A Mother's Lie

by Sarah Zettel

  He answered on the second ring.

  “Star! I’m glad you called back. We must have gotten disconnected there.”

  His voice was rougher than it had been, but it still had all that laughing confidence she remembered. Dad was having a good day. She could picture him smiling and winking at her mother, who sat cross-legged on the bed, an unlit cigarette in one hand and a beer in the other.

  “I’m assuming you want to meet,” Beth said. “Where?”

  “And that’s how you talk to your old man these days?” Her father sighed. “Well, okay, Star, if this is the way you want to play it—” He paused as if considering. “There’s a little bar I found. Real old-school Chicago Irish on Eighty-Sixth off Ontario. Mike’s. Who knew they still made ’em like that, huh? I can—”

  “I’ll find it. Noon?”

  “No good. They don’t open until three.”

  “All right. Three.” Beth hung up.

  That was it, then. There was no more room to hide or to kid herself. Her parents were in Chicago, probably toasting each other with cans of beer and shots of vodka. There was something they wanted, and since they were better than the rest of the slobs and losers out there, they had every right to take it.

  Even if they had to take it from her.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  When Mom shut the door, Dana flipped up the lid on her laptop. She pulled the photo out and propped it against the screen and stared at it. And started typing.

  Deborah Ann Watts. That was her grandmother’s name. She’d searched it a hundred times. It never did any good. The name was too common, and she had no way to narrow down the search. No birth date, nothing. Thomas Jankowski, her grandfather, had a less common name, but the search on him had never gone any better.

  Not even today.

  But she always kept looking. She kept her Google alerts primed and updated. She couldn’t understand why she was supposed to look away. How could Mom just ignore them? Dana understood they were dangerous. Mom’s parents were criminals—actual, got-arrested-but-skipped-bail criminals. They stole from gas station clerks, she said. They shoplifted and traded pills with security guards so they’d look the other way. They rigged pool games and card games and cheated the drunks in bars and lifted their wallets.

  There was no “code,” no red line, Mom had said. If they needed something and they could take it off you, you were a sucker and you deserved it.

  Dana understood all that, like she understood Mom wasn’t actually trying to lock Dana out of her own life. Not like Dad.

  But how could she not want to know?

  She looked at the photo again. If this was real, it was the only picture Dana had of her mother’s mother. Every now and again, some teacher made the kids bring family photos to school for a multicultural day, or for a family tree project—something like that. Dana always brought pictures from her dad’s family—a grandmother and grandfather she’d never met. “Aunt” Julia and “Uncle” Ron, who she’d met maybe twice. Her twin cousins Shelly and Kelly, ditto.

  She hadn’t even gotten them from Dad. His wife, Susan, copied and FedExed them for the first project back in first grade. Dana had been recycling them ever since.

  Dana knew plenty of kids whose parents were divorced. Some of them had whole long strings of half and step siblings. Amanda Hollander’s dad didn’t even know she was alive.

  But none of them had anything like this mess.

  And then Mom came in here and just lied all over the fucking place about what was up with her. Like she’d lied when she got home. There was no guy at work.

  What the hell is the matter with all of you? Dana thought in sudden, fierce exasperation. What the actual fuck are you all thinking?

  Didn’t they get it—that all their lying and running away made things worse for her?

  The woman (her grandmother? Really?) said she’d be at the Starbucks tomorrow at four o’clock.

  Maybe I should go. Just talk to her. Maybe I could find out…

  No. Stupid. Why do I even care? Mom was all the family that counted. Mom took care of her, and she took care of Mom. Who else had ever been there for her?

  But no matter how hard she tried to smother it, Dana wanted to know more. She wanted to know them. She wanted to stand in front of them and see if there was anything of herself reflected inside.

  I’m not a little kid. Dana bit her lip. Not anymore.

  She rolled over and picked up her phone and started texting Chelsea. Need your help tomorrow.

  I have a right to the truth about my own life.

  Dana hit Send.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Beth could remember the first time she saw her parents. She was five.

