The Latchkey Girls

by Leigh Irwin

  THE LATCHKEY GIRLS

  By Leigh Irwin

  Copyright © 2020 Leigh Irwin

  All rights reserved.

  Dedication

  To my husband, David Waterhouse, whose close reading helped me get the little stuff right. He also double-checked the storyline’s logical progression, making sure everything flowed as intended. To Cindy Kolodny and Barbara Saks, who gave me the gift of their unflagging encouragement. Their insights and careful attention to detail added so much.

  If it weren’t for my mother, I wouldn’t be here.

  If it weren’t for my father, my mother would still be here.

  Chapter 1

  I stood next to my best friend in the world, Emma. We were graduating from Palos Verdes High School, and it should have been one of the happiest days of my life. But life is rarely predictable. I scanned the huge crowd, made up of my fellow graduates and their guests. Their expectant and happy faces sent a shiver through me, as I remembered all that had gone before and anticipated all that was still ahead of me.

  Chapter 2

  Rancho Palos Verdes, California

  Late June, 2016, three years earlier

  “Sam, come here right now!” Mom called from the foyer downstairs.

  “What?” I shouted back from my bedroom, annoyed but a little worried, too.

  From my bed, covered with fashion magazines, my eyes swept the room. What had I forgotten now? Was I supposed to clean something, wash something, do something? As far as I could remember, I’d done it all. Reluctantly, I jumped off the bed and descended the stairs to the kitchen.

  “What are you doing today?” Mom asked.

  “Nothing. Why?”

  “We should make a trip to the mall before your dad comes home from work tonight. He’s flying in from Shanghai, and I know he’ll be exhausted and want an early dinner. I sure wish he’d stop taking on all these extra trips. Even if the airline is short-handed, they should spread the work around to the other pilots. Dad has more than his share. And these trips to Shanghai are so much longer than his other trips. I can’t believe he’s been gone a week!”

  She was wearing rubber gloves, and as she talked, she scrubbed the immaculate counters like they were covered in a layer of dirt three feet thick. Come to think of it, she’d been on this cleaning binge for a long time now.

  She paused in her work and stared out the breakfast room sliding door into the backyard and the ocean beyond. I waited. I noticed that faraway look on her face again. Stripping off the rubber gloves, she turned and faced me.

  “You need some new school clothes, so I thought we could make a mother/daughter day of it,” she said uncertainly.

  My mouth dropped open, and I stared at her. Usually I had to beg to go shopping.

  “Great! But school doesn’t start for another month. Why today?”

  “I need to be home again early to make dinner,” she said evasively. “Have you done all your chores?”

  “As far as I know, except for making the bed. I’ll do it before we go.” She wouldn’t look me in the eye, and I was sure there was something she wasn’t telling me. I was afraid to ask what it was.

  “Okay. Let’s plan on leaving in about half an hour,” she said.

  I hurried to get dressed, not wanting to blow my big chance. Mom and I fought more often than not these days, and I hoped that for once, this day could be like it used to be, when we were practically inseparable. She and I liked all the same colors and styles, and we used to love shopping together, but this past year, we couldn’t agree on anything, especially clothes. I knew I was growing up, but it was much more than that. Mom always seemed preoccupied. She even started to take on extra shifts at the hospital, where she was a nurse. It was like she was trying to avoid home as much as possible, especially when Dad was there, in between his trips. I worried about them.

  As I stacked my latest collection of fashion magazines and made my bed, I thought about some of the styles I’d just seen. Many of them were outlandish, but I knew the girls at school would be wearing them regardless.

  I made sure everything in my room and my bathroom were neat and tidy. I didn’t want to risk another lecture from Mom. For the last few months, she’d been freaking out at the smallest thing out of place.

  Back downstairs, I looked around, but Mom hadn’t come down yet. I sat on a barstool in the kitchen and let my mind wander. The differences between Mom and me got bigger every day, although it was hard to put my finger on exactly how things had changed. One thing hadn’t, though, and I supposed it never would.

