by Kris Ripper
“Lisa—”
It was weird to be this close to one of the Derries.
“What should we do?”
Jake blinked. “We’re gonna run. You guys have, like, no sense of drama. You and me and Miles are gonna sneak out through the master bedroom and drive somewhere. Anywhere. The grocery store, the library, I don’t care. Wherever you want.”
Sneak out? “We’re going to hide?”
“See, now you’re catching on. But faster. Get dressed and meet me in the bedroom. And try not to make noise; Singer’s pretending we’re already gone.”
Gone. Out. The grocery store. The library.
Lisa’s stomach knotted. “I’m not sure—”
“Or we go in and have coffee with your mom.”
The knot twisted. “I’ll be ready in five minutes.”
Jake grinned. The baby—Miles?—waved a hand at her. “Aw, look, Aunt Lisa’s gonna be a refugee with us, Miles. We’ll meet you by the back door in five.”
“Okay.”
Jake snuck very quietly back out again, and she pulled on jeans and her hoodie before stuffing everything she owned into her backpack and hefting it to her shoulders.
For years she’d considered sneaking out of her childhood home an art form, but she’d definitely never done it by going through Mother and Dad’s room. She closed the door, wincing at the little snap it made, and turned to find Jake trying to do everything one-handed while still bouncing the baby.
“Can I help?”
“It’s just that you have to take, like, everything, in case you might need it. Here, can you grab him for a sec? Miles, this is Lisa. You’re pretty chill about new people, so let’s hope today—” As he started the transfer, Miles kind of squawked. “Dude, work with me here. No?”
“It’s okay. Tell me what else you need.”
“I don’t know. Maybe shove everything else into the diaper bag and we’ll call it good.”
She packed the bag fast, then swung it— Or, okay, maybe it weighed twenty pounds. “God, Jake.”
“I know. I only have an unopened can of formula back here. And there’s two water bottles at the bottom. Sorry.”
Sounds, out in the hallway. Both of them froze and looked over.
“Mother, she’s a grown woman.” Singer’s voice was unnaturally loud, clearly warning them. “You can’t go into her room—”
“I own this house, Singer. It’s technically my room.”
“Mother—”
Jake nodded his head toward the open slider, and Lisa tried not to feel the straps of both bags like snakes sliding over her skin. She followed Jake and the kid outside, temporarily blinded by how bright it was.
She hadn’t been outside since she got here.
Don’t think, keep moving.
“Okay, that was invasive. Has she always gone into your room like that?” Jake asked. “If they’re in your room, we can go all the way around the back. But there’s still a chance they’ll see us through the windows. Are the blinds closed?”
“Yeah.”
“Thank god.” He picked up the pace, and Miles watched Lisa over his shoulder. “We used to play spies all the time when we were kids. I’m having some kind of memory-related adrenaline rush right now. That’s crazy, right?”
“I just feel sick.”
“Yeah, I felt nauseous before, but now my brain’s tricking my body into thinking this is a game. I mean, Lisa, we’re in our thirties and we’re sneaking out of your house to hide from your mom. And we have a baby with us.” He glanced back and caught her eye as they slipped through the gate in the side yard. “I mean … come on.”
Despite the snakes, despite Mother’s voice echoing in her ears, Jake had a point. “This is ludicrous.”
“Exactly. Now, um, let’s try to get to the car really fast so they don’t catch us. Miles, man, you gotta be on the team. No flailing around today. Let’s go get donuts. Do you like donuts?”
When Jake pretended to tiptoe down the driveway, Miles started to … talk. Chatter. Not words Lisa understood, but like he was playing along.
“I know, right?” Jake said to him. “One of these days I’m gonna know what you’re talking about. Here. In you go.”
They strapped themselves (and Miles) in as quickly as possible and started driving. In the excitement of escaping, Lisa forgot to be afraid.
*
Donuts and coffee. She could already feel her body responding to the wild toxic rush of sugar and caffeine.
Singer’s apparent stupidity was a good focus for the wave of restless energy. “So he just didn’t tell her that you guys kind of have a kid?”
“See, that’s the thing.”
They were sitting in the car. Miles was passed out in his seat, so Jake had run in for breakfast while Lisa sat with Miles and hoped he stayed asleep.
If she only concentrated on watching Jake’s face while he talked, she could forget that the entire world was on the other side of a little bit of glass and metal.
“Miles isn’t ours permanently yet. I think Singer’s—afraid to commit, if that makes sense. And I get it. Like, the idea that Miles could be taken away from us is terrifying. But when I look at him…” Jake wiped sugar off his top lip and took a sip of coffee. “It’s weird. I’m usually the one holding back. Anyway, yeah, Singer didn’t tell your parents we had a baby living with us. He’s probably doing that right now.” He glanced at his phone again.
She wanted Jake to keep talking. Partly as a distraction, but also partly because she was beginning to think she liked him. It was the strangest sensation. He was kind of goofy, and not nearly hot enough (he looked down-to-earth, like a regular guy, boring short brown hair, unremarkable brown eyes, average height, a little skinny). In high school she wouldn’t have looked twice at him.
“Sorry. I’m sure you don’t care about any of this.”
