The Last Good Place of Lily Odilon

by Sara Beitia

  Let her be mad, he thought. He was mad at her, too. Tired of her never giving him the benefit of the doubt, and the nagging. He glanced over his shoulder, his glare enough to bore a hole into his mother’s back. As if she could feel it, she whirled around and caught his eye. Her expression was poisonous, like she was trying to vaporize him with it. He dropped his gaze first.

  “I’m sorry,” Albert finally said, taking the safest approach he could think of. There was a lot more he wanted to say; he wanted to yell at her, and the desire to explain himself, to show her she was wrong, was almost unbearable. But he didn’t know how. They stared at each other—him waiting, her watching, that one muscle under her left eye twitching. He couldn’t really do anything with the journal poking him in the small of the back. He had to hold it all in just a bit longer.

  “Yeah, you’re sorry.” His mother reached into a low cupboard and pulled out a frying pan, slamming it onto the stove. “I don’t care. In barely more than a week you’ve been sorry for sneaking out of the house, sorry you were pulled out of class for police questioning, for god’s sake—and sorry now for skipping school.”

  No, now was definitely not the time to add breaking and entering to the list of complaints she had against him. He was stunned by what he’d learned today, and by the nasty meeting he’d had with Kogen on the street.

  “Sorry isn’t doing your father and me much good, is it? Not doing you any good, either. When you just keep screwing up anyway? But don’t worry, we’ll definitely discuss it further when your father gets home from work.” Now she was rummaging violently in the fridge. “We’ve already grounded you, but apparently that’s about as useful as your sorry.”

  While her back was turned, Albert started toward the hallway and his bedroom, remembering that she’d originally commanded him to get out of her sight.

  “Hold it,” she said. He stopped and turned around to see her glaring at him, a package of bloody hamburger oozing in her one upraised hand. “On second thought, I heard a mouse in the basement this morning. Make yourself useful and go get the mousetraps from the garage and set them around down there.”

  Chores as a prelude to punishment—familiar territory. This one was pretty weak, but it was the middle of February and there weren’t any hedges to trim or gutters to be degunked. Though he wouldn’t admit it to her, Albert was actually glad to have something to do besides wait in his room for whatever real punishment his parents chose to hand down.

  “Can I change my shoes first?” he asked. It was a stupid question, especially since he was only going to the basement, but his mother only rolled her eyes and went back to terrorizing the hamburger. Albert took this for a yes and hurried across the house to his bedroom.

  Figuring he only had a few moments before his mother couldn’t stand it any longer and came after him to yell a bit more, he pulled Lily’s diary from his waistband and looked around for a place to put it.

  He felt a pressure to hurry that made him panicky, and he settled for slipping the little book under the pillow of his unmade bed. He wished he didn’t have to hide the journal right now, that instead he could just show it to his parents so they could help him. But his mother was so mad, and when his father got home, he’d yell at Albert, too, and there’d be a whole lot more of the yelling when he had to explain how he got the journal. It would be forever until they calmed down enough to listen to him. And even then, even if they would consent to just look at the thing, they would probably think Lily was a liar. “Troubled,” as Kogen had said to Albert’s mother.

  Pulling the covers up a little on the bed, he thought, screw ’em, then. His parents could read about Kogen’s arrest in the local paper like everyone else. He wouldn’t bother them until it was all settled—after he and Olivia had taken the journal to the police as evidence of what had really happened. If the cops believed it, his parents would have to, too.

  It was a good thing he’d hidden the diary immediately, because he didn’t even have both shoes off before his mother came stomping down the hall to yell at him more. He jumped off his bed, slid his feet into a pair of dorky clogs he’d gotten for Christmas, and left his bedroom. He shut the door tight behind him.

  After grabbing the peanut butter and a plastic knife from the kitchen, then the box of traps (after some searching) from the shelf in the garage, Albert hustled downstairs to his chore. As he was baiting the traps and setting them in all the corners around the three rooms of the basement, he tried not to think about the cute little creatures getting themselves squashed by the spring lever when they tried for the peanut-buttery goodness.

  He set a loaded trap in the corner behind the water heater. At least these spring-loaded things killed them quickly.

  Beyond the furnace and water heater was the back room where his family kept old stuff they couldn’t bear to throw away. This was stuff they’d brought here over hundreds of miles. Besides the unmarked cardboard boxes, his dead grandmother’s old canning jars, Christmas decorations, a rusty exercise bike, and several pairs of Luis Morales’ worn-out work boots, there were several boxes marked Albert on a low shelf behind the door. There was Albert: Schoolwork, Albert: Toys and even Albert: Baby Clothes, all written on the boxes with black permanent marker in Vanessa Morales’ tight block printing. His mother refused to get rid of the remains of his childhood junk, and the older he got, the more she seemed ready to bring his old Legos and OshKosh overalls upstairs and put Albert down in the basement in a box marked Albert: Not So Cute Anymore.

  The shock and hostility of the day had drained Albert’s energy, and he slowly crossed to the fruit room at the other end of the basement to set the last mousetrap. Any rodents looking for a snack would get a spring-loaded metal bar through the head instead.

