House Broken (23 page)

ELLA

H
er last final ended and junior year was officially over. No one was around when she and Charlie arrived home from school, so she went straight to her room, dumped her backpack, and grabbed the bear. On her way out she noticed the door to Charlie's room was closed and figured Nana was taking a nap. Charlie was halfway inside the refrigerator when she came into the kitchen.

“I've got something to show you, bro.”

“What? You found your brain?” He peeked around the fridge door, a slice of pizza hanging from his mouth.

“You might put it that way.” She pulled out the bag of weed, the papers, and the lighter.

“Whoa. Are we partying, sistah?”

She shook her head. “Charlie, it's time to get real. When we
had that shitstorm over the gun and everything, I didn't tell Mom and Dad about the drugs. Mine or yours. I kinda forgot. Or maybe I thought it was TMI on a day that already had TMI.”

He'd stopped chewing. “What are you saying? Spit it out.”

“It's time to stop.”

He took another bite and grinned. “They asked me if I smoked, you know.”

“What did you say?”

“That I tried it, but wasn't into it.”

“They asked me, too.”

“What did you say?”

“That I tried it, but wasn't into it.”

They laughed.

Ella said, “Megan overheard you dealing in the park.”

He rolled his eyes. “So, what? You want some? What's the game?”

“No, I don't want any of that stuff.” She pointed at her stash. “I don't even want this anymore. And I want you to get rid of yours, too.”

“Oh, I see. This is an intervention.”

“Maybe. And maybe you need one. Dealing is really fucked-up, Charlie. You know it is.”

He stared at the countertop.

“I've been thinking about Mom and Uncle Dub. One day, that's going to be us.”

“That's scary.”

“Not as scary as not having each other.”

“I'm not dying or anything, Ella.”

“No, but you're on your way to being a loser. We have to start doing the right thing. We might need each other, Charlie.” She'd
been plucking at the bear's fur. Now she stopped. “Are you listening to me?”

He chewed the inside of his cheek. Finally he glanced at her. His face was serious for once.

Ella said, “Get your stuff. Whatever you've got, okay? Let's do this together.”

• • •

They walked down to the path by the river. After a while, they veered away from the water, into the woods.

“Why can't we just throw it in the creek?” Charlie said.

“There's fish in there. And frogs. Frogs are very sensitive.”

At the edge of a clearing, she began digging a hole with the shovel she'd brought.

He said, “And nothing's going to dig this up? Because personally I think the squirrels could use a little chilling out.”

“That's why the hole has to be deep.” She handed him the shovel. “Your turn.”

When the hole was three feet deep, Ella fished the drugs out of her pocket and dangled them above it. “To a clear mind and heart.” She dropped them in.

Charlie cupped a small paper bag in his palm. “To staying out of juvie.” He tipped the bag and a shower of pills and marijuana buds fell into the hole.

“Jesus,” Ella said. She studied his face. “This is for real, right? You're not just doing this to get me off your case.”

He nodded. “The whole thing was getting too intense anyway.” He waved his hand over the hole. Against the dark earth, the pills looked like confetti. “No one tells you how stressful it is to be this cool.”

GENEVA

O
n Friday, the last day of school, Tom's parents hosted their annual beginning-of-the-summer barbecue. Tom texted Geneva at work to say Helen had a headache and wouldn't be coming, and that he and the kids would see her there. Before leaving the clinic, Geneva called home in case her mother had changed her mind. The call went to voice mail, so she figured Helen had fallen asleep.

Juliana greeted her at the door with a hug. “Are you hungry? I made the artichoke frittata you're crazy about. I'll get you a slice.”

Jon squatted on the ottoman next to Grandma Novak's recliner, nodding as the old woman spoke, her hands carving the air like swallows at dusk. Geneva said hello to them, and followed Juliana into the kitchen. They chatted for a few moments—
Juliana asked about Helen's recovery and Geneva remarked she was happy to see Jon—then moved to the family room doorway. Ella, Charlie, Pierce, and Spencer were embroiled in a spirited game of foosball. Geneva was surprised to see her children on the same side. If they couldn't avoid each other, competition was the next alternative. Charlie flicked a handle and cheered as the ball disappeared into the goal. Ella high-fived him, and he beamed at her and winked. On the same team.

“Hey.” Tom placed his lips close to her ear and slipped a hand around her waist. “I've got ribs on the grill, if you want one.” He poked her rib with a finger.

She kissed his cheek and laughed. “Why is everyone trying to feed me?”

“I don't know. Maybe they care about you.”

“In that case, I'd love some ribs.” She pointed at Charlie and Ella. “They're suddenly getting along.”

“I said they were fine, didn't I?”

Geneva raised her eyebrows, to remind him of the events of the past week and their resolution to not whistle in the darkness as parents.

“Well,
fine
may be too strong a word.”

“How about
salvageable
?”

“Okay. We've got two very salvageable kids. I'm happy with that.”

“Me, too.”

• • •

She left the party early to check on her mother. Diesel's tail beat time on the floor as she came through the front door. She crossed
to the kitchen and set the leftovers on the counter. The dog followed, toes clicking. She bent to stroke him and absorb his familiar smell of cinnamon and hay.

“Who's my good boy?” She let him into the backyard, where wisps of fog had begun to coalesce among the redwoods, muting the last light of the day. Diesel raced across the lawn in pursuit of a squirrel that narrowly beat him to a tree. She smiled, closed the door, and called down the hallway.

“Mom, it's me.”

Remembering something, she returned to the kitchen, pulled an envelope out of her bag, and walked down the hall. No light spilled from underneath the door. She knocked lightly.

“Mom?”

