Body of Ash (27 page)

The first time her father introduced her to his partner, Katie wasn’t sure what to make of the squat, balding man
with gold rimmed frames. With a ruddy complexion and pale gray eyes, Thomas wasn’t what Katie had envisioned for her father’s gay lover. It wasn’t that she had a particular look in mind for her dad’s taste in men, but expected Thomas to at least be stylish. With only TV celebrities to compare him to, like Adam Lambert and Nate
Berkus
, Thomas looked surprisingly normal. His extent of fashion knowhow was limited to men’s dress pants and polo shirts, paired with tennis shoes.

He sure didn’t fall for Thomas’s looks.

The fact that Thomas was just a regular guy and non-swoon worthy made it difficult to blame him for her parent’s divorce. As much as her mom insisted the romance was a phase, Katie knew better. She tried to hate Thomas. Each time he thoughtfully said hello or left a gift with Williston to pass on to her for no reason, he chipped away at her resolve until she finally gave up. Her father was in love, and she knew why. The couple was happy and although she refused to admit it, they were kind of cute together. It defied logic.

But could she live there?
With them?
The question nagged at her consciousness, unwilling to go away. Would they let her take her things, or would she start over with new stuff: furniture, bedding, clothes?  Would they be able to live
with her? She didn’t make a lot of noise and would never pull the shit she pulled with her mother.

No boys. No pot. Not in their house.

After years of taking care of her mother, what would it be like to be cared for? To have all of her basic needs met and not have to tuck her mother in after a long night of binging? Or better, go to school with clean clothes and a belly full of pancakes instead of coffee and a stick of gum. Williston and Thomas both cooked and other than a glass of wine with a meal, she had never seen the couple over drink. Just the thought of having someone there each day when she got home from school appealed. Knowing that if she was sick or just felt bummed about typical teenage angst, another person would be there to sit and listen without turning the conversation around and focusing only on themselves. It would be so much better than her lonely life here, waiting for her mom to come home from her nights out with Jones.

Why is it so hard to admit I want to go?

Katie wished the decision was an easy one. That she could just call her dad and tell him to bring his SUV because she was moving tonight, but it wasn’t. It couldn’t be. Even after her mother struck her and discovering the hoard of selfish spending hidden away in Marge’s closet, it wasn’t.

If Katie wasn’t around, how would her mother survive? Would her father stop sending child support and if so, did her mother earn enough to manage financially without it? Imagining her mother hungry was upsetting, but more so was the thought of Marge falling down the stairs or suffocating in her sleep because she was tanked and didn’t have anyone to check on her.  Although her mother droned on and on about the wonderful life Brian was going to give them, Katie had a feeling he would disappear. The reverend had a wife and daughter already. He didn’t seem like the kind of guy who would care enough to make sure Marge’s feelings were a priority, let alone that she was safe in bed each night.

Her mother broke down when Williston left, how would she react if Katie decided to go? Would she be a good sport about it? Or, would her mom turn stone cold? Maybe refuse to speak to Katie at all for the betrayal and cut her off emotionally. It was hard to say.

Marge didn’t seem stable; she was out of control. Another six months in bed would cost her mother her job. Veronica ran a busy business that served all of the neighboring towns. With just her husband, Herman, filling in on the occasional weekend, the store owner wouldn’t have the flexibility to wait for Marge to pull herself together. 

Listening, Katie realized her mother finally stopped conversing. The apartment’s silence was a relief. Sometimes, she just needed her mother to stop forcing her way into her thoughts and head by demanding she be seen and forgiven. Moments like this, when Katie was hurting and angry, she needed to let her feelings run their current without her mother getting away with everything. As she glanced around the crowded space, she knew what she had to do. Her head, although aching, was finally clear. The change she was searching for finally made sense. Although it was a hell of a lot scarier than dying her hair, she couldn’t back down.

I have to tell her this has to stop. Even if it means I have to leave.

Stepping to her door, she turned the knob lightly. Afraid Marge could still be on the floor, Katie pushed gently until she could peek out into the hall. Scanning the shadows, she searched for her mother. The sun was beginning to set. Soon the neighbor’s kids would be ringing the bell with hopes for candy. Other than a few sugar-free butterscotch suckers her next door neighbor was always sending over, they didn’t have sweets in the house. The thought of Marge answering the door didn’t sit well. God only knew what she would find to drop into each kid’s sack.

“Katie,” her mother’s voice came from behind her. “I didn’t get a chance to look at your hair.”

Turning around, Katie shrugged her shoulders. She didn’t know what she was supposed to say.

Is she pretending to like it now?

Her mother stood inside the bathroom doorway. Barefoot with hair sticking up at crazy angles, Marge looked like a child. Reaching up, her mother flicked on the light switch. The buzz of the fan from the bathroom felt unnecessarily loud.

Katie squinted at the sudden brightness. “Well?”

