Twenty Three
“I’m sorry I’m late.”
It’s not just Jasper’s uncle who arrives to bail us out the following day. Friday morning. I hear the soft tunes of my aunt’s voice and almost start crying again, this time from relief because it’s her and not my mother.
The police officer lets Jasper go first but waits until he’s gone to unlock my jail cell. It’s a different officer than the one from last night, but maybe some words were exchanged. He lets me collect my purse, my only possession from last night, and then I’m released back into the world.
Before I acknowledge my aunt, my attention is on the two figures walking out the police station’s front doors. One of them is Jasper, and the other must be his uncle, who’s taller and bigger and has his shoulders hunched while he talks with agitated hands waving at Jasper.
I don’t know if he feels my gaze on him or if he just knows, but as the glass doors open, Jasper looks over his shoulder. His eyes lock with mine. It’s brief and electrifying for so many reasons, and I look away first.
I look at my aunt. It’s Hannah, my favorite aunt—my father’s sister. Her eyes, which are the same shade of light green as mine, look at me, and my heart drops.
I think my mother would yell at me immediately, but Hannah looks at me, and the disappointment there is worse than any talk-down from my mother could be. The silence between us only adds to the crushed feeling I have. My aunt stands, her hands smoothing out the knee-length, flowery dress she wears. Her dress’s happy and colorful appearance doesn’t match either of our feelings.
“The police aren’t pressing charges.”
That’s her greeting. There’s no spread of arms to welcome me into a hug. It hurts, and the relief I feel at her words doesn’t even compete with the hole in my chest.
My aunt briefly turns her attention to her purse, pulling out a set of spare keys I recognize are my mother’s. “Let’s go.”
I recognize those keys. “How—”
“Jasper was kind enough to tell his uncle where the hotel was. I got the spare keys from your mother,” she says.
I hear what she doesn’t say. It’s a sort of accusation, a you didn’t even bother to call. I realize that even if I was too scared to call my mother and too ashamed to call my sister, I could’ve called Hannah.
Everything is falling apart, and all I’ve been doing is letting down every person I care about.
I follow my aunt out of the police station. When I shield my eyes against the sunlight, I almost miss Jasper and his uncle passing us in a clean, new car that has to be a rental. I’m glad that I don’t catch whether or not Jasper was looking my way, and I’m glad that my aunt and his uncle must’ve immediately known not to drive us to Florida in the same car.
I should feel at least some sort of relief that it’s my aunt who slides into the driver’s seat, but I don’t. Instead, I say, “I can drive if you want.”
“That’s not a good idea,” she says.
What? Does she think I’m going to force her onto another road trip just so I don’t have to face my mother’s wrath? But honestly, as I think it, it doesn’t sound like a bad idea.
“If you get tired, we can switch,” I tell her.
She shrugs. “I’m sure five hours will be okay.”
And as the first hour passes by in silence, I’m almost sure we’ll spend the entirety of the five hours without even looking at each other, and not for lack of attempts. I can’t even glance at Hannah. I’m ashamed, but what’s worse, after an hour in the same space, I’m too scared to look at her. Will I be too scared to face the rest of my family when we finally arrive?
But, as it turns out, my aunt decides to end the silence. “Are you hungry?”
My hand slips from under my chin, where I rest against and stare out the car window, but I nod. I don’t look over.
She goes through a Panera drive-through. She doesn’t ask what I want, but I don’t have to say. My aunt and I are alike, almost more like mother and daughter than I am with my real mother. She hands over a bag of food I know I’ll like, but she doesn’t let go. It forces me to look at her, which I’m sure is the point.
“Why did you do it, June?” Hannah asks. We sit at a red light, so I look at the reflection of green eyes that are exactly like my own.
The light turns red. She lets me tug the bag from her grasp. My eyes rest on my feet, hands gripping the food. I suddenly have no appetite.
“I can almost understand the road trip. You’re young and eighteen,” my aunt goes on. Her voice is soft, but there’s an undercurrent of anger that makes her tremble.
I close my eyes.
“But trespassing and getting arrested? I just don’t understand.”
My hands let go of the bag. It falls to the car’s floor, landing on my feet. A to-go box of salad peeks out. I cover my face with my hands and lean forward, willing the tears back but unable to. My aunt sighs.
She doesn’t say anything while I cry, though a hand does land on my shoulder, a thumb pressing into circles. The contact is something I’ve always craved from my mother but have never gotten since the day my father died, and maybe not even then. I’ve never thought about it. I’ve never thought about how my love for my aunt may be so intense because she’s been the one to give comfort when needed. It’s never come from the source it should have.
And my aunt was always there. There were days following the funeral when April and I didn’t have to make our own meals. My aunt would show up unexpectedly. After disappearing into my mother’s bedroom, undoubtedly trying to raise her sister-in-law from her depressive stupor, she’d emerge and make sure we ate a healthy meal. Afterward, she’d play cards with us or put a movie on.
That carried on for months and probably for longer than a year. Eventually, as I got older and my mother became a functioning human being again, April and I would meet up regularly to have breakfast with Hannah on the weekends.
