Fancy White Trash (26 page)

“She'll be back,” Dad says, coming up behind us. He was the only one who didn't seem that surprised when Shelby made her announcement on Thursday night. He even paid for a motel for her since things were so “awkward” at home. “It takes some people longer than others to get over fools' mountain.”

Now that he is in Dad mode again, he's started spouting random bits of his life's philosophy at us. But I hope he's right. I hope Shelby does come back, especially if she's ditched the Guitar Player by then. If not for her sake, then for Hannah's. I'm glad I'm not the one who has to tell her Mommy's gone, but don't worry, Grandma will be your new mom for now. Of course, it could be worse. The Guitar Player and Shelby could've taken Hannah with them. Who knows how much the therapy to recover from that kind of damage would cost?

We go back in the house. Hannah is watching cartoons. It seems like a good way to spend the afternoon. Only there's no couch—because the Guitar Player trashed it in a rather impressive show of infantile rage when Mom said leaving it was the least he owed her—so I snuggle with Hannah on a big pillow and let Mom have the Barcalounger. She tosses me a blanket. It's like we're all being careful of each other. Like we're afraid of breaking something. But I think we're too late. I think it's already broken.

“Abby, get dressed.” Cody shakes me awake on Sunday afternoon. “It's three o'clock. You have to get up.”

I've been sleeping a lot since Dad moved down the hall. It's awfully peaceful having my own room. I stretch and Cody steps back. “Whoa, honey, you need a shower.”

I frown but stumble to the bathroom. When I'm clean and wearing the jeans and green halter top Cody chose while I was showering, he sits me down on the bed. “We need to talk.”

“Did Walt take your car again?” It's the only thing I can think of that would crinkle his forehead like that.

“No, it's about Jackson.”

I wave my hand at him. “I'm not talking about him. Let's pick someone else from your list. Andre didn't work out, but there are still plenty more guys to go through. Hey, maybe I'll even find one for you.” I wink at him.

Cody grinds his teeth. “I'm being serious.”

“Okay, what about Jackson?”

“He's going back to Nicaragua.”

“I know.”

“You know? How?” Cody folds his arms across his chest.

“He told me. It's, like, his dream.”

“He's leaving tonight. Tonight, Abby.” Cody thumps one foot like an impatient teacher waiting for a slow kid to spit out an answer.

“Tonight?” I echo, like I am that slow kid. “How long have you known?”

“There was something on the news about an earthquake in the area where he worked. He made a few phone calls yesterday, and now it's bye-bye U.S.A.”

Of course he'd go. They need him, and after a disaster, they'd need him even more.

“Your parents bought him a ticket?” I remember that they cut off his college money, and as far as I know, hanging out at home doesn't pay well.

“Sold his car to one of his friends. Can you believe it?”

Of course I can, but that doesn't explain why I suddenly can't catch my breath.

Thump, thump,
goes Cody's sandal on the wood floor. “Abigail Elizabeth Savage, do you really want him to go without saying good-bye?”

Tears well in my eyes. I ignore them and shrug. “We said everything we needed to say at homecoming.”

Cody sighs and reaches into his pocket. “He told me to give you this.” It's a folded note. He flings it at me and leaves.

It sits on the bed next to me. Finally, I open it. More Rumi. Sad Rumi, about how effort doesn't matter. Either love is or is not.

Underneath, he wrote,
Abby, I give up.

I can't stop crying.

“Take me to Kait's.”

It's evening. Mom and Dad are in the kitchen, sharing a glass of wine. Hannah's under the table with the whisk in her mouth.

“Now?” Mom takes a sip. “Why now?”

Because I've finally stopped crying and I need to know the truth. It would've been so easy to ask Kait at the dance, or call her, or respond to Jackson's first note. But I didn't. And now it might be too late. To Mom I say, “Will you take me? I really need to talk to Kait.”

“That's funny,” Dad says. “She called yesterday and asked for you.”

“She did?”

“Didn't I tell you?” He looks confused and it irritates me. Is it so hard to write down a message?

“Please?” I use my begging voice. “Please, Mom, I need you to take me.”

