House Broken

by Sonja Yoerg

  “You do? I had the feeling you were counting the days until you were rid of me.”

  He said, “Well, it hasn’t always been easy, it’s true. And the invitation does come with a condition.”

  “A condition?”

  “Yes,” Geneva said. “We want you to attend a program to help you stop drinking.”

  Helen blew her nose and sat up. “So, if I don’t go to AA, you’ll tell the police.”

  Geneva shook her head. “No, nothing like that. We just think you could use the support. You remember my colleague Stan? He’s one of the founding members of the local group. I’ll even go with you if you want.”

  She pictured walking into a room with a circle of folding chairs filled with strangers who wanted to trade drinking for honesty. “I’ll think about it.”

  Her daughter paused, as if she had expected a different answer. “One more thing to think about. I’ve obviously told Tom, but I haven’t said anything to Dublin or anyone else. Not about what you did. What you had to do.”

  “You keeping secrets from Dublin? How long is that going to last?”

  “It’s not my place to tell. I found the letter and went from there. But whether you tell anyone is up to you.”

  Helen imagined the conversation and frowned.

  “For what it’s worth,” Tom said, “don’t you think Dublin and Florence—and pretty much any other reasonable person—would understand?”

  “I never thought about whether they would or they wouldn’t. I wasn’t taking any chances.”

  Geneva’s eyes filled with tears. Helen couldn’t remember the last time she saw her daughter cry.

  Geneva said, “But you have. You’ve taken big chances, all this time—drinking yourself sick, burning things, having accidents, pushing people away, pushing your children away, pushing away people who love you.” She buried her face in her hands.

  Tom put his arm around her, then addressed Helen. “This is your second chance. We’re here to make sure you don’t blow it.”

  Helen walked to the kitchen and filled a glass with water. Geneva’s face was splotchy and her forehead was creased like she was thinking hard.

  “Mom, you didn’t use your walker. You’re barely limping.”

  “Oh, that.” She drank from the glass. “I figured you wouldn’t throw me out until my leg was better. Just keeping my options open.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  GENEVA

  Two days later, Dublin took a personal day and flew up to San Francisco. Geneva met him at the airport. He bear-hugged her at the arrivals curb. “I had to pay big bucks for a last-minute flight. Worse, I had to beg Talia’s mom to help with Jack. Do you have any idea what it’s like to haggle with a geriatric Muscovite?”

  “No.”

  “This better be good.”

  “I’m not saying anything.”

  He threw his bag onto the rear seat. “I want popcorn. And beer.”

  Helen had asked Geneva to be there when she told Dublin. “In case I forget something.” She followed Geneva’s suggestion, and started at the beginning, with her first suspicions about Eustace and Paris. As Geneva listened, she realized she wouldn’t know if her mother omitted anything, as she had never heard the whole story.

  For once, Dublin didn’t interrupt with jokes, although he did glance at Geneva occasionally, as if expecting her to suddenly laugh and point to a hidden camera.

  “And once he’d taken that many pills,” Helen said, “it was only a matter of time.”

  Dublin stared at her, immobile.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  He ran his hands through his hair and sighed loudly.

  “Aren’t you going to say anything?” She turned to Geneva. “Why isn’t he saying anything?”

  He shrugged. “I’m digesting. I feel like one of those pythons on Animal Planet. I’ve swallowed a bush pig, or a gazelle, or maybe an entire rhino, and I’m waiting for it to break down a little. Right now, it’s an awfully big lump.”

  Helen nodded. “It’s a very big lump.”

  “Part of me thinks Dad’s been dead for so long, how he died doesn’t really matter. Especially now I know what a sicko he was. I was prepared for that part. Ginny told you she sent me the letter, right?”

  “Without my permission, if you can imagine.”

  “Seems like small potatoes, Mom. Next to incest. And murder.”

  She lifted her hands as if to say she wasn’t in a position to judge.

  Geneva asked Dublin, “You said ‘part of you thinks it doesn’t matter.’ What about the other part?”

  “The other part is hoping none of this is genetic.”

  Helen leaned back in her chair. “So you’re not planning on turning me in?”

  “Are you kidding? And ruin my good name?”

  “You’re a good son.”

  Geneva winced. Even after opening her house to her mother, she hadn’t received such praise.

  “And the only one you’ve got,” Dublin said. “Remember that, in case I piss you off sometime. And just to be on the safe side, I’m not eating or drinking anything you give me ever again.”

  • • •

  At dinner, Dublin asked Charlie what his plans were for the summer.

  “I’m Dad’s slave. We’re refinishing an old dresser and bed for Nana’s room, and making some bookshelves.”

  Geneva leaned forward to catch her mother’s eye, but she was intent on slicing her pork chop. Helen hadn’t accepted their offer to stay, but everyone was working on the assumption she would. She appeared content and Geneva was certain she hadn’t had a drop of alcohol since being discharged from the hospital. She decided to give her mother until the end of the week, then ask again. The woman had been through an ordeal.

  Tom said, “Charlie’s making amends.”

  “At least you get your room back at the end of it,” Dublin said.