  Her name was still Star Bowen then. She lived with Grammy. From her perspective, she always had. Grammy’s home was a green-and-white trailer beside the long dirt drive that ended at the gravel road. They had chickens and a vegetable garden and an apple tree. Everything was dusty in the summertime and freezing cold in winter. Their “neighbors” drove five or six miles to sit in the folding chairs Grammy set out among the weeds and the chickens. Sometimes they’d bring their kids and she’d have somebody to play with.

  She was going to kindergarten in the fall. Grammy said they’d walk together down to the place the bus would stop each morning. Star would have to get up good and early, and no complaining. Star promised solemnly that she would.

  Grammy didn’t smile much. Grammy smelled like tobacco and Lysol. Grammy had spotty pink skin, hard hands, and a hard body. She sewed and crocheted and made do. She traded the things she made for the things the neighbors made, and they came and fixed things and she went and took care of things.

  When Star asked about her mommy and daddy, Grammy told her they were traveling. Star accepted that because she was five and there were more important things to think about.

  The day it all changed, Beth thought she remembered being inside. Probably she’d been watching cartoons. She thought she remembered how she heard the rattle and crunch of a car pulling up the drive, and ran to the screen door to see who it was.

  She did remember (Beth was positive) being surprised when a strange dented, dust-colored station wagon with cracked wood panels on the sides bounced to a stop out front.

  A man got out of the driver’s side. He had a dark red-brown tan and dark hair and hairy arms. He was not happy. Star could see that right away. He looked at the trailer like he wanted to call it a bad name. She felt herself shrinking back and wondered if she should run around the back to get Grammy.

  Beth sometimes thought if she had run and gotten to Grammy first, it might have been different. Grammy—hard, practical, and worn down to the bone—might have been able to save her from what came next.

  But before she could make up her mind to move, a woman climbed out of the car. She was tall and thin and tan. She wore a pretty flowery dress, and her brown hair was braided. Star thought she must be a TV lady. She looked so happy she glowed.

  The woman saw Star standing behind the screen door.

  “Star!” She threw both hands up in the air. “Star! It’s me! It’s Mommy! We’re back!”

  Star remembered—Beth remembered—how she’d gasped. She’d slammed the door open and run straight into the pretty woman’s arms. No hiding or crying or being shy for Star Susan Bowen. The woman laughed and hugged her hard and spun her around. Beth remembered instantly liking the feel of her and the smell of her. She remembered the excitement of it. This pretty, happy lady was her very own mommy!

  She didn’t think at all about the hard-faced man, who pulled the cigarette out of his mouth and pitched the butt in the dirt and said nothing. She barely noticed Grammy coming around the edge of the trailer with a bucket in one hand.

  “Hi, Mama,” said the pretty lady to Grammy. “We’re back.”

  The man said, “We gotta talk, Lizzy.”

  Grammy said nothing. She put her bucket down beside the steps where nobody would trip over it. Grammy hated it w
hen you didn’t put things away right.

  “I said we gotta—”

  “I heard you the first time,” Grammy announced. “I don’t see what there could be to talk about.”

  Grammy was mad. Mad rolled out of her like cold out of the fridge. Star wriggled uneasily.

  “We don’t have to get into it right away,” Mommy said. “It’s been such a long time. Can’t we even say hi first?” She kissed the top of Star’s head.

  Grammy and the man got the same disbelieving expression on their faces. Star almost laughed, which probably would not have gone over well.

  But Mommy hugged her instead. “Star, honey, why don’t you show me your room?”

  To Star, this was the best idea. She dragged Mommy into her bedroom at the very end of the trailer. She shoved toys and blankets into her hands, telling her all the most important things. Mommy laughed and smiled and listened. She sat cross-legged on the floor and said hello to the dolls and stuffed animals. Then, she pulled a package of Oreos out of her pocket.

  “Here you go, honey,” Mommy said. “A present.”

