“Hi Mom,” Sophie said, trying to sound casual.
Araxi grabbed a towel that was hanging off the fence and covered herself. Tamar didn’t have to say anything. They dried themselves off, cleaned up the mess on the floor, and went upstairs to take a shower. Less than an hour later, they were in their room getting dressed, and judging from the silence coming from their bedroom, Tamar knew they were nervous to see her.
“How was your trip?” Araxi asked.
Tamar was in the kitchen looking through the refrigerator. “Fine,” she said. “There’s nothing in here to eat.”
“We didn’t know when you were coming home,” Araxi said. “We were going to go to the supermarket with Dad tomorrow since he has off.”
She dreaded seeing Levon. Although seeing her sisters was oftentimes tiring with all the questions she had to answer and all the advice they berated her with, it was at least a relief from being around Levon. He always had his own set of questions for her when she returned from San Francisco and this time was no different.
That evening when they were getting ready for bed he was quieter than usual. He had also been quiet throughout dinner and had not even bothered thanking her for making food.
“How was your trip?” he asked.
She was putting on her nightgown and brushing her hair.
“Fine,” she said.
“How are your sisters?” The sarcastic edge in his voice made her nervous.
“They’re fine,” she said. “We didn’t do much.”
“You left suddenly,” he said.
Tamar realized that at some point while she was gone, Sophie must have mentioned that a man had called to speak to her.
“I did,” she said. “It was just as much a shock to me. You weren’t here when it happened. It was horrible.”
“Who else did you see in San Francisco?” he asked, and got up from the bed.
“Just my sisters,” Tamar said, trying to control the quiver in her voice.
“Who called here before you left?” He moved toward her slowly, a hard glare in his eyes.
“I don’t know,” she said. “Nobody. I don’t remember.”
He grabbed her by the shoulders and dug his fingers in so deep that she let out a cry. “Please stop!”
“You went all the way out there to meet him!” he roared. “You little devil. I bury my mother and you go out there to see him.”
“I didn’t!” Tamar chided herself for screaming. She always tried to keep her voice low so that the girls wouldn’t wake up or hear them. “Please. Please. I didn’t see him. I didn’t—”
Before she could get the words out, he had steered her in front of the mirrored closet door and threw her against it with one hard shove. Tamar screamed as she felt the surface of the mirror crack against her back and small shards pierce into her skin.
Someone was pounding from the other side of the door. “Open the door!” It was Araxi. “Open this fucking door!” she screamed and seconds later came bursting in. She looked around wildly and then saw Tamar on the floor.
“Get out,” Levon said.
Helpless, Tamar stayed on the floor trying not to move.
“What did you do to her?” Araxi screamed.
She lunged at her father and he blocked her with his arm. She spat in his face. “You fucking animal!” she screamed. “You animal!”
She raced out of the room and came back moments later. “I’m calling the police and the ambulance,” she said, holding the phone in her hand.
“Don’t—” Tamar groaned, struggling to stand up. Finally, she did. “I’m okay. Come help me.”
She held on to Araxi and they slowly walked out. The girl turned to look at her father. He stood with his back turned. “You’re a coward,” she said. “You won’t even turn around to look at me. That’s how much of a coward you are.”
She took her mother to the hallway bathroom and helped her slip off her nightgown. Tamar stood in her bare feet on the tiled floor shaking as Araxi cleaned her back with peroxide and cotton.
“It’s just a few cuts,” she said. “Nothing is stuck in your skin. I’m going to put some ointment on them and then a large band-aid.”
Tamar couldn’t speak. After Araxi was done, she walked her mother over to the living room and made her lie down. She covered her with a blanket, turned on one of the lamps, and left her.
“What’s going on?” Sophie whispered when Araxi came back into their bedroom.
“Mom and Dad had a fight,” she said. “Mom’s sleeping on the couch. No big deal.”
She hoped it was enough information to quell Sophie’s curiosity. As she lay in bed she thought of her grandmother, wondering how many of these encounters she had managed to protect Araxi and Sophie from witnessing. She let her mind wander to the far reaches of her childhood and a clear memory suddenly surfaced:
She and her family were at the beach along with her grandmothers and aunts and cousins. Her mother had walked out of the ocean and upon seeing her, her father, who had been eating lunch at the picnic table, pushed his plate aside and charged over to her with a towel in his hand. From where Araxi was standing she could see the faint line of her mother’s C-section scar and the round, dark outline of her nipples. Unbeknownst to her mother, the bathing suit was see-through. She heard him screaming at her. “Fucking slut!” he yelled and dragged her off to the side. She felt the cool hand of her grandmother Anoush guiding her toward the water and away from the scene.
Years later, Araxi would hear the word in school. Slut. She would learn what it meant. Her eyes open, she stared at the darkness, slowly allowing the silence to lull her into a dreamless sleep.
