“Oh?” he looked surprised at this. “She was such a devoted mother to our little Justine. I just assumed … that she’d be a very caring, loving mother.”
“Everybody said she was,” Justine said, as if that excused it. As if it even made sense.
“Do you have a picture of her? So that I could see if it was really … my Emma?”
Justine shook her head. She turned on her phone and scanned through the pictures, but she already knew that she wouldn’t have any of Em. She had pictures of Christian, pictures of places she liked to skate. Pictures of her birth certificate or other things that were meaningful to her. But nothing of Em. How stupid was it to not take a picture of Em, for identification purposes? Why hadn’t she ever thought of that? She pulled out the locket, and showed him the picture and lock of hair of baby Justine. Cliff came close and examined it in silence, turning it over in his hand, then let it fall back to her chest.
“That was my baby. But she’s not you.”
“What happened to your baby?” Justine questioned finally. “Why did she die?”
“She got very sick. She went to the hospital, and the doctors worked very hard to figure out what was wrong with her. Em was devoted to her. She was at the hospital every day, for hours at a time. The doctors would think that they were onto something, think that they had Justine’s symptoms under control, and then she would suddenly get worse again, and they wouldn’t know what was going on. As hard as we tried to make her well … Well, there just wasn’t anything that could be done.”
“That’s like what Em said happened to me, but then I just got better one day.”
“But the real Justine didn’t. She died.”
“Were you there … ?” Justine asked tentatively. “When she died?”
“No.” He looked away, his smile disappearing into a long, thin, frown. His eye wrinkles pointed down instead of up. “No, I wasn’t. The stress of a sick child … it’s very hard. Hard on everybody, and hard on the marriage. Our marriage didn’t survive. I left. I had to. Justine was everything to Emma. I wasn’t important. Our life wasn’t important. Our marriage wasn’t important. Justine was the only thing, the focus of her whole life. And she just kept getting sicker, and sicker.”
Justine nodded. She tried to imagine what it had been like. She had known Em to be super focused, to be stuck on one idea to the exclusion of all else. And she had loved that baby. Had loved Justine. So much so, that …
“What happened after Justine died?” she asked. “Did you see Em again after that? Did you ever try to make up, to get back together again?”
“It was over between us. There was no getting back together again. Afterward … I did see her, at the funeral, and once or twice afterward. We were both crushed. She was inconsolable. We had had time to prepare ourselves, to know that Justine maybe wasn’t going to make it …” his voice choked. “But no matter how long you have to prepare, it’s just not long enough to be ready for it. She wouldn’t talk to me. It was like she blamed me for Justine’s death. I’d hardly even been around, because she didn’t want me there. Maybe she blamed me because I hadn’t been around, but honestly, she didn’t want me there. She wanted Justine all to herself. She was … consumed.”
“Did … did they do an autopsy? To figure out what it was that she had died of?”
“No, they didn’t need to do an autopsy. She was in the hospital. She died after a long illness. Even if they didn’t have a name for what the illness was, she had been under doctor’s care. They don’t do autopsies unless there’s a reason to doubt. And there was no doubt. She’d been a very sick little girl for a very long time. On one hand, it was a relief, knowing that she’d gone on to a better place, that she wasn’t in pain any more. But oh,” he choked up, “I missed my baby.”
He shed a few quiet tears. Justine felt strangely removed. How could this be? She knew what the solution was. She had always known what the solution was, but now she just couldn’t comprehend that she had been right all along.
“Do you think Em kidnapped me?” Justine asked softly.
“I don’t know who you are,” he said, shaking his head slowly. “And you don’t know who you are. You don’t know that the woman who raised you was really Em Bywater. She might have been someone else, someone who just assumed her identity. She might have been your real mother.”
“No,” Justine insisted. “She had the locket. She wasn’t my mother. I always knew that she wasn’t my mother. I told people, but they never believed me.”
He looked at her curiously, frowning slightly.
“You knew that you were not her daughter?”
Justine nodded.
“I don’t have any memories … of being kidnapped … I mean, I’ve made up fake stories about it, until I hardly know what’s true, but I just knew I wasn’t hers. I always knew I wasn’t hers.”
Cliff shook his head, frowning.
“I can’t tell you what happened. I don’t know where she went or what she did after Justine died. I ran into her around town for a month or so afterward, but then she was gone. Completely disappeared. I never knew where she had gone, or if she was okay. If it was Em who raised you, who kidnapped you … I can’t help you. I wasn’t a party to it. I never knew about it. Never knew there was a girl bearing my daughter’s name, all these years.”
He looked at her with a funny expression on his face. Like maybe she was his daughter or could somehow take his daughter’s place. But not really. Like he wished that somehow he could find out that she really was his daughter. That it was all a scam. That she hadn’t really died. Justine shifted and started to stand up.
“Well,” she said, “thanks for listening to me. I’m sorry about your daughter.”
“You don’t have to leave right away,” Cliff said. “We have to figure out what to do about this. We should call the police—”
Justine shook her head.