  When mice got into their old house a few years ago, his father had bought glue traps, but it had been too horrible. Though it was more humane in theory, in reality, watching the mice—there had been four that time—struggling and slowly dying in the gluey mess was deeply depressing to the eleven-year-old Albert.

  He felt like he was wriggling in a giant glue-trap himself now, some awful place between childhood and adulthood. His parents treated him like a little kid. And when he was around them, he felt like one. When he was with Lily, he felt like a real person. She knew nothing about what he used to be like, and she didn’t need to know what he was supposed to become. She just took him as he was, as he took her. That she was wrapped up in something worse than he could have imagined didn’t change the way Albert felt about her—didn’t change the fact that life seemed exciting and somehow open when they were together.

  He wanted to save her.

  He wanted to save her, because that would prove he loved her better than anyone, prove he was worthy of her love.

  He would never admit it, though. It was stupid and desperate. He sat on the bottom step, sighing hard.

  As Albert finally stood to shuffle up the stairs, his mother appeared at the top, about to shout that he should wash up for dinner. Next to her was his father, just home from work. Goodie. Albert dared a look at his father’s face, trying to guess how bad his father’s mood was after learning about Albert’s latest dumb move.

  Blank-faced, his father reached out as he walked past and flicked him on the forehead with one thick, callused finger. He said, “You’re on your third strike, boy.”

  Stars in front of his eyes, Albert slumped and looked down at his feet. It felt like there was a mountain of crap threatening to bury him and this was just another shovelful. The mountain menaced from every direction—Lily’s disappearance and her terrible secret … the police … his parents … Kogen, too, who was a double problem. Not only was Kogen a danger to Lily and the cause of everything, but he was suspicious of Albert, too. To what degree, Albert wasn’t sure—another problem. And of course, if Kogen somehow knew that Albert had taken something from Lily’s room because of the conversation he’d overheard, then he must be suspicious of Olivia as well—which put her in danger.r />
  Thwump. Albert could almost feel the dull thud of another load of crap falling on him. He splashed his face with cold water from the bathroom faucet and went to face his parents in the dining room.

  Dinner was painful, as he’d known it would be. His parents dropped a tag-team attack on him. The whole meal was an unrelenting barrage of

  “—respect our rules as long as you’re living under—”

  “—don’t keep up in school, you’ll never get into a good—”

  “—think you’re in love, but—”

  “—have to take care of yourself—”

  “—throw your life away for the first girl you—”

  Albert knew better than to interrupt either of his parents, so he had to act like he was listening and apologetic for all the trouble he’d been in lately, while eating a plate of spaghetti—two tasks that were actually kind of hard to do at the same time. A constant chorus of this sucks marched through his brain while he was sitting there.

  “I just don’t understand,” his mother was saying. He looked up from his plate and saw that she’d put down her fork and was glaring at him. “I thought you were really back on track—you haven’t been in any trouble since we moved here. I thought last year’s screw-up was firmly in the past.”

  Albert flinched. He’d known this was going to come up eventually. It had been over a year since he’d gotten into trouble with Chris and Danny and those guys, that weekend they all went upstate without telling their parents. Jake’s uncle—the guy they’d boosted the car from—decided not to press charges, so at least he hadn’t actually been arrested. Albert really didn’t know they didn’t have permission to use the car (though his parents never believed that), but still, he’d known it was dumb when they were doing it. He just hadn’t cared enough to let that stop him. He’d been paying for that weekend ever since. His parents still wouldn’t let him get his own car or a cell phone, and they didn’t like to let him go out. Even though he’d kept in line—which was pretty easy to do after they’d moved away—he couldn’t get their trust back.

  They weren’t likely to loosen his leash even an inch now that all this Lily stuff was happening. The fact that he’d sneaked out—although just to see Lily, not to commit some crime—had made them pull the leash even tighter. It was like it proved their distrust of him was completely justified. He didn’t know how to tell them he wasn’t headed for some kind of criminal life; he could see flashbacks to that stupid weekend in his parents’ eyes now, and he knew they weren’t likely to trust him again anytime soon.

  “… she hasn’t been good for you.”

  Albert dropped his fork and it clattered loudly on his plate. “Just shut up about Lily, okay? Honestly, I can’t believe you’re talking about her like then when she—” He was talking too loud and too fast. “Did it ever occur to you that it’s not Lily? That I just realized that my big goal in life isn’t to keep you happy?”

  “You’re seventeen,” his father said. “You don’t know what your goal in life is, or what it ought to be. That’s why we worry, and why we push, and why we can’t let you let some girl screw it all up.”

  “Bullshit,” Albert said. Dropping a swearword at the table was definitely on his father’s shortlist of unacceptable dinner conversation, but Albert had become too angry to care.

  “Albert! Apologize to your father right now!”

  “Forget it, Vanessa,” his father said. He stood up, pushed his chair abruptly back, and began clearing the table. To his son he said quietly, “I don’t know what’s happening to you.”

  “May I be excused?” Albert asked. He didn’t know what was happening to him either, but whatever it was, he didn’t think he could stop it now.