  People always remarked that I looked like a shorter version of Mom. It always irked me that we looked so much alike. We had the same wavy brown hair and brown eyes. Both of us were short, and I didn’t think I’d grow much more, now that I was fifteen. I was slightly over 5’2” tall, and Mom had topped out just a couple of inches taller. We both had ravenous appetites, but we never seemed to get fat, a fact that I appreciated more and more the older I got.

  Last year, as a freshman in high school, I’d learned that appearance was half the battle. Being thin was prized, along with classic good looks, whatever those were. At least I was thin, and I supposed I looked pretty enough. But it was hard to force myself to be like the other girls, who didn’t have my tomboy tendencies and love of comfortable old clothes. If I wanted to be accepted, I had to try, and this was my big chance to add some “style” to my wardrobe.

  The other key to popularity in high school was having lots of money. We didn’t. We weren’t poor, but we weren’t rich either, and my parents spent tons of time worrying about the things other people had that we couldn’t afford. That was one reason I was surprised Mom wanted to go shopping. She and Dad constantly argued about money. I’d overheard her promise to spend less right before Dad left for Shanghai, just this past week.

  Mom and I were a stark contrast to Dad, who stood over six feet tall, with lanky arms and legs and sandy-colored hair. He had piercing blue eyes that bored into you when he was displeased or angry. That happened a lot, much more than in the past. Dad never seemed to be in a good mood. He was drinking more, and he, too, spent more time away. Golf had become a mania.

  The changes in our family had occurred slowly over time, but my thirteenth birthday seemed to be the start. I was having a slumber party, and all the girls in my class were there, plus my best friend, Emma, who lived next door.

  We were eating pizza and watching TV in the den when Dad got home from his latest trip, angry and tired. He took one look at us, never said a word, and left the room, frowning. I heard him stomp up the stairs and slam the bedroom door. The next thing I heard was angry voices.

  I was mortified! I turned the TV up as loud as I dared, hoping to drown out my parents’ fighting. Not ten minutes later, Dad left the house again, slamming the front door behind him.

  The party was ruined as far as I was concerned. We still did all the normal slumber party things, like staying up half the night, eating junk food and gossiping, but my heart wasn’t in it.

  Sometime around midnight, Dad returned, but he avoided us. Mom came downstairs not long afterward to make sure we had everything we needed. It was clear from her red and puffy eyes that she’d been crying. I resisted the urge to comfort her, and everyone tried to pretend things were normal.

  My thoughts were interrupted as Mom walked into the kitchen, her shoulder bag under one arm.

  “Let’s go,” she said, applying lipstick as she headed down the hall toward the garage.

  We drove to the mall and shopped for several hours, taking a break for lunch at the food court. Mom bought me everything I asked for, a real first, but it didn’t make me as happy as I thought it would. The whole time we were there, Mom seemed preoccupied
, like something was really worrying her. Should I say anything?

  “Mom, thanks for taking me shopping today. I’ve got more than enough clothes to last me the entire school year!” I said on the drive home, my mouth suddenly dry. “Umm, Mom, is something bothering you?” She looked at me in alarm but recovered and pasted a fake-looking smile on her face.

  “Nothing’s wrong. Why would you think that?” she asked, staring at the road ahead of us.

  “It’s just that you’ve seemed kind of stressed out lately. Sometimes you look sad, too, and it worries me.”

  “Sam, there’s absolutely nothing for you to worry about. I’ve just had stuff on my mind, but everything will be fine. I promise,” she said, seeking my eyes. She still wore that same fake smile.

  I watched her drum her fingers on the steering wheel. It was clear I’d get nothing more, so I turned on the radio, and we drove the rest of the way home silently.

  Chapter 3

  I raced to my room and slammed the door, then texted Emma.