My aunt has always been a constant in my life. She has never failed me. There was never a time I didn’t think I couldn’t go to her. And how have I repaid that?
“I don’t regret the road trip,” I say through my hands.
My aunt’s smoothing circle movements on my shoulder stop. “What?”
I sniffle, trying to brush away the wetness on my cheeks. I lift my head to face her, no matter how much I want to continue hiding. “I’m glad I went on the road trip, but I’m sorry I got arrested.”
Hannah draws her hand away. She’s not looking at me. Instead, she stares at the road ahead.
“I’m sorry,” I repeat.
She shakes her head, but no words come out.
My hands tremble.
She says, “It’s not me you have to defend yourself to.”
“I know,” I whisper. I stare at my palms, face-up, while they rest on my knees.
I know, I think again. If there’s anything to be grateful for about this road trip, it’s that I know I have to face what I’ve done. I know nothing can change the fact that I’ve failed the most important people in my life. I know it’s taken until now to realize just how far I’ve gone in life failing. And not just my family or my friends.
In failing them, I think I’ve failed myself too.
~.*.~
No one greets us when we arrive at the hotel around noon. My aunt parks the car in the garage before ushering me inside. I trail behind her, dreading what I know is coming. It’s eerie to me that people stand inside the hotel enjoying their day. The hotel staff carry on with their jobs like there’s nothing new.
The hotel room is on the sixth floor. The elevator pings, the doors slide open, and when I walk into the hall, a large window reveals blue ocean waters and a sandy, perfect beachfront. The water reminds me of a certain bleached-haired boy, and I have to tear my gaze away.
Hannah leads me to room 609. She slides her key card in, and the light on the door handle turns green. The knob turns. The door pushes open to reveal a large ensuite apartment perfect for a
bride or a bride’s mother. Either one is possible—because both possibilities stand in the room. Waiting.
April faces me. My mother does not. Behind me, Hannah drops my bag onto the table by the entrance. Without a word, my aunt slips out of the room again, leaving me to the dogs. Or rather, to a sister I’ve failed and a mother I’ve disappointed.
I wish April’s expression was carefully blank, like I know she’s capable of, but it’s not. She stares at me with wide, serious blue eyes, the tips of her mouth pointed slightly down. Her hand grips the chair to her side, and her shoulders are a little too high and a little too hunched.
My mother doesn’t turn around. She’s tense. Her hands fist, and her head is slightly bent so that I see red cheeks and furrowed eyebrows. Her mouth pinches.
How can I face both at the same time?
“I’m…” I fumble. I want to apologize, but as soon as I start, I know I can’t say it now. I know, somehow, that it will come out wrong. I stumble with my words and apologize for the wrong thing. “I… I’m sorry I’m late.”
April’s eyes melt, tearing up with water that reflects blue as clear as the Caribbean Ocean. I don’t know if she cries because I’m finally here or because she’s angry. Either is a possibility. Both are likely.
I want to hug her. I stay rooted where I am.
My mother turns around.
And I am not ready for the disappointment her eyes reflect or the fury they burn with. Her right foot starts forward, her arms rising, but she stops herself. She wants to hug me, and I want her arms around me, but she stays where she is. Her cheeks are as red as I’ve ever seen them, and her eyes squint around cold, blue irises.
“You…” she starts. She pauses, taking a breath. “You’re all right?”
I swallow. “Yes.”
She crosses her arms against her chest. To stop herself from hugging me? Probably. She says, “Were you cold last night?”
I could’ve been warmer, and it wasn’t comfortable, but aloud I say, “I was okay last night.”
She nods slowly, and at first, she’s still not looking at me, but when she does face me again, her eyes are still disappointed, but that fury still reflects there. When she speaks again, her words are ice, “What were you thinking, June?”
“I don’t know,” I say, but even I know my words fall flat and false.
“You don’t know?”
I lick my lips, forcing my hands to stay at my sides no matter how much I want to rip my hair out. “I was thinking I’ve never seen a lot outside Massachusetts and Jacksonville, and I wanted to see something new. I wanted an adventure.”
Going with honesty is probably the wrong direction to go in, but as soon as I admit it, I feel better. On the other hand, if possible, my mom’s face gets redder. April looks between our mother and me and walks away to a bedroom to our left. She closes the door behind her.
My sister has kept her promise. She said she’d sic our mother on me if I was late, and I’m as good as. I know she’s probably leaning against the door, able to hear every word that’s about to come next. I know because I’d do the same, and no matter how different April and I can be at times, we’re still sisters with the same basic tendencies.
So now I stand in a large living space. There are white, shining, tiled floors, gaudy couches sitting in front of a large flat-screen television, and sliding doors that lead to a balcony overlooking the ocean. There are polished wood tables and an up-to-date, state-of-the-art kitchen.
There is my mother and me, standing off.
I lift my bag from the table by the entrance and walk further into the apartment. My mother stands at one end of a table. I set my bag on the chair sitting at the other end, and that’s where I come to stand. We’re closer. It’ll be easier to yell or to talk reasonably. I have no hope for the latter.
“Do you think it was responsible of you to decide, by yourself, that a road trip was okay to do?” my mother asks. Her voice drips with disappointment, cracking the last pieces of trust she had in me and throwing them in the trash.
