Shaking my head, I turned away. Into Jackson.
“Hey.” He ringed my wrist with his fingers and pitched his voice so only I could hear. “That’s no way to treat an old friend.”
I stared into his ice-blue eyes, stricken. But he’d betrayed me, too.
“Aidyn.” The one person I didn’t resent whispered into my hair. “Come on. It’s not that bad.” The one person who could get to me when no one else had a chance. “We’ll both help.”
Next thing I knew I’d bowed to a pristine stretch of white banner, my own plate of traitorously beautiful paint in hand, my sable-bristled spoons ready to dish up humility for my soul.
I’d forgotten how I loved to paint. My fingers hadn’t.
Shannon squatted next to me. “The theme is Harvest Sunshine. My idea. So we’re doing all kinds of sun things. Sunflowers here in the middle. I remembered how your mom taught us how to paint them, but I was never any good at it, not like you. But as soon as we came up with this idea I told everyone about you, and I said you’d help.”
Something in her voice tried to gloss over all the unsaid hurt and trembled at the edge of a lie. Part of me wanted to stare her down. Part of me craved what I’d have if I gave in. I could have a friend again, or at least, a semblance of one—illusion enough to fool the rest of the world into thinking me normal enough to deserve one. Or did I only want to fool myself?
Indecision is a great impetus, that, and people who grab your hand, help you dunk a paintbrush into a pool of gold, and start you on a journey back into the real world.
I painted sunflowers. Other than a slew of duds that could have been mud puddles as much as flowers, my nerves dipped into memory and came up with the beauty Shannon and the rest of the world demanded.
If only Miguel had stayed next to me. When I surfaced from the elation of my first perfect flower, he’d drifted far enough away that his jokes and clowning got lost in the crowd. I sighed and sank back on my heels. Beside me, Shannon used a detail brush to add tiny white specks to the flower centers that no one would see once they’d tacked the banner to the gym wall.
I wouldn’t see any of it, of course. I’d never gone to a high school dance and didn’t anticipate any in my future. What right did I have? No one wanted me there. I edged away from Shannon and started another still-sun-life. Shannon followed, dotting white onto my flowers, bits of light that illuminated nothing but my isolation.
“Aidyn.” She leaned closer to me. “You’re really good.”
I shook my head. I was not good. I was so very not good. If she only knew.
She leaned even closer and pitched her voice lower still. “How’s your mom doing?”
I looked up. “Mine?”
She nodded. “Is she still doing OK?”
“Yeah.” I dropped the brush. “She quit drinking.”
“I know. Jackson told me. I’m glad. Your mom is really nice, but it got so scary when—”
“When she was drunk.” That word had become quite comfortable in my mouth.
“I wanted to tell you. I was at this party.” Shannon stopped to move to yet another section, and I took her spot. “Not one of Lucy’s, somewhere else. And they were drinking and stuff, and all I could think of was the look you used to get on your face when—well. So I called my mom and went home.”
“Why?” Why the pity thing?
“Because I didn’t…” She frowned at a stem which looked perfect to me. “I don’t want you to get mad or anything. But I just didn’t want to be like your mom. Not like she is now, but when she was…you know.”
“Drunk.”
She jerked her eyes to meet mine. “OK, yeah, when she was drunk. I knew how scared you always got, and I thought I would never want to do that to someone I loved—make them look that scared…that…defeated. You know?”
I closed my eyes before I answered. Why had I been so anxious to force Shannon to say the word I hated? Why did I ask her to beat me with it? “I don’t, either. She wouldn’t want you to, or me either, probably. She’s not a drunk because she wants to be.” Only after I said the words did I understand their truth.
“You should tell her that, then. She’d be glad.” Shannon finished the last stem and slammed her brush down. “No, wait. I’ll tell her myself. I don’t have to listen to Mom all the time anymore. Can I come over after school?”
“To my apartment?” I sounded stupider than ever, but I couldn’t help it. “I thought your mom…I mean, you said she’s sick.” Stupid and tactless, that was me.
