by Sonja Yoerg
“Mom, do you have a recent phone number for Paris? She sent me a number for a satellite phone almost two years ago. I’ve tried calling, but no one picks up.”
“You know I don’t.”
“I just thought maybe—”
“You don’t need to talk to her.”
I do, though, Geneva thought. But she didn’t exactly know why. She didn’t really know Paris, who had left home upon graduating from high school. After she received her college degree, she didn’t follow her lifelong dream and attend law school, but instead joined the Peace Corps. A year in the Central African Republic turned into five. She returned to the States for two years, living in Washington, D.C., and by then Geneva was enrolled in college in California. Paris landed a job with a development organization in Sierra Leone and, aside from brief, sporadic, and unannounced appearances at the home of one of her siblings, never left Africa again. She worked in remote areas and changed location frequently. When Geneva did hear from her, Paris only spoke of her work. She had never married.
Dublin appeared in the doorway. “I give up. Where’d you hide your bank statements?”
“What do you want with those?”
“We discussed this, remember? I browbeat you into agreeing that I would make sure all your bills got paid. You can’t even write a check with your shoulder tied up.”
“There’s a file box in the closet.”
“And I’ll need the PINs that go with the accounts.”
“Those things are such a nuisance! I made them all the same. PayPal, eBay, savings, the pharmacy—all the same. It’s ‘80 proof!’ There’s an exclamation point at the end.”
Geneva shook her head. “That’s not safe, Mom.”
She waved it off.
“You have to admit it’s memorable,” Dublin said.
“I forgot,” Helen said. “The ATM’s different. That one’s ‘cash.’”
After Dublin left the room, her mother asked what had delayed them that morning. Geneva explained Jack had been upset about having to go to his brother’s judo practice. He’d thrown a ball through a window, then lay down in the driveway, blocking the cars. Dublin and Talia spoke with him for a half hour before he finally got up.
“That boy is certainly a handful.”
“Yes. He can be.”
“They should be stricter with him. Talia especially.”
Geneva stopped in the middle of folding a sweater. “I doubt it would help.”
“Why not? You have to be firm. Particularly with boys. Remember how Dublin was. Never still a minute, never listened to a word.”
“But Dublin wasn’t autistic.”
“I don’t care what they want to call it. Jack needs discipline.”
Geneva lifted her head. “You never had a child with a serious problem, Mom.”
Her mother’s eyes narrowed slightly, as if weighing her response. She studied her daughter a moment longer, then turned to the window. “No, I suppose not. You and I should both be thankful for that.”
• • •
They packed Helen’s belongings into the car and dropped Dublin at his house. As he hugged Geneva, he whispered, “Don’t forget to lock her cage at night.”
While Tom drove, Geneva leaned her head back and stared out the window. They left the city behind, and soon sagebrush and spindly pines replaced the palms. Joining a line of cars that climbed out of the valley, they entered the Castaic Mountains.
Helen squirmed in her seat. “Geneva, hand me my pillow, please?”
“What pillow?”
“The one I asked you to take from the bed. Don’t tell me you forgot.”
“Well, either you didn’t tell me, or I forgot.”
“We need to turn around.”
“We’ve got loads of pillows at home.”
“Not like mine. It’s Tempur-Pedic.”
Geneva leaned forward. “Mom, if we turn around now we’re going to get caught in the traffic going into the valley.” She pointed at the congested lanes heading south.
“And if we don’t, I won’t be able to sleep.”
“Maybe Dublin can send it. You’ll have it in a couple days.”
“It shouldn’t be Dublin’s problem when you’re the one who forgot.”
Tom said, “We did tell the kids we’d be home by nine at the latest. I’d hate to come home at eleven when they’ve got school tomorrow.”
Helen sighed. “I suppose I won’t be sleeping much anyway because of my leg.” She folded up her sweater and placed it behind her shoulder. Twenty minutes later, she dozed off.
