hardware store.
“I know,” I mumbled, looking over my shoulder one last time at the dog that was now giving her slobbery attention to some other kid. The now familiar knot in my stomach clenched painfully.
“Maybe one day you can get a dog,” Julie said unconvincingly.
“I doubt it,” I replied petulantly. I crossed my arms over my chest and followed my social worker to her car.
Once we were buckled in and heading back to my foster parents’ house, Julie turned down the radio, her face serious. Whatever she had to say wasn’t going to be good.
“I got a call from the school yesterday. Is there something you need to tell me?” she asked. This was a trick question. There was nothing that I particularly felt like telling her. But I guessed from the tone of her voice that I wouldn’t get away with saying no.
“Well obviously you already know what happened. So why don’t you just say what you need to say,” I bit out, staring out the window, refusing to look at her.
Julie sighed. “Ellie. Come on. I’m not the enemy here,” she said and I hated the tone in her voice. It was a tone that said she was disappointed in me. She was the only person whose opinion mattered in the slightest. And that wasn’t saying much because I didn’t really care what she thought either. I had stopped giving a shit a long time ago.
“I got in a fight,” I admitted, my arms crossed over my chest like a shield.
“Yeah and I also heard you trashed the teacher’s lounge after school. Did you really steal the coffee maker and smash the glass on the copier?” Julie asked incredulously.
I didn’t say anything. What was the point? She already knew the truth. Otherwise we wouldn’t be having this conversation.
“This is serious stuff, Ellie. You’re thirteen years old now. One more year of this and you can be sent to juvenile detention. And trust me, you do not want to end up there,” Julie lectured, slowing the car down as she pulled up in front of the two-story white house where I was currently living.
“So let me guess the next part of this story,” I began, my jaw clenched. “The Georges want me out. They can’t handle me. I’m too ‘angry,’” I scoffed, using air quotes to make my point.
Julie frowned. “This is serious, Ellie,” she chastised; looking worried.
“Isn’t it always?” I mumbled, opening the car door. “I’ll go pack my stuff and be right back.”
Julie reached out and grabbed my arm, stopping me. I shook her off, baring my teeth. “Don’t touch me,” I hissed.
“What can I do to help you, Ellie? You’re a smart, amazing girl. You’re better then this. You don’t see what’s at the end of this road you’re traveling down, but I do. And I’m scared to death of where you’ll end up. I want more for you, kid,” she said and there were tears in her eyes.
I hated it when she got all emotional and touchy feely.
“I’ll be right back,” I responded through clenched teeth. I slammed the car door and went to get my stuff.
Time to get fobbed off on the next unsuspecting family.
**
“Ellie!”
I smiled at the sight of Julie Waterman waving her hand in my direction. I walked into Darla’s Drink and Dine and shook the snow out of my hair. It was coming down hard and I worried about getting back to Flynn’s with the way it was laying on the road.
I looked around my once familiar haunt to find that it had expanded in the last few years. Darla had obviously decided to reduce the size of the consignment shop in order to make room for more tables and chairs. The place was packed, which was unusual for lunchtime. Darla had never been known for her culinary cuisine. But her donuts were amazing.
Julie got to her feet and held her arms out. She had never cared much that I wasn’t the hugging sort. And after a time I had come to accept that I’d never be able to see her without subjecting myself to her brand of physical affection.
She patted me on the shoulder and beamed. “It is so good to see you!” she remarked enthusiastically. Julie was dressed in her usual wacked out grandma fashion with a long red skirt and ugly Christmas sweater, even though it was January. Her frizzy brown hair was held back in a banana clip, something I had never seen this side of 1989.
I took off my oversized wool coat and smoothed out my black, pencil skirt before sitting down. I crossed my legs feeling uncomfortable in what I was wearing. Julie’s eyes widened when she took in my outfit.
“Did someone die?” she asked, looking pointedly at my blue, button down blouse with the frilly collar.
“Hardy-har-har. I had a job interview, smart ass,” I told her, picking up the cup of coffee Julie had already ordered for me.
“A job interview? Really? That’s great! For what?” she asked, speaking rapidly.
“Nothing special. Just a receptionist gig at an accounting firm. I’ll know if I get a second interview by the end of the week,” I remarked off handedly, trying not to sound concerned. But I was definitely buzzing.
The interview had gone surprisingly well. Once Wilma removed the giant stick from her ass, she was actually a pretty nice lady. I had made sure to wear my best attitude and even laughed at her less than humorous attempts at jokes. I answered her questions decently enough and I thought I had presented myself pretty damn well, considering I wasn’t typically the type of person to make any sort of effort.
And even though I didn’t have much in the way of work experience, Wilma seemed okay with that. I had left the interview feeling cautiously optimistic.
