The Road Home

by Erin Zak

  The truth is, and she feels it deep in her bones, she doesn’t fit. Not into the dreams, not the fame, not even the memories or the high school friends. She’s a tiny star in Gwendolyn’s universe, and being sucked into someone’s gravitational pull who has no idea of the hold she has on everyone around her will eventually end in a giant black hole. Escaping the vacuum is not something Lila could survive. She’s strong, but she’s not strong enough to survive one-sided heartbreak.

  “I wish I knew what you were thinking.”

  “You could ask.”

  Gwendolyn is close enough to smell. Her perfume is intoxicating, honeysuckle and jasmine, and Lila has to close her eyes to make sure she doesn’t fall over again. She breathes in, holds the breath for one beat, two, before she lets it out through her nose. She feels Gwendolyn’s fingertips on her hand, which is steadying her on the granite countertop. “So…what are you thinking, hmm?”

  The volume is low, but the words echo inside her head. “I worry we’re going to do something we’re going to regret.” Lila clenches her teeth, opens her eyes, and finds Gwendolyn’s in the dim kitchen. “You’ll regret it. And this is not a good time for either of us.”

  “Because she’s sick.”

  “She’s sick, yes.” But what if she dies… The thought has bile rising in her throat. She swallows because vomiting now is not okay. She needs to hold herself together. But fuck, what if? Lila has seen Carol go through a lot, but she has never seen her like this. She’s never had to help her up from the bench at practice. She’s never had to steady her as she stands. She’s never had to rub her back as she retches into a toilet in the locker room. Lila has tried to get Carol to pull back, rest, take it easy, but it’s not helping. She’s worn out, and she’s a mess. Gwendolyn is trying to help, but controlling Carol is not possible. Lila knows it, and she also sees Gwendolyn figuring it out.

  “Please don’t leave me alone. I can’t do this without my dad and without you.”

  Lila’s heart is squeezed by the wall of her chest. She’s been struggling for years with the absence of David, of the father she thought he was going to be, only to find out he’s not at all what he proclaims to be. And as the days pass, the desire to lay his indiscretions on the line is strong, but she can’t because it’s not her place. Knowing the “why” of his absence is a lot to grapple with. She had an inkling that he wouldn’t step forward because she’s been privy to more information than Gwendolyn could ever attempt to handle. Especially now, in the emotional and mental state she’s in. If Lila’s struggling, there’s no way Gwendolyn won’t be.

  Lila does the only thing she can think to do. She moves her hand onto Gwendolyn’s, squeezes her fingers gently, and pulls her until they are hugging. “I’m not going anywhere. You hear me?” She buries her face in the soft skin of Gwendolyn’s neck where the scent is even stronger. The smell mixed with the sensation of Gwendolyn’s hand at the small of her back is making it very difficult to think straight. Lila pulls away, looks into Gwendolyn’s eyes, and forces herself to smile. “We’ll get through this together.”

  Gwendolyn wipes the tears on her face. “This is such a mess.”

  Lila squeezes again. “Do you need help getting Carol to bed?” The look that washes over Gwendolyn’s face is enough to cause Lila to cry. It’s relief, it’s gratefulness, and right beneath the surface, there is something else. Something Lila isn’t sure she wants to see, let alone acknowledge. “Come on. I’ll help you.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The Fourth of July has always been one of Lila’s favorite holidays. She loves everything it stands for, but as much as she hates to admit it, she also loves fireworks. The display isn’t what freedom is all about, but it’s fun, and who doesn’t love sitting on the grass in the warm July air watching colorful explosions?

  The only bad part about the holiday this year is, after it’s over, Carol’s third and hopefully final, round of chemo starts. The best part is being one step closer to being done. The worst part is she’s starting to keep food down, and starting the third round means battling sickness all over again. Carol has color in her cheeks, a little more bounce in her step, but there is sadness in her eyes. Dr. Wynn has already explained that this round will be the toughest and will knock her down a few notches. Carol has refused to admit defeat, though. She has a wheelchair she’s supposed to use at practice, but according to her, she doesn’t need it and won’t until it’s absolutely necessary. The chemo has drained her of almost every ounce of energy, so Lila figures that “absolutely necessary” is right around the corner. Though whatever happens, she will continue coaching until the volleyball is pried from her cold dead hands.

