“I never stopped—”
“You did. It was after Stephanie saw us together. You got scared. And you know, I didn’t blame you. I understood. I think you sensed that I had broken up with Tim because of you. Because I had feelings for you.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“On some level you did. That’s what I mean when I say people aren’t crazy. They do things for some kind of reason even if they don’t understand it.”
“Did you think I was going to leave my wife for you?”
“Just the opposite. I thought you backed off because you realized how I felt and you were trying to protect your marriage.”
“And now what do you think?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I never expected this. And I don’t want to analyze it, I just want to live it. I realize that makes me a hypocrite. But therapists are always the most fucked-up people.”
She was getting upset, and he saw how precarious their situation was. They couldn’t talk about the things that really mattered to them without untangling the past.
“God, I have to have dinner with Tim’s family tonight.” Laura stood up, twisting her hair into a knot at the nape of her neck. “I need to take a shower.”
He stood up with her, slipping his arm inside her robe and around her bare waist. Her skin felt soft and cool. Outside, the sun was low in the sky, the shadows long.
Chapter 9
A tray came meandering down the conveyor belt with a message—HI GABE!—spelled in Froot Loops, the cereal glued into place by a small pond of syrup.
“I think this is for you.” Stephanie pushed the tray toward her fellow dishwasher, Gabriel Hahn. She was on dumping duty, while Gabe had the relatively cleaner job of loading the dishes into plastic crates before sending them on their way toward the industrial dishwasher. They had agreed to switch off every other morning.
Gabe came over to admire his friend’s handiwork. “Must be Evan, he’s the only one I know who’d be up this early.”
“Do you get a better choice of shifts after a couple semesters?” Stephanie asked.
“Yeah, sure.” Gabe expertly rinsed the syrup-sticky tray, the Froot Loops message briefly spelling I BE before being washed away into the drain. “But I love breakfast. Nobody eats breakfast. Dinner is hell, it’s carnage. If anyone asks you to take their dinner shift, you tell them no. That’s my advice to you, young grasshopper.”
“Okay, got it.” Stephanie turned her attention to the half-finished bowl of cream of wheat coming her way. There was no way she was going to continue working in the dish room as a junior, like Gabe. She’d already put in applications everywhere else: the admissions office, the faculty day care, the library, the museum, and even the gym. But she’d been told that, with the exception of day care, these positions were usually given to upperclassmen. First-years had to start in the cafeteria.
“How about some music?” Gabe said, switching on the portable radio that was perched on the dish room’s one windowsill. He tuned it to the college’s station, explaining that his friend deejayed the morning show. Gabe had a lot of friends. He had an exuberant, babyish appeal, with blond curls that seemed to be constantly springing from his head; round, flushed cheeks; and large, light eyes made even more innocent by blond eyelashes. Combined with his angelic name, it was almost too much.
“I love this song!” Gabe said, turning the music up. BjÖrk’s “Hyperballad” blasted through the dish room, competing with the sound of industrial-weight china and silverware clanking together.
Stephanie had only just been introduced to BjÖrk—by Raquel, of course. She told Stephanie that “Hyperballad” was about the sacrifices made for love, but Stephanie felt certain it was a song about suicidal depression. Drunkenly, she had argued that everyone had a sliver of suicide in their hearts, that it was the other side of the self-deceiving behaviors humans had evolved in order to deal with the crushing weight of consciousness. Knowledge of death was the apple Eve bit into from the Tree of Knowledge. Stephanie was getting everything she was learning mixed up in her mind, her classes were blending together in a way that was exhilarating and also muddying. She knew she wasn’t thinking clearly, that everything kept bending back to her mother, to the past, her fears, her loneliness. She was learning how alcohol could lift her up, but also how it could throw her back onto herself. The mornings were the worst. She had hoped this cafeteria job would help her get through them, the way the Red Byrd had helped her over the summer. But the dish room was too chaotic, and the reek of bleach got to her, as did the ugly lumpiness of the leftover uneaten foods, the sickening smell of it. The waste.