Shannon shrugged and began to gather the dirty brushes. “We used to be best friends, Aidyn. But I got scared, and then…” Again she shrugged.
“Sure. You can come over.” My heart pounded as I stood and helped to crumple the newspapers scattered across the concrete. First Miguel and then Shannon. And who else?
Jackson gave me a one-armed hug, holding his bucket of paint water out of my way. “This is the best mural we’ve ever had. Shannon was right. We need you.”
9
Shannon and I had been at my house for almost half an hour before I realized the irony. I wouldn’t talk to Mom, yet I planned to let Shannon talk to her? What would Mom think of that? I opened my mouth to explain, but I hate explaining anything. Even worse when the more I say, the worse I look. Besides, what could Shannon do but leave? For sure, she’d never try to talk to me again. And what if she told Jackson? He already thought I was a selfish baby. What would this make him think? No matter what I did now, I’d already sabotaged myself.
Maybe I could just act like Mom, like I’d never been mad, never ignored her, never behaved like a sulky five-year-old who has to always get her own way.
Mom got home before I could make any mistakes. She lugged in a stack of clay pots and gave Shannon a surprised, delighted look. “I’m glad there are two of you.” She tucked the pots into a corner of the couch. “I’ve got a ton of very sick poinsettias in the car, and I could use some help bringing them up to the plant hospital here.”
“Plant hospital?” Shannon followed Mom outside.
“My joke. I just can’t stand to see those poor things die without trying to make them better.”
We each made two trips before we got all the containers up to the apartment. Shannon and I lined them up on the kitchen counter while Mom stripped the cardboard to free the dirt and roots.
“These look like they’re already dead.” Shannon tried to prop an especially droopy flower on the faucet. “How long do you expect them to live?”
Mom shrugged. “Some will make it.” She tipped the first one out and a rainy day, wet dirt smell filled the kitchen. “I just can’t let it go, not do something.”
“We were thinking of using poinsettias to decorate for our Christmas dance.” Shannon curled her lip at the wilted, blood-colored leaves. “But now I don’t think it’s such a good idea.”
Mom laughed and reached to stroke the petals. “Healthy plants look a lot better than this. Remember, these are about as bad as they can get.”
Shannon nodded.
I pretended an interest in another carton while I studied the two of them from under my lashes. Shannon used to be great friends with my mom. She’d cried nearly as hard for my dad as I had. I felt my eyes fill up. I’d been so proud that my best friend cared so much about my parents because it proved how special they were.
“We painted the mural for Friday’s dance today,” Shannon told Mom. “Aidyn painted the coolest sunflowers all over it. Remember when you taught us how?”
Mom glanced at me, and I bent my head. “I do.” She tapped soil from a plastic sack into one of the clay pots. “What dance is this?”
“Our harvest dance. Didn’t Aidyn tell you about it?”
Mom gave me a longer look. “No, that hasn’t come up.”
I closed my eyes. How easy would it be for Mom to let Shannon know exactly how nasty I’d been the past few days? But Mom wasn’t like that. Not when she was sober, and today she was.
Sha
nnon turned to me. “I thought you wanted to go. Can she, Mrs. Pierce? She painted all those sunflowers for it.” As if that were reason enough.
“Sure. You’d go as a group, right? The youth group?” Mom hesitated over the last words, as if she suspected I’d flame up and incinerate her for mentioning them.
“Oh, yeah, we always go together. We watch each other’s backs, you know? ‘Cause it can be really easy to get caught up in all the drinking and drugs and stuff. I mean, one time—”
Mom nodded. I still hadn’t said anything. Had Shannon noticed?
“This one time,” Shannon went on, “I went to a party with my cousin. That’s why I came today, because I thought I should tell you. I told Aidyn, and I thought you’d want to know, too. There was all this drinking going on at this party, and my cousin thought that was so cool.”
Mom set down the pot and turned to face Shannon, her hands on the counter behind her, arms tense.