“I'll take you,” Dad says.

I ignore him. It would be safer to go with him, but this is a girl thing. “Mom?”

She sighs and sets down her glass. “I'm not supposed to be drinking this anyway. Let me get my purse.”

Gustavo lives in a nicer part of town than we do, in a cute little condo building closer to the tourist trap that is Old Town. I fidget while Mom rings the doorbell.

“Mom!” Kait looks surprised. She has Stephanie in the baby sling around her neck. “Abby? Come in!”

The condo is immaculate, white tile floors and white furniture with shaggy black pillows. There's a huge TV on the wall with the most enormous DVD collection I've ever seen, housed on simple black shelves. I walk closer and see that the DVDs are in alphabetical order. Cody would so approve. Since our room was never clean, I don't think for a minute it's Kait's work we're seeing.

Kait ushers us into the living room and settles Stephanie into a baby swing that is set up in the corner. It's hard to believe I haven't seen her in almost a month, and even harder to take is that fact that she's grown so much. Her eyebrows have darkened, and her tiny, tiny feet aren't quite as little anymore.

“You came for a visit?” Kait asks, planting herself on the couch.

“What, you thought you'd never see us again?” I sound cranky, and it's because I know I should've called or come over sooner. Stephanie shouldn't be growing up without Aunt Abby around. Mom takes a seat on the opposite end of the couch from Kait while I pace between the baby swing and shelves.

“I was beginning to wonder.” Kait twirls a strand of hair around her finger, and I notice she's added some dark honey-colored highlights. It looks good. I almost tell her so, but then she says, “So why are you here?”

I decide to plunge in. “It's about Jackson.”

“I knew it!” Mom crows. Kait gives her a weird look.

“We're just friends,” Kait says. “If you'd stuck around at homecoming, I would've told you. Gustavo was supposed to take me, but his assistant manager got the flu and no one else could work at the store. I didn't want to go alone—I mean, I'm not a total loser. . . .”

“So you used his second ticket?” I ask, wanting to get this perfectly clear.

Kait shakes her head, and the new highlights glint as her hair swings. “I had my own, but Jackson told me he had an extra because Trey enlisted this summer and got sent to North Carolina last week for boot camp.”

Just like Cody'd said. A perfectly
reasonable
explanation. Trey and Jackson had been on the football team together for years and were good friends, but midway through their senior year, Trey moved to Flagstaff. Of course Jackson would buy an extra ticket so he could come. Mom reaches over, takes my hand, and squeezes.

“Really?” I ask. “For real, just friends? No games, no flirting? No lifelong connection?” I glance Stephanie's way, but Kait misses my meaning.

Kait smiles at me, big. Holds out her left hand. “I'm about to become Kaitlyn Mercado. There's no way I'm messing that up.” The ring on her finger glitters in the light.

“Is it real?” Mom asks, which is not the right response.

“Wow, congratulations!” I say, and hug her. “I had no idea.”

Kait's smile gets bigger, if that's possible. “Gustavo loves me. Really loves me. And Stephanie, too. You'll be my maid of honor, right? That's what I called about yesterday. I was worried when you didn't call back.”

“Of course!” I say, already thinking about how my princess dress will make a fine maid-of-honor gown once the tear is fixed. “I'm so happy for you. You love him, too, right?”

Kait makes her patented you're-such-a-freak face at me. “Duh! Plus Dr. Patty says that children raised in an intact family unit are less likely to become delinquent or involved in crime as teens. So of course I said yes when Gustavo asked me to marry him! I don't want Stephanie to grow up and be a klepto or a murderer or something.”

Mom is still examining the ring. “It looks real.”

Kait snatches back her hand. “It is! Jeez, Mom.”

“I'm just looking out for you,” Mom says. “A fake diamond is no sign of commitment.”

Stephanie gets fussy in her swing. Mom puts up a hand. “I've got it.” She hurries over and picks up her granddaughter. “Hi there, sweetie. What's wrong?” Then she degenerates into baby coo and walks with Stephanie into the kitchen.

