by James Dobson
“I had nothing to do with it,” he insisted.
“Nothing to do with what?”
“With her decision. Gwen and Mom did all the talking. I kept myself out of it.”
“I thought you said you brought a decision tree home from Aspen House.”
He blushed. “I was just curious about how it all worked. You know, whether it might be a good option to consider.”
“Was moving out one of those options?”
“I told you, Amanda—”
“I mean did it occur to you that it might help if you and Gwen moved out? If your mom and Amanda barely made it before you arrived, it must have been worse with three adults and a child living on one modest salary.”
Austin began pinching uneasily at a patch of facial hair. His eyes appeared to be assessing what more, if anything, to say.
“Look, Ms. Davidson, I’m gonna shoot straight with you.” He paused. “Mom drank.”
“I see,” Julia said sympathetically.
“She drank a lot. I found that out after we moved in.”
Julia began assembling the pieces in her mind. A functional alcoholic stretched beyond what her frayed edges could handle. Drinking away the disappointments of a go-nowhere job, a do-nothing son, and a daughter increasingly at odds. A girl whose maturing features served as a daily reminder of her own waning beauty.
“Mom told Gwen she wanted to do something decent for her kids.”
“Decent? As in leaving you the house?”
“Mainly the house. There were other assets. But the house mostly.”
Austin looked as if more needed to be said. Julia waited.
“And we nearly lost it.”
“Lost the house?”
A single nod. “Would have if Gwen hadn’t got pregnant.”
Julia looked up with a start. “Pregnant?”
“Twice in the past twelve months,” he said with a curious enthusiasm.
“But I thought you said you and Gwen were childless by choice.”
“We are,” he replied matter-of-factly. “We sold them.”
“Sold them!” Julia felt her right palm pressing against her abdomen.
“Two grand each. The embryotics market is booming.”
A blank stare joined Julia’s queasy feeling. She glanced at her tablet to make sure it was still recording what she was hearing. Then she willed herself back to a journalistic posture.
“Of course. Embryotics,” she said, trying to connect the label.
Austin must have perceived her confusion. “You know. The organic material used in everything from surgical attachment tissue to those skin rejuvenation ointments used by rich old ladies.”
“Right,” she heard herself say. “So you sold your girlfriend’s fetus?”
“Yep. Wish we’d discovered the market earlier. Prices have been steadily rising for years.”
“Who buys them?”
“Who doesn’t? We responded to an ad that said elder cosmetic innovations have overwhelmed traditional suppliers, or something like that. I don’t recall the exact wording. All I know is that they pay top dollar for a two-month fetus.”
Julia swallowed hard as she recalled late-night commercials for creams promising to “miraculously reverse your skin’s aging process” using “cutting-edge organic materials.” The ads had clearly targeted well-off women worried about age spots. Snake oil priced high enough to seem legitimate.
The sound of an opening door forced Austin to his feet. He appeared nervous, as if worried about how Gwen would react to discovering an attractive woman sitting beside him on the sofa.
Austin relaxed, then scowled, when he realized it was just Amanda.
Julia felt strangely warmed by the girl’s arrival. “Hello,” she said enthusiastically.
Amanda smiled and offered a single wave. Then she scrunched her nose at Austin.
“Where’d you go?” he demanded.
“Out.” Nothing more.
“I’m glad you’re back,” Julia interjected, hoping to draw the girl into the conversation. “I want to ask you a few questions as well.”
Austin’s head spun toward Julia with a look of incredulity. “But—”
“I was just wrapping up my interview with your brother,” Julia interrupted.
“Half brother,” they corrected in unison.
“You don’t mind if Amanda joins the conversation, do you, Austin?” Julia asked, eager for the girl to confirm or correct Austin’s version of events.
He looked at Julia, then at Amanda, then back at Julia again. “Actually, I’d rather she didn’t.”
“Please, Amanda, will you join us?” Julia continued over Austin’s protest.
“Sure,” Amanda said proudly, moving toward the sofa.
“I said I’d rather she didn’t,” Austin repeated with conviction.
“What’s the matter?” said Amanda. “Afraid I’ll expose more of your bull?”
“Ms. Davidson, I must insist.”
“I could really use her perspective for the story.”
Austin stood in place for several awkward seconds, shifting his weight from side to side as if trying to decide a next move.
“Ok, I’ll let you talk to her,” he said. “But don’t plan on using my real name,” he said, as if threatening to take his ball and go home.
Julia considered the threat. “Actually, that might be best anyway. You know, more authentic knowing you had no reason to hide anything or embellish.”
He continued standing for several silent seconds. “Tell you what,” he finally said. “You two have a chat. I’m gonna go in the other room to…check in at work.”
“Check in at work?” Amanda mocked. “What are you gonna check, whether you’ll be on the grill or running the milkshake machine tomorrow?”
Austin’s neck turned shades of both anger and humiliation on his way out of the room. He paused at the hallway to shoot Amanda a daggered glare before disappearing around the corner.
The girl flashed a triumphant grin before plopping herself Indian-style on the floor. Lines of obstinacy melted on her face as she offered Julia an admiring smile.
“You’re really pretty,” she said.
