Uncharted Fate

by Racette, Cynthia

  Terry nodded and patted the musty sheet beside her. "Old lady comin' down hard on you again, huh?"

  "You might say that." Mallory hung her head. "I don't know how much longer I can stand listening to her scream at me all the time. Everything's topsy-turvy there now. I wish Dad were back. It was real nice when he was there. We all used to sit at the kitchen table every night with homework and stuff. Even Mom was different then. She wasn't uptight. And Brian didn't act like he was a mouse afraid to squeak, either."

  "I know. It's hard. When my dad left, I thought I'd die. I can see him whenever I want to, 'cept who wants to? The jerk.” Terry's homely face contorted with bitterness. "Hey, want to see what I picked up at Wal-Mart last night?” She held out a CD. “Justin Bieber's new album. Isn't it great?"

  "Oh, wow. I asked my mom if I could get it, and she said we couldn't afford it."

  "Shit. You guys can afford anything. You're loaded."

  "Not lately. Not since Dad died."

  "What about the big house you live in?"

  "Mortgaged to the hilt. And Mom's got an appointment with a realtor on Friday. We're going to sell it. The payments are atrocious."

  "Hey. Speaking of Friday." Terry bounced up and down on the bed. "Kevin and I are going shopping on Friday. We'll go after school and get some supper downtown and then shop some more after we eat. Kevin said he could get his brother, Chuck, to go, too, if you want to come." Terry prodded her in the ribs. "Remember how cute he is? And his awesome car?"

  Mallory shook her head. "Sounds like fun, except I doubt if I can get my mother to let me go out on my own for the whole evening. She wasn't too crazy about it when Chuck gave me a ride home, last week."

  "I've got an idea. Tell her you're coming here to sleep over. I'll have my mom call her and tell her you're invited. Then we can come back here and play the new CDs we get all night. You won't be lying exactly. You just won't tell her you went out."

  Mallory looked at Terry with incredulity. "Won't your mother mind if you go downtown for that long?"

  "Oh no." Terry dismissed such ridiculousness with a wave of her hand. "She lets me have my own space. Whatever I want to do is okay with her as long as I don't bug her."

  "Boy. Must be nice."

  "It's great. Me and Kevin spend lots of time at the arcade. Sometimes we hitch a ride to the mall and hang out there, too. And you can always get a joint or two either place."

  "I—I know. I've never tried it, though."

  "You ought to—really. Makes things a lot more fun. You've got to loosen up." She punched Mallory playfully in the arm.

  Mallory tried to smile. "You're probably right. I don't think I want to get into the drug scene, though. Those movies in health class were pretty scary."

  "Oh hell, Mallory. I'm not asking you to become an acid head like the kids they show in those movies. They only show you the bad cases to scare you. We don't do hard stuff."

  "I know, but marijuana leads to other things." She backed away a little on the bed.

  "Hah. They only tell you that to get you to stay away from it. Pot's no worse than beer. And a lot more fun." Terry jumped off the bed. "Look, I got a few joints here in my drawer, left over from last weekend. Try one."

  Mallory shook her head. "No, I can't." She eyed the white stick of marijuana with fear.

  "Listen, Mallory." Terry put her hand on Mallory's knee. "You're goin' through a rough time right now. Every time I see you, you're more strung out than the last time. You're hurting 'cause you miss your dad. You need something to help you forget."

  Mallory's eyes filled up, and she rocked on the bed, her arms clutching her stomach. "I don't want to forget him. I want him to come back."

  "He's not going to come back. No more'n my dad."

  "I miss him." She rocked harder. "I miss him so much."

  "Of course you do. I did too, when my dad left. When the pain got bad, I smoked a couple of joints and I felt better."

  "They can't make me feel better." Mallory swiped at the tears with the heel of her hand. "Nothing can."

  "Yes, they can. They helped me. You got to have something to help." Terry was crying now, too. "It hurts too much if you don't. You'll crack up. Here." She lit the tip of one of the joints and drew on it to get it started, then urged Mallory to take it.

