Deliver Her: A Novel

by Patricia Perry Donovan

  Armed with names generated at FindYourInnerHippie.com (Blossom Jade Sweetwater for Cass, Indigo Wren Sterling for Alex), they immersed themselves in Happy Corner lore. Alex fancied herself tending the self-sustaining gardens, collecting fruits and vegetables for locally sourced communal meals, while Cass fantasized about assisting in Happy Corner’s school for Phibs offspring, run out of an old barn.

  Stoked with excitement, the friends stepped up their gum-chewing, wrapper-folding enterprise, each stick moving them farther along their journey. They worked in Alex’s room, with her Rainmaker poster for inspiration.

  Anything had been possible with that great golden statue in their future.

  In the backseat now, Alex swallowed her questions. She’d sooner die than break the promise she’d made to herself after. And to Cass. Forgetting would be infinitely more challenging now, with Rainmaker so close. Her penance, she decided. Perhaps by virtue of proximity, the statue’s energy would radiate to her new prison naturally, which would be perfectly acceptable under the terms of her self-made pact.

  Still, she wished Camo Man had never mentioned it.

  Alex felt moisture on her face and opened her eyes. Rain sluiced through Camo Man’s open window as he plotted their detour on a map. Mom Haircut was all for waiting out the traffic; Camo Man was determined to move forward. Alex smirked. A little trouble in paradise.

  The driver turned up his coat flaps. “You folks wait here. I want to give the school an update.” He disappeared into the little store attached to the gas station, its windows plastered with Mega Ball posters surrounding a blinking “Hot Coffee” sign. A faded plaque outside read “Lynx,” a bus bearing the same logo idled in the parking lot while the driver smoked a cigarette outside.

  “Why doesn’t he call them on his cell?” Alex asked.

  “Service is pretty spotty in the mountains.”

  This was the icing on the cake: her mother sticking her somewhere with no cell service. Alex’s phone kept her going, connected—the reassurance somebody was always out there, a lifeline, when her house full of people felt empty.

  Beside her, Mom Haircut dug into her fanny pack, extracting an envelope. “Your mother wanted us to give this to you.”

  Alex grabbed it, recognizing the signature scrawl that greeted her every time she opened her lunch bag. Without Cass at her elbow to chortle over her mom’s latest corny sentiment, reading the daily notes was like watching a movie without popcorn, or munching a hundred-calorie snack. Without Cass, something essential was missing. The notes kept coming, though. Alex read them quickly, away from Shana’s prying eyes.

  Murphy beside her, Alex traced her name on the envelope, pondering its contents. Maybe if she had only texted Evan’s address to her mom last night instead of going off the radar, her mom would be saying this stuff in person.

  “You don’t have to read it now.”

  Damn straight I won’t—not with you sitting there watching me. Alex fake smiled and stuffed the letter into her bag, hoping Mom Haircut wouldn’t do something lame like grab her hand, relieved when Camo Man dropped back into the front seat.

  “It’s starting to sleet.” He took off his hat, sending another spray of water Alex’s way. “Temperature’s dropped a good fifteen degrees since we stopped.”

  “Maybe we should wait it out,” urged Murphy. “It’ll only get worse as we go higher up.” Worrywart Mom Haircut, scared of a little sleet. Alex was up for anything that delayed the inevitable.

  “We’ll be fine,” Camo Man said, turning to her. “Turnaround’s tight tomorrow, remember?”

  “You have to think about her.” Murphy pursed her lips and looked out her window.

  Hmm . . . a little like the Meg and Jacob Show, Alex thought. No wonder she had assumed they were married, although Camo Man still sounded obsessed with that Diana chick. If he loved her so much, why hadn’t he fought for her, like people in love were supposed to do? ’Til death do us part. Then maybe he’d have his own kids to worry about today instead of kidnapping other people’s for a living.

  Peering out her rain-splashed window, she regretted opening up to the driver earlier over the music. Even if he was a certifiable Phib, which she was convinced of now, he only used their common passion to manipulate her. The man could turn on her at any moment.