  “Come see my new stuff!” I spread my stash all over the bed: new jeans, colorful shirts, cozy sweaters, and even a new pair of Vans shoes. Not a bad day’s haul. I still couldn’t believe the shopping trip had been Mom’s idea. I hoped she didn’t have second thoughts once she realized how much it had all cost.

  The only thing I’d actually needed was a new backpack. The old one was tattered, and just before the end of school the prior year, the zipper had broken. I pulled everything out of my old backpack and tossed it into the back of my closet just as I heard the doorbell.

  “Hi Emma, come on in,” Mom said. Emma burst through my doorway, a big grin on her face.

  “Wow!” she exclaimed as she admired all my purchases.

  Emma and I had lived next door to each other since we were both seven. Although I felt like Emma was the sister I’d never had, we wouldn’t have fooled anyone, since we looked nothing alike. Emma favored her dad, with her long, light brown hair and dark blue, almost purple, eyes. She was tall and slender, with a dancer’s body. Despite appearances, she was a tomboy just like me, and we became best friends in no time.

  We’d played soccer on the same teams from the beginning, and we both made Varsity as freshmen. Emma looked delicate, but she was fast on her feet, and she never seemed to get tired running back and forth in her usual position, mid-fielder. I would have gone crazy, chasing the ball from one end of the field to the other. I liked defense, especially sweeper. I was the last obstacle before the goal. My job required speed and an ability to see where the play was going. I loved chasing down the other team’s forward and stealing the ball before she had a chance to score.

  Not only was Emma my best friend, but her parents and mine were also close. We usually celebrated holidays together, trading back and forth between our two houses. Emma’s mom, Pam, was an attorney, and her dad, Keith, was an aerospace engineer. Both of them put in long hours like my parents, which gave us more freedom than most of our friends could even dream of. We nicknamed ourselves “The Latchkey Girls”.

  By fifth grade, we were used to coming home to empty houses. It wasn’t as lonely during the school year, but the days got long and tedious in summertime, since we were mostly stuck at home.

  When we were little, our parents sent us to day camp together, but by seventh grade we rebelled, hating the tedious, structured days. After that, our main summer activities became visiting friends, swimming in Emma’s pool or going to the beach, and of course, club soccer practice.

  Club soccer had been replaced by high school soccer when we started high school. Emma and I were forced to choose between the two, because the club and high school programs ran concurrently. When we made the Varsity, we reluctantly quit the club team. That left us with even more summertime hours to fill, at least until August, when practice started.

  Unlike our other friends, who always seemed to be on fancy vacations in exotic places, we were bored silly and ready for school again by the end of summer. All four of our parents were workaholics, and they never found time for vacations.

  “So what have you been doing?” I asked, gathering up and dumping my new clothes onto the floor and hopping onto my bed.

  “Not much. It’s a good thing school’s starting soon. I thought maybe this year would be different, that I’d like all this free time. But no. I’m ready to go back right now!” She laughed, crawled to the head of the bed and flopped down on her stomach. “And guess what! Mom and Dad just announced that I’m now the family’s dinner chef. They’re fed up with me spending so much time doing nothing or online while they work their tails off. So they decided I should help out. Besides, we’re all sick of takeout food. I’m making my first dinner tomorrow night. Wanna help? You could stay and eat with us, too,” she said, looking at me hopefully.

  “Why not? Maybe I’ll learn enough about cooking to surprise my parents with dinner some night. Mom would pass out from shock!” My hands suddenly felt sweaty. “Umm, I wanted to ask your opinion on something.”

  Emma looked at me, eyebrows raised. I couldn’t think how to put it. I sat cross-legged on the bed and pondered until Emma poked me with a finger.

  “What’s going on?” she asked as she scooted over next to me.

  “I’m really not sure. I’ve been getting weird vibes from Mom all summer, but it’s hard to come up with an example. Mom and Dad are fighting a lot more lately, even though Dad’s mostly gone. Mom’s been working overtime at the hospital, too, taking extra shifts. Maybe they’re just tired out from working so hard, but I think something else is going on.” I jumped up and paced back and forth, staring at my bare feet, noticing how they sank into the carpet with each step. “Has your mom said anything?”