• • •
Outside Bakersfield, while Helen slept, Tom told Geneva about his latest project: a spiral staircase with a jungle motif. The client, a rain forest biologist, wanted animals and plants carved into the risers. The railing and balusters would be covered in vines and lianas in high relief. He’d presented the client with several sketches, which were immediately approved, and was keen to set to work.
She was asking about which animals the man had chosen when her mother stirred. She twisted in her seat and pulled at the shoulder strap.
Tom asked, “Should we wake her?”
Geneva leaned in between the front seats. Her mother’s brow appeared untroubled and her mouth was open slightly. “I don’t know. Maybe she’ll . . .”
Helen cried out and flung her left arm, hitting Geneva in the face. She pulled back and put her hand to her nose.
Tom glanced in the rearview mirror. “Are you all right?”
Before she could answer, Helen’s arm flew out again, colliding with the steering wheel. The car swerved and a horn blasted behind them.
He straightened the wheel and checked his side mirrors. “Jesus.”
Helen sat motionless, her arm limp on the center console. Geneva took hold of her mother’s shoulder and shook her.
She awoke. Disoriented, she looked from side to side. “What’s going on?”
Tom let out a long breath. “I think you had a nightmare.” He checked his rearview mirror again. “You’re bleeding.”
Geneva dug in her bag for a tissue, then dabbed her nose. “It’s okay.”
“I can pull over.”
“Bleeding from what? Let me look.” Helen turned partway around, then grimaced. “My shoulder hurts. My good one.” She adjusted herself in her seat and straightened her sweater. “It was an accident. I was dreaming about an accident.”
Geneva’s nose stung as if she had been submerged in water without holding her breath. Tom handed Helen a water bottle and asked if she wanted to stop for a break. She shook her head, and asked him about the crops stretching for miles on either side of the freeway.
Geneva imagined her mother lying in her bed in her condo, waking in the darkness to discover she’d knocked over a glass or a lamp. Whatever nightmare had broken the paralysis of sleep would still be running at the edges of her consciousness. A cockroach escaping the light. How daunting to piece reality together, in the confusion of the night, alone. Whenever Geneva had a frightening dream, the sight of her husband beside her instantly righted her world, as did the realization that her children were lying on the far side of the bedroom wall, deep in untroubled sleep. As alienated as she often felt from them, her family provided this comfort.
Helen laughed at something Tom said and reached over to touch his forearm. Geneva blotted her nose with the tissue. The bleeding had almost stopped, but the sight of her blood triggered a memory. She was eight, and it was Mother’s Day. She had decided to sing a song for her mother—she couldn’t remember which one—and had run downstairs to Paris’s room to ask if she would accompany her on piano. In her excitement, she burst through the door without knocking. Paris leaped out of nowhere like a jaguar and slammed the door in her face. Geneva cried out and put her hand to her nose. It came away bloody. She ran through
the house in search of her mother, her father—anyone. In the upstairs bathroom, she wet a facecloth and examined herself in the mirror. Only then did it come to her that, although she hadn’t seen anyone, Paris had not been alone.
CHAPTER EIGHT
ELLA
Ella would never admit it, but she was looking forward to her parents coming home, even if they were bringing crazy Nana. It had been a long weekend. She and Prince Charles (and Diesel) had stayed with Uncle Ivan and Aunt Leigh and, of course, Pierce and Spencer. You’d think that was an accounting firm and not a pair of teenage boys, right? They were okay when they were little, same as the Prince, but then they’d turned into testosterone-crazed lunatics. She’d steered clear, except that (a) she had to keep tabs on the Prince’s activities, as previously noted, and (b) the twins were friends with Marcus Frye (His Most Gorgeousness). To have any chance with Marcus she’d have to be chill around his friends. And for super immature and annoying guys, they weren’t all that bad.
