“Did you know when your dad and I tried to have you, the doctors told us we had less than a 10 percent chance of getting pregnant?” she asks. “Did you know we did IVF three times?”
I shake my head no.
“So it’s something with you and odds. Both good and bad, it seems.”
“So you’re saying I should play the lottery and never get on a plane,” I try. She smiles and I smile, too. Careful, half smiles. Like we’re testing them out just to see how they feel.
“It’s a long road, isn’t it, sweetheart?” she says, and her half smile is real even though her eyes are sad.
“Yeah, it really is,” I say, and I wonder what happens to kids like me that don’t get to come home to moms like my mom and dads like my dad. My mind flashes on Dylan and the stories Caroline has told me about her family. I shut my eyes for a minute to try and lose the thought.
After one more squeeze of our hands, she takes the napkin she’s already folded twice and starts folding it again, even more neatly this time.
“I’m trying to be better with all the hovering,” she says. “I’m really working on it.”
“I know,” I say.
“For example, have you noticed I don’t come out to check on you and Caroline all the time anymore?” she asks. “I only came out last night because of Air Supply.”
“Yes, mom, I noticed. You get an A for effort there.”
Now her half smile turns into a full smile, and so does mine. Her eyes light up, too. We sit there in the kitchen, just smiling and breathing together, with the refrigerator humming and the ice maker plunk-plunking its ice. There’s no rush to get up.
CAROLINE—288 DAYS AFTERWARD
Jesse and I are working the last shift at the frozen yogurt place on Thursday afternoon. He closes out the register, and I mop the floor. The mop is so in need of replacing that it’s dark gray, not remotely white, and I don’t think my mopping does much more than push dirty water around in circles, but finally I finish and dump out the filthy water in the mop sink, and Jesse comes out of the back office and says we can lock up.
Normally I bike home and Jesse drives, but today he’s waiting for his mom to pick him up because the car he just bought from his cousin is in the shop getting new tires.
“Sorry I can’t give you a lift,” I say, nodding at my handlebars. “This sweet ride only fits one.”
Jesse grins. “It’s cool, Caroline. I can wait for my mom.”
I like how he says my name in his buttery voice. How he sounds like a radio deejay with some secret bad habit. Just the right mix of good boy and not-so-good boy. But I’m still not doing anything with Jesse. Anyway, I’m not sure he wants to do anything with me. Sometimes when we’re working together and I say something funny he winks at me, and I think there’s a chance. But really, I want to put the brakes on my romance life until I figure out exactly if I’m capable of having one without screwing it up.
It’s only early March, but I can already sense a hint of summer heat in the air as I bike home. When I walk inside my house, I find my mom sitting in the family room drinking a beer, staring glumly at the wall in front of her. The television is on the local news with the volume turned way low, and I can barely hear the big-boobed news anchor talking about the upcoming city council meeting. Dylan is in the corner doing his line-up-the-blocks game.
My mom doesn’t look at me. She just takes a sip from her beer.
And then, her voice even, she says, “Your father is having sex with someone else.”
I wish she’d at least said he was having an affair, just to gross me out less. But I’m not surprised. This is exactly the type of thing my dad would do even though it makes him even more of a stereotype than I ever thought possible.
I let my backpack slide to the floor. I slump down on the couch next to my mother and look at her profile. At the tiny double chin that’s come into form these past few years. At the scraggly ponytail she keeps permanently stuck to the back of her head. I remember the picture in the yearbook of my mother being crowned Prom Queen. She was the best kind of skinny, with curves just where they needed to be. Her eyes were alive like she knew she was special. Like her life wasn’t going to be like everyone else’s.
I guess that part was true.
“Mom, I’m sorry,” I say.
“Yeah,” she says, taking another sip of beer.
“Who is it?”
“The woman who answers phones at his work,” she says. “He finally admitted it this afternoon.”
“Is he here?” I ask.
“I kicked him out,” she says. “He’s staying at his brother’s, I think.”