Cecile
It was late evening when Cecile woke up from what felt like a very long sleep. She peeled her forehead away from the window and when she looked outside all she saw was darkness and her reflection against the glass. She had managed to avoid thinking about the inevitable questions that were looming in the back of her mind. She didn’t know how she was going to face her parents, and worse, how she was going to face Araxi’s parents. She felt she had failed them all in different ways, Araxi included, and returning home empty-handed, so to speak, was the ultimate defeat. There was no way of knowing where Araxi would go, although Cecile suspected she would return to Santa Fe and stay with Kyle and Big John. She hadn’t thought to take down a phone number, as there hadn’t seemed to be a reason to at the time.
The bus was scheduled to pull into Port Authority by the end of the next day. To Cecile’s surprise, the bus route was similar to the one she and Araxi had taken. They had already driven through St. Louis, which upon reflection made Cecile shudder at the thought of the homeless man and his friend. It was one of several reasons she was reluctant to return to New York and leave Araxi behind. Cecile was genuinely worried now. Perhaps Araxi would shock them all and come back to New York as well. Somehow, it seemed doubtful.
She let herself drift in and out of sleep as the bus drove through the night. There was something dooming and permanent about going home that she hadn’t expected to feel. Eventually, life would continue. School would begin in a few short weeks and she would be a senior in high school. Her parents would make her apply to the Ivy League schools they had discussed, and hopefully she would be accepted somewhere out of town where she could go and begin anew. Araxi had been right—this had been a road trip for Cecile, a break from the dull reality of the limited life she felt she was living in New York. For Araxi it had been a solution, a permanent escape from a caged existence.
“You’re in your own world, aren’t you?” she heard.
She hadn’t noticed that the woman who had been sitting next to her since she boarded the bus in Arizona was no longer there. The person addressing her was a young man, most likely in his early twenties. Although most of the passengers on the bus were asleep, the overhead lights above some of the seats were lit, and Cecile was able to discern the features of his face.
“I can turn on the little l
ight if you’d like,” he said, as if reading her mind. “It’s kind of spooky talking to someone in the dark.”
“That’s okay,” she said. “It’ll bother my eyes.” She stopped to clear her throat. She hadn’t spoken in almost two days, since she had said good-bye to Araxi.
“Where’s your stop?” the young man asked.
“New York,” she said. “Port Authority.”
“I’ve never been,” he said. “But I’m getting off in Philadelphia and then plan on going to New York after that. I’m guessing it’s as crazy as they make it out to be.”
“It is,” she said. “Depending on where you go. But there are areas that aren’t too hectic.”
“I’m Casey,” he said, and extended his hand. Cecile shook it. Without asking a second time he reached up and turned on the light.
Cecile almost wished he hadn’t. He was utterly handsome. His hair was light brown and short in the back and his long bangs fell into his face so often that he had to keep smoothing them back with his hand. His eyes were a shade of green similar to hers—pale with flecks of yellow.
“Cecile,” she said and shook his hand. She wanted to pretend she was tired and go back to sleep. No good could come of meeting a character like this. She had always been wary of anything that exuded too much handsomeness or beauty or wealth. She was equally repelled and fascinated by such extremes and tended to keep herself at a distance when she encountered them.
“Do you want to stop off in Philly with me and then we can head to New York together?” he asked.
“Are you some kind of fucking creep?” She was so astonished by his boldness that she felt an equally bold response was called for.
“If I were a creep I wouldn’t have turned the light on and I would have tried to cop a feel while you were sleeping,” he said and smiled, clearly unaffected by her insult.
“What kind of thing is that to ask someone?” she asked. “Who asks that? Jesus,” she muttered and looked out the window.
“You don’t look like you’re in a rush to go home,” he said.
“How did you figure that out?” she asked.
“You seem unhappy,” he said, still smiling.
“I am unhappy,” she said. “My friend wanted to run away—I hate using that phrase ‘run away.’ More like ‘leave.’ Her family life sucks. Her father’s abusive and her mother is always depressed and she just couldn’t take it anymore. So we planned to drive off, which we did. But I wanted to go back home and she didn’t. So now I’m on this crappy bus headed home. And I had been calling her parents and telling them I would see if I could get her to drive to San Francisco because she apparently has family there. But then we got pulled over in Arizona and they took our car from us. She wouldn’t come back with me and I couldn’t see myself going any further. So here I am now.” She was breathless by the end of her story, but was glad to have the release of speaking to someone about it.
“Wow,” he said. “That’s nuts. I’m from Sacramento, actually.”
“You are?” she asked.
“What did you think? I was some hick from Iowa?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “You don’t sound like a hick.”
“I graduated high school a few years ago and then decided not to go to college. I was working as a waiter, but I want to work in the theater,” he said.
“You mean be an actor?” she asked.
“No!” he laughed. “Why an actor? No. I want to learn how to do lighting and build sets on stage. That’s why I’m going to New York.”
“Why would you ask me such a crazy question?” she asked. “Do you not realize it’s a weird thing to ask?”
“Do you want to?” he asked.