“It sounds awesome, Ellie! I’m so proud of you!” Julie enthused, reaching across the table and putting her hand over mine. I stiffened, an instinctual response to being touched in any way. But instead of pulling away as I once would have, I turned my hand over and squeezed hers.
“Thanks.”
The café was loud and I was having a hard time hearing anything over the drone of voices. I looked around at the crowded room. “Since when is Darla’s so popular?” I asked. Julie picked up a donut and crammed it in her mouth, powdered sugar dusting her god-awful sweater.
“She got a new cook last year. He’s amazing. He started doing lunch specials every day and now it’s almost impossible to get a table in this place,” Julie answered, reaching for another donut.
“Huh. Well it’s good to see some thi
ngs have changed, I guess,” I mused, sipping on my coffee.
“So. You’re living with Flynn,” Julie began, looking at me over the rim of her mug. Julie knew about Flynn and me. She had been surprised, like everyone else had been. But she had never really commented on our relationship, knowing it wasn’t her place to do so. She could express her opinion about all sorts of things, but not Flynn.
“Yep,” I said.
“How’s that going?” she asked.
“Fine,” I replied shortly.
“Just fine?” Julie pressed.
“Yes, just fine,” I lobbed back.
I didn’t want to admit that I was finding it harder than I thought I would. That sharing a space with Flynn took an endless amount of patience that some days I worried I didn’t have.
I loved Flynn. More than anything. I wanted to make this work. But I couldn’t help but wonder if I hadn’t fallen prey to delusional fantasies about our happily ever after.
After seeing Dania at the store, I had gone home and made lasagna. My mood had soured considerably by that point.
I had spent almost two hours prepping and cooking. When Flynn had come home he didn’t say anything about the effort I had put into dinner. And when we had sat down, he picked at his food, barely eating.
“Aren’t you hungry?” I had asked him.
And Flynn in his abrupt manner had pushed his plate away from him. “I don’t like lasagna,” he had said.
I sat there, stunned, hardly able to believe that all of my hard work hadn’t meant anything. The food in my belly made me feel sick and I couldn’t eat anymore.
I had told myself I shouldn’t be upset. That he didn’t mean to hurt my feelings. The truth was Flynn had no idea how hard I had worked. He didn’t realize that when he said he didn’t like lasagna, he might as well have thrown the plate across the room.
And in true Ellie McCallum fashion, I had turned my hurt feelings into anger. I had gotten to my feet and grabbed his full plate and dropped it in the sink.
“Well don’t fucking eat it, then,” I fumed.
“Don’t cuss, Ellie. It doesn’t sound nice,” Flynn had scolded, sounding put out.
I had turned around, my face hot, my eyes wet. “You know what’s not nice, Flynn? I just spent the last two hours making that damn meal and you don’t even try eating it! You just say, ‘I don’t like lasagna.’ Well screw you!” I had yelled, scrapping food off the plates into the trash.
I vigorously scrubbed the plates trying not to scream. Or even worse, cry.
Then Flynn was behind me. He carefully put his hand on my back and I flinched at the touch.
“I didn’t know you worked so hard on dinner. I should have eaten it. That wasn’t very nice, was it?” he had asked.
I turned off the water, my shoulders sagging.
“No it wasn’t, Flynn. When someone goes to the trouble to make you something, you should at least try to eat it and be polite,” I said, suddenly tired. Flynn still had so much to learn about how to communicate. So did I. Neither of us had ever learned the right way to talk to people.
“You’re really mad at me, aren’t you?” Flynn had asked.
I sighed, finally turning around to look at him. He was frowning, his green eyes troubled.
“Yeah, I am,” I admitted.
Flynn’s hand clenched into fists but he didn’t rub them together the way he once would have. He held himself rigid, as though waiting for an attack.
“I don’t like it when you’re mad at me,” he had said.
“I don’t like being mad at you, Flynn. It sucks,” I agreed.
Flynn shook his head, looking sad. “Yeah, it does suck.”
He had reached around me and picked up a fork that was lying on the counter. He dug it in the lasagna that was still on the stove where I had left it after taking it from the oven.
He scooped out a large forkful and shoved it in his mouth, sauce smearing his lips. He made a face but then started chewing.
After he swallowed, he scooped some on a plate and went to sit down at the table again.
“You don’t have to eat it if you don’t like it, Flynn,” I had told him, watching him as he ate the pile of pasta on his plate.
Flynn didn’t say anything but he finished the lasagna. And when he was done he took his then empty dish to the sink, washed it, and put it on the drying rack.
He leaned down and kissed me. “Thank you for making me dinner, Ellie,” he said before grabbing Murphy’s leash and taking the dog outside.
I had stood in the middle of the kitchen, completely bewildered by what had happened.