I breathe a little easier now because I’d rather put up with sad, drinking mom than screaming mom and shouting dad. But the reality of the situation is already worming its way into my head. My mom hasn’t worked in years, not since Dylan was born. Even though we needed the money, probably.
“What are we going to do?” I ask. I don’t have to tell her I’m talking about the rent or the grocery money or the gas money.
“I don’t know,” she says. “But I’ll figure it out.”
I look over at Dylan moving his blocks into order. I will him to not make a mistake, to not freak out. That’s the last thing we need right now.
“I never thought things would turn out like this,” my mom says, and it’s weird how she’s talking to me like a girlfriend or a sister. Like we’re besties or something. I don’t like it.
“I’m sorry,” I say because I’m not sure what else to say.
“Everything went to shit after Dylan was taken,” my mom says, and suddenly it occurs to me that this isn’t her first beer. She hardly ever swears in front of us, and her cheeks are red and her eyes are glassy and I’ve been sitting next to her for a few minutes and she still hasn’t made eye contact with me. “I mean, it was bad before,” she continues, “but it all really fell apart after that.”
I wait for her to say what she isn’t saying but has to be thinking. The unsaid words hang over us like bad weather.
Why weren’t you watching him?
It was something she’d asked me to do a million times. Something I’d learned to do with my eyes still on my phone or my ears still listening to my music. Where was Dylan going to go, anyway? He didn’t know how to open the door. He didn’t know how to unlatch the window.
I’d been on my bed, probably texting Jason about something stupid. Trying to make myself sound the right mix of sexy cute. And Dylan had been wandering around my room, messing with my fifth grade rock collection that I kept on top of my dresser. The one that I’d always been meaning to throw out. The one I didn’t even give a shit about. He was pounding the rocks on the dresser and humming to himself and in general distracting me from whatever important thing I thought I was doing.
Dill Pickle, give me a second, okay? Can you let me finish something? Go play somewhere else, okay?
And he’d disappeared somewhere down the hall, and I hadn’t thought much of it. I’d had the hazy feeling that he was somewhere just beyond my line of sight. Maybe in the family room. Maybe in the kitchen. The sound of my dad mowing the lawn rumbled through the house. In the distance, I heard a neighbor’s dog barking.
Caroline, wasn’t Dylan in here with you? Weren’t you watching him?
And then my mom and me are running through the house and we can’t find him and my mom is running out the back door into the backyard yelling at my dad to turn off the mower, and I am in the front room of the house and the door is open so wide I can see all of the street in front of us and the Mackenzie’s dying lawn across the road and my heart is thumping and my knees are almost certainly about to give out. A breeze comes and the door swings open even wider, like it’s laughing at me.
And then my mom and my dad and I are running, my mom and I in bare feet, circling the house, chasing each other in a hide-and-seek game where no one can win because the one we’re looking for isn’t there to be found.
And the whole
time my mind is on fire.
It’s your fault, Caroline. It’s your fault. It’s your fault. It’s your fault.
And here, right now, is the end result. Dylan is messed up and my parents are splitting up. It’s still my fault.
My mom finishes her beer and gets up to open another one.
“Has Dylan eaten yet?” I ask.
“He had some frozen pizza,” she says.
I cajole Dylan into putting his blocks away, and I wipe down his face and his hands. I skip brushing his teeth because I just don’t have it in me. I get him to use the bathroom and I help him with his pajamas and then after he crawls into bed and I turn on all three of his nightlights, I sit with him on his bed. I make sure he has his pink horsie blanket and his three stuffed dogs. I try to sing to him, but the only song I can think of is the stupid Air Supply song Ethan and I played the other night. So I hum that for a little while, and I watch as he finally drifts off.
I thank the God I’m pretty sure I don’t believe in that at least Dylan had an easy night.
