Wagering Home

by C. M. Boers

  * * *

  My cast came off exactly five and a half weeks after the accident. Only another few days before the doctor said I could drive, and I’d be out of here. Freedom.

  Somehow, I convinced my mom to drop me off at the movies to hang out with Grace. For the first time, she didn’t insist on tagging along. Maybe my outburst made her feel guilty. I’m sure it helped that I could walk on my own.

  Grace rolled up as soon as my mom’s car swung away from the curb.

  “Hey, stranger,” she said.

  “Hey!”

  “Your keeper let you free?”

  I rolled my eyes. “I’m not an animal in a cage.”

  “Could have fooled me.”

  “What movie do you want to see?”

  Grace made a face.

  “You don’t want to go to the movies?”

  She shook her head. “How am I supposed to get the dirt on all these plans you’ve been hyped up about if we’re in a dark theater?”

  I grinned. “It’s all coming together.”

  I’d already lined up three showings and booked a week at a hotel. That only left the hard part—telling my parents and Jeremy. Truth be told, I was most afraid of telling him. I cringed at the thought. This would blindside him, I was sure, and that was quite possibly one of the worst things, never seeing it coming.

  “Oooh, tell me everything!”

  “I’ll do you one better, I’ll show you. Let’s get a table.” I pointed at the restaurant we stood next to.

  As soon as we ordered drinks, I showed her pictures from the three apartments I’d be seeing. She turned up her nose at all of them.

  “Why are you looking at such dumpy places?”

  I shrugged. “They won’t take much work to make them nice again.”

  “Yuck. Can’t you just ask Mommy and Daddy to send a little money your way? Lord knows they can afford it.”

  “I don’t need their money.”

  “Oh, don’t be all humble. Seriously. This is the kind of thing you’re supposed to ask them for money for. I mean, if it were me . . .”

  “Grace, I don’t need their money.”

  “I think you’re in denial. Think about it, these places could have roaches or rats.” She shivered at the thought. “Want me to ask them for you? I totally will.”

  “No!”

  She held up her hands. “I was kidding. But seriously, if you aren’t asking them for help, then what’s your plan?”

  “I’ll get by. I’ll get a job.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “Nothing.”

  The waitress came over and left our drinks in front of us. “Did you decide what you’d like?”

  “Burger and fries for me,” Grace said, quickly and to the point. She turned back to me, her eyes still narrowed. The momentary lapse in our conversation was not stopping her inquisition.

  “Uh, can I get the lemon pepper chicken?”

  “Sure, the mashed potatoes and steamed vegetables okay?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Okay, I’ll get this in, and it should be out in a little bit.”

  I turned back to Grace, and her face still held the same skepticism.

  “I have money. I’ll be fine.”

  “What do you mean? How much money?”

  I looked her in the eye. It was beginning to feel a little like a game of chicken. I sighed. “You aren’t going to let this go, are you?”

  She shook her head, her arms crossed over her body.

  I held her gaze. I knew this would come. Grace was too inquisitive and to the point not to get this out of me.

  “I have a trust.”

  “A trust? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  I shook my head.

  “I should have known. How much?”

  I waited, debating if I should tell her the whole amount, or if I should just tell her how much was in only one of the accounts. I considered it carefully as I pulled my phone from my purse. I typed a number on the screen and showed her.

  Her mouth dropped.

  “Your parents really are loaded.” She whistled through her teeth. “Wait, if you have that kind of money, then why the dumps?”

  “I don’t need anything fancy. I don’t want anyone to know about the money either.”

  She shook her head. “Isn’t that the appeal of having money? To be able to have nice things?”

  “I just want my memories to come back. That’s my goal right now. I don’t need a bunch of attention. Besides, I’d rather make somewhere my own. That’s the whole point of moving in the first place.”

  “I thought the whole point was to get away from the hovering?”

  “Well, yeah. Getting to do things my way is just a bonus.” I smirked.

  “Look at you, taking charge and acting all adult-ish.”

  I put my hands out to my sides, palms up. “Someone’s got to do it.”

  “You’re leaving next week?”

  “That’s the plan.”

  “You tell anyone yet?”

  I shook my head, my lips held tightly together.

  She sucked air in-between her lips. “I’m glad I’m not in your shoes. I’d love to be there to see your parents’ reaction though.”

  “Yeah, I’m waiting until the last minute to tell them. I’ve been secretly packing things and hiding them around my room. I’m running out of places to go with the boxes.”

  After my parents went to bed that night, I planned to load as much as I could in the trunk of my car, just so I’d have more room to hide things, and so I knew how much more I could bring.

  Grace laughed.

  “You think I’m kidding.”

  “Oh no, I know you’re serious. That’s why it’s so funny.”

  Two steaming plates were laid before us. “Can I get you two anything else?”

  “Ketchup?” Grace asked.

  The waitress nodded.

  Grace was not the type to eat and talk. She devoured her food like a high school football player after a game. Yet somehow, she remained clean, without a drop spilled on her. I, on the other hand, ended up with sauce dribbled down my shirt despite eating with perfect table manners, no doubt ingrained in me throughout my childhood.