“No, no cops,” she said forcefully, her voice loud in her own ears. “I don’t want to end up in foster care or something. I look after myself. I don’t need any cops trying to take care of me.”
“But if she kidnapped you … that’s a crime. And you have parents somewhere, real parents.”
Justine had spent her life trying to get away from Em, but she didn’t really think much about who her real mother were. Or her real father. Cliff watched her face.
“What if your parents are looking for you?” he prompted.
Justine shook her head.
“I … I don’t want any parents. I want to be on my own.”
“Then why did you come here?” he questioned quietly.
Why had she come? She had wanted to confront the man who had let Em raise her, who had abandoned her to her fate. She hadn’t really wanted a father. She hadn’t expected him to take her in, or even to give her money. She just wanted to confront him about it. Now it turned out that he hadn’t had anything to do with her. He’d never seen her. Never heard of her. Didn’t know anything about her. So why didn’t she want to find her real parents, reunite with them?
When she imagined a reunion with whatever parents she had been stolen away from, she saw them hugging her, crying over her, and she felt a shudder of revulsion. All she could just think about was Em holding her, cuddling her, forcing her to submit to physical affection. The ‘holding therapy’ that Dr. Morton had recommended years ago. Em crushing Justine in her arms, refusing to let her go no matter how much Justine cried, kicked, and protested. Holding Justine until she was exhausted and couldn’t fight any more. Justine felt violated just thinking about it. She didn’t want another set of parents who wanted to hug and hold her.
“I don’t know,” she told Cliff with a sigh, “I wanted someone to be mad at.”
He grinned suddenly.
“Well, that’s honest,” he said. “I guess you can’t be mad at someone if you were kidnapped from them.”
&nb
sp; Justine nodded in agreement.
“So …” Cliff said tentatively. “Can I ask you … where are you living? Are you okay?”
Justine shrugged.
“I’m okay. I got friends. A place to stay. I don’t need anyone.”
“Are you sure? I’d like to help you out, if I could. I know I’m not your dad, or related in any way, but I feel a little … connected.”
Justine shook her head.
“No. Thanks, but I don’t need anything from you.”
“Okay,” he said slowly, reluctant to just let her go. “Do you want some supper before you go? I’m sure there’s plenty.”
At this point, Justine just wanted to get out of there. She shook her head, and went to the door.
“Well, thanks,” she said. “Sorry to have bothered you.”
“Take care … Justine.”
She shook her head.
“I don’t even go by that anymore. Katie is what I go by now.”
“Well then, take care, Katie.”
Justine nodded, and left.
Time continued to pass. Days and weeks, just skating and living, sometimes with the gang, and sometimes taking off on her own.
Justine leaned back against the low wall and wiped her face with the back of her hand. She hadn’t gotten used to the heat yet, and unlike the other skaters, she just couldn’t keep up her energy in the hot afternoons. They laughed and told her to wait until summer, when it really got hot. Justine shook her head. Hopefully, by then she would have adjusted better, and it wouldn’t be so hard.
“Hey, Zel,” Mongo greeted. He was carrying a water bottle and sprayed a stream over her head and face. Justine sputtered.
“What the … ?”
He grinned.
“You looked hot.”
Justine wiped her dripping face. The impromptu shower did feel good, but had been unexpected. She swiped at him, but he arched his body to avoid her reach, and stepped back. Justine massaged the water into her scalp and lifted her hair back, away from her face.
“This hair makes me so hot,” she said. “I swear one of these days, I’m gonna just get it all shaved off.”
“No way,” Mongo protested. “Your hair is so sick. Don’t do anything to it!”
“Hmmph.”
They watched some of the others perform. The park was a major gathering place for skaters. Dickie’s crew had been joined by a couple of other groups. It was getting pretty crowded.
“Hey, Zel,” greeted a tall boy with shoulder length, lanky blond hair in a breathy voice. “How’s it goin’?”
Justine tried to recall his name, but couldn’t remember it.
“I’m flaking out here,” she said. “Is it … Josh?”
“Jace,” he corrected, grinning. “Not bad. Lotta dudes to remember. This bunch treating you right?” He indicated Mongo and the others with a vague sweep of his hand.
Justine swiped at a drop of water hanging off the end of her nose, and laughed self-consciously.
“Yeah, they’re good,” she agreed.
He dug into his pocket and held out his hand toward Justine. She looked down at it. He held some colored tablets that looked like candy in his palm. But Justine was pretty sure that it wasn’t candy.
“What is it?” she questioned.
“Skittles,” he said. “Smarties. Vitamin E.”
“Ecstasy?” Justine questioned.
“Spot on. Good ol’ Malcolm X. Have some.”
Justine considered for a moment.
“It’s good stuff,” Jace prompted. “I got a quality source. And it’s not going to mess you up like crack or something. You’ll like it.”
Justine nodded.
“Great,” she said, taking them. “Thanks.”
Jace nodded, smiling. Justine looked over at Mongo and caught his hostile look.
“What?” she demanded.
Jace shook his head, rolling his eyes.
“What’s with wrong-foot?” he questioned. “I suppose you’re straight edge or something.”