So all weekend—at least the part of it when they weren’t playing baseball, watching baseball, or talking about baseball—the Prince and the Accountants were scheming. Ella wasn’t eavesdropping or anything (she wasn’t a creeper), but when she sat still with a book or her poetry notebook, people—especially ones with their heads up their asses like these guys—treated her like furniture. Sunday morning she was in the living room on the couch working on a poem, Diesel snoozing on the floor next to her. In came the Accountants and the Prince from the kitchen. The back of the couch hid most of her, but the boys wouldn’t have noticed anyway. They were talking about how they wanted to be in the Battle of the Bands at school. All the Novaks were musical. When they got together it was like a friggin’ jamboree. Pierce played drums and Spencer played electric guitar. A senior jazz junkie called Rango said he’d play bass for them. He was weird, but even the Accountants knew bass players were supposed to be. They still needed someone who could sing, and they didn’t want a girl because they were Neanderthals like that.
Anyway, the Prince wanted in. The Accountants didn’t think a freshman was any better than a girl. The Prince turned on his princely charm big-time.
“Let me audition. You won’t regret it.”
“No way.”
“Yeah, no way.”
“I know my talents, gentlemen. I can sing.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Yeah, I don’t think so.”
And then it got interesting. Charlie reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash. He peeled off twenties like some little shyster.
“How much to let me try out? Twenty? Forty?”
Pierce grabbed two bills. “Okay, let’s hear it. Pick a song. If you don’t suck, forty more will get you in front of the band.” Like he was some fucking talent agent. And as if two-thirds of the band wasn’t right there.
Ella the End Table smiled to herself. That was a lot of cash for a kid who didn’t have a job. Whatever he was up to, she’d soon make it her business.
The Prince stepped back, like his brilliance might shatter them, and cleared his throat.
Pierce said, “What’re you singing? In case we don’t recognize it.”
Spencer snorted.
Ella knew. He’d been singing it in his room for two weeks. Probably googled “Best Rock Audition Songs for Clueless Dicks.”
“‘Rock on You.’” The Prince put on his most authentic bad-boy rocker face, jammed an invisible mike in his face, and sang:
Hey, baby, baby, dancin’ to the beat,
Pickin’ up my rhythm, lookin’ so sweet.
Spencer turned to Pierce. “It’s Lousy Ferret. Great band.”
“Shut up, dickhead.”
The Prince climbed up the stairs behind him while he sang and got all growly for the chorus. Good thing his voice had changed all the way. Otherwise he would’ve sounded like a hyena trying to yodel. Diesel’s ears perked up, and he cocked his head as if he couldn’t decide whether Charlie was in pain and needed help.
Hey, baby, baby, here’s what I’m gonna do:
Take you home, throw you on the bed, and rock all over you.
Rock on you! Rock on you!
The singing wasn’t half bad but between the fist pumping and hip thrusting, Ella didn’t know whether to laugh or puke.
Rock on you! Take you home, throw you on the bed, and rock all over you.
Spencer was getting into it. He bit his lower lip, stuck out his chin, and grimaced the way guys do when they want to be all tough. Even Pierce couldn’t help himself. Started fist pumping along with the “Rock on you!” parts. Ella had to hand it to the Prince. He could work a room.
Halfway through the second verse, Pierce remembered he was supposed to be cool and put his hand up. “Okay. Okay, Charlie. That’s enough.”
Show over. Ella got up and cut across the living room. The boys noticed her for the first time.
“Hey, Smella.” Charlie swayed like he was drunk on his own manliness. “Did you like it?”
“Was that you? I was on my way to the kitchen to see if the garbage disposal was stuck.”
• • •
Later the same day they all went over to Aunt Juliana’s house. She was the middle Novak. Theo was the eldest, then Anica, then Juliana, then Ivan, and finally Ella’s dad. Juliana was the only one who was divorced and the only one with no kids. She did have a boyfriend, Jon, and a Doberman, Aldo. She hadn’t had either of them very long, but as Granny Novak said, every single time they got together, it was a step in the right direction—the boyfriend, not the dog. Like Juliana’d invented divorce or something.
