Enough

by Mary Jennifer Payne

  “Go grab your things,” she says, surveying the room. The coffee table is littered with the usual empty cans of Coke that Dean and Mom use for mix. A half-smoked joint sticks out from a cracked glass ashtray.

  I nod and head down the hall. Before going into my bedroom, I quietly knock on and then open the door to Mom and Dean’s room. The empty bed is unmade, and the sheets are crumpled. Even the pillowcases repulse me with their yellow saliva stains. I wrinkle my nose at the smell of stale smoke and sweat that hangs in the air like a bad dream, as I close the door behind me.

  Then there’s Charlie’s room. I force myself to pass by it without a glance. I know I’ll never have the guts to leave with Nan if I open the door and see his Spiderman duvet cover or the posters of Toronto Raptor Rudy Gay that we plastered on the wall beside his bed. I need to move forward, even though it breaks my heart. Hopefully, Nan can find a way for Charlie to live with us, even though her apartment is really tiny.

  I walk into my room. The silence consumes me. Everything is exactly as I left it, including the half-full glass of Coke on my dresser. The ghost of a watermark surrounds it.

  I open my dresser drawer and halfheartedly throw a few pairs of underwear and socks into a large, tattered gym bag. And that’s when it hits me. Trixie. The house seems too empty because it is. It’s completely empty. Trixie isn’t here.

  Heart thrumming, I race back to the living room. Nan is sitting on the couch, flipping through an old People magazine she must’ve fished out of the dusty magazine rack beside the TV. I stare for a moment at the beaming faces of Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt.

  “Where’s Trixie?” I ask breathlessly. We passed her empty bed in the hallway when we first came in, and I hadn’t thought about it until now. Sometimes it takes her a few minutes to wake up and make her way from one of the bedrooms to greet me, which is why I wasn’t concerned at first.

  But now it’s clear she’s not here.

  Nan puts down her magazine. “Is she in one of the bedrooms?” she asks, her voice as calm as a morning ocean.

  I’m the complete opposite. The feeling of panic is back. It’s clawing at my throat, making me dizzy with fear. I stare wide-eyed at Nan.

  “She’s definitely not here. She’s gone.” Anxiety washes over me. I’m drowning with fear. “What if he’s hurt her, or killed her just to get back at me? What if they stuck her outside, and she’s freezing to death in a snowbank somewhere? Or maybe Mom got rid of her to wipe away any memory of me because Trixie is really my dog since…” I pause to catch my breath. The memory of Trixie curled up beside Dad on the couch makes my words stick in my throat. “Since…well, you know.”

  Nan folds her hands together. “Since your daddy died?” she says softly. I wish I’d kept my big mouth shut. Nan hardly ever mentions Dad.

  The front door opens, and my heart freezes. I notice Nan tense up as well. She clears her throat and dabs at her eyes.

  “Let me take care of this, Lizzie,” she says, straightening her shoulders. The look in her eyes means business. “Stop your worrying, and go pack your things.”

  I turn and start walking back to my room, my stomach twisting nervously. And that’s when I hear Charlie.

  Chapter Eight

  “Lizzie! Nan!” Charlie squeals as he reaches the top of the staircase.

  I turn and see him, Mom and Trixie. Relief floods through me. Trixie’s okay. Mom bends to unclip the leash from her collar. As soon as she’s freed, Trixie heads toward me with her tail wagging and Charlie beside her.

  Mom straightens and stares at me like I’ve grown a third eye. That’s when Nan steps forward. An uncomfortable energy fills the air.

  “Hello, Kimi,” she says. “We need to talk.”

  Mom looks at Nan. “Doreen, anything you have to say to me can be said in front of my children,” she says flatly.

  Nan glances my way, ignoring Mom’s comment. “Lizzie, go to your room and gather your things. Charlie, you help your sister. We’ll visit a bit as soon as your sister’s done packing.”

  Charlie looks at me questioningly. “Packing?”

  “Come on,” I say, ignoring his question as I sweep Trixie up into my arms. “You can tell me what happened in school today.”

  Charlie’s eyes darken with concern as he looks from Nan to me, but he follows me to my room without a word. If there’s one thing Charlie hates, it’s any kind of conflict.