  Like her father, who had always been the fun parent, the silly parent, the parent who usually caved when her mom wouldn’t. When the tables started to turn, her dad becoming all bad cop, it threw everything off-balance.

  Like when he started sleeping in the basement, suddenly all on her case to move her stuff out of there. The basement, where they spent gazillions of hours listening to music, was now off-limits. Her dad, grouchy and moody—when he wasn’t away working, he was sleeping down there.

  Next, he’d moved on to her makeup. The guy who took her to get her lip pierced suddenly cared about her eyeliner application?

  Fast-forward to her Sweet Sixteen: Alex’s cheeks flamed just thinking about it. The party was rocking—Shana’s toilet activity undetected, thanks to her mother’s obsession with getting lame family pictures. Why couldn’t they just cram into the photo booth and call it a night, Alex complained. She saw no point in family pictures now.

  To her horror, her mother licked a finger right in front of the whole world and went to town on Alex’s face. “Hold still, Al. You’ve got glitter on your cheek.”

  “Stop, Mom. It’s supposed to be there.” Mortified, she turned to make sure no one had seen. Behind them, the chocolate fountain had begun to give off a burnt smell, the basin lumpy with broken pretzels and strawberry hulls. Her parents posed stiffly on either side of her.

  “Smile, Carmodys.”

  Her mom pulled away suddenly. “Wait. Don’t move. We’re missing Jack.” She dashed off, leaving Alex with her father. He’d looked handsome that night. Alex hadn’t been able to remember the last time she’d seen him in a suit. Maybe Grandpa’s funeral? He didn’t have a suit kind of job. Maybe with the next one, he would.

  “I can’t believe you’re sixteen,” he said.

  At that moment, Cass had strolled by. “Soooo cute. You guys look amazing.”

  Her dad smiled. “Next thing you know, we’ll be taking pictures of you girls at your graduation and sending you away to college.”

  “That’s right. Away.” Cass locked eyes with Alex, undulating her hips and waving her hands at her sides, all the while moving away from the pair.

  “What the heck is she doing?” her father asked as Cass slipped back into the ballroom.

  Alex seized the moment. She was so anxious to know what her parents’ crazy arrangement meant for her future. Moistening her lips, she began. “Dad, I found this college . . .” The photographer posed them back-to-back in a cheesy father-daughter shot.

  “College, huh? How are those grades doing, by the way?”

  “Great. Awesome.” She couldn’t tell him all the tension at home made it hard for her to concentrate, paragraphs and equations blurring on the page. Alex lifted her chin at the photographer’s bidding. “Anyway, this school,” she said through a forced grin. “It has exactly the program I want. Marine biology.”

  Her dad chuckled in sync with the photographer’s flash. Later, in the photos, his smile looked totally natural. “You loved scooping stuff out of the bay that summer, remember? So, which college are we talking?”

  She’d watched the virtual tour a thousand times, imagined herself strolling to class in the shadow of the Kilauea Volcano, immersed in life below aquamarine waters. That’s how you knew it was the right school, wasn’t it—when you could see yourself there?

  At that exact second, the DJ launched into “Best Night Ever.”

  “University of Hawaii,” she yelled over the music.

  “You’re kidding, right? We talking college or vacation here?” her dad called over Wale’s full-blown rap.

  Please be joking, Dad. Alex knew it was far away. But if she didn’t get away from the two of
them and their mixed-up life, she would suffocate.

  “It’s great you’re thinking ahead, but we’re not made of money.”

  No. No no no no. He couldn’t possibly crush her dream on the most important night of her life. She turned toward him, on the brink of tears. “But Dad, there’s scholarships. And financial aid. I can work in the summers for airfare and—”

  The photographer interrupted. “Miss Carmody, could you turn back to me, please?”

  Her father maneuvered her toward the camera. “That’s great, honey. But I don’t know how we could do that.”

  “But this party . . .” She waved at the festivities behind her.

  “Tonight was a special case,” her father said. “I’ll explain it sometime.”

  Alex wasn’t able to imagine what those reasons could be, but if she had known her parents couldn’t afford a party of this magnitude, she would have scaled it way back. She would have told them to save the money for Hawaii.

