But What About Me?

by Marilyn Reynolds

  The hard rock of anger inside me dissolves and my tears flow harder than ever.

  “I love you, too,” I tell him, clinging tightly, trying to get closer, scared to think how mad we’d been.

  “I’ve been talking to my mom about us,” he says. “About a week before she died, she told me she thought you were good for me, and that I should hold on to you. She was right. I know she was right.”

  I lean my head against Danny’s chest and listen. Each time he tells me about how his mom said I was good for him, it’s like he thinks he’s telling me for the first time. He’s told me that about twenty times since she died, but I never get tired of hearing it. It made a big impression on him.

  “I told my mom how stupid I’d been, just to stay away without calling you or anything,” Danny says, turning to the side and running his hand lightly across his mom’s tombstone, then holding me close again. We are both crying.

  “If I lost you, my life wouldn’t be worth shit,” he says. “I’d be totally alone.”

  “I started thinking maybe you’d been tortured and murdered by one of those Jeffrey Dahmer kind of guys. I couldn’t stand thinking you were hurt, or dead . . .”

  “I’ll do better, you’ll see. I’ll make it up to you.”

  I remember how he told me that just last week, and then he disappeared.

  “Let’s go,” he says. “We’re both freezing out here.” He kisses me long, pushing his tongue gently past my parted lips. He tastes of whiskey.

  I walk a little ways away from him to give him a chance to say good-bye to his mom in private. He gathers up his trash, hamburger wrappers and empty bottles, then we walk back to the car together. We drive to an all-night market.

  “Can I borrow another five? I can pay you back tomorrow for sure.”

  I take my last five dollar bill from my backpack and hand it to Danny.

  “For supplies,” Danny says, as he gets out of the car.

  I know he’s buying condoms and foam. When he gets back in the car he slides the paper bag under the seat, and I’m reminded of what else is there. For a moment I think I’ll ask about the baggies, but all I want to do is feel Danny’s presence and his love. I don’t want to talk about anything for now.

  We drive to this private place we know about, behind an old, deserted hotel that’s surrounded by huge trees and away from traffic or street lights. We park and sit for awhile.

  “I wish we could live in this old place, just you and me, away from everyone else in the world,” Danny says.

  I kiss him, first on the forehead, then the cheek, then the lips. I feel his breathing quicken, and lean toward him. He reaches under my sweater and unfastens my bra.

  “Your hands are cold,” I whisper.

  “But the rest of me is very warm,” he says, kissing my neck in a way that sends chills through my body.

  “Come on,” he says, “let’s get in back, where we can stretch out better.”

  We lie half-dressed, close to each other, breathing in and out in an identical, steady rhythm, after having made quick, awkward love.

  “I was so worried,” I say.

  “I wasn’t thinking. Joey and Alex had a chance to make some money, and they let me in on it. Joey said we had to move fast, though. I just took off with them.”

  “Where did you go?”

  There’s a long pause, then Danny says, “Just across the border, near where their uncle lives.”

  “For a job?”

  “Sort of,” he says, kissing me. “Listen, I’m not supposed to be telling you any of this. Joey would shit if he knew I’d even told you this much. Just love me,” he says. “Don’t ever stop loving me.”

  “I do. I won’t.”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise.”

  We hang on to each other, close and secure, finally warm. After a long time, I say what I can’t stop thinking about.

  “I was looking for tissues when you were at your mom’s grave. What’s with all the baggies?”

  “Erica . . . it’s just free enterprise, you know, capitalism and all that. It’s a chance to make some bucks.”

  “It’s illegal.”

  “It’s only marijuana. Joey’s back, and he says I’ve got to get out.”

  “What’s Alex say? Or his mom?”

  “You don’t understand. It’s like everything’s changed over there now that Joey’s home . . . Alex and I both are getting out of there, we just need some money for a deposit on a place. Just this one time is all.”

  “This is stupid! What if you get caught?”

  “We won’t. Joey knows what he’s doing.”

