Dark Song

by Gail Giles

  Em licked and sealed another joint and handed it over. “Your apple, my friend, didn’t fall far from her tree. So shake it off and light up.” I leaned forward with the thick, misshapen joint between my fingers, put it between my lips, and drew in as the flame bit the end.

  Em lit her joint. “Draw in hard and hold it in,” she commanded.

  I obeyed. I felt the hot smoke fill my lungs and tingle.

  “A few seconds longer,” Em warned. I held until I got a head rush, then exhaled. Em was holding her first inhale and she frowned that I hadn’t held mine longer. Then she breathed her smoke out like it was a religious experience. “Thanks, Mom,” she said.

  “My parents are making me insane, Em. My dad loses his job and it’s like I find out that…” I stopped, waving my hands as a substitution for words I didn’t have.

  “You don’t know whether to shit or paint your toenails, right?” Em took another drag.

  I giggled. I am not a giggler. “Exactly.”

  “Think about this, Ames. If your mom has to have thirty rolls of toilet paper at any given moment, what do you think is her view on a bank account? On a savings account? Your mom probably just can’t deal with money going out and none coming in.”

  I nodded.

  “Take another drag,” Em said. I did. “And she’s not gonna just take this out on your dad.”

  “Take what out on him?”

  “Your mom is pissed. Your dad isn’t doing what she needs to feel safe. If she doesn’t feel safe, she’s going to get mean.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  “My mother’s been married three times. How many shrinks do you think I’ve been to?”

  “If you’re so smart, tell me this. I can’t believe this story they’re handing me about Dad’s job, and I know Dad lied to you about why he drove us to school. So what else have they lied about?”

  “Way more than you’d believe. That’s what parents do. If it’s convenient — they lie. And frankly, Tweety, your parents are a total mystery. I’m not kidding that there were rumors about Witness Protection. It’s like you fell out of the sky.”

  “Huh?”

  Emily put up a finger. “A. Family — you don’t have any. Well, Robin. But, what do we know about her? Has she ever had a husband? Does your mom have a dad? Where did they live? Your mom doesn’t ever talk about it, right?”

  “Right,” I said. “Who has no other relatives? No aunts, cousins, nothing. We could have a family picnic with one sandwich.” I giggled at my own joke.

  Emily put up two more fingers. “Okay, number three…” I thought that was wrong somehow, but my logic was fuzzy. “Your dad. He says your grandparents died in a car accident. Correct?”

  “I have been told that is the case,” I said, trying to sound like a witness in court.

  “Any pictures in your house of them?”

  “Nope.”

  “Don’t think that’s strange?”

  “Not until now. But Mom doesn’t have photos displayed. She thinks it’s, um…” I raised my nose. “. . . common.”

  “So, you’ve got a weirdo hippie drug grandmom and no, zero, nada other relatives, no pictures, not even photo albums of relatives, no talk about Great Uncle Bernie or cousin Ethel, nothing. Do you know anyone else with a family like that?” Em hooked up an eyebrow in question.

  “Oh my gosh, is my dad in the Mafia?” I giggled again.

  “I doubt it.” Emily took a major drag and held it. Exhaled. Rested. Then said, “But I don’t doubt your dad is lying about other people losing jobs. It was just him. And I know because Earl handled something for him. Your dad was his client.”

  “What?” Giggling over.

  “Dunno. Earl is closed-mouthed about his work. Lawyer-client privilege and all that. He told Mom your dad’s case was complete and that was all he could say. Earl was worried about you and told Mom to keep an eye out…”

  Dad, my dad, couldn’t be involved in something… criminal. Maybe Earl was just doing him a favor.

  And yet…

  “Until yesterday I felt — I don’t know, safe somehow. Now…”

  “Safe?” Em sucked hard on her joint. “Parents are not there to worry about keeping you safe. It’s the three dynamic. Always works against you.”

  “The what?”

  Em slid down in the seat a little. “When there are two people, they form a bond. Very hard to break. Like you and me. There can’t be three best friends. Can’t be done. Sooner or later, two will buddy up and turn on the third. In a family, it’s almost always the parents against the child. They have the power.”

