by Sasha Dawn
“Josh Michaels,” I say to the dispatcher. “Forty-four twenty-one Carpenter. We have an order of protection against my stepfather, and he was just inside our house.” I answer a few questions: yes, he shoved me; no, I’m not hurt; yes, he’s already gone.
Margaret and Caroline are sitting at the top of the stairs, so I go up there, too, and pick up the box when I pass it. I sit on the floor between my sisters while we wait for the police. My feet rest on the stairs.
“Is Daddy coming back?” Caroline lays her blonde head in my lap.
“No,” I say. “Your daddy’s going to jail.”
“Jail?”
“If I have anything to say about it, yes.”
“Love you, Joshy,” they say in unison.
“Love you, too, sisters.”
Margaret pets the box Damien chucked up the steps. “What’s in it?”
Caroline gives my arm a squeeze. “Daddies are supposed to be in jail.”
It breaks my heart when the girls say things like that. They don’t know any different. “Not really. Daddies are supposed to be good.” I open the box. It’s a ring. A dark stone, rather small, shaped like a teardrop, in a gold setting. I snap the box closed and shove it in the pocket of my sweatshirt. “He’s not a daddy, anyway.”
“He’s our dad, but not yours,” Margaret says.
“He’s not a real dad,” I say. “Daddies don’t do those things.”
“Then what do real daddies do?” Caroline asks.
God. What a complicated question. “Well . . . I don’t know because I don’t have one, but I’ll tell you what I read about in a book once.” Now Margaret’s cuddling in close, too. I put my arm around her. “Daddies are supposed to be here in the middle of the night when you’re scared. They wake up early and go to work, and make money so there’s always plenty of food and clothes. They read to you and take you to the beach, and play games with you. They drive you to school so you don’t have to walk. They’re happy for you when you win, and sad when you lose, but somehow, they make you feel like losing is okay, too.”
“That’s nice.”
I kiss the top of Margaret’s head. Yeah, it’s nice. Too bad it’s not real.
The door opens, and Rosie walks in. “Well, that went well.” She plants her hands on her hips, sighs, and stares up at me. “Why do you provoke him?”
“Don’t put this on me.” I pick up Caroline from my lap and stand her on her feet so I can get to mine. “The guy’s not supposed to be here. Don’t you remember going to court? To make sure he couldn’t drop in and disrupt everything and hurt people?”
“He’s sober, Josh.”
“Yeah? Give him a minute.”
“This order of protection is up at the end of February.” Rosie tucks her hair behind her ear and starts up the stairs. “Let’s just ride this out, and see how he does until then. If he can stay sober until February—”
“Are you kidding me?”
“He’s changing.”
“Do you know the girls are terrified of him? Do you want your little girls to grow up in fear like that?”
“I can’t do this alone, Josh.” She maneuvers around me. “I’m seeing real changes in him. He loves me.”
“Yeah?” I grab her elbow. “Did you think he was loving you when he beat you with a branch when you were six months pregnant? How about the day he had you by the throat and threatened to squeeze the life out of you?”
She closes her eyes for a second, then pierces me with an angry glare. “That’s all over now. And thank you for trying to make me feel as if I’m not worthy of love, as if no one could possibly love me. Just like your bastard father. Boy, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
“He’s not capable of love, Rosie.”
“Mom. You call me Mom.”
“You know it’s true. It’s not you. It’s him.”
“He’s changed! You want to know how I know? Because you shoved him, you practically dared him, and he walked away. He walked away! No cops had to come, and things are already settled. This is what happens in normal families. We make mistakes, and we get mad at each other, but then it’s over.”
The doorbell rings.
I look to my sisters. “Just tell the truth, okay? Tell the officers what happened.”
“God, you didn’t.” Rosie drops her head into her hands. “Josh.”
I’m already down the stairs and opening the door.
I let the officers in. Give them the gist of what happened. Show them the dent in the wall, where Damien punched it.