  “Danny! Joey’s just out of prison! If he knows so much, why has he been locked up all this time?”

  “This is different,” Danny says. “And it wasn’t prison. It was a Youth Authority camp.”

  “Did he have to stay there all the time?”

  “Yeah. But it was a camp.”

  “It was prison.”

  “Whatever,” Danny says, starting the engine and pulling out the dirt drive onto the street. We drive in silence to my house, the distance between us filling the car.

  Chapter

  10

  For days Danny and I don’t see each other. Finally, I call Alex’s. Joey answers.

  “Is Danny there?” I ask.

  “No,” he says.

  “Would you ask him to call me when he gets back?”

  “If I remember,” he says.

  I hang up.

  At the Humane Society I concentrate on Beauty. Now she stands and wags her tail, full out, when I walk through the infirmary doors. I take her to the big dirt pen and walk her on a leash, then play ball with her. She’s exhausted after fetching the ball twice. Quite a difference from Kitty, but quite a different life Beauty has led, too. I treat her mange. The flea problem is almost under control.

  Beauty’s become a favorite here, with Antoinette stopping to see her every day, and Sinclair. I think she’s mostly border collie, because of her size, and because of her black coat with white markings.

  “You need to do something about that hair,” Sinclair tells her, primping his own. “Take a lesson from the proud owner of this head of hair,” he says, pointing at me as if Beauty is actually following what he’s saying.

  Early, early one morning, about a week after the night Danny and I visited the cemetery, there’s a tapping at my window. At first the sound seems to be part of a dream in which I’m on a slow moving train, late, in a hurry, why is the train moving so slowly, click . . . click . . . click . . . along the rails, then a little faster, clickety-clickety-clickety.

  I awaken from my dream to a real life noise, the tapping on glass. Groggy, I stumble out of bed and peer out the window, then open it a crack.

  “Can I come in?” Danny asks.

  I open the window wider and he crawls through. He kisses me on the forehead, tentatively, then the lips. I get a taste of stale alcohol.

  “I’m sorry, Pups,” he whispers. “Please don’t stop loving me. Everything’s going to be okay. I promise.”

  “I don’t understand what’s happening with us,” I whisper.

  “It’s me. It’s my fault. Don’t give up on me,” he says.

  I hug him, hard, so relieved to again feel him close to me. He

  eases his shoes off and pulls me back to the bed.

  “I want so much to always be with you. When I’m with you,

  everything’s okay, and when I’m not, it’s shit.”

  He kisses me again, then goes to my closet and gets the foam and condom, slipping them under the pillow the way we always do.

  “Just hold me for awhile,” I say.

  Usually Danny’s sort of in a hurry for sex after the first kiss, but tonight he holds me close, not pushing for more. I rest my head on his chest and feel his breathing become deeper, slower, and I know he’s asleep. I drift off, too, comfortable in his warmth.

  Neither of us hears anything until Rochelle yel
ls, “Danny!”

  I wake in an instant and clap my hand over her mouth.

  “Shhh!”

  Danny jumps up and closes the door, grabs his shoes, and climbs out the window so fast I hardly know what’s happening.

  “Shhh!” I say again, easing my hand from my sister’s mouth.

  “Erica?”

  I hear Mom shuffling barefoot down the hallway.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Rocky had a bad dream,” I say.

  Mom opens the door and looks in. My heart is beating fast.

  Please, please, please, keep your mouth shut, Rocky, I silently beg her.

  “Are you okay now, Honey?” Mom says, sitting on the edge of the bed.

  “She’s fine,” I say, not giving Rocky a chance to talk. “She can sleep with me. She won’t be scared anymore, will you?”

  Rocky just nods, looking at me strangely. Mom gets a funny look on her face, too, when she leans down to tuck Rocky in. She runs her hand across the pillow where Danny’s head was resting just moments ago. Has she noticed something?

  When Mom leaves the room I say to Rocky, “Danny wasn’t here, do you understand? You didn’t see him, and he wasn’t here.”