  The idiom isn’t the best to use considering the circumstances, but she laughs whenever Carol says it. Not because it’s funny, but because Carol needs to joke. Part of what has kept her grounded and sane throughout everything has been her ability to find humor in even the hardest moments. Lila does appreciate the funny times, if for no other reason than knowing laughter equals breaths taken, and breaths taken equals more life lived.

  The pain seems to be under control, which Lila always questions. Is Gwendolyn not the only actress in the family? Either way, Carol’s stubborn streak is alive and well. The mule routine isn’t a horrible act when she considers the alternative, which is to lie down and let the cancer win. And letting the cancer win is not an option.

  Gwendolyn turned a corner in the past week. She seems more okay and settled with the role she is playing in the life of her parents. She started sporting a Fuck Cancer baseball cap when she runs in the mornings, not that Lila has timed her own runs so she sees her. She also started coming to practice every day. She’s been a welcome addition. She knows how to break down the other team’s offense like none other. The hours and hours of games they’ve watched together has been not only eye-opening but also insanely frustrating. Intellectually as well as sexually. Lila cannot begin to count the times she’s had to relieve herself at the end of the night. Or in the middle of the day between practices. She’s not proud of her inability to control herself. But seeing Gwendolyn in workout clothes, helping the girls with their approaches and blocking footwork, is very, very nice. She’s been caught watching on more than one occasion.

  Not by the girls.

  Oh, no. That would be way too easy.

  But by none other than Carol Carter. Lila was able to shake off the first catch, but the second and third? She hasn’t been as lucky. Carol sat next to her yesterday, placed an arm around her shoulder, and said softly, “Gwendolyn can help when I’m too weak to come back.”

  Lila knew what she was trying to do. She was trying to fish for information, catch Lila in a lie, or something equally worrisome. Lila smiled and agreed but knew exactly what Carol meant when she finished with, “You two seem to get along very well.”

  She couldn’t argue. Carol is right. She is getting along with Gwendolyn really, really well. The last real heart-to-heart they had happened after the impromptu ice cream night. They are keeping their distance physically, but Lila knows emotionally, she is as close as ever. She wants to gauge where Gwendolyn stands, but she has much more important things to worry about.

  Like winning volleyball games. Or doing her lesson plans. Or thinking about what happens when Carol gets too sick to come to practice. The thoughts are all too stupid to obsess over…but at the same time, they’re all so real, they’re impossible to not think about.

  Lila can hear laughter coming from the living room when she enters the Carter house. Carol is telling a story, one Lila knows all too well about the first time she tried out for the volleyball team. She pops her head into the room and clears her throat. “Excuse me. I think I should be present for the retelling of this.”

  “Oh, Lila, dear, I’m so happy to see you.” Carol holds her arms out. Lila moves easily through the room and bends down to hug her. The hug is tighter than normal and longer as well. “It’s good to see you, my love.”

  When Carol
releases her, Lila sees her eyes are wet. She smiles. “None of that.”

  “I know, I know. Allergies.” Carol waves her hand. Lila finds the open spot next to Gwendolyn on the love seat. She sits and pats Gwendolyn on the leg. She’s wearing short jean shorts, and her skin is so smooth, and yes, it causes Lila’s temperature to rise. There’s something about her long legs…the muscle definition of her thighs, her calves. She obviously works hard to stay in shape, and it shows.

  Everything about her is becoming very addictive. A drug Lila isn’t sure she wants to detox from. She consistently has to remind herself how wrong it would be to give in, to leap without looking. But damn, how right would it be to have those strong legs wrapped around her? She makes eye contact, and there’s a smile on Gwendolyn’s face she’s never seen before.