“Thanks. So are you.”
The girl blushed. “Hen says I look like a tramp.”
“A tramp?” Julia said, recalling the tart-like appearance of the woman in the photograph. “Well, you know better than that, don’t you?”
Amanda appeared entranced by the graceful sophistication of Julia’s clothes and the stylish cut of her dark, unbleached hair. She even seemed to admire the way Julia sat, which prompted a self-conscious glance at her own contorted posture. The girl repositioned herself on her knees while pulling a tiny skirt over her thighs with one hand and finger-combing her disheveled strands with the other.
“You look a lot like your mother,” Julia said. “Your brother…I mean Austin showed me her picture.”
Amanda smiled at the truth of it.
“She’s dead. Killed herself last year.”
“Yes, I heard that from Austin. Were you close to her?”
A shrug. “Sometimes.”
“She went through a rough spell?”
Amanda looked toward the hallway, then back. “Yeah. Ever since the day Henpecked moved in with his Hen.”
Julia let herself smile at the alias.
“Where’d you get that blouse?” Amanda asked, leaning in for a closer look. “Mmm. And that perfume? I like it.”
“The blouse came from Standout.”
“I love that store!” the girl said. “Mom let me order shoes from the clearance bin once.”
“I don’t remember where I got the perfume. It might have been a gift from my husband.”
“You’re married? For real?”
Julia laughed at the girl’s astonishment. “For real. His name is Troy. He likes this perfume on me too.”
Amanda giggled, prompting Julia to do the same.
“Can I see his picture?�
��
Julia complied by touching her tablet screen. “That’s him.”
“Oooh,” Amanda sang. “You look good together. Where is this?”
“We were on our honeymoon in San Francisco.”
“Your honeymoon? Nice.” Amanda giggled again. “Kids?”
“No. Not yet.”
“How come?”
“We’ve only been married for six months.”
The girl appeared confused by the explanation, as if it had never occurred to her to associate marriage with having kids.
“So, Amanda, would you let me ask you a few questions for my story?”
“Your story?” she asked warily.
“I’m writing a feature about families that struggle financially. It’s for RAP Syndicate.”
The name didn’t ring any bells for the girl.
“They own several online media channels.”
“Do you ever write for Gal Style?”
“I don’t. But RAP owns that one.”
“Really? Cool.”
Julia waited a moment while the girl considered.
“Why not?” Amanda said.
“Great!”
Julia again checked the tablet’s recording status before diving in.
“Do you know why your mother volunteered?”
“Volunteered for what?”
“To transition.”
“Oh. You mean why did she kill herself?”
Julia found the lack of nuance refreshing, and disturbing. “Yes. Why did she kill herself?”
“Austin.” She said no more, as if her half sibling’s name said it all.
“Why Austin?” Julia prodded.
“He moved Hen in with him. She took over the nest, if you know what I mean.”
Julia nodded vaguely. Then she shook her head. “Actually, I don’t know what you mean.”
“Before Austin and Hen moved in Mom and I were doing fine.”
“But Austin said he moved in to help when he realized your mom had been drinking.”
“That’s a pile of bull!”
“He said she wanted to…” How to say it? “To do something that might give you a better life.”
“He’s a liar!” she shouted toward the hallway before hushing herself. “She did it because Hen kept whining about her own crummy life. She convinced my mom to commit suicide so Austin could get the house.”
“Didn’t the house go to you?” Julia wondered aloud. “I mean. Wouldn’t your mother have put the house in trust for your future?”
Julia knew what Amanda couldn’t: that Austin would have hit obstacles trying to cosign for his mother’s transition. More clinics were requiring confirmation from a neutral party, someone who would not receive any of the inheritance. At least not officially.
“Gwen!” Julia realized.
“What about her?”
Julia covered her mouth, suddenly aware she had spoken the name aloud. “Nothing. Sorry,” she said.
“It doesn’t matter now anyway,” Amanda continued bitterly.
“Why’s that?”
The girl searched her internal vocabulary list. “Moreclosure. Is that the word?”
“Do you mean foreclosure?”
“Foreclosure. That’s it.”
“The bank is foreclosing?”
“If that means we lose the house, yes. Although I guess Hen made enough fuss at the bank that we’ll get to rent it back. We won’t have to move out.”
A few seconds of stillness passed between them.
“I wish I could move out,” Amanda finally added. “I hate it here.”
Julia looked into the girl’s eyes. Resignation. And the acid of resentment.
“So you blame your brother for your mom’s decision?”
“My half brother. Yes, I do.”
“And Gwen?”
A nod. “Her too. But mostly Austin. He could have stopped it.”
“Could he?”
“One word from him and Mom would have changed her mind. I know she was depressed. And yes, she drank. But who could blame her? Hen was making this place a living nightmare. I hate her!”
“Do you have anyone else? Relatives? Other siblings?”
“Nope. Just Austin and Hen.”
A brief silence.
“I might take the school counselor’s advice.”
“What kind of advice?”
“She told me if things get bad enough I can request protection from the state.”
The comment troubled Julia. “Protection? From what?”
A shrug. “Don’t know. Misery? Depression? I just know she said kids without parents can go to live with the Foster family.”