Her mother tipped her head to one side, studying her daughter’s new look. “Give it time. It will grow on me.”

Katie hated the sing-song tone her mother’s voice took on when she was well on her way to getting wasted. Part girly and part facetious, it aggravated her nerves.

“Well, it doesn’t matter if you like it or not because it’s not your hair.”

“Don’t talk to me like that in my house,” Marge chastised, stepping closer. There was a slight slur to her voice still.

“Why? Are you going to hit me?” Katie held her ground.
“Because if you do, I’m calling Dad.”
 

“I told you I’m sorry,” her mother managed. “I had a bad day, okay?”

Katie looked at her mother. Marge stood before her – blond hair a mess and clothing wrinkled from her perch on the floor. Desperation colored her expression, she wanted Katie to forget what transpired between them, to forget about the fact she had lost control.

I can’t.

“You have to stop doing this,” Katie said. “You have to stop thinking it is okay to lose control just so you can feel better.”

“I know, Katie. I’m trying.”

“No,” she replied. “You’re not and that’s why I can’t keep doing this with you.”

“Doing what?”

Katie ran her hand across her forehead, tucking red bangs behind her ear. How could it be so hard for her to get it? How could her mother not understand?

“The drinking and freaking out.
I can’t keep checking to see if you’re okay because you take a bottle of booze to bed with you.” Tears began to stream down her mother’s face, causing rivulets of black mascara to flow over her flushed cheeks.
“Or lying to Veronica when she calls because you’re late for work.
Or going hungry.
I can’t live like this anymore.”

“I know I’ve been a little messed up, but once Brian is with us, I swear, things are going to change.” Reaching out for Katie, her mother’s thin frame began shaking.

She still thinks Brian can fix this, but he can’t. It’s up to her now.

Katie shook her head. Opening her mouth to speak, her own words came out trembling with pain. “No, you need to change now. If you can’t put me first, I’m leaving.
Forever.”
Biting her lower lip, she paused. Marge watched her carefully, unsure if she would stand behind her words. Katie hugged herself tightly, summoning the courage to say what needed to be said for so long. Although it wounded her to admit it, she had to continue to make it clear to her mother how their life had to be. “I don’t want to Mom. I’ve never wanted this to happen. But I will if I have, too.”

Holding her chin high, Katie walked past her in the direction of the kitchen. All her instincts yearned to comfort
her mother, and reassure her, she wasn’t going anywhere, but couldn’t. It had to end. The merry-go-round they existed on had spun out of control for years. Marge was never going to come to this realization on her own and it hurt Katie that she had to make such a callous threat, but it had to be done. Her mother needed help and Katie didn’t know how to give it to her. For years she thought if she made things easy for her mother around the house and didn’t get in her face that Marge would turn around on her own, cut back on the booze, but it never happened.

It’s gotten worse.

Glancing in the cupboard, she pulled out two packages of ramen soup and tossed them on the counter. The muffled cry of her mother sobbing from the hallway was almost more than she could bear. There hadn’t been one time that Katie could recall that she allowed her mother to cry without intervening – without rushing to her side, willing to hold her until the sorrow passed and Marge’s toothy grin returned. Reaching below the sink, Katie picked a small saucepan and filled it with water. As she struggled to light the gas stove, a part of her knew that a whole lot of tears would be shed before either of them knew what a better life was. Until then, they both needed to figure out how to stand on their own two feet.

41

RACHEL

Friday 6:05 PM

At six p.m. Rachel stepped out the front door of the
Whirl n’ Twirl
. Already the sun was setting and the sky was gray – the air was cool, brisk even. A few children dressed in costumes were walking past, but the street was quieter than before. Studying the traffic, the woman on the phone told her she would be driving a blue Lincoln Continental. Trying to determine the make of each car going by, Rachel realized she wouldn’t know a Lincoln if it pulled up in front of her and beeped the horn.

Nerves bubbled in her stomach. She tried smiling, but didn’t feel it inside. Trusting in a complete stranger was tough. Banking on her past experiences of meeting fellow Christians was the only thing keeping her feet in place and
not running again.  It was her hope that Colette, the pastor’s wife from the church, would be as kind in person as she was on the phone.

Earlier as she dialed the number, it felt like her lips just might turn numb. It was nerve wracking. She had come up with a name and a story and quick explanation of what she needed for the night. Knowing if she could keep calm and not reveal too much detail, the spokesperson for the church could access their Benevolence Fund to house a sister in Christ for one evening.

Her father received countless phone calls asking for gas money, groceries, fuel oil. Rachel assumed it would be the same for Paul and Collette Becker – the missionaries listed on the back of the pamphlet now clutched in her hand. Small churches took care of their communities, especially if a person was in need; she just had to come across credible. Replaying the conversation in her thoughts, she hoped it went okay.

After two rings, “Hello,” a woman’s voice answered.