  “But —”

  “No buts, Tweety. They have secrets. Think, if you want something that’s a major purchase, does your mom just hand it over or does she have to ‘talk it over’ with your dad? They’re the adults and are supposed to make major decisions, but don’t you feel that a lot goes on behind your back?”

  Behind my back. There was plenty going on behind my back right now. “How do you handle it?”

  “I pay it back. I put plenty of real estate between me and them. Let them wonder what’s going on. I don’t depend on them for anything but money and a bedroom.”

  “Em, if I’m Tweety Bird, right now you feel like Sylvester. I’m tired of flapping around wondering if I’m about to get eaten. I don’t want to talk about my parents anymore. I feel like one of those dogs that runs up and down the fence and barks his head off because he can’t get out.”

  Em threw her head back and let loose. “Yip, yip, yip yeeehoooooooooooo!”

  What the hell. I howled like a crazy yard dog.

  We yipped and bayed and got the munchies and snarfed through the bags of chips and cookies Em had in the backseat. We sang with the music and cursed our parents, teachers, and every other figure of authority. We giggled down to mellow smiles and figured it was time to roll home. Em’s handling of the car was so prudent I think she could teach the Grandma School of Driving.

  “Em, a dragonfly just passed us.”

  “I’m making sure we don’t call attention to ourselves.”

  “Right, you look totally fine. It looks like the car is driving itself.”

  She dropped me off at the big bush. I boosted myself back up the totally convenient tree and in through my window. As I nestled into my bed, it occurred to me that I had broken all the rules and the world didn’t go up in flames. Just a little jog down the dark path, but I had liked it. More than I thought I would.

  The rumpus was on.

  The next morning my hair and pillowcase reeked of pot. I washed my hair when I showered and opened my window to air out the room. The cologne I sprayed on the pillow didn’t help much. But I didn’t feel hungover.

  I appeared at breakfast, starched blouse buttoned to the neck, hair shiny and combed neatly away from my makeup-free face — the picture of private school–girl correctness. I could have arrived naked and painted blue. Mom stared into her coffee cup, Chrissy ate her pancakes in big-eyed silence, and Dad was AWOL.

  I poured a glass of juice and popped a piece of bread into the toaster. Then I clattered the glass and a plate for toast onto the table, neglecting to use a placemat, deliberately trying to rile Mom.

  “Daddy’s still sleeping. We should be quiet,” Chrissy said.

  “I couldn’t care less if you played the tuba,” Mom said. She looked up from her coffee. “He says he can make his own hours now and he’s never been a morning person.” She took a long look at an empty bottle of Jack sitting on the counter.

  “Are you trying to say Dad’s hungover?” I leaned across the kitchen table and whispered it. “That bottle could have been almost empty and he just finished it last night.”

  “It could have,” Mom said. “But it wasn’t.”

  My toast popped up. Salvation. The silence was broken by crunching and swallowing and glass clinking, and then Mom stood and grabbed her keys. “Ride with us, Chris.”

  Usually Chrissy did ride with us becau
se Dad left early for work. Yesterday she stayed with Mom when Dad drove. With Dad home, I guess Chrissy assumed she would wait at home again. Kindergarten didn’t start for over an hour.

  “Can’t I stay with —”

  “No, he’s asleep. Asleep is not watching. It’s not being responsible.” Mom’s eyes welled up as she stormed to the car.

  At school I realized that I felt way less tense, so less yard dog, than I did at home. I looked forward to having dinner at Em’s because I would put off walking into my house, where the air was so heavy, so thick to breathe, that it pushed in from all sides and the top.

  When Em’s mom picked us up, she gave Em a glare and me a smile. “I’m glad you’re coming home with us, Ames. It will take the edge off. Emily’s grounded, you know.”

  Em had told me earlier that she’d been totally busted. Her mom had been sitting on her bed when she got home. She had apparently wanted to sample her own goods and found them missing. Then she found Em gone, and then the car.

  Em hadn’t busted me, though. That was Em for you. She could get mad at you in a nanosecond, but she never gave you up.