I’m not hungry, so I go hide in my bedroom. I want to practice guitar, but I know it’ll make too much noise. I’ve been getting better about finishing my homework lately, but there’s no way in hell I’ll tackle that tonight. I could go out and see how my beer-drinking mother is doing, but I can’t see that being anything but crazy depressing.
I pull out my phone and turn it over in my hands. I want to text Ethan. I want to think things aren’t so fragile between us after the last time we hung out. But what if he thinks I’m too much?
I don’t care. I text him anyway.
So big news my dad is having an affair and I’m pretty sure my parents are splitting up
He doesn’t respond for almost half an hour, but finally my phone dings.
Sorry eating dinner with my parents … shit I’m really sorry Caroline
I’m envious that he gets to eat dinner with his mom and dad. Me. Jealous of Ethan. That’s pretty screwed up. I text back.
It’s my fault. Everything was awful before but after Dylan got taken it just got worse, and I should have been watching Dylan that day. He got taken because of ME
My stomach knots up just typing that. I probably shouldn’t bring up Dylan with Ethan but right now I don’t care. I see a bubble pop up as Ethan is texting me back, but it goes away and comes back like five times before he finally replies.
I’m really sorry … maybe they could work it out?
His response annoys me. Then again, I’m not sure how I would respond to me if I were him.
I’m hoping they don’t get back together because it’s hell when they fight
Pause.
Yeah I can only imagine
Yeah, he can only imagine. Because he doesn’t have parents who scream and fight even though their son was gone for four years. Because he has a nice house and a new drum kit and a fancy, expensive therapist.
I’m being a brat, and I don’t care.
I search around in my closet for the bag of weed I got from Jason all those months ago. There’s only enough for the tiniest joint in the world, but I think it’s enough. I smoke with the window open and by the time Ethan texts me again asking me if I want to come over the next night to play, I ignore him. I don’t feel like doing anything but blanking out my brain and closing my eyes and imagining myself floating away somewhere into the stratosphere like a satellite that’s slipped out of its orbit. Like a star burning up in the sky.
ETHAN—289 DAYS AFTERWARD
My mother and I are driving through the streets of Dr. Greenberg’s neighborhood. It’s a bright Friday morning, and I’m feeling pretty good. I even made it on the freeway okay. Maybe it’s because Dr. Greenberg and I have tried his counting thing a few more times, I’m not sure. But as we turn the corner onto Dr. Greenberg’s street, really, I’m feeling pretty good.
Suddenly, we spot a woman on the sidewalk, yelling. She’s tiny, dressed all in black. When she sees our Volvo approaching, she waves her hands in the air like she’s saying hello, but her expression is anxious.
“I wonder if she needs some help,” my mother says, and she pulls the car over to the side of the road.
The way the car lurches to the side. The way my body presses against the door, following the car’s movement. The way there’s a person there, outside on the sidewalk, just next to the car.
Suddenly, my heart starts to pound.
The automatic window slides down easily, with barely a whisper. “Are you okay?” my mother says to the lady.
I can hear my mom’s voice, but it’s muffled and strange. My heart hurts it’s thumping so hard.
“I’m just looking for my dog,” the lady says.
I blink and try to focus on her face, but my vision is blurry and I can only hear her voice, soft and worried. She keeps talking. “She’s a black lab. Her name is Princess if you see her. She’s very friendly. My electrician left the gate open, and she got out.”
I’m running my thumbs over my knuckles. I’m holding back my own vomit. I’m dying inside.
“We haven’t seen her, but we’ll keep an eye out,” my mother says.
The lady says something back—thanks, I think. I don’t know. I’m just trying to stay upright.
“I hope she finds her dog,” my mother says, pulling the car back into drive.
“Yeah,” I manage. I wonder if she can see the sweat beading around my forehead. I wonder if she can tell how close I am to passing out.
Finally, after all these months, my mom is okay with just dropping me off at Dr. Greenberg’s front porch where he always sits, waiting for me. Then she spends our session time running errands to the sorts of stores and places we don’t have in Dove Lake. When we pull up, Dr. Greenberg is on his porch with Groovy. I slide out of the Volvo and manage to wave goodbye to my mother. I walk the few steps up to the porch on spaghetti legs. And then I feel a tidal wave of nausea come over me.
