by Sonja Yoerg
Tears came out of nowhere. She buried her head in her arms to block out everything. “Dad, make her leave. Please make her leave.”
The door closed. When she opened her eyes, the wordstorm was blurry and spinning.
• • •
It took forever to calm down. She listened to some music but crying had given her bad hiccups and they hurt. She didn’t normally risk getting high when her parents were home, but she was desperate. A couple of tokes later, her hiccups had stopped and she didn’t give a shit about her mother anymore. She doodled in her poetry notebook while she waited for the orange spray to get less intense, then went to have a shower. She was running the water to heat it up when a loud thud came from the Prince’s room, where Nana was staying.
She turned off the water. “Nana?”
Footsteps down the hall from her parents’ room. Her mom’s voice came from the Prince’s room. “Tom! Can you give me a hand?”
Ella wrapped a towel around herself and stuck her head out the door. She heard Nana say what sounded like “I’m fine. I’m fine.”
Her dad whooshed by.
“Is Nana . . . ?”
Too late. He was already in the room with Nana and her mom. Low voices, shuffling, then Nana said, loud and clear, “I’m fine!”
She closed the door. A minute later, her parents passed by.
“Tom, I swear to God she’s been drinking.”
“Now, Geneva, just because she slipped . . .”
“Because she’s drunk! I don’t know how, but she is.”
“Did you smell alcohol?”
“No, but . . .”
“And, what? She’s got a still in her room?”
“Don’t put it past her.”
They kept arguing and yelling in the kitchen. Her mom sounded like a paranoid freak. Ella could see why her dad didn’t buy her story. But she also knew the Prince and Nana were up to something—and her mom might be right. If her mom wasn’t such a tool, she could almost feel sorry for her.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
GENEVA
Tom, Geneva, and Helen stopped at Juliana’s on their way to yet another Novak family celebration—Tom’s father’s birthday. Tom had offered to fix his sister’s sticky kitchen door. Helen said she’d stay in the car if it was only going be a short while.
When they pulled in, Juliana was making room under the hood of her VW Bug for party food. She always made an array of side dishes to balance the barbecue fetish of the Novak men.
“Jon went for a run so he’s showering,” she said. “He should be ready in a minute.”
Tom lifted his toolbox out of the rear of the car. “So long as we’re there on time. You know Mom.”
“I know, I know. Says she’s Czech, but I swear to God she’s Swiss.”
Geneva followed Tom into the kitchen. “Where’s Aldo?”
“In the backyard, I guess.”
She moved containers from the refrigerator to the counter, in preparation for carrying them out to the car, and watched her husband work. He opened and closed the kitchen door a few times and examined the problem spots, running his hand over the wood as if the remedy were written upon it in Braille. The sight of his efficient, graceful movements and the serene look on his face amazed her. She would be afraid to take tools to an object as permanent as a door. He would find this amusing, given her willingness to cut open and repair living bodies, but it was nevertheless true.
He said, “Ella seemed okay this morning about going to the prep class.”
“Yes, she did. I’m just grateful for the absence of screaming.”
“That was almost a week ago.”
“Feels like only yesterday.”
“I’m pretty sure some conflict’s perfectly normal. From what I can remember, Juliana did battle with my mom nearly every day.”
“Maybe you’re right.” But Geneva wasn’t convinced. Fighting with Ella didn’t feel normal. It felt terrible, like fighting with herself. Whatever was going on, there had to be a better way to cope. She didn’t understand how such a quiet, easy child had morphed into a volatile young woman. As a medical professional, she knew hormones were potent chemicals, and that Ella’s control over her actions might be limited. As a mother, and as a person, she wasn’t looking forward to years of unpredictable behavior and conflict. It hurt too much.
She watched Tom dig through his toolbox. “Missing something?”
“A hammer, of all things.”
“I can check the garage.”
“Great. I’ll spray the pins in the meantime.”