  I shut the door and put Trixie down on my bed. Charlie sits beside her and watches me with wide, sad eyes as I sort through my closet. It’s not like I’ve got a ton of clothes to choose from, but having to decide what I want to bring to Nan’s suddenly becomes as difficult as brain surgery. With each top and pair of jeans I put into my backpack, my decision to leave becomes more real.

  “You went to Nan’s last night?” Charlie finally asks, biting his bottom lip nervously. He pauses, struggling to get out the questions he is so desperate to ask. “Why didn’t you take me? Is it because I broke her Jesus plate?”

  My heart twists into a painful knot. I kneel down in front of Charlie and throw my arms around him. He smells like freshly cut grass and baby shampoo mixed together.

  “You still remember that?” I whisper into his hair. “Nan doesn’t care that the plate was broken, buddy. She told you she didn’t care when it happened.”

  Last time we were at Nan’s together, Charlie stumbled and knocked into a bookshelf in the living room. Unfortunately, a hand-painted plate with the face of Jesus on it that was sitting on the top shelf couldn’t survive the knock. It teetered drunkenly for a moment before crashing to the floor and shattering into what seemed like a thousand pieces. A shard skittered across the tile flooring and came to a rest at my feet. One of Jesus’s big brown eyes stared up at me from the slice of plate. For nearly an hour Charlie sobbed, salty tears rolling down his cheeks. Nothing Nan and I did or said could console him. He knew, as we all did, just how much that plate had meant to her. She and Grandpa had brought it with them when they emigrated from St. Lucia to Canada. It had been a gift from Nan’s mother.

  “Why are you leaving?” Charlie asks, pushing me away so he can look me in the eye. “I don’t want you to go to Nan’s.”

  I chew on my lip, unsure how to answer. It breaks my heart to hear the sadness in my brother’s voice. Not only that, but I can detect his underlying fear. Though he’s much younger than me, I’m not going to treat Charlie like he’s stupid. He knows what a bastard Dean can be.

  “I don’t really want to go either,” I say. “But I can’t be around Dean anymore.” I pause. How am I supposed to explain to Charlie what happened? “He’s getting to be just too mean to me,” I finally say.

  Tears shine in Charlie’s eyes. “But you can’t leave.” His face scrunches into an intense frown. “You’re the only one who always makes sure things are okay here.”

  My blood freezes. Charlie’s right. If I leave, things will definitely be more uncertain for him and Trixie. But I simply can’t stay. Not after what happened. I get up and start to pack again, trying to think of a way to change the conversation. Somehow I need to make Charlie feel like things will be all right, that he only needs to hang on for a little while until I can figure out a solution with Nan.

  “This is our home. He needs to go,” Charlie says, interrupting my thoughts. His voice is cold. I’ve never heard him sound so full of hate. “I’m going to phone the police on Dean. They’ll take him away, and then you can stay.”

  “No, you’re not,” I reply. “Do you know what the police will do if they find out that Dean hits me and Mom lets him? They’ll take you and me away from here. They’ll put us into foster homes. We could be split up forever. And Trixie will end up at the Humane Society—or worse.”

  Fear flashes across Charlie’s face as he glances at Trixie, but his fists remain tightly clenched. Rage radiates off him in waves.

  I’m not used to seeing my brother angry. Charlie’s not a fighter. Until just a year or so ago, he’d hide und
er the kitchen table whenever Dean was being a drunken asshole, or when Dean and Mom would have their knockdown, epic arguments. Now Charlie’s perched on the edge of my bed, shaking like a volcano about to blow. I guess we all have our breaking point.

  I feel helpless. There’s nothing I can say or do to make things better, so I resume packing in silence. With each piece of clothing I throw into my gym bag, I can’t help but wonder if Charlie will end up hating me when I leave with Nan tonight. Maybe he’ll think my words are all just lies and that I care only about myself, not him or Trixie. I wish I could explain everything more fully, but there’s no way I want him to find out what happened with Dean. Just thinking about it makes my cheeks hot with shame.

  “Are you mad at me?” Charlie asks, breaking the silence.

  “Of course not. I’m more afraid that you’re angry with me,” I say with a halfhearted smile. “Everything will work out, you’ll see. I just need a bit of time to figure everything out.”