  “You okay?” Lila whispers because Carol is continuing the story, and interrupting her would be rude. Gwendolyn nods, then turns her attention back to her mom. Lila notices her hand moving slowly closer. She slips it under Lila’s thigh and keeps it there, not moving. The gesture is simple, but it warms her heart.

  “She comes walking into the gym, a huge attitude preceding her. She’s wearing black combat boots. What are those boots called again?”

  “Dr. Martens.” Lila smiles and shakes her head.

  “Yes, Dr. Martens. Her pants are rolled up, she has on a black T-shirt and the darkest makeup smeared around her eyes. She’s…what’s that word? Grunge?”

  “Sounds accurate,” David says as he crosses his arms and leans back in his leather reading chair. He’s still dressed in his dress pants and button-down, as well as his wing tips, indicating he arrived home recently.

  “Grunge? I mean, I don’t know. I think that sounds a little harsh.”

  “Did you listen to emo music?”

  Lila turns her attention to Gwendolyn, who tilts her head and cocks an eyebrow. She purses her lips before she finally answers. “As a matter of fact, I did.”

  “Totally grunge.”

  “Whatever.” Lila laughs, as does Carol.

  “Either way. She asked if she could still try out, and unfortunately, tryouts had ended, and it was impossible. She was not happy.”

  “I was fine.”

  “You were far from fine. You turned and started to storm out, but for some reason, you stopped, turned, and do you remember what you said?”

  Lila nods. “I do.”

  “And what was it?”

  “Carol.” Lila sighs. “Come on. No one wants to hear this story.”

  “I do.” Gwendolyn turns so she’s facing Lila, her leg bent and pulled under her.

  Lila does a doubletake, then forces herself to look away. “I asked her to please let me have a chance because I wasn’t sure I’d survive if I didn’t have volleyball in my life.”

  “And?” Carol asks as she leans forward, elbows propped on her knees, a red, white, and blue scarf tied around her head.

  Lila’s eyes are close to overflowing. She doesn’t blink for fear of showing her vulnerability. She sniffles and wipes her nose. The movement causes tears to slide down her cheeks, so she frantically wipes those, too. “I promised you I wouldn’t let you down.”

  “And you never have.” Carol’s smile is striking in the midmorning light. Lila wants to thank her, but one word, and she will start to sob. Carol is never sentimental. Why is she doing this? Lila glances at Gwendolyn, and the look on her face is clear that she feels as though, between the two of them, she’s the giant fucking disappointment. Carol clears her throat. “And neither have you, Gwennie.”

  Gwendolyn turns. The relief which floods Lila’s body can’t possibly hold a candle to the amount of relief and happiness Gwendolyn must be feeling. “Thanks, Mom.”

  “Okay, girls, let’s go to the parade. I’m feeling up to it, and I want to enjoy some of this weather before next week kicks my ass.”

  David stands and helps her. “She promised to use the wheelchair. So, girls, make sure she obeys.”

  Gwendolyn stops mid-stride. Lila wants to crawl under the couch when she realizes what he said. “Dad?”

  “Yes, dear, I promise.” Carol accepts a kiss on the lips, then wraps her arms around him for a hug. They stand together for a few seconds before he releases her.

  “I have some work to do at the office. Midterms to grade. I’ll go do that and try to meet you all at fireworks later.” He takes a few steps toward the hallway, and Gwendolyn steps in front of him. “Gwen, honey, your mother said it was fine.”

  “It is a holiday, Dad. You can’t take one day off?”

  He puts his hands on her shoulders. The entire scene is making Lila want to jump from the roof. She hates confrontation with a passion, and witnessing it between other people is just as awful. She bites the inside of her cheek.

  “Lila, help me,” Carol says, expertly interrupting the conflict. Lila jumps up and erases the distance between them. She tucks her arm under Carol’s so she can act as a crutch as they walk out of the living room through the opposite entry. “The wheelchair is right there. Open that bad boy up. We’ll go onto the porch and wait for Gwen. They need this.”