“I think you mean a foster home.”
“That’s it. A foster home. Believe me, I’ve thought about calling them more than once.”
“For protection?”
“For a home. At least more of a home than this place.”
“I see,” Julia said softly.
“Anyway,” Amanda sang while leaping to her feet. She took the seat beside Julia on the sofa and moved in close. “Got any more pictures from your honeymoon?”
Julia smiled at the girl’s hand resting on her own. They spent the next few minutes swiping through photo album files, Amanda grilling Julia for details about Troy’s business, her sister’s wardrobe, her nephew’s school, and the nickname of each child in the Tolbert clan.
Fifteen minutes later Julia said goodbye to a pouty Austin and accepted Amanda’s invitation to walk her to the car. She sat in the driver’s seat watching the eleven-year-old wave goodbye from the porch, then vanish behind the front door of her dark zone address.
As Julia pulled away from the curb she ran through scenes of a story now captured on her tablet’s recorder.
An alcoholic single mother struggles to make ends meet.
An estranged son manipulates her into an early transition, then squanders away his sister’s financial future.
An oddly matched couple sell their potential offspring for cash to a snake-oil salesman promising youthful vigor.
And a beautiful orphan girl awaits rescue, starving for attention and dreaming of the day she might escape the shadowy realm of 2210 Kingston Street to find a brighter life.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The refrigerator shelves held some hormone-free, antibiotic-free, pesticide-free, and, most importantly, flavor-free milk, fruits, and vegetables. Tyler clung to the door, hunched over, and rearranged a few items. Hope rose within him at the sight of a reusable plastic container. Leftovers. Some forgotten remnant of a meal he must have thought worth keeping. Then he remembered the mashed potatoes from four nights ago.
Renee never saved anything since, to her, only fresh foods deserved the honor of consumption. Tyler wasn’t so picky. Anything that hadn’t gone rancid or turned into a moldy science experiment should be given a sporting chance.
He pulled out the container and flicked off the lid excitedly before disappointment sank in. Add “Gerry’s dentures” to the list of disqualified entrees. They sat balanced atop the pile of mashed potatoes like Noah’s Ark on Mount Ararat, condensation flooding the valleys. They’d been missing for several days, forcing Gerry, Renee, Tyler—and the disembodied voice of Katherine calling out from the bedroom—to conduct a mad, unsuccessful hunt. Until now.
“Found your dad’s teeth!” Tyler called out, tossing the container onto the counter and slamming the fridge closed. He was still hungry.
“What?” Renee said, arriving with a laundry basket on her hip.
Tyler pointed at the evidence. Renee leaned in close, barely glanced at it, then sniffed, wrinkling her nose at Tyler.
“Gross, huh?” he said.
“Yes,” she said, pulling away with the back of her hand protecting her nose to prevent gagging. “But not that. You. When’s the last time you changed? Your clothes stink.”
Tyler sniffed at his underarm, shrugging. Cologne de Burrito Supreme from lunch.
“Give me
your clothes.”
“I’m kind of using them at the moment.”
“I’m about to put a load in, so hand them over.”
Tyler stripped off his shirt and pants and tossed them with a smile.
“You want these as well?” he asked, pulling at, then snapping the waistband of his boxers.
Renee rolled her eyes and stuffed his clothes into the basket before disappearing around the corner to head upstairs.
Drat! He glanced back at Gerry’s teeth.
“Ty?” Renee called from the top of the steps. He rushed to the foot of the staircase and glanced up. “Take a shower, and then maybe we can meet up in the bedroom.”
“Nice look.” Gerry’s voice smacked from the hallway, complete with grinning gums. His skimpy attire mirrored Tyler’s.
Tyler looked down at himself, then back to Gerry, shaking his head. He suddenly worried Gerry had heard Renee’s obvious come-hither call. “I thought you were in bed.”
“Katherine can’t sleep.”
“Is her back hurting again?”
Gerry nodded. “Just came to get some water and Vicodin for her. Then I’ll be out of your pants.” He sniggered. “I mean out of your hair!”
“Very funny. I was just heading upstairs, so help yourself. Oh, and you might want to rescue your dentures from the potatoes.”
* * *
With one towel wrapped around his waist, Tyler dabbed moisture off his hair with another as he pushed open the bedroom door hoping to find Renee in next to nothing. Instead he found her on the bed, dressed in the same jeans and T-shirt she’d had on earlier. She was surrounded by several pieces of paper, tears on her reddened cheeks. She clutched one page tightly, her blank gaze moving up to meet his, saying nothing.
He blinked once, hard, then instinctively took a single step backward. What was this? A trick? Had she lured him up here just to yell at him? For what? He ran through a quick mental list of all the infractions he might have committed in the past couple of days, but came up empty. This couldn’t be about the burrito, could it?
Renee said nothing as her glare shot piercing daggers. He wondered whether she intended to hold it all in, passive-aggressively, or let it rip. In the past, entire nights, days, even weeks could be ruined by one wrong word at a moment like this. So he stood in paralyzed silence. Then he imagined what could happen if he ignored her obvious distress. He chose the lesser risk.