“Oh shit!” She dropped a plate. It broke neatly into four pieces.
“Don’t worry about it,” Gabe said. He picked up the pieces and tossed them into the trash can so quickly it was like it didn’t happen. “I did that all the time my first few weeks. They’re slippery.”
Stephanie nodded, grateful and also a little embarrassed by his kindness. Maybe it was just work-study camaraderie. As far as Stephanie could tell, only a small percentage of the student body had to work; everyone else spent their savings or had allowances from their parents. Stephanie had plenty of cash from her summer of waitressing, but if the past couple of weeks were any indication of her spending habits, she was going to go through it well before the end of the semester. She and Raquel bought things every day, usually just food and coffee and occasionally booze, but there had also been another weekend jaunt to Philadelphia, where they had dropped quite a bit of cash in a used-CD store, a Goodwill, and a makeup boutique that carried beautifully iridescent eye shadows. Not to mention the cost of lunch and train tickets. It was clear to Stephanie that Raquel thought nothing of their expenditures, which bothered Stephanie only because she wished Raquel could share in her own sense of financial abandon. Stephanie’s favorite euphemism for drunk was wasted because that was how she felt and how she wanted to feel. Like she was wasting something good.
The trays were coming intermittently. It was just the slow eaters now, the students who lingered over coffees with reading assignments. A big group of trays came all at once, which meant the cafeteria had been cleared out, finally.
“We can start stacking,” Gabe said. Stephanie followed him to the other side of the dishwashing apparatus where there were metal shelves for storing the clean dishes, trays, and silverware. Some of the dishes were almost too hot to touch and she passed them off to Gabe as quickly as she could, getting into a rhythm. What was it about physical labor that she found so satisfying? Was this how her father felt about athletics? Maybe she should drop out of school and be a waitress. Or she could work outdoors. Somebody was going to have to run her uncle’s farm one day. Her little cousin Jenny would probably take it over; she took after her father. Stephanie hated how her thoughts kept returning to Willowboro and to her family.
Downstairs, in the basement, she and Gabe took off their rubber gloves, put their aprons in a bin for the laundry, and punched out. When they finally got outside, it was surprisingly warm and students were lounging on the quad, sitting on their jackets, heads bent over books or in discussion.
“Look at this postcard for the liberal arts!” Gabe crowed.
“It’s a beautiful day,” Stephanie said, repulsed by her own banality. But as she looked at the scene in front of her, all she could think was that she deserved none of it.
“Hey, do you want to get a cup of coffee?” Gabe asked. His blond curls shone in the sun.
“I have to shower before my class,” Stephanie said.
“Oh yeah, what class?”
He was making conversation, she realized. He liked her company. Why? He was a cherub floating on his good fortune, while she was a backward-looking rain cloud.
“I have to go,” she said, turning away from him. She gave a little wave without really making eye contact, as if that was enough.
Back at her dorm, she stood for a long time under the hot shower, washing off the cafeteria sm
ells. The bathrooms were mercifully quiet and empty. It was one of those off times, still too early for the late risers but too late for those who had morning classes. Stephanie let herself cry a little. God, she was miserable. She missed her mother—it was that simple—but her longing was mixed up with an anger so powerful that she couldn’t really touch it without hurting herself. She had no idea what she was supposed to do to save herself. She didn’t have God; she felt lost to her father. She could devote herself to her education, but her idea of becoming a doctor did not seem big enough, or maybe specific enough, to carry her to a different place. Lots of people here wanted to become a doctor; it was an ambition so ordinary that many of her classmates—Raquel included—viewed their undergraduate years as a kind of respite before medical school. It was a kind of entitlement Stephanie wasn’t familiar with, but which she recognized, because she had also envisioned her college years as a kind of respite—from her mother. And now she needed her mother more than anyone else. She didn’t care if her mother was depressed, she didn’t care what her mother said or did, she just wanted her mother’s body in the world.