She thought about Ella as she headed through the living room and into the garage, dark except for a strip of light at the bottom of the garage door. She reached for the light switch on the wall to her left. A loud bark startled her. Before she could back up and shut the door, Aldo appeared from around the corner. In a single bound, he flew through the doorway as she stepped aside. The dog’s shoulder hit her thigh, knocking her over.
“Tom!” she shouted, and scrambled to her feet.
But Aldo veered away from the kitchen and bounded down the short hall that led to the bedrooms.
Hearing the commotion, Juliana rushed through the front door. “Aldo!”
Tom appeared from the kitchen, glanced at Geneva, and ran down the hall after the dog. Juliana and Geneva followed.
Geneva gasped. The bedroom door was ajar. The dog plowed into the room without slowing.
“Jon! Watch out!” Juliana shouted.
As Tom reached the open door, Geneva heard Aldo snarl. Jon shouted for help. Geneva stepped into the bedroom in time to see the dog knock Jon backward onto the bed. Jon, shirtless, threw his arm in front of his face and lifted his legs to kick, but Aldo lunged forward, jaws wide, and bit down on his arm. Jon cried out and tried to pull his arm away, but the dog’s jaw had locked. With his hind legs braced against the floor, Aldo pinned Jon to the bed.
Juliana screamed, “Aldo! Stop!”
Tom stepped forward and made a grab for Aldo’s collar.
Geneva cried, “No! Don’t!”
In one lightning movement, Aldo released Jon’s arm, whipped his head around, and snapped. Tom jumped away and grabbed his forearm, swearing. Jon rolled quickly onto his side, smearing blood across the bed, and covered his head with his arms. The dog, wild-eyed and snarling, pulled back for an instant, then pounced on Jon again, ripping into his shoulder.
Jon cried out in pain. “Get him off me!”
Tom lifted his hand from his forearm. Blood from two long gashes dripped to the floor.
Geneva, heart racing, scanned the room. A broom, a lamp, anything. Her eyes fell on the small deck beyond sliding glass doors to her left. She rushed over and yanked sideways on the door handle. Locked. She flipped the lever below the handle and flung the door open. A quick sprint across the deck; then she jumped onto the lawn and found what she hoped for—a hose. She picked up the nozzle and opened the faucet. As she ran toward the bedroom, the hose caught on the edge of the deck. She grabbed a loop, whipped it in an arc and jerked it free.
She reached the doorway. Aldo still had Jon’s shoulder in his jaws, oblivious to Tom’s kicks to his haunches. Through the open door, Geneva shot a stream of water at Aldo’s head.
The dog yelped and leaped off the bed. She kept the hose trained on his head. Aldo stumbled against Tom’s legs and snarled. Water bounced off him in all directions. He flung his head from side to side and snapped at the spray.
“Get away from the door!” Geneva yelled.
Tom vaulted sideways past the end of the bed and Juliana quickly backed away, leaving a clear path to the hallway.
Geneva stepped from the deck into the bedroom and hoped she would not run out of hose. Aldo stood broadside to her, unwilling to give up ground even though he could not turn his face into the water. He no longer snar
led, but his tail was rigid and his hackles were raised. She turned the hose onto his flank. The dog yelped and lurched away, bouncing off the doorframe. His paws slipped on the wet wood floor; then he regained his balance and skittered down the hall. Geneva released the lever, stopping the stream, and dropped the hose on the floor.
Tom ran across the sodden carpet and slammed the bedroom door. “Jesus Christ.”
Juliana stood frozen against the wall. On the bed, Jon moaned and peeked out from under his arm. “Is he gone?”
“Yes. It’s okay now.” Geneva knelt on the bed and tried to gauge the seriousness of his shoulder wound. Several deep puncture wounds and plenty of blood, but not enough to suggest a major artery. “Let me see your arm, okay?”