  “No. But my mom’s been gone a lot more than she’s been home this summer. Sometimes, she gets back really late, and other times she’s up working in the study half the night.” I felt Emma’s stare as I paced. “What are your parents fighting about?”

  I stopped and thought hard, but the only thing I could come up with was money. It had always been a sensitive subject in our house. Mom was a nurse, and she had a decent salary, and Dad must have been making a fair amount as a pilot, but we weren’t nearly as well off as Emma’s family. Both her parents made tons of money, although they never made a big deal about it.

  “I don’t know for sure, but if I had to guess… money. I hear them bickering back and forth about bills, and Mom’s not nearly as eager to go shopping as she used to be. She really surprised me today, first because she suggested shopping, and then because she bought me whatever I wanted. But it all felt weird, almost like we were sneaking around behind Dad’s back, like she didn’t want him to know. Not only that, but she seems so nervous all the time,” I said.

  We heard pots and pans banging as Mom worked on dinner. I’d already set the table in the dining room. We usually ate at the kitchen table, but for some reason, Mom seemed to want to impress Dad.

  “I haven’t heard anything, but I can ask my mom if you want,” Emma offered.

  “No, don’t do that yet. I don’t want it to get back to Mom. But if you do hear anything, let me know. Okay?”

  Chapter 4

  Dad’s eyes were puffy, and he dragged his wheeled crew bag behind him like it weighed a ton. Mom rushed to greet him.

  “Welcome home, darling. We’ve missed you so much. How was the trip?”

  Dad just stood there, wearing a vacant stare. Mom backed away slightly and continued, “Why don’t you go up and hop into shower? Dinner will be ready soon.” She was talking so fast her words practically ran into each other. I gaped.

  “Whew!” Dad finally remarked and gave Mom a peck on the lips. “I’m exhausted,” he said, hugging me as he went past.

  He disappeared up the stairs, and I went into the den and turned on the TV. From the couch, I watched Mom in the kitchen. She looked like a scared rabbit, rushing around, putting the final touches on everything.

  That night Mom pulled out all
the stops and made every one of Dad’s favorites: rib roast, scalloped potatoes and creamed spinach. Dad never said one word about the elaborate feast she’d turned out. He asked us perfunctory questions, and we gave routine answers. I noticed Mom had a disappointed, wilted look long before we’d finished eating. Afterward, I cleared the table and cleaned up the kitchen, while Mom and Dad sat in the den and watched the news on TV.

  By the time I came downstairs the next morning, Mom had been gone for hours. I stood in front of the open pantry door and yawned. The last time I’d looked at my phone, it was 2 a.m., and now it was practically lunchtime. Dad was just leaving.

  “I’m off to play golf, and I’ll be back around 4:00 or so. Be good!” he said, giving me a quick hug and a smile.

  I heaved a sigh of relief, glad he seemed back to normal, and made myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I ate at the kitchen counter, washing it down with a glass of milk while I read the newspaper.

  One of my resolutions for the summer was to read the entire paper every day. I’d done fairly well so far, although I had to confess, I spent much more time on the sports and entertainment sections than I did on the world and local news. At least it was a start. My phone buzzed. It was Emma.

  “Where r u? Help!!!”

  I texted “OK” back before I ran upstairs, got dressed and brushed my teeth, quickly passing a hairbrush through my hair. It was warm and sunny outside, and I lingered on the patio outside the front door for a couple of minutes, my face turned upward. The sun felt like a warm kiss. I hated to go inside again. Maybe I could get Emma to take a break for a swim later this afternoon, assuming our cooking project went okay.

  “Emma!” I called out, ringing the doorbell. She answered, still in her pajamas, a pair of baggy short shorts and a tank top. She wore an apron over them, which made it look like she was either wearing half a skirt or was naked under the apron. I laughed at the sight.