  “Do any of these places have a spare room?” Grace asked as she shoved the last bite of her burger in her mouth. It pressed into the sides of her mouth as she chewed.

  I shook my head.

  “Uh! I’m offended. No guest room for me,” she pouted.

  “Will a nice, fluffy couch suffice?” I offered.

  She narrowed one eye. “I guess. Which day are you leaving?”

  “Hoping for Thursday, the day after my doctor’s appointment.”

  “And when are you telling your parents?”

  “Monday, at dinner. And Jeremy, Tuesday night, provided I can get him to take me out.”

  “Cutting it right down to the wire.”

  “Yep. That’s the plan. Less time for them to try to talk me out of it, or be mad at me, or . . . whatever it is they’re going to do.”

  “They’re going to hit the ceiling, that’s what they’re going to do. As for Mr. Dream Boy, I can be there to comfort him if you’d like.” She winked.

  “Oh my gosh.”

  “Man, I wish I didn’t have to be here for doctors and therapy. Let me tell you, the second they say I’m okay to stop coming so much, I’m out of here. I may just join you up there.”

  “I would love that . . . seriously.”

  After paying the bill, we spent some time looking through the shops at the outdoor mall before I spotted my mom peeking through the window. Her eyes fell on me, and almost instantly her face reddened.

  “Fun’s over.” I pointed to the window just as she disappeared towards the door.

  Grace made a face and set down the sunglasses she’d been trying on.

  “Melanie, it’s time to come home.” Mom’s face was flushed, her lips pressed in a tigh
t line.

  I’d never seen her like this.

  “Bye, Grace.”

  My mom walked with me to the car without speaking. She climbed into the driver’s seat and just sat there, the keys clutched in her hand.

  I buckled in and waited.

  Still, she said nothing. I turned towards her, watching. Her chest rose and fell with each breath beneath her blush-colored blouse.

  When she finally spoke, it startled me.

  “Is there something you need to tell me?” Her voice was quiet.

  My heart picked up speed. Crap. What did she know?

  “Uh . . . no?”

  “Then can you tell me why you have boxes of your things packed up and stashed in your closet?”

  I winced, closing my eyes as if the verbal blow would actually reach out and hit me.

  “I’m moving to Colorado.”

  She started the car and pulled out of the space.

  She didn’t say a word the whole way home, and that didn’t change once we were there. Instead, she marched upstairs to her room and shut the door.

  No anger. No explosion. Not even a door slam.

  I didn’t know what to do with this. I went up to my room and closed the door.

  I had no doubt by now she’d called my dad. He seemed like the more levelheaded one, but now I wasn’t so sure, not after Mom’s less than zero reaction.

  Pulling my phone from my pocket, I texted Grace.

  The bomb has been dropped . . .

  My phone rang almost as soon as the text sent. A selfie of me and Grace from today flashed on the screen.

  “What, were you holding your phone?” I asked, instead of saying hello.

  “What did they do?”

  “Apparently, my mom found my boxes when I was out. I told her I was moving to Colorado. And that was it. She didn’t say anything and went straight to her room.”

  “Whoa, I expected her to flip her lid.”

  “I know. I’m not even sure what to do.”

  “Your dad doesn’t know yet?”

  “Well, I’d imagine she would have called him. But I’m not really sure. I don’t really have a lot of history to go on.”

  “Yeah, parents can be hard to figure out sometimes, when you know how they normally act . . . I don’t envy you being completely clueless.”

  “Thanks.” I rolled my eyes.

  * * *

  A few hours later, I heard a door close downstairs. I fought the urge to see who it was. Dad? Or Mom coming out of hiding?

  I’d just gotten up to go downstairs, unable to fight the curiosity another minute, when a light tapping sounded on my door.

  “Come in,” I said.

  I dropped back down on my bed, sitting on my hands.

  Dad pushed the door open, at first just a crack, then all the way before he came inside and shut it behind himself.

  I wished I knew what the look on his face meant. Was it worry? Was it sadness? Anger? Either way, it was clear he knew.

  “Mom told you.”

  “She did.”

  I nodded, for no real reason other than to acknowledge it.

  “Care to tell me what that’s all about?” He planted his behind on the edge of my dresser and crossed his arms.

  “I was supposed to go there for school in a few weeks anyway, wasn’t I?”

  He considered my question. “Yes, you were. However, your mom and I thought that since your accident . . . well, we thought it would be put off . . . until things were more . . .”

  “Normal?” I offered.

  “I was going to say secure, but yes, normal.”

  I stared down at my hands. “Secure.” I said the word with disgust, testing it on my tongue, but I couldn’t figure out how that applied to me. “I’m moving to Colorado. I think that’s the best thing for me right now.”

  “You need your family right now.”

  “No.”

  He looked down on me, and I could tell he was getting upset. “The doctor said that being in a familiar place with people you knew would be helpful in drawing out memories.”

  “I know what the doctor said. It’s not working.” Frustration filled me. Why couldn’t he see?

  “Honey, you have to give it time.”

  “No. I don’t. I don’t want to give it time. I feel smothered. I can’t even breathe here without someone taking notice.” I knew I struck a nerve by the way his eye twitched.