  Charlie nods and reaches over to pet Trixie. “I’ll take care of her,” he says. “And don’t worry, Lizzie, I won’t phone the police, no matter what. I promise.”

  I watch my brother for a few moments as he continues to pet Trixie and whispers in her ear. Though his promise should reassure me, there’s something in the tone of his voice that sends shivers through my blood.

  Chapter Nine

  “We really discourage students from transferring midway through the year like this,” Ms. Smitherman says as she crosses her thin arms across her chest and leans back in her leather desk chair. The skin on her forearms is thin and folds like crepe paper across her sky-blue cashmere sweater. I look away and out the window at the snow twirling in the cold wind outside.

  “Lizzie and I realize this isn’t an ideal situation,” Nan says. “However, due to a family emergency, her mother granted me temporary custody.” She slides the lawyer’s envelope across the desk toward Ms. Smitherman. “I have Lizzie’s last report card in there as well. You’ll see her grade-point average is very high.”

  Ms. Smitherman nods. “We’ll try as much as we can to match your courses so you don’t lose credits. In the meantime, you’re welcome to pop into a few classes after sorting out your timetable with the guidance department. With only a few weeks left until Christmas, you’ll really be starting in the new year. However, you’re welcome to drop in on a few classes and get to know some of our teachers and students.”

  “That sounds good. I guess. I don’t know,” I say. The words stumble from my mouth. This feels surreal. Am I really transferring, leaving my school, Charlie and Trixie? Everything’s changing so fast.

  Ms. Smitherman stands and extends a veiny hand toward me. “Well, welcome to Mary Ann Shadd Secondary.” Her nails are polished bright red, and a massive diamond ring sits heavily on one of her twiglike fingers. I gently touch her hand, afraid to shake it with any amount of force in case it snaps off like a bad Halloween joke.

  “We appreciate you helping us like this,” Nan says, standing and smoothing down the front of her black trousers. “And I’d love to see Lizzie involved in extracurricular activities while she’s here at Mary Ann Shadd. She’s a talented singer.”

  I stare at Nan, my body numb with shock. Why would she tell this Ms. Smitherman, someone who is pretty much a complete stranger, about something so personal? And what Nan doesn’t know is that I’ve sung less and less since Dean moved in with us.

  Ms. Smitherman smiles widely at me. Her teeth are Chicklet white. “We’ve got a fabulous drama club that puts on a show every year. In fact, we’re only a week away from auditions.” She sees the uninterested look on my face and raises an eyebrow at me. “This year’s production is the Wizard of Oz, next year we will be doing West Side Story.”

  “Sorry, never heard of it,” I say with as much politeness as I can manage. More than anything, I want to get out of this stuffy office. I wish Nan would just let me get my timetable and leave. Last night I only slept about three hours because I couldn’t stop worrying about Charlie and Trixie. It probably didn’t help that I was constantly checking my emails and text messages, hoping there’d be something from Fahad. My upper lids are lead shutters. I feel like a zombie.

  Nan’s eyes widen, and then she and Ms. Smitherman begin to howl with laughter. Annoyance bubbles up in me. I don’t like being the butt of people’s inside jokes, but I don’t dare show Nan my feelings.

  “Well, we need to change that,” she finally says, catching her breath. “West Side Story was a groundbreaking Broadway show. And the movie was one of your daddy’s favorites when he was your age.”

  My heart twists painfully at this bit of information. It’s hard to think of Dad ever being my age. I’m sure he never imagined he’d die before the age of thirty when he was sitting watching West Side Story with Nan and Granddad.

  Ms. Smitherman walks with us to the front of the office, where I’m handed my timetable by a stressed-looking secretary with frizzy red hair. Ms. Smitherman shakes Nan’s hand.

  “It was wonderful to meet both of you. I do hope to see Lizzie at least give the drama club a go.” Her gaze falls on me. “The arts can be very cathartic, you know.”

  My upper eyelids are like sandbags—they’re heavy and hard to keep open. I can barely see straight, let alone figure out what Ms. Smitherman is talking about.

  “Healing, Lizzie,” she says, clearly noting my confusion. “Something that is cathartic means it is very healing. Do consider popping in and at least meeting Ms. Philips. She’s the head of the drama department and is very passionate about the club.”

