The Sometimes Daughter

by Sherri Wood Emmons

  “You wouldn’t,” I said. “You’d get in too much trouble.”

  “I will,” he said. “And I’ll swear it was all your idea. Because it was, you know, it was your idea.

  “And,” he continued, “Sarah will back me up.”

  “What does Sarah know about it?”

  “She knows enough to be on my side,” he said. “She’ll swear that you tried to sell her acid.”

  I stared at him. “I did not!”

  He laughed. “So, who do you think they’ll believe? You, or me and Sarah? I mean, you’re the one with the loony mother. Everyone will believe you’re just like her.”

  I felt tears welling then, tears of frustration and anger and raw fear.

  “Okay, one last time,” I said. “But then I’m out.”

  He relaxed, his shoulders dropping, and let out a huge sigh.

  “Okay,” he said, smiling at me. “We’ll go tomorrow after dinner.”

  I nodded.

  “Don’t worry so much,” he said as he opened the front door to leave. “It’s not like you haven’t done it a million times before.”

  After he left, I called Lee Ann. Three minutes later, she was knocking at the door.

  “What are you going to do?” she asked, watching as I paced around the living room.

  “I have to go with him,” I said. “I don’t have a choice.”

  “Maybe you should tell your dad.”

  I stopped and stared at her. “Are you crazy? I can’t tell my dad I’ve been selling pot for the last year and a half. He’d die!”

  “Yeah.” She nodded. “I guess so. Okay, so just go this one last time. You’ve done it before, and it’s always been okay, right?”

  I nodded miserably.

  “It’s because of Matt, isn’t it?” she asked.

  I nodded again.

  “Well, he’ll never know,” she said. “And you won’t have to do it again.”

  “I hope so,” I said. But I wasn’t at all sure she was right on either count.

  39

  Trent knocked on the door just after six and I slipped outside before my dad could rise from the table.

  “I’m going for a walk with Lee Ann,” I called, closing the door behind me.

  We walked in silence, Trent smoking a cigarette.

  “Not this way,” I said as he started to turn onto Butler.

  “Don’t want your boyfriend to see you with me?” He laughed, throwing the cigarette butt into the street.

  “Fuck you,” I said.

  He laughed again.

  When we got to the park, we left the sidewalk and headed down the grassy slope toward the creek. It was getting dark already and cold. I shivered in my wool jacket.

  “Here,” I said, stopping just short of the bridge. “We’ll wait here.”

  Trent lit another cigarette and we waited.

  “Hey.” Mitch’s voice came from beneath the bridge. He sounded stoned.

  We walked under the bridge and saw him crouched on the bank of the creek. He sat back and stared at us for a long minute, his eyes unfocused and glassy.

  “What’s he doing here?” He pointed at Trent, then glared at me.

  “It’s just Trent,” I said softly, crouching down beside him. “He’s okay. You’ve dealt with him before.”

  Mitch glared at Trent for a long minute, then turned his gaze to me.

  “Where you been?” he asked, smiling at me. His breath stank of pot and beer. “I haven’t seen you lately.”

  He reached out and touched my arm, and I steeled myself not to jerk away from him. Mitch creeped me out. He always had. Tonight he seemed more stoned, more out of it, more slimy than I’d ever seen him. I forced a smile.

  “I’ve been busy with school and ... stuff.”

  “She’s got a boyfriend,” Trent said, his tone mocking.

  “Oh.” Mitch’s eyes ran over my face, his smile fading. “A boyfriend.”

  He turned from me and reached into his pocket, pulling out a gun.

  “Shit,” Trent hissed behind me. I heard him back away a few steps.

  “Hey, Mitch,” I crooned, putting my hand on his arm. “It’s still me, just Judy. Everything’s okay, right?”

  He laid the gun on the ground in front of me and smiled.

  “Sure, baby. It’s cool. It’s all good.”

  We sat in silence for a minute. Trent shuffled his feet behind us.

  “So,” I said softly, “do you have the stuff?”

  “Oh, yeah.” Mitch leered. “I’ve got the stuff, baby. You want it?”