  “And I still have to work a paying job ’cause I owe money, too.”

  “Your pockets will be empty, Grasshopper, but your heart will be full.”

  “Who’s Grasshopper?” Ella asked.

  “It’s a cocktail,” Helen said. “Sweet and green.”

  “It’s from an old TV show called Kung Fu,” Geneva said. “The wise teacher called his student ‘Grasshopper’ because he couldn’t hear the grasshoppers at his feet.”

  “I can see how that would make an exciting TV show,” Charlie deadpanned.

  Dublin stood and bowed. “Spoken like a true Grasshopper.”

  CHAPTER FORTY

  ELLA

  Her last final ended and junior year was officially over. No one was around when she and Charlie arrived home from school, so she went straight to her room, dumped her backpack, and grabbed the bear. On her way out she noticed the door to Charlie’s room was closed and figured Nana was taking a nap. Charlie was halfway inside the refrigerator when she came into the kitchen.

  “I’ve got something to show you, bro.”

  “What? You found your brain?” He peeked around the fridge door, a slice of pizza hanging from his mouth.

  “You might put it that way.” She pulled out the bag of weed, the papers, and the lighter.

  “Whoa. Are we partying, sistah?”

  She shook her head. “Charlie, it’s time to get real. When we had that shitstorm over the gun and everything, I didn’t tell Mom and Dad about the drugs. Mine or yours. I kinda forgot. Or maybe I thought it was TMI on a day that already had TMI.”

  He’d stopped chewing. “What are you saying? Spit it out.”

  “It’s time to stop.”

  He took another bite and grinned. “They asked me if I smoked, you know.”

  “What did you say?”

  “That I tried it, but wasn’t into it.”

  “They asked me, to
o.”

  “What did you say?”

  “That I tried it, but wasn’t into it.”

  They laughed.

  Ella said, “Megan overheard you dealing in the park.”

  He rolled his eyes. “So, what? You want some? What’s the game?”

  “No, I don’t want any of that stuff.” She pointed at her stash. “I don’t even want this anymore. And I want you to get rid of yours, too.”

  “Oh, I see. This is an intervention.”

  “Maybe. And maybe you need one. Dealing is really fucked-up, Charlie. You know it is.”

  He stared at the countertop.

  “I’ve been thinking about Mom and Uncle Dub. One day, that’s going to be us.”

  “That’s scary.”

  “Not as scary as not having each other.”

  “I’m not dying or anything, Ella.”

  “No, but you’re on your way to being a loser. We have to start doing the right thing. We might need each other, Charlie.” She’d been plucking at the bear’s fur. Now she stopped. “Are you listening to me?”

  He chewed the inside of his cheek. Finally he glanced at her. His face was serious for once.

  Ella said, “Get your stuff. Whatever you’ve got, okay? Let’s do this together.”

  • • •

  They walked down to the path by the river. After a while, they veered away from the water, into the woods.

  “Why can’t we just throw it in the creek?” Charlie said.

  “There’s fish in there. And frogs. Frogs are very sensitive.”

  At the edge of a clearing, she began digging a hole with the shovel she’d brought.

  He said, “And nothing’s going to dig this up? Because personally I think the squirrels could use a little chilling out.”

  “That’s why the hole has to be deep.” She handed him the shovel. “Your turn.”

  When the hole was three feet deep, Ella fished the drugs out of her pocket and dangled them above it. “To a clear mind and heart.” She dropped them in.

  Charlie cupped a small paper bag in his palm. “To staying out of juvie.” He tipped the bag and a shower of pills and marijuana buds fell into the hole.

  “Jesus,” Ella said. She studied his face. “This is for real, right? You’re not just doing this to get me off your case.”

  He nodded. “The whole thing was getting too intense anyway.” He waved his hand over the hole. Against the dark earth, the pills looked like confetti. “No one tells you how stressful it is to be this cool.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  GENEVA

  On Friday, the last day of school, Tom’s parents hosted their annual beginning-of-the-summer barbecue. Tom texted Geneva at work to say Helen had a headache and wouldn’t be coming, and that he and the kids would see her there. Before leaving the clinic, Geneva called home in case her mother had changed her mind. The call went to voice mail, so she figured Helen had fallen asleep.

  Juliana greeted her at the door with a hug. “Are you hungry? I made the artichoke frittata you’re crazy about. I’ll get you a slice.”

  Jon squatted on the ottoman next to Grandma Novak’s recliner, nodding as the old woman spoke, her hands carving the air like swallows at dusk. Geneva said hello to them, and followed Juliana into the kitchen. They chatted for a few moments—Juliana asked about Helen’s recovery and Geneva remarked she was happy to see Jon—then moved to the family room doorway. Ella, Charlie, Pierce, and Spencer were embroiled in a spirited game of foosball. Geneva was surprised to see her children on the same side. If they couldn’t avoid each other, competition was the next alternative. Charlie flicked a handle and cheered as the ball disappeared into the goal. Ella high-fived him, and he beamed at her and winked. On the same team.

  “Hey.” Tom placed his lips close to her ear and slipped a hand around her waist. “I’ve got ribs on the grill, if you want one.” He poked her rib with a finger.