Mongo’s face turned red, but he kept his temper under wraps.
“What do you know about X?” he asked Justine, his voice carefully flat and controlled. “’Cause it’s not true that it won’t mess you up. It might. Could even kill you.”
“Kill you?” Jace squawked. “Where are you getting your info, bud? X is safe.”
“Tell that to Nathan,” Mongo said quietly.
“Nathan? Who the heck is Nathan?”
“He used to skate with us,” Mongo said. “But about a year and a half ago … he took X. Collapsed right over there,” Mongo gestured to a jump that a trio of girls was just going over. One. Two. Three. “Started going into convulsions before the ambulance got here. When they got him to the hospital, they put him on ice to try to slow down his heart and keep his temperature down. But it was too late. X cooked his brain.”
“Did he die?” Justine questioned breathlessly.
Mongo nodded. He turned away from them and spit on the road. The angry flush had disappeared from his face, he now looked pale, even a little green. Justine looked at Jace.
“Would I give you something that was going to hurt you?” Jace coaxed.
“Can it really do that? Kill you? Cook your brain?”
He grimaced.
“Some people have a bad reaction, or they get something that’s too pure or been cut with something poisonous. But that’s not normal. Normally, it’s not gonna do nothing to you, just make you feel good. My supply is good.”
She pictured Christian in her mind. Cheerful, happy-go-lucky, the wild joy on his face when he was really into a skate. That was feeling good, and that didn’t come from pills. She wasn’t sure where it came from, but it wasn’t a pastel pink tablet. Justine shook her head, and handed the pills back to him.
“No, thanks. I feel fine without them.”
Jace turned on his heel and walked away, shaking his head. Justine stood there with Mongo, watching the skaters and waiting. After a couple of minutes, he turned back around and watched with her. She glanced sideways at him. Mongo swallowed a couple of times and nodded without looking at her.
“Right choice,” he said. “Thanks for listening.”
“Yeah. Sorry about Nathan.”
Mongo nodded.
“If it means I can keep other skaters from taking X and dying … then maybe his death means something.”
She nodded awkwardly. She ought to give him a hug, or at least pat him on the back. But she didn’t. She just stood there watching with him.
* * *
“Five-oh,” Dickie warned as he jumped the curb and landed beside Justine.
Justine looked around and saw a couple of police officers approaching. A couple of skaters took off, but most of them stuck around, unworried by the visitors.
“Time to move on,” one of the cops told them.
Justine skated up the wheelchair ramp and jumped down the steps, landing next to him. He frowned at her.
“Can’t you see the ‘no skating’ sign?” he demanded.
“They can’t tell us where we can skate,” Justine asserted.
“If someone doesn’t want you to skate on their property, then they have the right to ask you not to skate on it. You kids go find somewhere else to skate.”
Justine glanced at the others. They were gradually dispersing. She shook her head, disappointed in them for giving up so quickly.
“Your friends know what’s good for them. Don’t you think you’d better follow their example?” the cop questioned.
Justine shrugged.
“I’m not scared,” she said.
“Come on. Move on, or I’m going to have to arrest you for trespassing.”
Justine shrugged and looked around. She glanced at the cop’s name badge.
“Officer Sheldon,” she read. “Anyone call you Shelly?”
He grimaced at her.
“No one calls me Shelly
,” he responded in a growl.
Justine laughed.
“I guess not,” she agreed.
“Are you high?” Sheldon demanded, scowling
“No,” Justine said, “What? I’m just being friendly. You think ‘cause I’m not stressed, I must be high?”
“Let me look at your eyes.”
Justine looked at him steadily, and he shaded his eyes as he looked intently at hers.
“Satisfied?” she questioned.
“Empty your pockets and let me have a look at your backpack.”
Justine shook her head, grinning.
“I don’t think so, Shelly,” she said. “My personal property. You don’t have my permission to search it.”
“You want to force my hand? Fine. You’re under arrest for trespassing,” he told her.
Justine rolled her eyes.
“Seriously? For trespassing?”
“What did I tell you about ‘no skating’ here?”
“And you want to go to all that trouble to arrest me?”
“You’re obviously not going to leave when you are asked. So I have to do what I can. Now, empty your pockets, please.”
Justine looked at him, but he wasn’t giving in. Justine dug into the pockets of her baggy jeans, and pulled out the contents.
“Put them on the sidewalk, right there,” he pointed.
Justine did so.
“Now turn out your pockets so I know they’re empty.”
Justine pulled them partially inside out. Officer Sheldon pulled the pockets the rest of the way out, releasing a couple of cigarettes in the process. Sheldon picked up the hand-rolled cigarettes and smelled them.
“Possession of marijuana,” he observed. “Now let’s see your backpack.”
“You’ve already got me on trespassing and possession,” Justine said. “You really gotta find anything else?”
He considered this.
“I guess that depends what else I’m going to find,” he said. “You got any weapons?”
“A blade, that’s it. It’s legal.”
“Switchblade? Butterfly?”
Justine shook her head.
“Just a Swiss army knife,” she said. “It’s legit.”
Stand Alone Page 30