  Star’s eyes had gone wide. “Grammy says no store cookies. She says they’re a waste of money and bad for my teeth.”

  “Well, we won’t tell her.” Mommy leaned close. She smelled like summer wind. “It’ll be a secret, just between you and me. Hey! I have an idea. We can have a tea party!” And Star started setting all the dolls in place while Mommy made plates and tables out of Kleenex and old alphabet blocks.

  Star didn’t stop to wonder about what the man and Grammy were talking about. She heard the shouts rumble through the walls, but she didn’t remember being worried about them. She just remembered all the fun, and thinking that this smiling woman who sat next to her on the floor was exactly what a mommy should be.

  Then Grammy opened the door.

  “Say good-bye, Star. They’re leaving.”

  “Oh, no.” Mommy got to her feet. “We just got here. We haven’t even had a chance to talk yet, Mama,” she added softly.

  Grammy’s mouth went hard, and Star shrank back. That was the face that meant a spanking or a whack on the head with her high school ring.

  The man appeared behind Grammy’s back. “We’re going.”

  Mommy laid her hand on Star’s shoulder. “Just another minute. Please.”

  “We’re not done with the tea party!” Star added. “It’s not her fault, Grammy! She didn’t know about the cookies!”

  “Say good-bye to your company, Star,” said Grammy.

  Star didn’t want to say good-bye. She cried instead—loud and screaming, just like she would if a new toy had been taken away. Grammy shouldered her way into the room and scooped Star up.

  Grammy stared at Mommy, her eyes cold and dead as stones in winter. “Get out of this house.”

  It didn’t settle in until much later that Mommy was Grammy’s daughter. Grammy had stood there and ordered her own flesh and blood out of her home. All she knew that day was that Mommy left with the man, who had to be Daddy. Star stayed in her room and cried. She sulked at dinner, and Grammy sent her back to her room.

  “You can just stay there until you remember how to behave.”

  Beth remembered being positive that this time she’d stay in her room until she died. She might even have shouted that—fists balled up, whole body bent double by the force of her scream. She meant it too. She really did.

  When it got dark, Star got herself changed for bed. She was mad enough that she kicked the pink princess quilt Grammy’d gotten her last Christmas onto the floor. She was hungry because she hadn’t eaten dinner. She was getting scared. She wanted to understand what had happened this afternoon. What had the shouting been about? Could she say she was sorry about the cookies and promise not to do it again? Would Mommy be allowed to come back, then?

  Maybe she fell asleep. She didn’t remember that. She did remember the sound.

  Tap, tap, tap!

  Star sat up. It was dark. Moonlight filtered through the metal blinds. The sound came again.

  Tap, tap, tap!

  From the window. There was a shadow at the window.

  “Hey,” whispered a woman’s voice. “Hey, Star. It’s me. It’s Mommy!”

  Star yanked the blinds up and pushed the window open, and the screen. Mommy leaned over the aluminum sill and grinned.

  “Hey, honey! Sorry about before. But it’s all okay now. Come on!”

  Star stared at her. Mommy held out her arms. “Come on, honey. Right out the window. Mommy’s got you.”

  Star tried to make sense of this. Only one possibility occurred to her. “Are we going traveling?”

  Mommy smiled, that same beautiful happy smile she’d worn this afternoon, right up until the moment Grammy walked in on them. “Yes, Star. We’re going traveling. Come on, now! I’ve got more cookies in the car.”

  And that was that.

  Mommy wiggled her fingers, making a “come on” gesture, and Star let herself be hugged and lifted out of her bedroom window in nothing but her nightgown and slippers. She clutched her favorite teddy bear, Boo, the yellow one Grammy crocheted for her.

  Mommy bundled her into the back seat of the station wagon. Mommy made Boo-Bear dance and jump up and down and squeal when he saw the fresh package of Oreos. Daddy, a silhouette in the front seat who still hadn’t said a single word to her, drove them all away.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Beth surprised herself by sleeping late the next morning. The night had been a long one, complete with tossing and turning and getting up to make sure that the alarm really was set and that nothing had been disturbed. Which was obsessive and pointless, and she knew that, but she could not stop herself.