  “Your mother is just worried about you.” His voice was softer now.

  “I know that.”

  “Then why can’t you just wait until you’re better?” His eyes pleaded with me.

  “What if I never get better? What if I spend all this time waiting around for something to happen, and nothing comes back to me? What then? I can’t put my life on hold, just in case.”

  “Nobody is asking you to.”

  “Don’t you see, that’s exactly what you’re asking me to do.” I sighed. “I can’t get my memories back if I’m constantly being watched. I feel like if I do something that’s not what I would have done before the accident, I’m wrong. And I’m hurting everyone. I can’t keep feeling like just living is a disappointment.”

  “Nobody thinks that.”

  “Mom does. You should have seen the way she looked at me the other night because I ate lima beans. I couldn’t even touch the rest of them.” I let that sink in before I spoke again. “I can’t keep worrying about what move I should and shouldn’t make, just because it might be different from before. This is something I have to do.”

  It took a few minutes before he even moved. I wondered what he was thinking. And then he came over, sat down on the bed next to me, and put his arm around me.

  “I understand. I may not like it, but I understand. It can’t be easy to be in your shoes. I know that, your mother does, too. If this is what feels right for you, then okay.”

  “Thanks, Dad.” I reached up and squeezed his neck.

  “All the boxes . . . am I right to assume this is happening soon?”

  I gulped and nodded. “Thursday.”

  He stood. “Then we better get moving on finding you a decent place.”

  “No.”

  “What?”

  “I want to do this on my own.”

  “Surely, you don’t mean that. I’ll check with Bruce, a colleague of mine. He handles real estate in Colorado, he’ll find you a proper place.”

  “No. I already have showings set up.”

  “Okay, I’ll go with you. I’ll have to arrange for payment anyway.” He shuffled to the door.

  “No. I have to do this by myself. All by myself. My money. My choice.”

  “Honey, let me do this for you at least.”

  “No.”

  Disappointment crossed his face, but then he nodded and left.

  Deep inside me, I knew this was right for me, but once again I disappointed someone. I couldn’t wait to get out of here.

  When Tuesday came, the atmosphere around the house remained cold and strained for much of the time. Dad continued being the icebreaker when he was home, though even he was more distant than he had been since the accident. I couldn’t wait to escape with Jeremy; however, even there I knew it wouldn’t be much better with what I had to say.

  Jeremy asked me to go out tonight before I’d had the chance to ask him, making me feel slightly less guilty for what I had to do. Slightly.

  The idea of adding one more person to the “Mad at Melanie Club” didn’t appeal. Though I didn’t really have much choice. Not really. I was leaving in less than forty-eight hours; this would be my only chance.

  I curled the last of my hair when I heard voices downstairs. The sudden urge to rush down before anyone could mention a word about moving drove me out of my room.

  “Jeremy,” I called from the top of the stairs, captivating not just his attention, but Mom’s too. “I’m ready.”

  He was dressed nice. Really nice. Suit nice. I looked back down over my outfit—a simple skirt an
d blouse.

  “Ah, am I underdressed?”

  “No, not at all. I had a late meeting with the hospital head. I didn’t have time to go home and change.”

  “Oh . . . okay . . .” I glanced down again, debating if I should change anyway.

  “You look beautiful,” Jeremy said.

  His words pulled my eyes to meet his, and I smiled, feeling reassured. His eyes twinkled as he looked up at me, and for a moment guilt pressed down on me like the weight of the world. It was hard to breathe as we walked to the car.

  Jeremy climbed behind the wheel and cranked up the radio, singing along. He turned to me, smiling, and it was hard not to get swept away in the moment.

  It didn’t take long for the guilt to seep back in. As many times as I thought of how I was going to tell him, I’d never once considered at what point in the night. At the beginning? Give him the chance to bail? Wait until the end when he’s dropping me off? At what point would be right?

  He pulled the car up in front of the restaurant and pulled the keys from the ignition. When I didn’t make the move to unbuckle, he stopped.

  “Ready?”

  Pressure to speak up like I’d never felt before made me hesitate. Why does this have to be so hard?

  “Melanie?”

  “I’m moving to Colorado, and we need to break up.” I blurted it out in one breath, like ripping off a Band-Aid. That was usually better, right? Quick, and it was over.

  The look on his face was something I doubted I would ever forget for the rest of my life. Like I’d just sucker punched him in the gut and stolen anything of value he’d ever had in his entire life.

  If he hated me after tonight, I’d understand. I’d understand that better than I understood where I fit in to life.

  “Say something,” I pleaded.

  “Why?”

  “I can’t be here anymore. I can’t keep trying to be what everyone thinks I should be. The perfect mold of Melanie before the accident—I don’t know who that is.”

  “No, I don’t mean why are you moving. We’ve planned the move, in the fall when school started. I wasn’t sure if you were still going, but . . . why . . . do we need to break up?” His voice broke, barely above a whisper.

  I turned towards him and grabbed his hand. “You’ve been so amazing since the accident.” I gulped. “And I’m sure, before. I need to be able to go find myself, without anyone’s expectations looming over me . . . including yours.”