  “He was too!”

  “Shhhh! What I mean is, I want you to forget it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Mom would totally freak out if she knew Danny was here like this. And she’d ground me forever. And you’d have to quit choir because she’d never let me use the car again and there wouldn’t be anyone to pick you up when practice is over.”

  She’s giving me this look, like maybe she’ll run down the hall right now and tell Mom, or maybe she won’t. But I can see the thing about choir practice got her, because she loves being in the school choir.

  “Listen, Rochelle. I’m serious. Mom would go nuts if you told her.”

  “Why? Because Danny’s your husband! Because if you sleep in the same bed it means you’re married?”

  “Shhh! She wouldn’t understand, that’s all. Just remember about choir practice,” I tell her. “Now go back to bed.”

  “No. I’m sleeping with you. That’s what you told Mom.”

  Sometimes she is so frustrating! “Okay, sleep here then, but I’m going to sleep right now, so you’d better, too.”

  Rochelle puts her head down on the pillow, then rises up again. “What’s wrong?”

  “Your pillow smells like Danny,” she says, turning it over on the other side. “What’s this?”

  She’s holding the foil-wrapped condom that was under the pillow. I grab it from her and close my hand around it, at the same time leaning hard on the pillow so she won’t discover the can of foam.

  “It’s nothing. A breath mint,” I tell her.

  “I want it. I’ve got a bad taste in my mouth.”

  “You can’t have it. I’m saving it for Danny.”

  “I WANT IT! GIVE IT TO ME OR I’LL TELL MOM DANNY WAS HERE!”

  “Shut up! Please, Rocky, just shut up and go to sleep.”

  “GIRLS!” Mom yells at us from her bedroom.

  “See! You woke Mom up again.”

  “I don’t care. I want the candy.”

  “You’re not going to get it. And you’d better remember about choir practice, too! Now stop talking stupid and go to sleep,” I whisper.

  She turns on her side.

  “I hate you,” she says, lying rigid with her back to me. But then, it can’t be more than five minutes, she is sound asleep. I lie wide awake though, worrying about what could happen. Rochelle isn’t that great at keeping a secret, and my mom would go into immediate orbit if she knew Danny was in bed with me, especially since she now thinks he’s the biggest flake in the world.

  In the morning Mom, Rochelle and I stop at Starbuck’s for juice and scones. Well, my mom gets some heavy-duty coffee stuff, but Rocky and I get juice. It’s my one day a week to get the car, the day I pick Rocky up from choir. So I take Mom to work and then the car’s mine for the day.

  “What was the problem with you two last night?” Mom asks.

  “Nothing, just one of Rocky’s nightmares.” I answer quickly, hoping my sister will keep quiet.

  “I thought I heard something outside again last night. Did you hear anything?”

  “No,” I say.

  Rocky is busy picking raisins out of her scone and doesn’t seem to be paying any attention to what Mom and I are talking about.

  “I’m thinking maybe we should get an alarm system,” Mom says.

  “Mom, you’re getting all upset over nothing.”

  “Maybe,” she says, then gets out of the car at the five-story office building where she works for a property management company. This is the tallest building in Hamilton Heights, and one of the newest. Just as I pull away from the curb Rochelle yells “Stop!”

  I slam on the brakes.

  “What?”

  “My lunch money,” she says, and runs from the car yelling at Mom.

  Mom turns at the top of the steps to the building and watches Rochelle, smiling.

  “Lunch!” Rochelle yells.

  Mom reaches into her purse and pulls out some money, hands it to Rocky and kisses her on the cheek. She smiles and waves at me, then turns and goes into the building. Dressed in a business suit, with hose and medium-high heels, Mom looks very professional. She looks younger than most moms, too, maybe because she’s so active.

  I love my mom and I don’t feel very good about keeping secrets from her. Well, I’m sure she has some secrets from me, too. But I’ve really never kept much from her, until Danny.

  Chapter

  11

  As soon as Rocky and I walk into the house after I pick her up from choir practice, I know my dad is home.