  She stared at the foreign thing between her fingers.

  "Hurry up or it'll go out," Terry said.

  A vision of her father's face as he looked at her, told her how awful drugs were, flashed into Mallory’s mind. She almost crushed it out on the ashtray on the bed. Then she realized he wasn't there and he never would be able to look at her again to tell her anything, and her body shook and ached with pain. She squeezed the joint between two fingers and brought it quickly to her mouth, trying to draw life back into her lungs with the sweet smoke. Desperately, she drew on it again and again like a drowning person drawing air.

  "Hey. Slow down," Terry said, taking the joint for a few puffs herself. After a while, Terry handed her another. Mallory drew on the second one, too, feeling like an asthmatic sucking for air. She gave it back to Terry when there was only a little left.

  Mallory's head snapped up and she looked around as if coming out of a fog, only she didn't come out. The room spun and swirled in a detached manner, and somewhere along the line the pain had been replaced by a feeling of queer, surrealistic euphoria. She fell back onto the bed giggling, letting the room sway around her. Her tense, knotted nerves unraveled and relaxed. Terry lay down beside her and they passed the joint back and forth until it was gone.

  For the first time in months, Mallory felt free. She didn't have to move a muscle, just drift back and forth across the room. Terry turned the music up loud, and Mallory lay, enraptured, by the wonderful, heavy sound, her heart beating time with the frantic tempo.

  She drifted, unaware of the passing of time, then closed her eyes, becoming someone else—a creature of beat and sound, and dense, wild emotion.

  Chapter 7

  Early Friday morning before work, Anna went into Mallory’s room to make sure she had everything needed to stay overnight at Terry’s. She wasn’t happy about the sleepover, but she let Mallory go without saying anything because, for the first time in months, Mallory seemed excited about something. She gave her a couple of dollars in case she and Terry wanted to order a pizza or something before they went to bed.

  Mallory and Brian went off to Rose’s and she headed to the diner, arriving at the parking lot just in time to get the last space. Lucy was out sick with a cold, and a young girl named Sue, who worked part-time on Saturday and Sunday evenings, was there to fill in.

  The girl wasn’t used to the weekday crowds and maintained the same slow pace all day whether the diner contained five people or forty-five. Anna was forced to deliver platters of food to Sue’s tables or they would get cold while Sue chatted with some of the customers. And she had to deliver ketchup or extra butter or silverware to Sue’s tables because Sue was oblivious to a waving hand or an impatient, "Ahem."

  Betty noticed what was happening and spoke to Sue about it. Things were better for about half an hour. Then a lull came and Sue slipped into her old pattern. By the time the lunch crowd came, Anna was back to doing her own work and half of Sue’s again. Betty called her over and thanked her for helping Sue out, but she wouldn’t chastise Sue again. Sue was the only girl Betty had who was willing to take the weekend evening shift, and she hated to risk losing her.

  Anna had never realized until then how much work Lucy did in her quick, effortless fashion. Mixing up the potato salad, cole slaw, and tuna salad for the next day fell on Anna’s shoulders.

  By the time three o’clock came, Anna felt more tired than she ever had been in her entire life. She was glad now Mallory wasn’t home to fight with, and she sank onto the sofa without
taking off her soiled uniform.

  When Brian came in from playing about six o’clock, she roused herself enough to fix them each a grilled cheese sandwich and a bowl of tomato soup. Then she peeled off her uniform and put on an old pair of jeans and a plaid shirt. Brian seemed quiet and kind of depressed, and she played ‘Sorry!’ with him until it was time for the rep from the real estate agency to arrive.

  Anna talked to the woman for an hour and signed all the forms. The agent suggested a price and Anna agreed. If she got near what she was asking, she might be able to buy a small house for her and the kids with the equity. Then at least she wouldn't have a house payment every month to worry about.

  Finally, satisfied, the agent left, after telling Anna she’d be in touch when someone wanted to look at the house. She warned there would not be a great many buyers in their price bracket, but on the other hand it was a lovely house and could sell before long.