“Dr. Greenberg, I’m going to puke.” I haven’t even said hello.
“Sit down,” he says, his voice commanding. “Sit down and put your head between your knees. Take slow, deep breaths.”
I do exactly as he says. I’m staring at the peeling gray paint of Dr. Greenberg’s front porch. My breathing is quick and shallow.
“Slow breaths, Ethan,” he says. “Deep breaths. And don’t lift your head up just yet. I’m right here, Ethan. I’m right here with you.”
A minute passes. Maybe five. I don’t know. I close my eyes. Finally the swimminess in my skull starts to pass. I tell Dr. Greenberg I think I’m okay to sit up.
“Slowly,” he says. “Very slowly.”
I sit up and blink, then glance at him. “Sorry,” I say.
“Nothing to be sorry about,” he answers. “What’s going on?”
“Dr. Greenberg,” I start, my voice cracking, “I just remembered something so bad. I just had this memory, and I … I just … it’s so terrible, Dr. Greenberg.” I fight back one more wave of nausea.
“Ethan, do you think you can talk about it?” Dr. Greenberg asks, his forehead furrowed deep.
“It’s about Caroline. About her brother, really.”
I shift in my Adirondack chair and think about Caroline texting me last night about her parents splitting. I think about what she said about Dylan. How him getting taken was her fault. My stomach lurches again.
I work my thumbs over the arms of the chair. I try to focus on my breathing.
“Dr. Greenberg,” I start, and I’m fighting back tears. I hate that I cry all the time now. Those years I was gone I’d completely stopped crying. I gave up on it because it didn’t help anyway. And now when I cry, it’s like my body’s exhausted the minute the lump starts to build in my throat.
“Ethan, whatever you need to say, I’m here,” he tells me, his voice soft. “We can figure this out together.”
I choke on a sob and Dr. Greenberg asks if I want to go inside, but I shake my head no. I feel better outside. Outside with the fresh
air and the sun.
“Last night Caroline texted me that her parents are splitting up,” I say. “And she said it’s because of Dylan getting taken. And she thinks that it’s all her fault. Because she was supposed to be watching him that day, and he made it out of the house when she wasn’t looking.”
Dr. Greenberg nods.
“But Dr. Greenberg,” I say, and my body heaves. I’m crying now for real. “I remembered something. It just came back to me in the car. It isn’t Caroline’s fault Dylan got taken, Dr. Greenberg. It’s mine.”
Dr. Greenberg frowns a little. “Ethan, how do you mean?”
I close my eyes and let hot tears slide down my face. I don’t know if there’s enough courage inside of me to tell this story. I run my thumbs over my knuckles. I let more tears fall. And then, somehow, in a quiet voice I start to tell Dr. Greenberg exactly what came rushing back to me when my mother stopped to talk to the lady who’d lost her dog. The moment the car made its way over to the side of the road. The moment the car window went sliding down.
We’re in the black truck, him and me. We’re driving through Dove Lake.
The streets are familiar. Like I can place them but not really. Like I saw them in a photograph in a history book, back when I used to go to school.
There’s a gun in the glove compartment. I know it real well. It’s the same gun he’s trained on me. The same gun he’s held at my head more times than I could ever count. The same gun he told me he would use to kill me. And kill my parents if I ever tried to run away.
The gun that was waiting for me whenever he took me out of the closet.
The gun whose evil eye stared me down so many times that even when I stopped seeing it all the time it was still there. Still watching me.
The man is hunting with the black truck. He is looking for my replacement.
What do you do when your car gets too old?
You get a new car.
Suddenly, he spots him. I can see him, too. Light-haired boy, skinny frame. Walking down the sidewalk all by himself. He looks like he is lost. He is flapping his arms like he is trying to fly.
Afterward Page 17