“I do,” she said without thinking.
Jake raised his eyebrows. “So.”
“What?”
“Well, this is the first time you’ve left the house. What do you want to do? There’s gotta be stuff you need, Lisa. Should we, I don’t know, go to a store?”
She shook her head. “I’m not even sure I could get out of the car. I— When I think about trying to walk into a store, I can’t— My heart pounds like I’m—” dying. Don’t say that.
“Huh. Panic attacks, huh? That sucks. Okay, no store then.”
Lisa frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Isn’t that what you’re saying? Heart pounds, can’t breathe, the whole universe pressing down on you until you feel like it’s crushing you? Panic attacks.” He offered a slight smile. “Anxiety is sort of a family hobby. I don’t get panic attacks, but my brother does. And fully half the cousins. Don’t worry about it. But we do need a system. Where’s your phone?”
“In my backpack.” When people said panic attack she always thought they meant, you know, they freaked out. Not they freaked out and literally thought they were dying. There was a word for this? This happened to other people often enough for Jake to talk about it so casually?
“Okay, so, save my number, and if you need anything, text me. Right? Seriously, I’m good for anything.” He paused. “No, I think I’m good for anything. Like if you want tampons I’m gonna be pretty uncomfortable with that, but I could do it without having a panic attack, I think. So yeah. Let me know.”
Lisa tried to burn off her twitchy fear that this was a trap, that anyone this nice had to be laying groundwork for something. She took another sip of coffee.
“Phone, Lisa Thurman.” Jake held out his hand. “Everyone in my family called Singer ‘Singer Thurman’ for like two years when we were first dating. Probably to be jerks, because I was still in the closet at first. I think they were making the point that they didn’t buy we were just friends.”
His fingers wiggled but weren’t snakes yet.
“You tried to pretend you were just friends?” The phone was stored in the bottom of the zipped compartment in the smaller pocket of her pack. It was off. She handed it to Jake, who powered it on.
“Not really. I mean, we’re having a kid together now and if you saw us in public you’d still probably think we were two guys who hang out and watch football. But I never got the whole public displays thing. Why would I want people looking at me and thinking about sex?”
“I don’t think it’s actually about sex. I think it’s—” What? No public displays at the farm, not between anyone. She’d missed that. “I think it’s belonging. You hold someone’s hand and it’s a way of showing you belong to each other, you know? You’re not afraid of it.”
“Huh. I was always afraid of it. Anyway.” The phone vibrated to life in his hand. “Oh my god, what is wrong with you guys? Lisa, you have like ten messages and a bunch of texts from your mom. You know, if you or Singer actually talked to her, we might not be invaded right now.”
Lisa stared at his fingers, nimbly swiping away notifications. Not snakes, dammit.
“Um. The most recent one’s from Singer.” Jake glanced up. “Apparently your mom says she’s planning to stay for a while. To help you?”
Lisa sank into the passenger seat and allowed numbness to overtake her body, from her toes and fingertips to her heart. “Oh shit.”
“Oh shit,” Jake repeated. “Yeah. Um. This seriously has the potential to get awkward.”
“You already have me living with you.”
He waved a hand. “You’re not awkward, you’re fine. Your mom, though. I don’t think she likes me. We only met once, but she sort of acted like I was the help.”
“That’s just how she acts.” Numb, numb, numb. She took a small bite of donut and the sugar woke up her taste buds. Did she want to be numb or awake? She couldn’t decide. “I’m so sorry, Jake.”
“For what? This is proof your instincts were right about hiding from her in the first place. I mean, not that I can talk about overbearing parents. You may have heard mine loudly telling us what to do pretty much all the time.” But he smiled when he said it. He smiled when he thought about his parents. “Okay. Well fuck it. Singer can deal with her right now. We’re gonna have a nice breakfast of food my mom would definitely lecture us for eating, and if Miles gets wiggly we’ll start driving again.”
“So we’re just putting off the inevitable?”
“We are. Here. I saved my number under my name, which should be pretty easy to find since you only have your parents and Singer in there, and sent myself a text message so I’d have yours, too.”
“Okay.” Was that enough? “I don’t really like to use it.”
“Huh. See, I figured you for a phone person.”
“I was. I guess.” A phone person. The popular girl. Skins she’d shed to become whatever she now was.
“Well, if you need anything, text me.”
Miles yawned, throwing his arms and legs out to the widest reach of his safety seat.
“Time to ride.” Jake shook off crumbs and reached for his keys. “I can’t believe your mom’s here. She took a plane, Lisa. She took a plane and showed up in a cab. Singer says she plans to use the Volvo while she’s here.”
“Does the Volvo even run? It’s been sitting in the garage for … years.” Time was still hard. Five years? But no, she’d been at the farm for three. No one had taken the Volvo out since Singer bought himself a car after high school. Ten years? If she was thirty-four, that made Singer thirty-two, which meant the Volvo had been sitting around for fourteen years, apparently waiting for Mother to spontaneously show up and decide to use it.
“God, I hope so. I hope it purrs like a kitten and she wants to drive it a lot, to faraway places. And thank god for the guesthouse. If your mom was gonna be inside all the time, I’m pretty sure we’d have to move.”