Stephanie had the urge to take a nap when she got back to her room, but Theresa’s neatly made bed seemed to goad her to action. She couldn’t skip another class. And anyway, she liked going to Psych I. Raquel would be waiting for her, saving her a seat. She would write notes to Stephanie in her notebook and slide her sticks of gum. Afterward they would get lunch or maybe they would fill paper cups with cereal and go to the library to nibble granola and sip tea. Stephanie tried to dress in an outfit that Raquel would approve of: a plaid shirt, clashing plaid skirt, black tights, and Mitchell’s hand-me-down boots. She still hadn’t heard a word from him. At this point his lack of communication felt deliberate, a message in and of itself. He was saying that she had to learn how to be herself without his friendship.
She was drying her hair when she heard her phone’s high ring over the dryer’s blurry roar. Her instinct was not to answer it, even though her father hadn’t called in almost two weeks. Or maybe Theresa had stopped giving her messages. She and her roommate had reached a wary understanding: in exchange for minding her own business, Theresa got to have the room to herself most of the time.
The phone kept ringing, so finally she switched off the dryer and picked up. A small voice answered.
“Steffy? It’s Robbie.”
“Oh my God, Robbie!” Stephanie hadn’t heard from him since the weekend he’d called from Aunt Joelle’s. That was the night she and Raquel had gone dancing, a night Stephanie could really only remember in flashes, as if the whole evening had been edited with severe jump cuts. Blackout drunk, Raquel said. Stephanie knew she wouldn’t have gone that far if her brother hadn’t called, if his high voice hadn’t reminded her of everything she missed and had lost.
“Guess where I’m calling from? A pay phone! I snuck out of gym class. I said I was sick and they sent me to the nurse’s office. But then I just walked out the door.”
“Robbie, you can’t do that, you’re going to get in trouble.”
“They won’t notice. I have lunch right after gym. I’ll get back in time.”
“You could get suspended.”
“It’s only middle school,” he said. “No one cares what you do in middle school. It’s just where they hold you until you’re ready for high school.”
There was some truth to this, so Stephanie let it go. She didn’t want to antagonize him. “So aside from sneaking out of school, what’s new?”
“Um, I’m going to Outdoor School at the end of the month.”
“You are? Already? That’s cool. October is a good time to go. Our class had to go in the winter, it was so cold. All the animals were hibernating. We had to study taxidermy animals instead.”
“Gross, like the dead stuffed animals?”
“Yeah, exactly. But the end of the month will be good. The leaves will be falling. You’ll have fun. How’s Bry?”
“He’s completely a Jesus freak now,” Robbie said. “We went to church with Aunt Joelle again last weekend and he went down front and witnessed.”
“What does that mean?”
“It’s like when you hear God talking to you and you start crying. They give you a chance to do it at every service. Like, after the sermon and the money basket and all the prayers for everyone, the minister asks if anyone wants to take Jesus into their heart. And last time this lady raised her hand and everyone made a big fuss over her, so Bryan raised his hand this time and the minister asked him to come down to the front. And then in front of everybody the minister asked Bryan if he wanted to take Jesus into his heart and he said yes and then the whole church clapped and then the minister said this prayer and put Jesus in his heart. And ever since then he’s been bugging me and Dad to put Jesus in our hearts because otherwise he doesn’t get to be with us in heaven.”
“What does Dad say?”
“He ignores it.”
Stephanie heard cars in the background of Robbie’s call. “Are you at the pay phone by the Tastee Freez?”
“No, the one near the post office.”
“I didn’t know there was one there.”
“It’s kind of hidden. I saw it when I was walking by and then I thought, ‘Let me call Stephanie.’”
“So it’s not like Dad doesn’t let you call me or anything?”
“No, I just don’t want Bryan hearing me complaining because he’ll make me feel bad. I like church fine, but I don’t understand Aunt Joelle’s. I think it’s cheesy.”