She listened a moment, then twisted the knob slowly, pushed the door, and peeked in. A pale gray rectangle of light fell on the hastily made bed. Her eyes darted to the chair by the window. Empty. Geneva's hands went cold as she scanned the room. No reading glasses or folded magazine on the bedside table. No clothes discarded on the chair. She flicked on the light and yanked open the closet. The space along the rack she had created for her mother's clothes gaped at her.

Her stomach slid, queasy. She spun toward the bed and this time noticed a folded piece of paper leaning against the pillow. Her name, in her mother's tall script. Geneva sat on the bed and read the note.

Geneva,

I said I'd think about staying on with you here and I have, though it didn't take long to make up my mind.
You're probably mad at me for running out, but the last thing I wanted was a drawn-out discussion. Stubborn as we are, neither of us was going to win that one.

I know you think a better person is hiding somewhere inside me. Now that you've ferreted out the truth about your father and me, you think you can sober me up, drag that person out, and have the mother you want. I can't blame you for what you want, but I'm not going to change. I haven't got the will or the courage. You and Dublin might forgive me, but I can't see clear to forgiving myself. There'll be no new tricks for this old dog.

I'm headed back to L.A. Maybe I'll stay there and maybe I won't. Whatever I do, it won't be your problem. You've had enough of those on my account.

Tell the kids good-bye from me. Thanks to you and Tom for putting me up, and for trying. That's more than most would have done, but it was never going to be enough.

Helen

P.S. If I left something behind, don't worry. Whatever it is, I doubt I need it.

She'd been holding her breath, but exhaled sharply at the last line, incredulous. Gone. Just like that. She'd been foolish to hope. They all had.

For five weeks she'd been trying to break through to her mother, to understand her. She'd discovered what she believed was the key to ending her mother's self-destructive behavior. She'd offered her a way forward, a chance to release the grip of the past, and pledged
herself and her family in support. Geneva hadn't forgiven her mother for denying her love and attention for so long, but she had found a measure of compassion, and wagered it would suffice. In a corner of her heart she even imagined her compassion as kindling that could not only ignite her tender and guarded feelings for her mother, but also jump across the void and ignite her mother's feelings for her.

Clearly, this was a fantasy her mother did not share.

The bridge of her nose stung. Her chest was hollow.

In her postscript, her mother had said not to worry about what she'd left behind. If you keep leaving things behind, Geneva thought, you learn not to need them.

She swallowed against the tears building behind her eyes.

No more tears for her mother. There'd already been far too many. Everything that could be said, had been. Everything she could do, she had. Enough.

She folded the note, placed it on the bedside table, and rose to stand at the window. Diesel sat on his haunches in the center of the lawn, facing the back door. He caught sight of her, and cocked his head. His jaw dropped open and his tongue slid out. Geneva smiled back at him, took a deep breath, and let it go.

The front door opened. For an instant, she thought it might be her mother, having changed her mind. But Charlie's voice floated down the hallway, and Ella's laugh in response. Geneva shook her head at her own foolishness, and left the room to greet her family.

• • •

Later that evening she entered Ella's room. She was lying on the floor on her stomach, drawing.

“Have fun at the party?”

“Uh-huh. Such a relief to be done with school.”

“I didn't ask you earlier. How'd your psychology final go?”

“Piece of cake.”

“Even though it's A.P.?”

“Yeah, but it's mostly common sense.”

Geneva suppressed a laugh. Only in a multiple-choice test could human behavior appear commonsensical.

She sat cross-legged on the floor next to her daughter, who was drawing a cartoon dog on a leash. “What's that for?”

“An ad for my dog-walking service. I was hoping you could put some up at work.”

“Good idea.”

“At the bottom I'm going to put: ‘Trained by a Veterinarian and Animal Behavior Expert.'”

She laughed.

“It's true, though. You showed me how to walk Diesel so he doesn't pull.”

“I guess I did. Listen, Ella. You're not upset about Nana leaving so suddenly, are you?”

She looked up. “Kinda.”

“Why?”

Her daughter frowned. “I feel like I messed up. If I had told on Charlie earlier, then the whole thing would've ended before he found the gun. And then Nana wouldn't have been so upset that she OD'ed. And I think she left because she was embarrassed about it.”

Geneva laid her hand on Ella's cheek. “You made some mistakes, but what Nana did had nothing to do with you, in any way.”

“Maybe you're just saying that.”

“Does that sound like me?”

“No.”

A slight breeze set the mobiles above her head in motion. Geneva had seen them nearly every day but had never observed them in action. The only light in the room came from a floor lamp near the desk, but faint moonlight, filtered through fog, spilled through the window. The white cards nearest the window had a ghostly cast, while the ones close to the desk were bright white on their illuminated side. In between were gradations of moonlight, darkness, and halogen light. The cards bobbed like corks in a gentle sea, and twisted coyly. The effect was mesmerizing.

Geneva pointed to the cards. “So, tell me how this works.”

“The wordstorm?”

“I didn't know it had a name.”

“Yeah. Well, it works best if you lie on your back.” She set the marker down and demonstrated.

Geneva lay down beside her.

“Now you just open your mind to it. Let a word come to you. Then another one and another.”

“And that's a poem?”

“Of course not! It's the seed for one. Maybe.”

“Okay. Can I try it out loud, just for practice?”

“Sure. This doesn't have a lot of rules.”

Geneva closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them a card by the window faced her, then twisted away. “Whelp.” And out of the corner of her eye: “Resilient. Palisade.”

“Nice, Mom. I got ‘sardonic machinations.'”

“This is fascinating, Ella. But I did notice one thing.”

“What?”

“These are all SAT words.”

“Oh, no!” Ella covered her face with her hands in mock horror, then rolled on her side and into her mother's arms.

Geneva held her close. Together they watched the wordstorm tilt and turn, the breeze, the moon, and the fog conspiring to create an infinity of unfinished poems.