  “The pot, Mitch,” I said firmly. “We’ve got the money. Do you have the pot?”

  He laughed then and I inched farther away from him. He sounded ... unhinged.

  “’Course I do,” he said. “Don’t I always have the stuff? I’m the fuckin’ candy man.” He laughed again.

  “Okay,” I said. “Let’s see it.”

  He pulled a bag from his jacket and held it out to me, holding on to it a moment before finally releasing it into my hands. I weighed it in my hands, then handed it to Trent.

  “Okay, good. Here’s the money.” I handed him the three hundred dollars Trent had given me and watched him count it, counting out loud with him. When he’d finished counting, he smiled and picked up the gun from the ground.

  A car’s headlights swept along the bank opposite us and all of us froze, holding our breath. Mitch held the gun with his finger on the trigger. I felt beads of sweat dripping down my back, even though it was cold outside. All I wanted in the world was to finish this and be away from here, away from Mitch and Trent and the pot and the risk. All I wanted was to be at home, in my own room, safe.

  The sound of the car faded and Mitch rose unsteadily. He stared at Trent, then raised the gun and pointed it directly at his chest.

  “Bang,” he said, smiling.

  Trent just stared.

  “Nice doin’ business with you, baby,” Mitch said, looking down to where I still crouched on the ground. “Don’t be such a stranger.”

  With that, he lurched away along the creek, disappearing around a bend.

  I heard Trent exhale at the same time I did. Then I rose and climbed the bank toward the street and the streetlights and safety.

  “Hey, Judy,” Trent called after me.

  I turned.

  “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” He smiled.

  “Go to hell,” I spat.

  I walked home with my hands shoved in the pockets of my jacket, relieved to be away from Trent, and even more relieved to be away from Mitch. He’d always been weird, but I’d never seen him so creepy, so paranoid, so out of it. Whatever he was on, I wanted no part of it.

  “Home,” I called as I came in the house.

  “Okay,” Daddy called from the kitchen.

  I walked to my room, closed the door, and lay down on the bed, staring at the ceiling, and began to shake all over.

  I would never do that again. I would never let Trent force me to. I would never put myself in danger like that. And I would never, never risk losing Matt. Not ever again.

  40

  As Thanksgiving approached, I fell into my usual blues. I hated Thanksgiving. It reminded me of the time Mama came home from California after we thought she’d died at Jonestown.

  This year, instead of going to Grandma and Grandpa’s, they were coming to our house. Daddy and Treva were preparing the meal, and Treva’s parents were coming, along with her brother and his wife. The whole day sounded pretty gruesome to me.

  “It won’t be so bad,” Matt said, as we walked home from school.

  “Easy for you to say,” I grumbled. “You get to go to a restaurant.”

  Matt and his mom had a tradition of having their Thanksgiving dinner out, since it was just the two of them. I thought that sounded like a great idea.

  “Honestly,” he said, “I’m kind of jealous. You get to have a big dinner with family. I remember when I was little we used to do that.”

&n
bsp; I squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” he said. “It is what it is.”

  “Well, come over when you get back from dinner,” I said.

  “No, I can’t. I don’t want to leave my mom alone on Thanksgiving.”

  I sighed. He really was protective of his mom.

  “But you can come to my house,” he said.

  “Maybe, if my dad will let me. I don’t know how late everyone is staying.”

  He kissed me good-bye on the porch and I went inside to the sound of the vacuum.

  “Hey!” Daddy said, switching off the sweeper. “I’m glad you’re home. You can take over with this while I work on the kitchen.”

  He kissed my head as he walked by. A minute later I heard him whistling in the kitchen. He seemed pretty excited about the whole dinner thing.

  I vacuumed and dusted and took the rugs outside to shake them. It was chilly but sunny, a lot like that Thanksgiving week in 1978 when we thought Mama was dead. I sighed as I shook out the rugs, wondering if they celebrated Thanksgiving on the ashram where she lived.

  “Do you want to help with the pies?” Daddy asked when I came back in. “I’ve got the pumpkin done but you could chop the pecans.”