  “Just go,” said his mother wearily. “I don’t know what to do anymore. I’m not even sure how to punish you.”

  Albert pushed his chair back. “Yeah, it’s kind of tough when I already don’t have a car or a cell phone, my girlfriend is missing, and the police are keeping tabs on me better than you are, isn’t it?”

  “If you want a car, then save your money and buy one!”

  “You won’t let me get a job, either!” The complaint came out like a reflex even though they weren’t fighting about whether Albert should have a car. He just couldn’t help himself.

  Before this stupid side argument could grow, Albert’s father called from the kitchen, “Stop it, both of you! Albert, just go to your room!” As he fled the dining room, Albert wondered why he always found a way to make a bad situation worse.

  Then he was closing the door to his bedroom, and his eyes found the lump of his pillow under the rumpled bedcovers. Lily’s journal was under there, calling to him, reminding him of his responsibility to her.

  I can’t get away.

  He felt like there was an imaginary string stretched between him and Lily. Imaginary, but still real somehow. And the pressure pulling it was impossible to ignore.

  At this point, he was past worrying about getting into trouble. He was tired of not doing anything. He had an impulse.

  He made himself wait several minutes, then went to the door and cracked it carefully, listening. He could hear the hum of the TV from the front room. He opened the door a little wider, scanning the hallway. It was empty, so he opened it just wide enough to slip through. The cordless phone was hanging in its base on the wall a few feet from his door. As silently as possible, Albert grabbed the handset. The sound of his father’s voice arrested him, but after a moment he realized that he hadn’t been busted; the old man was just saying, “… was fifty out yesterday, but look, it’s started snowing.”

  Exhaling his relief, Albert picked up a phone book, too, and slipped back into his room with the phone and the directory.

  He pulled Lily’s journal from under his pillow and looked at it. It was time to bury Kogen.

  With a sudden rush of nerves that covered him in a light sweat and made his hands tremble, Albert dialed the police station’s main number from the phone book. His heart beat harder with every electronic ring. He couldn’t quite wrap his mind around the size of what he was doing, and how many lives would be changed by it. He hoped this was what Lily would want him to do. And he hoped they cuffed Perry the Perv’s wrists nice and tight when they arrested him.

  “…”

  Albert realized someone had picked up on the other end. He said softly, “Is Detective Andersen there? Phil Andersen?”

  “Sir,” said the clearly irritated female voice on the other end of the phone, “speak up. Who do you want?”

  Albert swallowed and said a bit louder, “Detective Phil Andersen.”

  “Hold on.” There was an abrupt click and then there was Lionel Richie singing the hold music. Not the Muzak version, either. After several bars, there was another abrupt click cutting off the music and the voice said, “The detective isn’t in.”

  “What about …” Albert struggled to remember the other cop’s name. “Officer Demiola. Is he there?”

  “He’s not on tonight. You want to leave a message for one of them?”

  “When will Detective Andersen be in?” Albert asked, as loudly as he dared.

  “Hold on.” There was another, shorter, click-music-click transition, then, “Should be here at eight.”

  Albert looked at his clock radio on the desk; it was just after seven. “No message. I have something kind of important to … I’ll just come in and talk to him in person.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  Now, if Olivia would just call and he could figure out a way to sneak out of the house, they could go down to the police station tonight and finish what he’d just started with the phone call. Tonight.

  No sooner had he set down the phone than there were three loud, hard knocks to his bedroom door. His heart jerked painfully at the abrupt interruption.

  The door opened and his mother poked her head through. “You have a guest out here.” She was gone again as soon as she said it.

  Albert glanced at the
pile in the middle of his bed—the phone, the directory covering the journal—and was glad his mother hadn’t noticed it. But in the next moment his relief was gone, because he knew who his “guest” had to be: Kogen.

  It was becoming clear to Albert just how much he was afraid of this man. The memory of Kogen’s vague threats, and even more, the calculating look on his face, terrified him. Kogen’s expression had been a mix of cold hate under a layer of smugness; it was a face that said, “I’m not worried—I always get my way.”

  Albert had a feeling that he was about to be steam-rolled by an older, more powerful, and smarter enemy. Hastily, he pushed the pile up to the head of the bed and pulled his pillow over it, then went out to face Kogen with very little hope.

  When he reached the living room Albert saw three people standing there awkwardly, all of them waiting for him. His parents stood on either side of a third guy, but the guy wasn’t Lily and Olivia’s stepfather. Albert found himself looking into the vaguely familiar face of a guy in a clichéd small-town high school letterman’s jacket and wearing a nervous look on his face. The guy’s gaze darted around the Morales’ living room, and when it landed on Albert, bounced off again. Trying to figure out what Patrick MacLennan was doing at his house, Albert waited for him to speak; meanwhile, his parents were looking expectantly at Albert.

  “Sorry to bug you,” the guy finally said. “But you’re in my chemistry class and I …” He stopped. “I wondered if you had the reading assignment for the test tomorrow? Somebody said Mrs. Yost gave us chapters last week, but I wasn’t there.”