  Depressed at the thought of selling the home she and Mike had waited to buy for so long, and yawning every thirty or forty seconds, Anna ran a hot bath and soaked in it for a long time. Then she dressed in a warm nightgown and crawled into bed, grateful to finally be able to lie down and go to sleep. Her eyes closed right away and she sank into an exhausted sleep.

  The obtrusive jangle of the telephone on her bed stand woke her up about an hour later. She fumbled in the dark, leaning up on one elbow as she picked up the receiver and brought it to her ear. "Hello?" she mumbled.

  "Mom? This is Mallory." Mallory’s voice cracked and a hoarse sob came over the line.

  Suddenly frightened and anxious, Anna sat up in bed and turned on the light, squinting at the glare. "What is it, Mal? What’s the matter?"

  "Oh, Mom. I’m at the police station in City Hall. They want you to come down here."

  "The police station? Why? What happened? Are you all right?"

  "I’m all right. I can’t—they’ll talk to you when you get here." Anna heard her cry harder. "Please Mom . . . hurry."

  "I’ll be right there." Anna scrambled out of bed. "Don’t worry about anything, honey. Hang on. Bye."

  She dialed Rose’s number with shaking fingers, and asked her to come over to stay with Brian, without going into the details. Fortunately, Rose hadn’t gone to bed yet and she didn’t mind. Dressing fast in the pair of jeans and shirt she’d thrown on the chair earlier, she let Rose in, grabbed the keys, and ran for the garage.

  All the way to the police station, her mind whirled around and around. What could have happened to Mallory? She was supposed to be sleeping at Terry's. Had she gotten hurt somehow? Was Terry hurt, too? How could something have happened simply by sleeping at Terry’s? Did they decide to go somewhere?

  She should have known better than to have let this friendship with Terry grow. But she and Mallory had fought over so many things lately, Anna hated to add another battle to the list. She’d expressed her disapproval, and Mallory hadn’t paid any attention, so she’d let it go. She shouldn’t have, because now this happened, whatever it was. The police station. Oh, God.

  The station was in the basement level of City Hall and she pulled into a space in front, jamming a quarter into the meter without even having the presence of mind to realize she didn’t need to feed the meter at that time of night. Mallory was sitting on the edge of a red-vinyl chair in the squad room, and when she saw Anna, jumped up and ran into her arms, crying. The officer at the desk glanced at them and called through an intercom for a Detective Thomas.

  Detective Thomas, wearing a dark blue suit, was the same detective who'd come to her house asking questions about Mike's death. He walked over to where Anna stood, holding Mallory against her shoulder. "Mrs. Lamoreaux? Would you and your daughter please come into my office for a few minutes?"

  Anna nodded and led Mallory through a door to a couple of chairs opposite a gray metal desk. Thomas folded his hands on top of the desk and gazed with intense concern at Mallory, hunched in her chair with her shaking hands hugging her shoulders. Anna waited impatiently.

  He turned his gaze to Anna. "Mrs. Lamoreaux, your daughter was picked up earlier along with another girl and two boys at a music store in the Oakdale Mall. They were caught shoplifting."

  Anna’s stomach dropped and then flipped over.

  "Shoplifting? Are you sure?"

  Detective Thomas reached into a drawer on his left and held up a plastic bag containing a brand new Lady Gaga CD. "Your daughter had this in her purse."

  "I can’t believe this. She’s never done anything like this before." Incredulous, Anna looked at Mallory. She was staring glumly at the wall on the other side of her as if she expected it to grow gremlins. "Mallory? What’ve you got to say for yourself? Did you steal the CD?"

  Mallory’s voice was barely audible. "Yes."

  "Why? Why would you do something like steal a CD?"

  "I don’t know."

  "You don’t know? Of course you know. You have to know. Look at me, Eliza Mallory. Why did you steal a CD?"

  Mallory unfolded herself and looked at a spot near the collar of Anna’s shirt. "Terry said it would be fun to put something over on the store. She said it would be real easy, and she’d done it lots of times before." Her eyes flew to the policeman’s as if realizing she’d just incriminated Terry.