  Em’s mom loved it that I was Em’s best friend. She thought I was a good influence. My mom was not so enthusiastic, but we’d been friends since we were in play school. We were “new money” and Em’s mother was from an “old money” Boulder family. My mom wanted that security that rubbing shoulders with old money provided so she put up with Em’s antics for the cachet of the family association.

  When we got upstairs, I flopped on Em’s bed. “Your groundings are a joke.”

  “Excuse me,” Em said. “I’m a prisoner. I can’t leave the house.”

  “Excuse me,” I said. “That would be the mansion. You can have visitors, use the phone, computer, TV — anything. You just have to entertain yourself at home. With the help of the servants.”

  “Not called servants. We call them by their names and they are our ‘help.’ They help us.”

  “I was grounded once when I was twelve. I was in total solitary confinement. I went to school and went to my room, and my room was stripped of anything but school books and furniture. No communication with the outside world. I even had to eat alone.”

  “I remember that,” Em said. “Wasn’t my mom married to the Italian playboy? He called your mom a fascist. I thought that had something to do with skin care. Remind me. Did you, like, kill a priest or something?”

  I pitched a silk pillow at Em. “I talked back to my mother.”

  “Oh yeah. So what would happen if she talked back to you?” Em asked.

  That side of the picture had never occurred to me.

  “You’re going to get premature wrinkles,” I said. “Change of subject needed.”

  We headed for Em’s computer. “I want to see how many new friends I have.” She collected friends on Facebook like her stepfather collected stock options. “Four new ones. Let’s see. MonkeyBiznez from Florida, single, male, a little bit kinky. Twenty-six. Hmmm, his taste in music sucks.” Em sighed. “Well, he can be a friend but I doubt we’ll hook up.” She hit the button to accept his friendship offer. “Two from Texas — must have been a slow day in Texas — one from Alaska and one from Japan. Oh, he’s cute. Not Japanese, though, his dad’s got something to do with the ambassador or something. Cool.”

  “My dad’s from Texas.”

  “How can I not know that? Stop, of course I don’t know that. Your family is in Witness Protection.”

  “I’m starting to think you’re right. But he did say he grew up in Texas. I’m not sure even Chrissy knows that. It was a long time ago. He never talks about growing up.” I wondered why I never asked Dad about his boyhood. Why hadn’t I been interested?

  Dinner was quiet, but not uncomfortable. When Em’s stepdad is around, it’s always quiet. There’s something about Earl’s presence that makes you want to whisper if you speak at all. I’ve never seen him in anything but a suit. Ever. But then he’s not there much.

  When Earl is there, he’s totally there. He’s not cold or too busy or uninterested or even ultra-businesslike. His presence is, well, calm, reassuring — even peaceful. You don’t want to howl at the fence when he’s around.

  “Ames, it’s good to see you.”

  “Thank you. Are you home for a while?”

  He smiled. “Thankfully, yes. I don’t have a case outside of Boulder or Denver for six months or more.” He winked at Emily. “Em may be feeling a bit confined with my continued presence.”

  “Earl, you know it’s hard to hold a wisp of smoke.” Emily waggled her eyebrows. She looked slightly demented.

  Amazingly, Earl was amused by Em, and shook his head as if her rebellion were something easily handled. He turned back to me. “Agnes made my favorite dessert. A chocolate chip molten cake. If you have any stress in your life, Ames, one bite will make you forget anything but the magic happening on your taste buds.”

  “With French vanilla ice cream?” Emily whispered with her eyes shut as if in prayer.

  “All of you are going to plump up like Macy’s Thanksgiving Day balloons,” Em’s mother said.

  “We’ll eat nothing but brussels sprouts tomorrow as an antidote,” Earl said.

  He said it so solemnly, I believed him until Em rolled her eyes and kicked my shins.

  Back upstairs Em called her BFM (Boyfriend of the Moment) and I overheard the plans. “Can do. Earl will be driving my friend Ames home. Mom had a megadose of wine with dinner. I can be out the door a little after nine. Mango Tango’s great. Don’t worry, my ID is foolproof. Kiss, kiss.”

  “Em, you just got busted last night.”