He gingerly turned onto his back. His face was ashen, and splattered red. Blood poured out from under a six-inch flap of skin on his forearm. Geneva yanked a pillowcase off a pillow, wrapped it around Jon’s arm and held it firmly to stem the bleeding. “Who’s got a cell phone? Someone call nine-one-one. Juliana, any first-aid supplies in this bathroom?”
Her voice trembled. “I think so.”
“Go get them.” Juliana didn’t move. “Now!” Geneva reached for the edge of the comforter and pulled it over Jon’s legs, then looked up at Tom, who watched her minister to Jon. “Are you okay? Can you put pressure on it? There’s a towel over there.”
“It’s not too bad.” He wrapped the towel around his left arm and pressed it against his stomach. “The hospital’s only a couple of miles away. It’d be faster just to take him. Unless you don’t think it’s a good idea for us to move him.”
She put her hand on Jon’s neck to take his pulse. “I don’t think he’s shocky. Jon, we’re going to take you to the car, okay?”
He raised his head a little and nodded. “Okay. But isn’t that fucking dog loose in the house?”
Juliana came in and handed Geneva an emergency kit. “This is all I’ve got. Should I go find Aldo and put him in the garage?”
Out on the street, a car horn blared three times. A bolt of fear shot through Geneva.
“Tom! That’s Mom! The front door is open!”
He threw the bedroom door open and ran out. Juliana followed. A minute later, he returned, panting.
“She was leaning on the horn because she’s pissed off we left her alone. She saw Aldo take off down the street. Juliana went to find him.”
“Tom, can you let Jon lean against you so I can bandage him?” With practiced movements, Geneva wrapped gauze around the wounds. Blood oozed through the layers. Together, she and Tom helped him up and headed down the hall.
“Watch the wet floor,” she said.
• • •
Geneva drove.
Tom pulled out his phone. “What should I say to Charlie and Ella?” After her prep class, Ella was picking her brother up from batting practice and then going to the party.
“Just say we’ll be late. That way your parents will have the kids there anyway. We can explain everything later.”
“Sounds good.” He sent the message, then read aloud a text from Juliana saying she’d found Aldo.
“She needs to put that dog down,” Helen said.
Jon said, “I’d help.”
“Once they taste human flesh, that’s it.”
A grim silence hung in the air.
Geneva felt Tom’s eyes on her. “What’s the law say, Geneva?”
“I’m obliged to file a report, as is the doctor who will treat you. And the dog must be quarantined for thirty days.”
“Even if it’s had its shots?”
“Yes.”
“Anything required after that?”
“The right decision.”
• • •
Geneva waited with Helen in the waiting room of the Novato Community Hospital while the men received treatment. Her mother repeatedly asked her how long it would take and whether they might still make the party. The prospect of access to alcohol made Helen dogged.
“Mom, I know why you want to go. Even if I condoned it, I’m not about to leave here before Tom and Jon are ready.”
“Maybe Ella could swing by. It must be on her way.”
“Not really. And I’m not comfortable with her driving unfamiliar routes.”
“You’re too protective.”
And she had been overly concerned about Aldo. “I haven’t been able to reach Ella anyway. She’s not answering my texts.”
“Because she’s driving! Let me text Charlie.”
“For God’s sake, Mom! Leave it alone!”
Several people in the waiting room turned to look at them.
Helen leaned over and lowered her voice. “You’ve got no cause to shout at me and attract attention. It’s embarrassing.”
Geneva hadn’t meant to raise her voice. But before she could apologize, Helen said, loudly enough for everyone to hear, “And it’s perfectly reasonable for me to want to get out and socialize. You’ve kept me cooped up for too long.” She gestured at her walker and her leg. “You think it’s easy being laid up like this?”
An elderly woman seated nearby leaned forward and scowled at Geneva.
She pictured walking out of the hospital, leaving her mother behind. She would get in her car and drive away. Perhaps she’d stop by the house, pick up Diesel, and go for a quiet walk at the marsh. Afterward she’d sit outside her favorite café and read a book, Diesel at her feet.