“Why do you keep going?”
“I don’t know, we just do. Dad doesn’t go. He stays home.”
Listening to him, Stephanie got a glimpse of her own childhood, the way things just happened to her and she just accepted them because what choice did she have? Maybe going on walkabouts was Robbie’s way of getting some freedom.
“Hey, Steffy, a voice said I have to put in more quarters but I don’t have any. So good-bye!”
“Wait, Robbie! Go back to school, okay? Robbie? I love you!”
The line was dead. Stephanie wondered how much he’d heard. A sense of his vulnerability overwhelmed her. Where would he go next? To Willow Park? The cemetery? Back to Asaro’s, where their mother used to take them? She had an urge to tell someone his whereabouts and wondered if she should try to call her father at school. But at the same time she took a kind of angry satisfaction in knowing something he didn’t.
LAURA’S SMALL, WINDOWLESS office was barely unpacked, the decor echoing her apartment, with stacks of books and files piled on the floor, waiting to be shelved. “I keep meaning to come in some weekend and straighten things up,” she said airily as she let Dean in. Dean understood her small-talk excuses were a show put on for her receptionist, a woman who also worked for the principal and vice principal. Their offices were nearby, but more prominently located, with interior windows overlooking the main corridor.
He began to kiss her as soon as she shut the door, feeling protected by the painted cinder-block walls.
“Dean!” Laura pushed him gently away. “We can’t.”
“Why not?” He stroked her arm, bare below a silk shell. A blazer was draped over a chair nearby. He liked how formally she dressed for work.
“Because we have to talk about Robbie.”
“Oh, right,” he said, uncertainly, stepping back. He had thought that Robbie was just an excuse to meet midday on a Friday—a meeting they needed because they probably wouldn’t get to see each other over the weekend.
“I thought I had made it clear . . .” Laura trailed off. “On the phone?”
“Yeah, you did,” Dean said, recalling a certain sternness when she had called the day before to schedule their meeting. But sometimes she was stern as a way of being flirtatious.
Laura sat down at her desk, pausing to put on her blazer. She gestured for Dean to take a seat in one of the two vinyl chairs across from her. He felt ridiculous in his gym teacher clothes, his shorts and warm-up jack
et. He should have changed into khakis, at least.
“I know this isn’t ideal, me talking to you about this stuff, but it’s what we’re dealing with, so I’m just going to tell you and I want you to respond to me as a parent, if you can. What I mean is, don’t worry about hurting my feelings or anything like that. We’re talking about Robbie now.”
“Okay,” Dean said. “Did he get into trouble?”
“No, not really,” Laura said. “But he did leave school yesterday—again.”
“What? Why wasn’t I notified?”
“Because he wasn’t caught. He told me yesterday afternoon, which is when we usually meet—”
“Where did he go? What did he do?”
“He walked around town. Then he came back at the end of his lunch period. No one was the wiser. I think on some level he wanted to get caught, though. He was eager to tell me, and he wanted to know if he would be in trouble.”
“He should be. He has to stop doing this.”
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I’m not sure it’s the best idea to report him. I think the punishment would be too harsh. At the very least, he would be put in long-term detention, which would keep him from doing the play. And he probably wouldn’t be allowed to go on field trips, not to mention his Outdoor School stay, which is coming up soon.”
“Oh yeah, I keep forgetting about that.”
“I wanted to talk to you about that, too. Robbie told me that he brought home a list of things he needs for the trip and he’s worried that you aren’t going to get those items for him.”
“Of course I’m going to get them,” Dean said. “It’s basic camping stuff, a lot of it we already have. He doesn’t even go until the end of the month.”
“I think Robbie just wants a little more fanfare around it. You know, he wants the two of you to spend an afternoon getting these things together from around the house or going to the camping store or whatever you need to do. He wants attention.”
Home Field Page 20