That hadn’t been the only instance of contention between us. Yesterday Flynn had come home from work and walked into the bedroom, where I was putting away laundry. I had just finished hanging up his shirts in the closet when he came into the room.
“Hey,” I had said, looking over my shoulder. Flynn was stood just inside the door watching me.
“What are you doing?” he had asked.
I looked at the shirt in my hands and then back at my less than happy boyfriend.
“Uh, putting clothes away,” I had answered, not sure what his problem was.
Flynn had marched across the room and practically ripped the shirt from my hands. He lifted it to his nose and smelled the fabric.
“What in the world?” I had asked, laughing nervously.
“What detergent did you use?” he demanded and then had started pulling all of the shirts I had just hung up off the hangers, smelling each of them.
“I used the detergent in the laundry room,” I had told him, confused.
“The one with the purple cap?” he had asked, throwing the shirts on the floor and walking across the room to the basket of clean clothes I had put on the bed.
“Um, yeah. I think so,” I answered, watching in complete shock as he dumped the clothes on the floor.
“That’s not right! That’s the detergent for the sheets! I only use that detergent for the sheets, Ellie! The bottle with the green cap is for the clothes! I can’t wear these! I’ll have to wash them again! You can’t use the detergent with the purple cap for my clothes! It doesn’t smell right!” he yelled, getting himself worked up.
He had balled up all of the clothes and left the room. I followed him to the laundry room where he had started the washing machine and was measuring out detergent from the bottle with a green cap.
He held out the detergent bottle. “See! This is the right one!” he hollered. “Don’t ever use the other one on clothes!”
I felt myself starting to get angry. I couldn’t help it. My reaction was instantaneous and instinctual to his criticism.
In the past, I had always tried to handle his outbursts with a patience that I hadn’t been aware I possessed. I had taken his freak-outs in stride. But that had been before we were living together.
Things were so different now. I felt suddenly trapped by his irrational mood swings. I had nowhere to go that was just mine. I was living in Flynn’s house. Subject to his rules and eccentricities.
And those things that I had always accepted and loved about him were now driving me insane.
“Fine! I won’t use the stupid detergent with the purple cap!” I had yelled at him. Flynn looked like a dog that had been kicked and I instantly felt bad for losing my cool. He couldn’t help it. I had to remember that. I always had before.
I didn’t touch Flynn; I knew from experience that he needed physical distance after having a meltdown. Instead I left him to fill the washing machine with the freshly clean clothes. I had gone into the living room and sat down, watching television. Murphy had come in and lain at my feet, giving me his doggy comfort.
After fifteen minutes or so, Flynn came into the living room and sat down beside me. He hadn’t said anything. I didn’t say anything. We just sat there together watching re-runs of Laverne and Shirley.
“This was my mom’s favorite show,” he had said after awhile. I looked over at him and he was
staring at me, his face unreadable. But I knew what he was thinking. He was sorry. He just couldn’t say it.
I scooted over on the couch and took his hand in mine. He squeezed my fingers tightly. “I know it was,” I said. And then, like that, we were okay again.
Every day was a roller coaster of emotions and experiences. I only hoped I never got to the point where I wanted off the ride. I wasn’t sure what I’d do if that ever happened.
Julie was watching me closely, always able to read me better than anyone.
“Things are good,” I stated brightly.
Julie cocked her eyebrow. “Well that’s excellent,” she said after a beat.
We sat together, drinking coffee and eating donuts.
“I was talking to Mr. Cox about you the other day. He was really happy to hear you had done so well with your life,” Julie said and I rolled my eyes.
“Oh yeah, I’m sure Mr. Cox was just thrilled to hear about me,” I deadpanned.
Mr. Cox (go ahead and laugh, I always did) was my tyrant parole officer that had made my life hell. He wasn’t a bad guy, just annoying. And one of the happiest days of my life was the one where I no longer had to check in with him to breathe.
Julie pursed her lips. “Come on now, Ellie, of course he was. He’s just happy he doesn’t have to add you back to his case load,” she teased, finishing her coffee.
“Yeah, that makes two of us. It’s nice not having to pee in a cup ever again,” I muttered, wiping my lips with the napkin.
“Ellie! Oh my god it is you!” I looked up and my mouth dropped open in shock.
“Reggie?” I asked, hardly able to believe that the girl standing in front of me was the same girl I had hung out with for years.
Reggie Fisher had always been a voluptuous girl with a pretty face. She had never been the smartest kid in class. In truth she was a fucking idiot. She spread her legs for anybody and her self-respect, like the rest of us, had always been in short supply. But she was a good person underneath all of that moronic self-destruction.
The woman standing in front of me now looked ten years older. She had lost a lot of weight to the point that she was emaciated. I could see her collarbone jutting out from beneath her stained sweatshirt.
Chasing the Tide Page 8