  “That makes this perfect. They won’t think for one minute that I’d try it again tonight.” Em stripped off her clothes and put on pajamas. “See, Em knows she’s grounded. She’s going to watch a movie after her friend goes home. All snug in her little bed.”

  She threw back her head and made a silent howl.

  “You don’t look twenty-one. Not even in your slut clothes,” I said.

  “Doesn’t matter. I’m almost sixteen. I’m thinking I need to be arrested at least once before I hit that birthday.”

  When I got home, Dad was in his study, Chrissy was asleep, and Mom was in bed but surrounded by papers and tapping away at her laptop.

  I tried to pass by without speaking, but her radar was up and working.

  “Ames, could you come in, please.”

  “What’s up, Mom? Looks like a paper blizzard.” I had taken one piece of Em’s advice early on. Don’t show too much wit to your parents or they’ll expect your grades to be better.

  “I’ve taken over the bills from your father while he’s looking for work and I’m trying to find ways to cut costs. Honestly, we spend money like drunken sailors.”

  Mouth moved before head could stop it. “Really? I thought drunken sailors spent money on rum and prostitutes,” I quipped, ignoring Em’s advice. “What have Chrissy and Dad been up to?”

  Mom’s glare probably stunted my growth. “I don’t appreciate this new attitude of yours, Ames. You’ve been sarcastic and moody. I don’t need teen angst along with everything else.”

  “Everything else what? Dad said everything was fine. Nothing would change. You sat right there and didn’t argue. Did he lie? Did you?”

  Mom looked down at the computer. She pressed her lips together until her mouth was thin and bloodless. “I don’t like your shouting, Ames — but I’ll answer the question: No, I didn’t lie. However, since there is no cash coming in, it seems reasonable to slow the cash going out. Economize a little. That’s all. We’ve let our spending get out of hand.”

  Mom made a dismissive wave. “Never mind. How was dinner at Em’s?”

  “She’s grounded again for being out late,” I lied. “Earl says for her birthday he’s going to put a junior lawyer in his firm on retainer for her.” That was the truth. He told me that on the way home. I don’t think he was joking.

  “Yes, well, th
at’s Earl’s idea of parenting,” Mom said.

  My cue to leave. “ ’Night, Mom.” I didn’t wait for an answer.

  Later I heard Dad come up the stairs. He closed their door and the words of their argument were too muffled to make out.

  I turned on my iPhone and stuck in the buds. Tuned out.

  * * *

  During the first week after his announcement Dad stayed buried in his study, coming out only for dinner. “The chicken is good,” he said. “Isn’t it?” Dad glanced at me over his wine. “Your mother makes a killer chicken marsala.” He didn’t look at Mom.

  “It is good, Mom. You haven’t taught me to make this. We should —”

  Mom’s voice cracked like a dry bone. “Get any leads today, Randal? How many calls did you make?”

  Dad finished his glass, then poured another. He took so long to answer I could swear he must be counting his teeth. “I worked on my résumé today. It hasn’t been updated in years.” He pushed away from his half-finished meal and stood. “Excuse me, Ames, Chrissy, I need to get back to work.” He took his wine to his study.

  “Ames, you have kitchen duty tonight.” Mom slapped her napkin on the table. “I have to have a little personal time.” She shoved through the kitchen doors. I knew where she was headed. Personal time meant she would sit at the piano. Mom didn’t play. But she loved to sit at the bench, her fingers hummingbirding over the keys, not making a sound, her eyes closed. I guess the symphony was in her head, shoving out the disorder she hated.

  The next night and the night after there was no attempt at dinner conversation. After dinner, Mom and I cleaned up and Mom asked, “How was school?”

  “Um.” I tried to find a mom-friendly way to say that people were avoiding me at school. “Edwin is still trying to trip up our teacher to show off. But he just puts his foot in his mouth and then falls on his face because he can’t balance.” Nothing from Mom. “But I don’t think he’s trying to impress me anymore. He doesn’t speak to me. Not even hello.” Still nothing. “Things are pretty weird at school. I’m feeling kind of —”

  “Be careful with that, Ames. You know I don’t like you to stack the plates.”