“Your mother’s home?” they ask.
“She’s right up there.” I point up the half-flight of stairs, where I expect my mother to be standing, but she’s gone. Only Margaret and Caroline occupy the space.
“Ms. Wick?” The officers walk up the stairs.
“Yes?” Rosie appears in the hallway, with a basket of clothes, as if she’s in the midst of doing laundry. She glances at me, then glances at the police.
I hold my breath. Tell them it’s true.
But Rosie drops the basket onto the kitchen table. “God, what did he do now?”
I release my breath. “Great. Lie to them. They won’t be able to help next time he’s got you on the floor, with a knee to your chest.”
Rosie looks like confusion personified. What a great actress she’s turning out to be. “I don’t know . . . Officers, I’m sorry. My son has been acting out the past few weeks. If you look at his record, you’ll see: he has a history of mishandling his anger. He’s under a lot of pressure. He actually punched the wall last night.” She points to the foyer.
Great. “Look at my hands.” I hold them out for the officers to see. “No bruises, no scrapes, nothing dislocated. If I’d punched the wall—”
“He didn’t!” Margaret interjects.
“Maggie!” Rosie says.
“Josh is telling the truth,” Margaret says.
“Can you tell me what happened?” An officer crouches to my sisters’ level.
Caroline reaches for Margaret’s hand. Their fingers entwine.
“Joshy’s right,” Margaret says.
My mother lifts Caroline to her hip. “Caroline, tell Mommy. Did Josh tell you what to say?”
My sister looks at me, and nods.
“I told them to tell the truth!” I say. “Girls, what exactly did I—”
“Really, Josh,” Rosie says. “To put your sisters in this position.”
“You’re a fucking liar,” I say to Rosie.
“Hey!” An officer is between us instantly. “That’s no language to use with your mother.”
“I could walk you through this house,” Rosie says, “and show you every dent he’s put in these walls. I’m going to have to repair them all if I want my security deposit back.”
“Are you moving, ma’am?”
“Oh, no. Josh is a typical teenage boy. He’s angry, he wants his freedom . . . he has to understand that while there are good choices in this world, he doesn’t make all of them.”
“I’m telling you,” I say. “That man was in this house. He’s not supposed to be anywhere near us, and he was in this house. Again. She’s lying to you because he’s got her brainwashed again.”
“I’m not—”
“They’re counting down the months for the order of protection to expire. They’re going to move in together again, and it’s all going to repeat. He’s going to spend all the money on booze and drugs and other women. He’ll beat her, he might even beat the girls—”
“He’s never touched the kids.”
“Never? Want to swear to that in court?” I harden my stare on her. He’s hurt me plenty. “And somehow, he’s going to convince her it’s all her fault.”
My mother’s glare could carve glass, but she doesn’t take the bait. She doesn’t insist he’s changed. “I can appreciate that there was a time our lives were pretty chaotic, but I’ve got it together now, officers. I’m a good mother, I make good decisions, and I�
�m not afraid of my ex-husband. I haven’t seen him in weeks, and he wouldn’t dare come here.”
“Are you kidding me?” I say.
“Let’s go outside a minute, son.” One of the officers heads toward the back door.
Son.
I’m not anyone’s son.
I follow him out and lean against the porch railing. I shove my hands in the front pouch pocket of my sweatshirt and meet with the ring box. “I’m not lying. Talk to my sisters. They’ll—”
“I’m inclined to believe that if this man was at your house, considering his history with your mother, considering the violence you imply, there’d be evidence of it. And we don’t have any.”
I’m tempted to give him the ring. I tighten my grip around it in the pocket of my hoodie. But considering the way this is going, my mother will only spin things to use it against me.
“I understand you’ve been through some tough times with this man, and I understand you hold your mother responsible. But she’s trying to put her life back together. I suggest you let her move forward. Dredging up the past isn’t going to help any of you do that.”
I press my lips together, keep my mouth shut. Nothing I can say will help me now anyway.