  Her dad had slung an arm around her for the last photo. “Sorry, Alex. It’s just not in the cards right now. Things are pretty tight.”

  The banquet-hall air felt stale and warm suddenly. Alex longed to yank her father away and make him understand this was the only school she wanted. If they were officially poor now, couldn’t financial aid fund her dream? But the words wouldn’t move past the ginormous lump in her throat.

  Her mother had dragged Jack back in time to hear her dad’s last comment. Before Alex could plead her case, her parents were off and running:

  “Really, Jacob? Is this the time and place for that discussion?” her mom snapped. She tugged at her strapless dress, pressing her lips in an approximation of a smile.

  “Alex brought it up. I just want her to know I’m doing everything I can for her and Jack,” he said.

  “You mean your mother is,” her mother whispered, but Alex heard it anyway.

  “Meg, please. I’m working on it.”

  Two cheerleaders stared on their way to the chocolate fountain—seniors Alex hoped to impress. They laughed and touched heads, Alex imagining their snarky observation about her family.

  “You don’t know anything about what I do,” her dad continued. Her parents had stopped posing and now faced each other. “It’s all about contacts, word of mouth.”

  “Fine. Do it your way. Look how well it’s working!”

  Alex froze. This could not be happening. These parents who lived separate existences 24/7 now picked her party to rip into each other? Willing the floor to open up and swallow her, she rolled her eyes at the returning cheerleaders while the bickering continued. Jack wandered over to the chocolate fountain, hands over his ears. Her parents moved apart.

  Girl alone, the last shot.

  Her father made a show of tapping his watch. Suddenly he had to go; something about Vermont at the crack of dawn.

  “You can’t leave, Jacob. Alex hasn’t cut her cake. Or done the friends ceremony.”

  Ignoring her mom, he hugged Alex good-bye. “Happy birthday, kiddo. Gotta get some sleep before I go to work.” He twirled his keys. “We’ll talk more about the college thing. Find a school on this coast, honey. Better yet, county. You can transfer after two years. You get good grades, you go for free.”

  He slipped through the crowd, tugging at the knot in his tie.

  “Mom, please. You have to talk to him.”

  Her mother didn’t hear her. She was already pulling Jack to the bathroom, his chocolate hands raised in surrender. Trembling, Alex peeked into the ballroom. Barely anyone was left on the dance floor. She spotted Cass from the back, the silky violet trailing over her shoulder. Thank God. She strode toward her friend, blinking back tears. A few yards from Cass, she stopped short.

  Holy crap. Cass was slow dancing with a boy. Cass never, ever slow danced. That was, like, rule number one in the Cass playbook. Tucking herself behind a column, Alex watched the pair sway together, her BFF’s flushed cheek pressed against his sport-coated shoulder.

  Cass looked so blissful, Alex couldn’t bear to interrupt. She backed away from the couple, ducking around the other dancers. In the corner, the line for the palm reader spilled out of her tent, the fuchsia decorations they’d carefully chosen now looking gaudy and childish. Alex and Cass had taken their turns before the party started. Not that the woman’s prophecies meant a thing anymore.

  Thanks for laying out my whole future, Dad.

  “Alex, wait,” Aunt Melissa called after her. Ignoring her godmother, Alex wiped under her eyes and zigzagged through the crowd, heading straight for the bathroom, hoping Shana had saved some party for the birthday girl.

  MEG

  Jack was at her elbow, aiming a chicken finger at Carl Alden’s picture on Begin Again’s home page. “He looks scary, Mom. What’s an in-ter-vent . . . ?”

  Meg slapped her laptop shut. “Nothing you need to worry about. Finish your plate.” Don’t panic. A dozen different scenarios had raced through her mind when she was unable to reach Carl. She had called The Birches. Like her, they’d heard from Carl at lunchtime and midafternoon and expected him at any moment.

  “When’s Daddy coming home? He promised he’d hit balls to me after school. Tomorrow’s our first practice.”

  Baseball. Meg had forgotten all about it. She wouldn’t win any parenting prizes today. Her son’s freckled face crinkled into a frown. “I’m gonna suck.”