  I chopped while Daddy brought the syrup to a boil. He had Grandma’s recipes scattered across the counter.

  “I hope these turn out like Grandma’s,” he said, stirring the syrup.

  “I’m sure they’ll be good,” I said.

  He grinned at me.

  “You’re in a good mood,” I said, smiling back.

  “Yep, I’m happy.”

  We had Chinese takeout for dinner, so we didn’t mess up the kitchen, which fairly gleamed after a good scouring.

  “So, what’s Matt doing for Thanksgiving?” Daddy asked as we ate.

  “He and his mom are going to a restaurant. They do it every year.”

  “Oh, maybe we should have invited them to come here,” he said.

  “It’s okay. It’s kind of like their tradition, since his dad left.”

  “Well, traditions are fine, but sometimes it’s nice to mix things up a little. Like this.” He waved his hand around the kitchen. Pies were cooling on the counter and a huge sack of potatoes sat waiting to be peeled.

  “I still don’t see why we can’t just go to Grandma’s,” I said.

  “Because, she always cooks. And I thought it would be nice if she didn’t have to for once.” He smiled. “Plus, Treva and I wanted to have everyone together this year. It’ll be fun!”

  “If you say so.”

  “Judy, I hope you have a better attitude by tomorrow. I don’t want you sulking around being rude to everyone.”

  I shrugged, not looking at him.

  “Seriously, I mean it.” His voice was firm. “Treva’s family is coming here for the first time, and it’s important to me for you to be on your best behavior.”

  I said nothing.

  “Do you understand me?”

  “I get it,” I said.

  “Okay, good.” He sounded relieved. “Now, why don’t you start peeling those potatoes?”

  By the time I trudged upstairs to bed, my whole body ached. Cleaning and cooking was a lot harder than it looked. I wondered how Grandma did it, day after day.

  The next morning, Treva arrived at ten, carrying a big casserole dish and a huge bouquet of chrysanthemums.

  “What’s that?” I asked as she sat the casserole down on the counter.

  “Oyster stuffing,” she said, raising the lid for me to see.

  “Gross!” It looked like cat food and smelled worse.

  “It’s a family tradition at my house,” she said. “You’ll love it.”

  “Yeah, right,” I mumbled.

  Daddy walked in just then and gave me a hard stare. Then he kissed Treva, saying, “That smells great!”

  She laughed and kissed him on both cheeks. “I just hope it’s as good as my mom’s.”

  “I’m sure it is,” Daddy said.

  Treva stuffed the turkey while Daddy poured them both a glass of wine.

  “Cheers,” he said, raising his glass to hers.

  By three o’clock, the house smelled like Thanksgiving, Treva’s nasty stuffing notwithstanding. Grandma and Grandpa arrived with a jug of apple cider and two bottles of wine.

  “What can I do to help?” Grandma asked as soon as she’d taken off her coat.

  “Nothing, Mom.” Daddy kissed her. “We’ve got it all under control.”

  “Well, I feel useless,” she complained.

  “Sit down, have a glass of wine, and enjoy yourself,” Daddy commanded.

  “If you can get her to do that, you’re a better man than I am,” Grandpa said, laughing.

  “Oh, go on, the both of you.” Grandma laughed and accepted the glass of wine Daddy handed her.

  The doorbell rang again and Treva’s parents arrived. I’d met them once before, but it still surprised me how much younger they looked than Daddy’s parents. Carl, Treva’s dad, was an insurance salesman. He smiled a lot, talked a lot, and was constantly patting people on the back. Rose, his wife, looked just like Treva, except twenty years older. She wore jeans and a sweater and high-heeled boots like a fashion model.

  Just before four, Treva’s brother, Mike, arrived with his wife, Lorna, and their daughter, Morgan. Morgan was a year old and just beginning to walk. Lorna spent the entire afternoon following her around, her arms outstretched to catch her when she fell. I smiled watching them, remembering when Kamran was that age. What was he doing this Thanksgiving? I wondered.

  We sat down at the dining room table and Grandpa rose to pray. Then we ate.