  It was already nine thirty, and the kitchen was quiet and dark when she went in to make her coffee. Either Dana was celebrating the end of the school year in traditional teenage fashion by sleeping in extra late, or she was still sulking.

  Probably it was a little of both.

  I’ll find a way to explain, Beth told herself as she set about grinding beans and filling the coffee maker’s carafe. I have to.

  The landline rang. Beth jumped, splashing water all over. She had to stand where she was and press one hand against the counter for a long moment before she could make herself put the carafe down gently and pick up the receiver.

  “Beth Fraser.”

  “Ms. Fraser, this is Kendi at the front desk. I have Mr. Douglas Hoyt down here, and he is asking to come up.”

  Oh, this is all I need.

  She heard some scuffling on the other end of the line. “Beth? It’s me. I just need five minutes. That’s all. I promise.”

  Jesus. “All right, Doug. All right.”

  “Thank you.”

  He handed the phone back to Kendi, and Beth gave Kendi her go-ahead and hung up. She poured the water into the coffee maker and watched it while it began to bubble and hiss.

  She hoped Dana would decide to stay in her room a little longer. Whatever she and Doug were going to have to say to each other now, it was not a conversation she wanted Dana to be any part of.

  Beth had not planned to have a child with Doug. He’d never really even been a boyfriend, never mind a potential partner. He was more like a pressure valve. They’d go clubbing and dance to bone-shaking techno and hip-hop. She fed him shot after shot of tequila, enjoying the sight of him getting insanely drunk and then getting to send him home, sometimes without his pants or to the wrong address. Then he’d call up to howl at her, and the next weekend they’d do it all over again.

  He’d make grand, romantic gestures: the elaborate picnics in the park, the time he’d painted a gorgeous sunset scene on her bedroom wall to surprise her, and how he kept sneaking back in to revise this and that, never quite satisfied with what he’d done and never wanting anybody to see him doing the actual work.

  That should have told her something right there. So should all those times he’d talk about how he hated San Francisco and that he wanted to li
ve someplace real, to have a real job and a real life. He never talked about taking her with him.

  Twenty-nine was late for this kind of craziness. But she figured she was owed an adolescence, and now was when she could afford to have it. An ongoing series of therapists told her that she was seeking out the chaos. It was comfortable to her because of her childhood.

  Which was almost true, but not quite. She needed to prove that this time she could use that chaos for exactly what she wanted. I’ll handle this thing, in spite of everything you’ve done, in spite of everything I am. I’ll make it whole and right and real and shining, and the whole world will see I’m better.

  Rafi’s first fund made just enough to let him put together a second. The second did a little better and led to a third. Beth brought Doug to the party Rafi threw to announce that third fund. They popped the cork on multiple bottles of French champagne and handcrafted, locally sourced sparkling cider and toasted the future.

  The next morning, she woke up sick as hell and realizing she’d lost track of her days. This was quickly followed by a trip to the drugstore for a pregnancy test kit. Then came all the gross, fumbling awkwardness of trying to pee on a stick. Then there was the sitting there with her jeans and panties around her ankles and staring at the stupid stick while the stupid little plus sign formed in the stupid little window.

  Beth remembered pulling her pants up and looking at the stick again. Yes, it was still a plus sign. She flushed the toilet and went out into her bedroom. She sat on the edge of her bed.

  The sun had broken through San Francisco’s semipermanent cloud cover, and a beam fell on the ends of her toes. They were a mess of cracked red enamel. Doug, for reasons known only to himself, had decided he wanted to try painting her toenails, and she hadn’t been able to hold still because he’d kept tickling her.

  She looked around her apartment. She looked at her messed-up toes and at the sky outside her window. She exhaled.

  “Okay,” she said to the empty bedroom and the new clump of cells busily dividing inside her. “Okay, I guess we’re doing this.”