He hands me a business card. “This is a county social worker. Most of the time, insurance covers the cost. If you need someone to talk to . . .”
I take the card because it’s the only way to end the conversation.
“Call us if you need us,” the officer says.
A few minutes later, when the cops are gone, I head down to my room and grab my school bag.
I wonder if this is how Savannah felt the moment she decided to leave home. Had she done all she could to make Loretta see the truth of who and what Wayne is? Had she left when she knew nothing she said mattered? When the abuses continued to stack up and year after year nothing changed?
And Chatham . . . she said Savannah wanted her to leave home with her, and she refused. Maybe if I understood more about why Chatham opted to stay, I’d consider staying here with my mother now.
I pause for a minute when I think about what my leaving might do to my sisters. Will they be missing me the way Chatham misses Savannah?
This is different. I’m leaving responsibly. I’ll be back to take care of them.
Rosie appears in the doorway. “I know you don’t understand this, Josh, but if the cops nab him—”
“Yeah, yeah. You won’t get child support ’cause he’ll be in jail.” I shove a change of clothes into my bag.
“And I’ll be in violation of the order of protection, too. I could be prosecuted.”
I shoulder around her and head to the bathroom. “You’ve got things covered for the night? With the girls?” I grab my toothbrush and paste from the ledge near my sink.
“Well, yes. But—”
“See you.”
“Josh, I want to talk to you.”
“I don’t want to talk to you.” I make my way around her, despite her trying to keep me in the bathroom.
“Why can’t you understand I have to do these things to . . . listen to me! You’re grounded! Where do you think you’re going?”
I’d like to pick up Chatham and spend the day with her, but she’s working at the Tiny Elvis. So I go with option two: “Aiden’s.”
“You can’t go to Aiden’s.”
“Watch me.”
“And you wonder why you’re in trouble all the time, why you can’t have your freedom. You walk out that door, and you’re done for two months.”
“I need some space from you right now.”
“I’m serious, Josh.”
“I’ll be able to get the girls from daycare tomorrow after practice. I’ll be here to watch them when they need me, and in exchange, I’d like lodging and an occasional meal. Once football’s over, I’ll get a job, and I’ll pay rent and live here.”
“Oh, you think you’re in charge? You think you get to tell me how it is?”
“For the sake of the girls, I think you’d want me here. You think he’s going to suddenly play daddy? Be a good person? You need me here for the great possibility he’s feeding you a line of bullshit right now.”
She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. She knows I’m right.
“So I’ll be here for my sisters. But as far as you and me? We’re done.”
“You’re never done with me.” She’s got me by the arm now. “I’m your mother. I’m the only mother you’ll ever have.”
I think about Chatham, and the mother who’d left her to die in a hot car, only to reject her years later. In leaving today, I’m escaping a sweltering situation, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Rosie disowned me for daring to move on. But I have to go. I have to save myself.
“One day you’ll realize that mothers—”
“Mother? Is that the term you use? Because I call it the world’s cruelest curse, being born to you.”
I think I hear her crying when I walk out the door.
W a i t i n g f o r t h e S u n
I’m in the middle of a staring contest with the tiki statue standing in Aiden’s living room. It’s framed by the picture window behind it, which overlooks the bluffs and the lake beyond. The statue is about four feet tall, but it sits on a pedestal, so we’re eye to eye. It looks like an ancient warrior, standing in the midst of an orange sunset.
It’s a pretty sweet setup. Great view. Aiden’s right. This is some decent shit. I hit Aiden’s Banana Diesel a few times, take just enough to start feeling the tingling in my fingertips. Just enough to numb the sharp edges.
The way I see it, I don’t have to have my head on straight until practice tomorrow morning on the weight deck. Plenty of time to recover before then.
I know my problems will be there tomorrow morning when I wake up, staring me down with a vengeance—but it just feels calm, and that’s something I haven’t felt in a very long time. I’m always chasing after four-year-olds. Providing. Protecting. Watching. Waiting.