I blink, and to keep my hands from pulling my hair out, I press them together, fisted at my stomach. “I just want to be honest.”
“The day before your sister’s wedding is the day you decide you want to be honest?”
Her words are a cutting edge. To a passerby, she could sound like she’s having a calm conversation, if a tense one, but she’s getting angry. I have never won an argument with her. I’ve always marched off, locking myself in my room or walking out of the house. Even last week, I would’ve counted those times as me having the last word. Now I know better. Now I understand that doing that only delayed our arguments until the next time.
“I betrayed your trust,” I say. My words come out trembling, and to give myself strength, I move behind the chair, placing my hands on top of it. Having something in the space between us is a shield. Or at least, I’d like to think so.
“I have never been able to trust you,” my mother says. “Hannah tried to convince me that I need to. We’ve been doing so good this past year, and that’s why I thought I could leave you for a week. It was a test, June. I thought I might be able to trust you.”
And I failed it. “I’m sorry,” I repeat.
“That doesn’t fix anything you’ve done. Those are empty words to you.”
And maybe she would’ve been right a week ago. My hands grip the back of the chair. “They’re not.”
“And how am I supposed to believe you?”
“I know you’ve never been able to—”
“You were supposed to be here last weekend. Being irresponsible and going on a road trip was horrible. And do you know what’s worse?”
I stare at her. I know what’s coming. She does too.
She says it anyway. “You were arrested.”
My eyes drop.
Her voice rises. “You’re lucky they didn’t press charges, Judith.”
“I know.”
“No,” she says. “You don’t.”
I know how these arguments go. She starts out sounding calm. She’s controlled, but her control only lasts so long, and I don’t have to look at her to know her hands are shaking at me, accusatory and furious. She’s about to start shouting.
“I’m lucky,” I press. “I know I’m lucky. Please, Mom.”
The only reason my hands don’t shake is because I’m gripping the chair so hard. I’m surprised I don’t cry. Normally, I’d be getting ready to start shouting too, but right now, after last night and this morning, I’m exhausted. It’s not just because I barely slept, either.
“After the wedding,” she starts. “You will be getting a part-time job. You’re going to pay me back for how much this road trip cost.”
I’m silent.
“When we get back home, you’re grounded, and you’ll be grounded until you pay me back every penny.”
“Okay,” I say. I’m deflating. I feel defeated.
“Not only are you going to work, Judith Rae,” she says coldly, “but you’re going to volunteer with Hannah at the hospital.”
“Mom—”
“You’re going to sit at home every Friday and Saturday instead of sneaking off with Melanie and Georgia! You will be punished for your actions.”
“I understand.”
“Do you?” she demands. “Do you know how much April cried last night?”
That breaks me. I tear my gaze up to meet hers. Not only are her cheeks red, but so are her eyes. She adds, “Do you know how much I cried? You were arrested, June, and I had no idea if you were okay.”
My mother has never told me I’ve made her cry before. The guilt inside me, which cracked into the shell of anxiety last night and rooted there, radiates with this news.
“I didn’t mean to make anyone cry,” I say. My voice cracks.
“I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to trust you again,” my mother says.
“I want to change,” I say. I take a deep breath as I say this and try to hold back
tears.
“You haven’t shown me that,” she says, and she sounds as torn up as I do.
I bring a hand up to my eyes and brush away tears before she sees them. “I just don’t understand why we can’t get along.”
My mother’s lips pinch, and she turns away from me.
“Ever since Dad died…” I say, and I can’t stop the words from falling out. I want to be honest, and I let it happen. “He died, and ever since, we’ve never gotten along. It feels like you’re unreachable.”
I can’t take back the words once I’ve said them.
My mother has turned back to face me, and her eyes are as wide as my own, her icy blue ones contrasting against my wide, pale green ones. “And to top it all off, June, you’re blaming all this on me?”
I close my eyes, licking my lips. My mouth feels dry. “No, I’m not.”
“It certainly sounds like it.”
“I’m blaming no one,” I say. “It’s just the truth.”
It has only ever been the truth, I realize. Still, I try to backtrack because right now, it isn’t about my father or my mother. It’s about me and my actions.
I squeeze the back of the chair one more time and step around it. I can’t hide. I can’t keep hiding. I look my mother directly in the eyes and say, “It was the most irresponsible thing I’ve ever done, going on a road trip the week before April’s wedding.” I take a breath, let it out. “I can only say I’m sorry about being arrested, too. I really regret it.”
My mother stares at me. It’s not even a glare. She may be truly shocked about the words she’s hearing me say.
“I’m sorry I brought up Dad,” I tell her, and not because I don’t want her to be angry with me. I say it because I want to be honest. “I’m sorry that we take out our anger on each other instead of talking about it.”
She says nothing.
A door opens to my left. I turn away from my mother, eyes landing on April. She emerges from the bedroom in a fast walk. She bypasses our mother and strides right up to me, but she doesn’t look at me.
To our mother, she says, “June and I are going to have lunch together. We’ll be back soon.”
Cross Country Hearts Page 21