“But it reminded me of Aidyn, you know? Not the drinking. Aidyn’d never do that. But because I remembered how much she hated it when you’d…well, you know. And…and I didn’t want to do that to someone else…make them feel the way she felt—all miserable and scared all the time.” Her voice trailed off. I think Mom’s lack of enthusiasm got through to Shannon, and she faltered.
“You know, because when you’d…well, sometimes I thought Aidyn—I thought she’d die. I thought she wanted to, I mean. I used to beg my mom to let me bring her home to live with us.”
I’d never heard that. I watched Mom, still backed up to the counter, her eyes closed now, swaying slightly.
Shannon’s foot jiggled. “So I thought you might want to know that…that I’ll never dri…you know, because I don’t ever want to make someone else feel like that.”
Mom walked out of the kitchen, trailing bits of soil from her fingers. I heard her bedroom door slam. I stared at the dirt scattered across the counter and spilling into the sink, and the lone plant with its wasted roots thrusting out of the packed soil.
“I guess…I guess she didn’t like to hear that.”
“No.”
“I better go now. I’m sorry, Aidyn. I really am.” Her voice rose with her anguish, and it was like hearing a ghost from the past crying with me again. “I didn’t mean to hurt her feelings.”
She watched me for long minutes before she checked her cell phone. “Mom’s gonna be mad enough. I better not miss helping her fix dinner. You want Jackson and me to pick you up for the dance? We can get Miguel, too.”
“I don’t know.” I brushed some of the dirt off the counter into my cupped palm. “He didn’t say anything about going.”
“He told Jackson he wanted to go with you.”
My heart lifted out of its slough for one glorious moment and plummeted again. “I guess he forgot to tell me.” I glanced at the hallway leading to Mom’s room.
“Yeah, well, I better go.” Shannon collected her backpack and let herself out. I stood with a fistful of dirt in front of the sink. Shannon poked back in. “Aidyn, tell your mom…I mean, she’s really cool, when she’s not…you know. I really like her.”
I nodded and squeezed the soil into a muddy lump in my sweaty palm while I listened to Shannon clang down the metal staircase.
I walked to the middle of the living room and froze. Should I knock on Mom’s door and let her know Shannon had gone? I thought of calling Elaine and asking her to call Mom. I wondered if Mom had anything hidden away in her room. When I was younger I knew all her hiding places, but I’d given up dumping everything I could find. Now, I didn’t know. What if…?
Before I could decide on anything, Mom stalked into the kitchen. She attacked the poinsettias as though she were into mercy killing, breaking stems and slamming squishy root packets into the pots.
I edged past her and rinsed my hands. “I’m sorry, Mom. I never said anything to her. Never.”
“I’m sure you didn’t. Maybe it would have been better if you had.”
I stared at her, perplexed.
Mom shook her head. “Aidyn, did the whole world know what I was doing to you? She did—a little kid! Everyone knew but me, and no one bothered to tell me.” She rubbed her face, leaving chunks of mud and tendrils of root across her cheeks. “Listen to me. Putting all the responsibility on everyone else.”
She grabbed a paper towel and scrubbed her face.
I let warm water flow over my hands, sure that when I turned off the tap I’d say the wrong thing again.
“Aidyn, I wish I could tell you that if only someone had told me how much harm I was doing to you, I would have quit right then. But that’s not true.” She slumped against the counter. “I hate being an alcoholic.”
I turned off the faucet and stared at my water-wrinkled hands, then looked over at Mom. She’d stopped working again and stood with her arms crossed, her shoulders thin and shaking under her sweater.
“But you quit.”
“Finally.”
I wiped my hands over and over on my jeans. “I heard you talking on the phone. Maybe to Elaine. Sunday.”
She looked up.
“You said you quit for”—I could only mouth the word—”me.”
She nodded.
I looked up at her. “That’s the truth?”
“The absolute truth, baby. Who else do I love as much as I love you?”
I tried to find something to say and couldn’t. Mom wrapped her arms around me and leaned her face against the top of my head.
“I’m sorry Shannon embarrassed you. She didn’t mean to. She thought you’d…I don’t know. I guess she thought you’d like to know you’d done some good.”