  Thomas nodded grimly. "Don’t worry. We know she’s done it before. She was picked up for shoplifting at a music store downtown a few months ago."

  "Then Terry was arrested, too?" Anna asked.

  "Yes. Terry was caught shoplifting when it was discovered she was carrying two CDs in her coat pocket that hadn’t been paid for. The store manager actually discovered your daughter starting to put this one into her purse. Not as much practice, I imagine. Let me make it clear that Mallory has not been arrested. Neither have the two boys. She never actually managed to put the merchandise into her pocket, so we couldn’t hold them."

  Anna stared at him. "You didn’t arrest her? Isn’t that why I’m here? To bail her out?"

  "No." He smiled. "With a child your daughter’s age, we never arrest them for a charge like this the first time they’re caught. We hope the trauma of being taken to the police station and having the parents called down for a talk will deter most kids from breaking the law again. Her name will go on file here, however, and if she’s ever picked up again, for anything, she’ll be arrested and tried under the juvenile statutes. That’s what is happening to her friend right now. She’s being booked and will be released to her mother’s custody to await her hearing."

  Anna breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you for not arresting her. I’m sure nothing like this will ever happen again."

  He shrugged. "Sometimes kids get in with a bad crowd for a while. Or they act foolishly without thinking. They should have a second chance before their record is marred."

  He turned to Mallory. "Young lady." He spoke in a stern, loud voice.

  Mallory jumped, and she stared at him, frightened. "Yessir?"

  "I hope you realize the seriousness of what has happened here tonight. Shoplifting is classified as petty larceny and, if you are caught doing it again, you will be arrested. There’s not a CD or dress anywhere worth risking being caught for. Maybe Terry has gotten away with stealing several times. Twice now she hasn’t. And if she is convicted for her crime, she could end up in a juvenile home. Is that what you want for yourself?"

  Mallory shook her head with caution, as if she might vomit. It was clear she wanted to get out of there and go home. Detective Thomas looked her over with his experienced detective eyes. His expression told Anna her daughter was anything but okay, but he didn’t say anything. Obviously Mallory felt really unwell and it showed on her face.

  Anna could almost see the reservation flit across his face. "Mallory," Thomas said, "Be truthful now with me, please. I want to help you. Have you ever done
any shoplifting before today's incident? And what did you lift?"

  Mallory shrugged, her contrition visible. "A couple of times, with Terry. We each took a CD downtown last week and I hid a top under my shirt at a dress shop. It's totally hard, never having any money to spend now Dad's gone. We're broke all the time."

  "Is our financial situation why you steal things?" Anna interjected. "Because you need them and can't afford them? You couldn't live without a Justin Beiber CD?"

  Mallory sat still as a stone, with only her eyes moving sideways as if to avoid looking at the detective.

  "Mallory?" he pressed.

  Mallory squeezed her hands between her knees and stared at them. "No," she whispered.

  Thomas glanced at Anna and raised one eyebrow. Then he turned to Mallory. "If you didn't steal something because you needed it, then why did you do it?"

  Mallory spoke in a tiny, frightened voice. "It seemed cool. Terry thought it was cool getting away with it all and I like Terry because she seems so much older than the rest of the kids. They act so immature lately."

  "I see. It doesn't seem that cool now, though, does it?"

  "No. I don't want to go to jail over a CD or a dress or even jewelry or something equally stupid. It's not worth it. Terry is a bad trip."

  "You seem like a nice kid, Eliza Mallory." He looked harder at her. "I’m going to make one condition to your release. I want you to promise your mother you'll stay away from Terry. I could tell by her attitude tonight she’s trouble, and I don’t think you need someone like her in your life right now.”

  "No problem, Detective Thomas. I'm not going anywhere near that train wreck."

  "I was at your house after your father was killed last fall, so I can understand what you’re going through. It’s difficult for you. I realize that. But you’re going to have to learn to adjust to life now since your father is gone without relying on unwise friendships and thrill-seeking escapades. Are you willing to put forth the effort to try?"