Still, even though I’m not physically with my sisters, I feel an obligation to be available to them. What would happen if they needed me, and I couldn’t get there because I was ripped?
I also have Friday night to think about, and beyond. If I’m caught violating training rules, I may as well forget about that Northwestern scout who came to see our game last week, which means I may as well forget about going to college anywhere but Creekside Community, and that’s not going to happen. I can’t let Rosie be right about me.
And then there’s Chatham. Despite our Homecoming plans, I don’t know exactly where I stand with her. I get that she’s been through some crazy shit, and maybe she doesn’t want to tell me all of it, but sometimes, even when we’re physically close, I feel as if she’s holding me at a distance. It’s like as soon as we start to dig into the stuff that really matters, she shuts down.
It occurs to me for the first time: she could have left a boyfriend back in Moon River, for all I know.
Maybe I should point-blank ask her if that’s why she’s vague. But if she tells me she’s someone else’s girlfriend, I’ll have to back off. One thing I know: I don’t want to back off.
I text Chatham: See me tonight?
She responds in the most Chathamesque way:
This could mean straight-up-yes, love-to-but-can’t, or even so-excited-you-asked-but-I’m-not-sure. Sometimes it’s really hard to get a straight answer out of her. I try again: Are you working?
“Unbelievable.” Aiden’s still reacting to my story about Damien and the ring and the cop. He doesn’t even know all the bullshit my mother’s pulled lately, but this story pretty much sums it all up.
I don’t usually talk about Damien, or Richard “The Dick” Herron, or any other of my mother’s fucktard boyfriends, because it embarrasses me. I don’t know why. It’s not like anyone would’ve expected me, at fourteen, to kick the ass of a knife-wielding, six-foot-two drunk-slash-high imbecile. But sometimes, when I think of that night, and others like it
, I find myself editing the script—things I should’ve said but didn’t; things I could’ve done but was too afraid to try.
“Your mother’s getting to be about as reliable as mine,” he says.
I crack a smile, although I don’t think his mother’s situation is all that funny, either. The truth is, Aiden’s mother doesn’t live that far away, but she never sees him. She has all the time in the world for charity and church—and her addiction to prescription sleeping pills. But no time for Aiden. She’s slept through his last three birthdays, and rarely even calls him on Christmas. It’s almost like he reminds her of her life before . . . and she wants to just leave it, and him, in her rearview mirror.
Which is why he’s been in business for himself since eighth grade. Her pills were the first things he started selling.
I take another hit and pass the J to Aiden.
He takes it and squints at me through his exhale. “You need any cash?”
He’s not asking me if I want to borrow money. He’s not offering to give it to me. He’s wondering if I want to work for him tonight.
“Just one drop,” he says. “Some grade-A shit to this house on Sheridan, and I’m too fucking smoked out to go there.”
I used to drop for Aiden occasionally—it’s not really that big a deal—but considering what’s at stake—football, potential scholarships—I don’t think I should. Then again, if I’m really going to make a clean break from my mother, and pay rent to stay in her house, I could probably use the cash.
“You can take my dad’s car. That way, if you have any trouble, you can claim you didn’t know what was in the package.”
“I’m not worried about it.” And this is the truth. Aiden used to peddle this shit when we were pedaling dirt bikes, you know?
“When you get back, I’ll have company.”
“Yeah?”
“Kai Watson. Shouldn’t be a problem, right?”
Kai’s a total bitch when it comes to Aiden. She’s raked my buddy over the coals and back a hundred times, but it’s like they’re magnetic—in a different way than Chatham and me. I’m drawn to Chatham because I feel like she understands and celebrates me. I feel like we’ve been traveling bumpy roads, destined to intersect one day, whereas Kai’s not even on the same map as Aiden. She keeps coming back to him because she wants to change him. Maybe I’m naïve, but I don’t feel like Chatham wants to change me . . . despite my flaws.