Kait watches until they're out of sight. “Think I should worry?”

I sit on the couch next to Kait. “She raised us.” Which is not reassuring, come to think of it.

Kait bites her lip and says, “She's better lately, don't you think? Like something changed.”

“Like her daughter ran off with her husband? That's a big change.”

“At first, when she called me, I was so shocked. I mean, Mom always gets what she wants. It's like she's been charmed her whole life.” Kait worries the lip between her teeth. “But I was reading this other book,
I'm Doing My Best!: Single Mothers Speak Out
, and this one mom talked about how having a baby when she was sixteen made her feel cheated. She missed out on what everyone else her age was doing and had this huge responsibility. I never thought of Mom like that, but it's kind of what happened to her, right?”

I'm glad that Dr. Patty is not Kait's only source of psycho-babble, and what she's saying kind of makes sense. “I guess. Mom's never made it a secret that we definitely cramp her style.”

“But for all that, she does love us,” Kait says. “Now that I have Stephanie, I get that. It doesn't matter about the special feedings and the lack of sleep or the extra trips to the doctor that, thank God, Gustavo is paying for. She's everything to me. Mom must've felt that for us, don't you think?”

“She's good at hiding it,” I say. “But maybe.”

“Look at Shelby. She just left Hannah behind. Mom never abandoned us. That's something, I think. And now that she's older, she'll probably be a better mom to the new baby. Dr. Patty says older parents tend to be more relaxed.”

“You seem pretty good with the whole mom thing.” I curl a foot underneath me and shift one of the shaggy pillows onto my lap. “Almost like an expert.”

She laughs. “Maybe someday!”

Then I remember the other thing I need cleared up. I decide to ease into the subject. “Hey, Kait, it doesn't bother Gustavo that Stephanie's not his?”

“She is.”

I must look shocked, because Kait rushes to explain. “That's what he says. She's his in all the ways that matter.”

“Ah, that's sweet.” I clutch and unclutch the pillow. “So, he's not jealous of Stephanie's real dad?”

Kait laughs again. “I can't believe I ever thought I loved Steve. Gustavo is good to me, Abby. He doesn't have anything to be jealous of.”

I can't outright accuse of her lying. Plan B goes into action. “You wouldn't happen to know Stephanie's blood type, would you?”

“Why? You sick or something?” she asks with what might be real concern on her face.

“No.” I scramble for a not-crazy-sounding reason. “What if I'm babysitting for you and . . . ”

Kait squeals and hugs me. “You'll babysit? Oh my God, that's so great.”

Untangling myself from her arms, I say, "... and there's some kind of accident and she needs blood . . . ?”

Leaning back on the cushions, Kait smiles. “Did you just do Mr. Kimball's blood-typing thingy? Because I was so paranoid after his whole talk about people dying because they got the wrong kind of blood transfusion and—”

“Sheesh, Kait, just answer the question.”

She's puzzled and then brightens. “Stephanie's a B—that's what the paperwork from the hospital said.”

I hug her again and wonder how long it will take us to get back home. If Shelby's right, the Guitar Player is a B and that makes it possible he really is Stephanie's biological dad. And right now, with Kait so shiny and happy and Stephanie with her new dad, Jackson's blood type doesn't seem that important. There's really only one thing I need to say to him, and that I definitely have do in person.

Mom returns from the kitchen and hands off Stephanie to Kait. “We all done?” she asks with a look that makes me think maybe she heard every word we said.

I kiss my niece good-bye and my sister, too. Mom hurries to the car, but I'm afraid no matter how fast we go, I'm going to be too late.

“Can't we go any faster?”

It normally doesn't take longer going one way across town than the other, but Mom has managed to turn onto a street with major construction. It's evening, which means there shouldn't be bulldozers out scooping up loads of sand and then blocking traffic as they
putt-putt-putt
at three miles an hour to the dump site, but there's at least one and it's caused a backup several miles long. One side of the road is ripped up. We're trapped on the other, crawling along. The Benz wheezes, but we've gotten used to the sound. We pull to a stop, then inch forward again. I am
dying.
And she knows it.