  * * *

  “You have got to be kidding me?” Gwendolyn glares at her father. “You know it would be so much easier if you were with us.” He says nothing, only stands there stoically, as if he barely heard a word. She continues, though, because fuck him. “I feel like the second I got here, you checked out. You’re rarely here, and when you are, your head is somewhere else. Believe me, I know this is all really hard. Seeing her sick is hard. I remember you being so much more involved before. Why? Why can’t you be here? Be present?”

  “Gwen, honey—”

  “Don’t Gwen, honey me.”

  “You have no idea what has gone on while you’ve been gallivanting in LA.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Well?” He puts his hands on his hips, right at the belt line, and takes a very deep breath. “You’re obviously not working. You can’t get a starring role in anything.”

  “Did you really say that? Out loud?” Gwendolyn lets out a puff of air. In her younger, sassier days, she’d be cocked and loaded with a comeback, but she isn’t. Because he’s right. And the stark reality hits her like a load of bricks. She has been in California for how many years now? Almost twenty, holy shit… And still nothing. She always feared this would be the case, but until her biggest supporter stood there and said it, she was sure she could dodge the bullet of being called out for mediocrity.

  “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “No.” She waves off his poor attempt at an apology. “I don’t want to hear it.” He takes another deep breath, and she has to look away. “I’m sorry I’m such a failure.” She slips her sandals on and grabs her purse. “But you need to get your priorities straight. And this family? Your wife? Me? We should be a fucking priority. And you know it.” She storms out of the hallway and through the front door, the screen door slamming behind her. Lila is standing at the end of the sidewalk, her knee-length black skirt blowing in the breeze. Her hair is in a French braid, and until now, Gwendolyn had no clue how thick her hair was. The auburn tint is catching the sun’s rays, which is doing nothing but making Gwendolyn wonder what the fuck has gotten into her.

  Lila’s hands are on the handles of the wheelchair. She’s saying something that is making her mother laugh, and when Gwendolyn reaches them, she rubs her hands together and does her best to put on a happy face and keep the moment light. “Okay, let’s get out of here.”

  “Gwen, honey—”

  “Mom, not you, too.” The heavy sigh that escapes is not uncommon, but it must be enough for her mother to take the hint because she stops, takes a breath, and lowers her hand.

  Lila is pushing the wheelchair, her eyes forward, her shoulders pulled back. She is clearly uncomfortable, but Gwendolyn isn’t sure how to even approach what happened. She’s not sure herself. Her dad isn’t present during anything, and she’s the failure? Is
that what really transpired in there? How the hell did a fight about him and his inability to be a contributing member to their struggle get turned around to her? Fucking English professor thinking; he understands how to debate. He should have been a politician. He’s as sneaky as one.

  “Your father loves you.” Her mother’s voice is soft but gravely, as if the cold she’s been fighting has finally started to win. Gwendolyn has found herself getting little to no sleep, so she can stay up and make sure her mother stays as upright as possible. The importance of not lying down is so she doesn’t contract pneumonia. A cold can morph into pneumonia in a cancer patient very quickly, and if that happens, it’ll be even harder to fight. The four hours a night she’s getting is starting to wear on them both. That’s for sure.

  “Yeah, well…”

  “No. Lila, turn me around.” Lila does as instructed in one fluid motion. “Look at me,” her mother says, and when Gwendolyn finally makes eye contact, the sight of her is almost too much to handle. She’s so pale, thinning out, and the steroids have caused her cheeks to become puffy. Her eyes are still bright, which helps, but dammit, not enough. “He will be all you have left. I know it. He knows it. And it’s time you wrap your head around it as well.”

  The words slam into her so hard they take her breath away. She reaches for her heart, presses on her chest, tries to stop what seems to be an ever present ache. “Mom…” She hears her own voice crack. She stares at the fine lines around her eyes, at the sag of her skin, and the tiny appearance of laugh lines around her mouth.

  “No.” Her mother waves. “You don’t get to tell me I’m going to survive this. You don’t get to be the optimistic one.”