  “Oh. Okay, I’ll think about it,” I reply, nodding in agreement just to end the conversation. My phone buzzes a text alert from deep inside the pocket of my leather jacket, causing my heart to leap. Could it be Fahad? Maybe he’s realized that I didn’t intend to create problems for him when I called the other night. Maybe he misses me and wants to apologize for breaking up with me the way he did.

  Nan will kill me if I pull out my cell right now. She’s big on good manners when it comes to cell phones. Another of her big pet peeves is when people answer their phones, or have them pulled out at all, in restaurants.

  “Sorry, but I really need to go to the bathroom,” I say. I’m interrupting Ms. Smitherman’s and Nan’s goodbyes, but I can’t wait any longer to check the message.

  Ms. Smitherman smiles. “The closest student bathroom is just down the hall to the left.”

  It takes all my willpower to make it down the hall and into a stall before pulling out my phone.

  Sitting down on the closed toilet seat, I key in my security PIN. My heart sinks as soon as the text appears. It’s not Fahad. In fact, the number is not even from my contacts list.

  I read the message.

  Lizzie, do you miss me? I miss you coz theres no one to play X-Box with. Im skared. Mom and dean fighted really bad last nite. Trixie was with me and peed in the bed coz no one took her for a walk. I told Mom it was me but she was mad. This is Charlie. Your brother.

  The air is sucked out of me. I’m dizzy with emotion. I shouldn’t have left Charlie and Trixie there alone. What was I thinking?

  Charlie, of course I miss you! Wish I could’ve been there last night. Did anyone walk Trixie this morning? What phone are you using to text me? Love you. x Lizzie

  I wipe my nose with the back of my hand. Charlie doesn’t have a phone. He must be texting me on a friend’s phone, so I don’t want to write too much. Other people don’t need to know our business.

  This is my phone. I tradid sum stuff for it. Sum of my games coz I need to be able to talk to you i miss you.

  I call the number. Charlie answers after half a ring.

  “Hello?” He sounds breathless. His voice is barely more than a whisper.

  “Charlie, is everything okay? Mom still angry?”

  “No…I don’t know. She hasn’t gotten out of bed yet.” He’s still whispering. “I can’t really talk right now.”

  My heart
begins to thunder in my ears. An uneasy feeling spreads through my insides like an ink stain. “Are you in class?”

  Silence. Though it’s only for a few seconds, Charlie’s inability to answer tells me all I need to know.

  “Are you at school? What’s going on?” I ask.

  “Everything’s okay,” he finally says. “It’s just…can I call you later?”

  “Later when?” I ask. Something’s not right. He’s not telling me the truth.

  “Later today…maybe? For sure, tomorrow at school.”

  A sense of urgency sweeps over me. “What’s going on, Charlie?”

  The bad feeling is spreading deeper within me. Something’s really not right. I glance at my watch. It’s nearly 10:00 AM.

  “You need to wake Mom up. You shouldn’t be missing school. Have you eaten? Has Trixie had any food?”

  “There’s no food for Trixie. The bag was empty except for a couple of kibbles,” Charlie whispers. “So I fed her hot dogs this morning.”

  Mom will freak when she finds food missing from the fridge, but I’m more worried about the fact that Trixie has no food. And that no one is walking her.

  “I think I hear Mom,” Charlie says. “I have to go. Lizzie?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Dean told Mom he’s taking Trixie to the Humane Society today. I think that’s why she’s still in bed. He said that at the end of their big fight last night. She’s really sad.” His voice trembles with emotion.

  I feel like I’ve just been slapped by a bag full of bricks. My heart plummets to my feet.

  “What? Where’s Dean now?” I’m not even going to bother asking Charlie if he thinks Dean is being serious. I know he’s a big enough asshole to mean what he says. And deep down I also know there’s little to no chance he’ll pay the fifty-dollar fee to give an animal over to the Humane Society. Trixie’s in real danger.

  “I’m coming up there to get her as soon as I can,” I say. “Don’t let him take her out of the house, okay? I’ll text or ring you when I’m close. You just need to bring her outside and around back. I’ll wait behind the row of bushes for you.”