Mom snorted. “And I used to dream what a great role model I’d be.”
“She thinks you’re cool. She told me to say so.”
Mom backed away. “Well, you know better, don’t you?”
“Mom, sometimes you’re cool. Yeah, lately…Mom?” A tear trickling down her cheek cut my heart. “Mom, I’m sorry I didn’t believe you when you said you were going to quit. I’m sorry I didn’t think you could.”
She shook her head. “I’ve never been very good at keeping that promise, have I?”
“But you are,” I said. “You’re keeping it.”
“For today.” Again she leaned into me, and I hugged her back. She didn’t smell like booze or even Elaine’s putrid perfume, but like potting soil and laundry detergent and something else I couldn’t name but took me back to the days when we’d been friends—days when I lived in a safe world.
I started to cry. “I used to pray so hard you’d quit, and it never did any good. So I just gave up. I mean, if God couldn’t make you, who could?”
“Oh, baby,” Mom choked.
“And then, when you did, and you didn’t start again, I started asking Him to keep everything good.”
“So have I, baby. So have I.”
For two weeks I lived my life like a fairytale. As if I’d just noticed how perfect life could be without a drunk in it, I floated into friendships with Mom, with Shannon, with Miguel. I could even tolerate Elaine, and she seemed to hate me a bit less, too. I bounced around my world like a child delighted in life. For the first time I felt free.
On Friday evening, Jackson picked up the three of us early. I gave Mom a quick hug, reminded her to call Elaine if she needed to, and raced down the stairs. This would be the first time Miguel and I went out together, and even though he hadn’t said it was a date, I knew it was. What else could it be?
After our third dance, Miguel led me to the area set aside for the punch and cookies. “Are you hungry already?” I teased. “What happened to that dinner you told me you ate?”
He grinned. “I just wanted to get away from the speakers.”
I nodded. “We don’t have to yell as loud here.” I looked down at my hands, clutched together.
“Aidyn.” He paced away and then back. Over his shoulder I saw a group of seniors surround the refreshments table. “What do you think
of us?”
We were an “us”? Could the world get any better? “I think—you said we’re friends.”
“I think I did, too.” He grinned. “But some of the guys—oh, Wallis and them—they think…they say because we’re always together that we’re…together. You know?”
I nodded.
“So I was wondering.” He looked away, biting his lip. I wanted so badly to give him the words, or the courage, whatever it was he needed to be able to say what I needed to hear. I lay my hand on his arm and he looked down at me. “Why don’t we just…we could say we are together. If you want to.”
Again I nodded.
“Good.” He bent his head, and his lips barely brushed mine.
The seniors roared, and we sprang apart, but they were laughing at some joke of their own, not at us. Still, Miguel jerked his head in the direction of the main hall. “Come on, Aidyn. We’d better go dance, OK?”
I wished I could tell him that anything he wanted would be OK with me, but I didn’t have any courage of my own.
The next Friday Mom let Miguel take me on our first two-of-us date. His mom drove us to the local street fair, and we walked the rows of booths. Neither of us had much money, and it didn’t matter. We had each other, and enough, Miguel said, to get ourselves some dessert.
“We don’t need it, Miguel.” I held his hand, my shoulder pressed close to his arm. “We don’t need anything else.”
Smoke from a barbecue drifted through the stalls. I couldn’t tell when it got dark because of the blaring lights. The place felt like a carnival, crowds moving and bumping us, not seeing us but still a part of us. The scents of popcorn and roasted, sugared pecans, chocolate, and french-fries wafted in the air. A country western band played, interrupted by the sounds of laughter, a kid crying, and the hiss of a helium tank. All around were painted wood and blown glass, hand-sewn dresses, and handmade jewelry.
“Look at these.” Miguel pulled me toward a booth. A hodgepodge of silver dragons and wizards, crystal balls clutched in tiny silver claws and earrings spilled out of wooden trays and across crumpled turquoise silk. Miguel pointed to a case of necklaces. “Did you see the crosses? You said you wanted one, didn’t you?”
A Fistful of God Page 8