Her house was in Novato, in the older, less strip-mall part of town. It was small but it was just her and the dog. Jon, who introduced himself as “Jon without an H,” still had his own place, although there was talk of them “shacking up,” as Grandpa put it. Ella and the rest of them went straight through the house to the backyard. Jon without an H was at the barbecue. For a nerdy guy he looked like he’d turned a steak or two in his time, which was how you had to be if you were a guy and you wanted to hang with Novaks. That and never talk trash about anyone in the family. Which was pretty cool, if you think about it. Maybe in twos or threes they came clean with each other, but they didn’t make a team sport of it.
The rule applied to pets, too. Ella and Charlie called Aldo “Adolf,” but not in front of Juliana or anyone other than their parents. That dog was scary. Usually Ella’s mom didn’t let them use “demeaning nicknames”—“the Accountants,” for instance—but when it came to that dog, she made an exception. Juliana got him as a puppy but never trained him. In fact, according to her mom, she encouraged Adolf to be aggressive. Not intentionally, but it was all the same to her mom. Ruining pets (or kids for that matter) by not laying down the law was wrong, whether you meant to do it or not. It wasn’t a big deal when Adolf was small. If he jumped on you, you could just push him down. If he nipped, you could put your hand around his muzzle and he’d get the picture. But now he was way past that stage. And he had a thing for Jon without an H.
Juliana hadn’t had many people over since Aldo arrived. Now she was trying to prove she fit in with the married folk, that her guy could feed everyone, too. The whole Novak horde wasn’t there, but Jon without an H had this gigantic grill absolutely covered with meat, plus some tofu or whatever for Anica’s daughter Kristin, who didn’t eat things with eyes. Adolf parked himself under a tree near the grill, and kept watch on either the meat or Jon without an H’s back. It was hard to tell which, but something was making him drool. Then Juliana went over to see how things were going, and Jon without an H started moving some sausages from the grill to this huge platter. That was Adolf’s cue. He skulked toward them, his head low like a lion stalking. Ella heard a growl roll out of him like faraway thunder. Jon without an H heard it, too, and twisted his head around. Juliana had the tray with the meat. Ad
olf stopped in his tracks.
Jon without an H didn’t take his eyes off the dog. “Did you feed him, Jules?”
“Of course I did.” Her voice was really casual.
“Cause he looks hungry.”
Other people started to pay attention.
Juliana said, “Maybe I should give him a sausage.”
From behind Ella, Uncle Ivan said, “Probably not a good idea to encourage him.”
“It’s just a hot dog.” Juliana handed the tray to Jon without an H. “Here. You give him one, then you’ll be friends for life.”
Adolf turned the volume up on his growl as Juliana gave his whole dinner to the intruder. His haunches quivered for a second; then he sprang. Jon without an H must have played video games because he threw the tray at the flying dog, hitting Adolf in the nose, then leaped sideways in a total ninja move. Adolf landed in front of Juliana and knocked her over. A bunch of people, Ella included, got hit by flying sausages. Jon without an H scrambled to his feet and crouched like a wrestler, worried the dog was coming after him. But Adolf had gotten what he wanted, at least for that day. No one was stupid enough to pick any sausages up off the grass, and Adolf scarfed them all down. Ivan helped Juliana up. Jon without an H picked up the long barbecue fork thing and kept the grill between him and the dog just in case. When Adolf was done eating, Juliana put him in the garage.
• • •
Later, after the sausage attack and after they’d all eaten, Ella’s mom texted saying they’d be home in an hour, so they all piled in the car and headed to San Miguel, stopping first to pick up Diesel. It was pitch-black and foggy when Ivan and the rest of the family dropped off her and Charlie and their stuff. Ivan waited while she used her flashlight app to find the keyhole and open the door.
She remembered to turn on the driveway lights, which was nothing short of a miracle. Her mother hated to drive up in the dark, especially with fog, but Ella almost never remembered the lights. The Prince was about to leave all his crap right by the front door. She told him not to be such a complete slob, so he dragged it to his room, bitching all the way. She tossed her bag on the floor of her room. The words floated above her and she wondered whether she should tell her mom about Adolf. She’d be upset for sure and might go off on a long lecture about responsible pet ownership and all that. Maybe she’d let Charlie tell her. Bad news from him didn’t seem to freak their mom out as much.