  She kissed his cheek and laughed. “Why is everyone trying to feed me?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe they care about you.”

  “In that case, I’d love some ribs.” She pointed at Charlie and Ella. “They’re suddenly getting along.”

  “I said they were fine, didn’t I?”

  Geneva raised her eyebrows, to remind him of the events of the past week and their resolution to not whistle in the darkness as parents.

  “Well, fine may be too strong a word.”

  “How about salvageable?”

  “Okay. We’ve got two very salvageable kids. I’m happy with that.”

  “Me, too.”

  • • •

  She left the party early to check on her mother. Diesel’s tail beat time on the floor as she came through the front door. She crossed to the kitchen and set the leftovers on the counter. The dog followed, toes clicking. She bent to stroke him and absorb his familiar smell of cinnamon and hay.

  “Who’s my good boy?” She let him into the backyard, where wisps of fog had begun to coalesce among the redwoods, muting the last light of the day. Diesel raced across the lawn in pursuit of a squirrel that narrowly beat him to a tree. She smiled, closed the door, and called down the hallway.

  “Mom, it’s me.”

  Remembering something, she returned to the kitchen, pulled an envelope out of her bag, and walked down the hall. No light spilled from underneath the door. She knocked lightly.

  “Mom?”

  She listened a moment, then twisted the knob slowly, pushed the door, and peeked in. A pale gray rectangle of light fell on the hastily made bed. Her eyes darted to the chair by the window. Empty. Geneva’s hands went cold as she scanned the room. No reading glasses or folded magazine on the bedside table. No clothes discarded on the chair. She flicked on the light and yanked open the closet. The space along the rack she had created for her mother’s clothes gaped at her.

  Her stomach slid, queasy. She spun toward the bed and this time noticed a folded piece of paper leaning against the pillow. Her name, in her mother’s tall script. Geneva sat on the bed and read the note.

  Geneva,

  I said I’d think about staying on with you here and I have, though it didn’t take long to make up my mind. You’re probably mad at me for running out, but the last thing I wanted was a drawn-out discussion. Stubborn as we are, neither of us was going to win that one.

  I know you think a better person is hiding somewhere inside me. Now that you’ve ferreted out the truth about your father and me, you think you can sober me up, drag that person out, and have the mother you want. I can’t blame you for what you want, but I’m not going to change. I haven’t got the will or the courage. You and Dublin might forgive me, but I can’t see clear to forgiving myself. There’ll be no new tricks for this old dog.

  I’m headed back to L.A. Maybe I’ll stay there and maybe I won’t. Whatever I do, it won’t be your problem. You’ve had enough of those on my account.

  Tell the kids good-bye from me. Thanks to you and Tom for putting me up, and for trying. That’s more than most would have done, but it was never going to be enough.

  Helen

  P.S. If I left something behind, don’t worry. Whatever it is, I doubt I need it.

  She’d been holding her breath, but exhaled sharply at the last line, incredulous. Gone. Just like that. She’d been foolish to hope. They all had.

  For five weeks she’d been trying to break through to her mother, to understand her. She’d discovered what she believed was the key to ending her mother’s self-destructive behavior. She’d offered her a way forward, a chance to release the grip of the past, and pledged herself and her family in support. Geneva hadn’t forgiven her mother for denying her love and attention for so long, but she had found a measure of compassion, and wagered it would suffice. In a corner of her heart she even imagined her compassion as kindling that could
not only ignite her tender and guarded feelings for her mother, but also jump across the void and ignite her mother’s feelings for her.

  Clearly, this was a fantasy her mother did not share.

  The bridge of her nose stung. Her chest was hollow.

  In her postscript, her mother had said not to worry about what she’d left behind. If you keep leaving things behind, Geneva thought, you learn not to need them.

  She swallowed against the tears building behind her eyes.

  No more tears for her mother. There’d already been far too many. Everything that could be said, had been. Everything she could do, she had. Enough.

  She folded the note, placed it on the bedside table, and rose to stand at the window. Diesel sat on his haunches in the center of the lawn, facing the back door. He caught sight of her, and cocked his head. His jaw dropped open and his tongue slid out. Geneva smiled back at him, took a deep breath, and let it go.

  The front door opened. For an instant, she thought it might be her mother, having changed her mind. But Charlie’s voice floated down the hallway, and Ella’s laugh in response. Geneva shook her head at her own foolishness, and left the room to greet her family.

  • • •

  Later that evening she entered Ella’s room. She was lying on the floor on her stomach, drawing.

  “Have fun at the party?”

  “Uh-huh. Such a relief to be done with school.”

  “I didn’t ask you earlier. How’d your psychology final go?”

  “Piece of cake.”

  “Even though it’s A.P.?”

  “Yeah, but it’s mostly common sense.”

  Geneva suppressed a laugh. Only in a multiple-choice test could human behavior appear commonsensical.

  She sat cross-legged on the floor next to her daughter, who was drawing a cartoon dog on a leash. “What’s that for?”

  “An ad for my dog-walking service. I was hoping you could put some up at work.”

  “Good idea.”