“Don’t leave me with her.”
He grinned. “Yeah, that’d be fucked up. Okay, where to? Let’s go see how many entrances to Mount Diablo we can hit before he really wakes up.”
“Okay.”
Lisa cradled her coffee in her hands and sat back. Driving through hills and fields sounded perfect. No people, no cars. Just trees.
And coffee.
And, okay, one more donut.
10
Singer
13 days with Miles
Singer stood in his kitchen, coffee cup in hand, ghost of Jake’s kiss still on his lips: a pillar of strength. “I didn’t know we were expecting you this morning, Mother.” He sounded firm. He sounded unmoved by Mother’s rather horrifying appearance at eleven o’clock on a Sunday morning.
It all went downhill from there.
He gave them an hour before texting—begging—Jake to come home. He added, Joking. He doubted that Jake missed the real message, which was: So not joking.
Jake replied, Donuts and coffee. Requests?
He thumped his head against the wall of the bathroom, where he was—okay, be honest—hiding from his mother. Had it really only been an hour? It felt like he’d been having the same awkward conversation with her for weeks.
There was nothing for it. He declined donuts and forced himself to go back to the kitchen. Where Mother was inspecting the refrigerator, providing a running commentary about the state of their produce, questioning its origins, and considering the quality of the stores from which it had come.
Oh, god. Mother. What was she doing here? And, alarmingly, why did she have luggage with her?
*
Half a pot of coffee later—which Singer drank himself, because the coffee wasn’t fair trade, and Mother declined—he worked out the real reason she was there.
“You aren’t taking care of things, Singer, and somebody has to.”
“And by ‘things,’ are you referring to my sister?” In his entire life, he’d never thought of Lisa as “my sister” as frequently as he had in the last few weeks of talking to Mother and Dad. It had never seemed like a word that described their relationship; sure, they were genetically related, but otherwise they’d always been satisfied as strangers. He could say the same thing about their parents.
He was a little surprised to find he felt … protective of Lisa.
“Singer.” Mother’s I’m-withholding-a-long-sigh voice. “You know that your sister is unwell.”
“I know she’s an adult, which makes her old enough to judge for herself when she needs help.” Which was only a small lie.
“Of course she needs help. Anyone can tell by looking at her that she’s not her old self. Have you seen the clothes she’s wearing? She wouldn’t even let me buy her anything but those jeans and T-shirts. I took her shopping more than once, and—”
“You thought shopping was an appropriate treatment for spending three years in a cult? Did one of your specialists suggest that?” Singer shut his mouth. He’d been spending way too much time with Derries. “I apologize,” he managed to say after a moment.
“I don’t know why you’re being so hostile. I’m only trying to help.”
“Will you be paying a third of the mortgage? Right now Jake and I split it and cover Lisa since she’s not working.”
Mother’s eyes narrowed. “Are you trying to be funny?”
“I’m trying to understand what you think is going to happen here.” He waved a hand, as if it would somehow conjure the right words. “You moved two and a half years ago, Mother. You asked me to leave the apartment I loved in the city so that you wouldn’t have to worry about renting the house out, so I moved here. As a tenant. Are you kicking me out?” And Jake, and Miles?
“Of course not. This is your home, too.”
But not Jake’s. Or Miles’s.
Singer forced his voice to remain steady. “I assume you’ll be st
aying in the guesthouse.”
Here at least she had the decency to look shocked. “I— I assumed— I suppose I could—”
“That would be best. There’s something I haven’t told you, and once I do, I think you’ll prefer to be in the guesthouse. Or to go home.”
“I hardly think there’s anything you can tell me that will make me second-guess my desire to help Lisa.”
“Jake and I are fostering a baby.”
Surprise shifted to shock, then a gratifying second of outrage before settling into stunned.
“A baby? Here?”
“Well, Mother, my landlord didn’t inform me she’d planned to move in on no notice. Of course here. This is where we live.”
“Why didn’t you tell us? Is it— Is that wise?”
“Wise?”
“You know what I mean, Singer. The two of you aren’t married.”
“The two of us were together before it was legal for us to get married. We haven’t caught up to this newfangled thing all the kids are doing.”
She sent him a look that communicated exactly how little she appreciated his attempt at humor.
His phone buzzed right as he heard a car pull up out front. Oh thank god.
“It sounds like they’re home.” He didn’t quite jump to his feet. “I’ll go check.”
Mother did not, as he’d feared, follow him.
“I’m dying in there.” He grabbed the diaper bag from Jake so Jake could unbuckle Miles. “I don’t know how long she plans to stay, but it’s already too long.”
Lisa, whom he hadn’t actually seen in daylight, froze. “What do you mean you don’t know how long?”
“I don’t think she has a return ticket.”
It was odd, the two of them sharing a moment of panic. As adults, in front of the house in which they’d grown up. Lisa tapped nervously on her phone and glanced at the windows, as if she were waiting for some sign.
Miles started talking—making noises, anyway, that weren’t cries—and Singer turned to Jake, expecting to see irritation, or annoyance, or at the very least some expression that would justify his guilt.