  Everyone praised the turkey and stuffing, the potatoes and pies, even the slightly burned rolls. When we had finished eating, Daddy rose and raised his glass.

  “I’d like to propose a toast,” he said, smiling.

  Everyone looked at him expectantly.

  “To Treva,” he said, “my friend, my love, and soon to be my wife!”

  Treva rose then and stood beside him, his arm around her waist.

  “Oh my!” Rose said. “When’s the date?”

  “We’re getting married on New Year’s Eve,” Treva said.

  “New Year’s Eve? But that’s only a month away! That’s not time enough to plan a wedding.” Rose sounded appalled.

  “We’re having a small wedding,” Daddy said. “Just family and a few friends.”

  “But ...” Rose began.

  “Mom,” Treva said firmly, “this is what Kirk and I want. It’s our wedding and we want to keep it small and simple.”

  “That sounds lovely, Treva.” Grandma rose and kissed her cheek. “No need for a big to-do. Where will you have the service?”

  “Here,” Daddy said.

  “Here?” Rose sounded like she might just faint.

  “Sure, here.” Daddy waved his hand toward the living room.

  “Oh, no,” Rose said. “Your house is lovely, Kirk, but it’s not big enough for a wedding.”

  “I told you, Mom. It’s going to be a small wedding.” Treva’s frustration was beginning to show.

  “Well, at least have it at our house,” Rose said. “We have the room. Let me take care of it.”

  “We’ll talk about it later,” Treva said.

  “Well, congratulations,” Mike said, shaking Daddy’s hand and kissing Treva’s cheek. “I know you’ll be happy.”

  “Yes, congratulations,” Grandpa said.

  Everyone was on their feet now, kissing cheeks and shaking hands. Only I sat still, watching them.

  “Judy?” Daddy turned to me with a smile. “Don’t you want to say anything?”

  I managed a small, tight smile. “Congratulations,” I said.

  “Thank you, honey.” He kissed my forehead.

  “Oh, Judy, it’s going to be great!” Treva came and wrapped her arms around me tightly.

  I nodded, holding my fake smile firmly in place.

&nb
sp; I wanted to scream or cry or maybe just throw up. Instead, I sat smiling and nodding as they all chattered about flowers and invitations and music for the wedding.

  That night, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling. Just before eleven, Daddy opened the bedroom door.

  “You awake?” he whispered.

  “Yeah.”

  He turned on the light and sat on the bed.

  “So, what do you think?” he asked.

  “About what?”

  “About me and Treva getting married.”

  I shrugged.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before. I was going to, but she really wanted to tell everyone at once,” he said.

  “Whatever.”

  “Judy, it’s going to be okay. You know that, right?”

  “Sure.”

  He leaned over and kissed my forehead. “You’ll see, it’s going to be great.”

  I rolled over and closed my eyes, and after a minute or so, he turned out the light and left.

  I lay there just letting the tears drip down my cheeks. I’d known it was coming. It wasn’t a big surprise. Hell, Treva practically lived with us already.

  But seeing her with her arm around Daddy, everyone toasting them and planning a wedding, it felt like a punch in the stomach, like having the wind knocked out of me, like ... like when Mama left.

  That was silly. I knew it was silly. Daddy wasn’t leaving. Daddy would never leave me. He loved me. He was Daddy, for God’s sake. And he’d been alone for a long time. In a few years I’d move out, and he needed someone. And Treva was okay. I mean, she wasn’t great, but she wasn’t awful.

  So why did I feel like I’d been sucker-punched?

  She’d move in here, sleep in Daddy’s room, in Daddy’s bed. Or maybe ... God, what if Treva wanted a new house? Would they move? Would I still go to Howe?

  I rose from my bed and padded softly down the hall to the phone. It was eleven, too late to call, but I dialed Matt’s number anyway.

  “Hello?” His voice was sleepy.

  “Hi,” I said.

  “Are you okay? You sound ...”

  “They’re getting married,” I said.

  “Who? Your dad and Treva?”

  “Yeah, on New Year’s Eve.”