Her mother’s voice pulled her out of her reverie. “Are you ignoring me?”
“Not intentionally, Mom. It’s been a very stressful day.”
Helen smiled but her eyes did not. “Well, you didn’t get bit, did you?”
• • •
After they took Jon home and made sure he had everything he needed, Geneva hoped Tom would want to go home, as she did. But his father had never had a birthday without all of his children present, and Tom refused to be the first to break tradition.
“My arm is fine,” he told her. “I’m fine.”
She acquiesced, mostly because she lacked the energy to disagree. She also wanted to see her children. As terrible as Aldo’s attack on Jon had been, at least Ella and Charlie had been far from the action, unlike during the sausage incident. Geneva counted on her children to return her attention to normal things, such as batting practice and the uselessness of SAT prep class. A crisis like today’s certainly put things in perspective.
Their decision to attend the party delighted Helen. And Geneva decided she didn’t care if her mother had a drink or two that evening. She had had enough of fending off disaster for one day.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
ELLA
She was in such deep shit. The poetry slam lasted way longer than it was supposed to; then she got lost trying to find 101 North. She’d brought her friend Megan along as her personal GPS device, but it turned out not even the combination of Megan’s iPhone, the Google map Ella had printed out, and the Jurassic-era unrefoldable map from the car could deal with the massive construction detour. Didn’t help that she was nervous as hell driving in San Francisco. One-way streets, crazy-ass drivers, and way too many pedestrians. The only bad thing that didn’t happen was taking one of the peds out. Of course she wasn’t exactly home yet.
Then there was that little issue in the parking garage. Who would put a ginormous pole right next to a parking space too small for a smart car, much less her dad’s Toyota truck? Megan wanted to get out and direct her, but she’d parked so close to the wall the door wouldn’t open. Luckily, it was more of a scrape than a crunch. An extended scrape. But that could have happened anywhere. And this particular scrape most certainly did not happen in San Francisco.
Forget the driving-related disasters, though. The slam was awesome. Must have been a hundred people there. When her turn came around, she was so nervous she was sure no words
would make it out of her mouth. Her first line squeaked out as if she was on helium, and she almost ran off the stage. But then she spotted Megan grinning at her like an idiot, and after that, well, it just flowed. Her last line, the one inspired by the wordstorm, got her some applause. That’s right. Applause. So cutting out all those pieces of paper and staying up late agonizing over words and rhythm and ideas, and dealing with the whole SAT practice crap had all been worth it. Ella didn’t make it into the next round of the slam—she didn’t expect to—but a bunch of people came up to her afterward and told her how cool her poem was. Someone even said it was chill. Her poem was chill. Oh yeah.
She had Megan text Prince Charlie that she’d be late—using Ella’s phone because, technically, her permit didn’t allow her to drive anyone under twenty-five who wasn’t in her family. “Technically,” because everyone broke that rule—not that her mom would care about that excuse. The Prince was pissed about waiting and threatened to rat on her to their mom, which would have officially made the day a champion-level fuckup (not counting the slam). But Ella got Megan to text him back that she’d make it up to him if he could not freak just this once. He must’ve been okay with it because her mom hadn’t sent the FBI out to track her down yet.
By the time she found the right road, dropped off Megan, and got to the field, the Prince had been cooling his heels for an hour. His face was all pissy, but when she pulled up to the curb, it changed to shocked.
“Holy shit! What happened to the truck?”
That obvious? Not good. “Oh, the little scratch? It’ll come off.”
He laughed. “Yeah, right.”
“It’s not my fault someone hit me while I was parked.”
He threw his stuff in the rear, got in, and slammed the door. “How come you’re so late?”
“The prep class ran late.”
“An hour?”
“Not quite. There was traffic.”
“It’s like two miles away.” He reached for a piece of paper on the dashboard. “What’s this?”
Ella moved to snatch it from him, but he was too quick. “Give it to me.”