  Meg buried her face in his peanut-buttery neck. “Honey. You will not suck. Everybody’s rusty at the first practice.” She pinched his nose. “Don’t worry. Daddy will have a catch with you this weekend, I promise.”

  “Pinky-swear?”

  “Pinky-swear.” They entwined little fingers. “How about this: When he gets home tonight, he’ll wake you up to figure out your official training schedule.”

  That solution seemed to satisfy Jack. And bought her more time before she’d have to tell him about Alex, Meg thought. Jacob was always so wired when he got back from these road trips.

  Licking his fingers, Jack thought of something else. “Mom, can you come to my first game?”

  “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Because you and dad are getting avorced.”

  “Di-vorced,” she corrected. “And why would that stop me?”

  Jack shrugged. “’Cause you don’t want to hang out with Daddy now.”

  Meg grabbed his shoulders. “Listen, buddy, when it comes to you and Alex, Daddy and I are a team, you know? Like your baseball team. We’ll always be there for you guys.”

  “I want the whole family to come. Like we did for Alex’s games.”

  “I’d love that, too.” Jack couldn’t possibly recall those fall afternoons. He must be remembering photos of them lofting him as an infant at Alex’s soccer matches, Alex running to the sidelines at every opportunity to kiss her new baby brother.

  “How can we? Alex is never here anymore.”

  “She’s getting older, bud. Her interests are changing.”

  “I know. Kissing boys. Smoochy, smoochy, smoochy.” Jack zoomed out of the kitchen making kissing sounds.

  Alone, Meg fixated once again on Alex. They should almost be at The Birches by now, she thought, grabbing her phone to call Melissa for a sanity check.

  Her sister told her in no uncertain terms she was overreacting. “Remember the last time we skied up that way? Our cells never had service.” She suggested that Meg try Alex’s friends.

  Carl had taken Alex’s phone this morning, Meg reminded her.

  “That must have gone over well.”

  “I know. She’s probably in withdrawal.”

  Alex and her friends texted each other at all hours of the day and night. Meg always wondered what happened overnight in the teens’ social circle that was so monumental it couldn’t wait until morning. When Meg lamented her daughter’s unhealthy attachment to her phone one day at work, a young nurse diagnosed the condition: FOMO, a crippling “fear of missing out.”

  “Try that girl Shana,�
�� Melissa suggested.

  Meg had barely spoken to Shana in months, but she knew how to get in touch with her. Back when their phones were new and the young girls unsuspecting, they’d all given Meg their numbers when she asked. She hung up with Melissa and then called Shana right away, getting voice mail after a curt one-and-a-half rings. The girl probably hit “Ignore” as soon as she saw the caller ID, Meg thought. She didn’t bother to leave a message—Alex never checked voice mail and Shana probably didn’t, either. She sent a carefully worded text instead:

  Hi Shana, it’s Alex’s mom. Trying to get hold of her. Heard anything?

  A sudden downpour pounded the canvas awnings outside the kitchen window. She jumped up and closed the ones she’d opened yesterday to let in some spring air. April weather was so fickle. In the dining room, aluminum verticals rattled against glass sliders leading to the deck. Investigating, she found the slider partially open. Odd. She was usually vigilant about locking up when she left, although that morning had been anything but routine.

  Give yourself a break, she thought, securing the latch. It felt looser than usual. One more thing for Jacob’s growing list. Would he eventually fight her for this house, if they ever got their heads above water financially?

  Meg didn’t even know if she wanted it. On the one hand, their home overflowed with delicious memories of raising Alex and Jack: loud, messy Saturday breakfasts, Jacob dishing up pancakes bubbling over with blueberries, catching Jack by surprise with the garden hose, planting a summer garden, Alex’s squeal at the season’s first cherry tomato. For every room, every season, a thousand joyful recollections.

  On the other hand, Meg would forever associate this house—the very deck she was staring at, actually—with the defining spring evening last year, a night so warm they decided to barbecue. One minute they were laughing and joking with the kids over a silly YouTube cat video, the next, with Alex and Jack back inside, Meg was slipping through the slider with an armload of dirty plates when Jacob blurted to her back that he no longer wanted to be married.