  “Daddy!” I yell.

  Rochelle looks at me like I’m nuts, but I know he’s here because I got a whiff of English Leather aftershave as soon as I opened the door.

  He comes hurrying from the kitchen and gathers us both in his arms at the same time, laughing, then pushing us away and looking from one to the other.

  “Rochelle, you’ve grown a foot since summer, and Erica, you just keep getting prettier and prettier. Let me check out your biceps, E.J.” he says, using the nickname only he uses for me.

  Rochelle and I both pull up our sleeves and flex our muscles. Dad has been checking our biceps for as long as I can remember. He always says pretty is nice but strong is necessary.

  “Lookin’ good,” he says, walking back into the kitchen where he’s got a sandwich and a big glass of milk. “Boy, am I glad to be home for awhile.”

  One thing about being in the army is that my dad stays in shape. April’s dad already has a big pot belly, and so does Mr. Lara. But my dad still looks trim—no belly hanging over his belt. As far as coloring goes, he’s the one I take after—dark eyes, black hair, olive skin.

  Rochelle worms her way onto Dad’s lap. They are such a contrast, my light-skinned, red-headed sister and my dark dad. I sit down at the table across from them.

  “Catch me up,” he says.

  I tell him about school, except for biology, and the Humane Society, and how Hamilton High got to the CIF play-offs in girls’ volleyball.

  “I wish I could have been here to see the games,” he says.

  “Miss Lowe says I have to sing a solo in choir at our next concert,” Rocky says, acting like she hates the idea.

  “Of course you should sing a solo—you’ve got a lot of talent.”

  Sometimes my dad thinks we’re smarter and more talented than we really are, but I guess that’s better than having a dad like Danny’s, who always thinks the worst.

  “How are things in the boyfriend department?” Dad asks, turning to me, suddenly serious.

  “Erica’s married,” Rochelle says.

  “Shut up!” I say, socking her on the arm.

  “Hey, hey,” Dad says. “I just asked a simple question.”

  “It’ll soon be a year for me and D
anny,” I say.

  “Nothing serious, I hope.”

  “Not serious, just married,” Rocky says.

  “Rocky!”

  “Well, you are married,” Rocky says, then totally changes the subject by asking Dad, “Now that you’re home can you pick me up after choir practice?”

  “I’d like that,” Dad says. “Thursdays?”

  Rocky gives me a “gotcha” smile that means, I know, if she doesn’t need me to pick her up from choir anymore, she can say anything she wants—like she found Danny in my bed that night.

  “Want to hear my solo?” Rocky says. She starts singing before Dad has a chance to answer.

  I go to my room and change into my Humane Society shirt and a pair of shorts and wait until Rocky sings the last strains of “Oh night divine, Oh night when Christ was born” before I go back to the kitchen. Enough is enough.

  Dad looks at me in my work uniform and shakes his head sadly.

  “You’re growing up so fast, and these past few years . . .”

  “I want an electronic keyboard for Christmas,” Rochelle says.

  Dad laughs. “Don’t start with your Christmas lists yet. I just got here.”

  “I’ve got to go to work, Dad,” I tell him.

  “I’ll take you, then I can use the car to go get Mom.”

  “Does she know you’re here?”

  “No. I didn’t call. I’ll just walk in to her office and surprise her.”

  “She told us you’d be home the day before Thanksgiving,” I say.

  “Yeah, well, I got a chance to get away a week or so early, and it sounded like your mom might need a little help.”

  Dad looks at me intently, as if he’s trying to see inside me.

  I remember what Mom had said on her phone call to Dad, after she’d picked me up at the police station—about how hard it was to be mother and father both. Maybe that’s why he’s home early.

  Dad stops at the Humane Society. He touches my shoulder, then runs his hand over my hair, from the top of my head to the middle of my back.

  “Your hair is so long and beautiful,” he says. “Remember when you used to only brush the top, and underneath was always like a briar patch?”