“I don’t know you,” she said. “We barely said two words to each other and you ask me to go to Philadelphia with you.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “I know,” he said. “You don’t sound like you want to go home, though. Do they know you’re headed back?”
“No,” she said. “I didn’t even know I was headed back until two days ago.”
“Well, we won’t be pulling into Philly for a while. Why don’t you think about it?” he said.
“I highly doubt I’ll be joining you,” she said, “but I’ll think about it anyway.”
She turned her head and rested it on the window, pretending to go back to sleep. Her mind was racing with thoughts now of what she should do. It was exactly the kind of thing Araxi would have wanted to do, and if they had been together now Cecile would have discouraged her. Oddly, she felt liberated from being her usual logical self. There were many things that could go wrong if she decided to go to Philadelphia instead of home. This man was a stranger. It would be foolish to trust even the simplest facts about him although they seemed like nothing out of the ordinary.
“Are you even sleeping?” she heard.
“Not really,” she said, still keeping her eyes closed. She tried not to smile, but it was no use.
“What are you going to do if you go back to New York?” he asked.
“School starts in a couple of weeks,” she said. “I’ll be a senior. Then I’ll go to college. Away somewhere, hopefully. I guess that’s about it.”
“Your parents must be worried,” he said.
“Eh. Kind of. I guess,” she said. “They’re very self-involved. I wonder how long it took them to notice I’d been gone.”
“I’m reading this book,” he said and pulled up his duffel bag and extracted a tattered paperback. It’s called The Picture of Dorian Gray.”
“It was on our summer reading list,” Cecile said.
“Did you read it?” he asked.
“No. I’ve wanted to,” she said.
“I’m going to read you this line,” he said, and started thumbing through the book. It gave Cecile a chance to study his face closely without feeling self-conscious. She had never been in the presence of any man that was so attractive until now. “Sorry,” he said. “It’s taking me a bit, but it’s a good line and I want to read it to you.”
“Take your time,” she said, aware of how foolishly she had become enamored of him.
“Here it is. ‘The only way to get ride of a temptation is to yield to it.’ Pretty good, right?” he asked.
“I’m not going to Philly with you,” she said, but couldn’t help feeling flattered.
“How about ‘Experience is merely the name men give to their mistakes’?” he grinned and pushed his bangs away from his face.
“Yeah, that sounds more like it,” she said, laughing.
They spoke until Cecile could no longer stave off her fatigue. The last thing she remembered before drifting off was Casey turning off the overhead light and then his voice, low and earnest, “Why don’t you come to with me, really? I’ve never been to Philly either. My cousin won’t mind if an extra person crashes at his place. It would be fun.” She smiled and fell asleep, finally too tired to think about it.
When she woke up, the bus wasn’t moving and the seat next to hers was empty. She peeked underneath his seat and saw that his duffel bag was gone. As if struck by lightning, Cecile shot up from her seat and walked down the narrow path that led to the front of the bus. The bus driver wasn’t there and there were only a few passengers on the bus.
“Where are we?” she said out loud, addressing no one in particular.
A middle-aged woman wearing a straw hat looked up at her. Cecile could tell the woman wasn’t much older than her mother, but the hat was so ugly and unfashionable that it made the woman look like an out-of-work farmer.
“At a bus stop,” she said plainly.
“But where?” Cecile wanted to yank the ridiculous hat off the woman’s head and start tearing it into pieces.
“Ohio, I think,” she said.
“Half the passengers are gone,” Cecile said as her eyes scanned the empty seats on the bus.
“I guess it’s a major stop,” the woman said.
“Goddammit.” Without thinking, Cecile sat on
the edge of the driver’s seat and hunched over. She was about to stand up and go to her seat to make sure Casey hadn’t taken off with her bag.
“You can’t sit there,” the woman said, pointing at her as if she were accusing Cecile of some unpardonable act.
“Do you know what?” Cecile said, rising from the seat. “I hate your fucking hat! How about that?” she said, watching the woman’s eyes widen with shock. “I hate that goddamned thing. I wanted to yank it off your head the minute I was stupid enough to ask you a simple question. Goddammit,” she said again.
She charged down the aisle and when she found her seat she was relieved to see her bag and swiftly grabbed it. Everything seemed to be in place, most importantly her wallet, which she knew she should have kept in her back pocket. All the money was there as well.
“Did you lose something?” she heard from behind. She turned and saw Casey standing next to his seat with his duffel bag slung over his shoulder.
“What—?”
“What?” he said, looking confused.
“Where were you?” She knew he noticed her face turning red and the fine beads of perspiration that had formed on her upper lip.
“That woman in the front said you’re crazy,” he said, and pulled a toothbrush out of his pocket and tossed it in his bag. “What did you say to her?”
“That I hated her hat,” Cecile said.
“Weird,” he said, and before taking his seat he asked, “Do you want to run in to use the bathroom? The bus leaves in ten minutes.”
The Legacy of Lost Things Page 14
