by Krystal Wade
See you soon.
PS. It’s much “cooler” to text these days—and avoid words such as “cool.”
Love,
Haley-poo is under you.
Mom had so much pride when it came to her family, the family of women who shared first names and told her to focus on a career and not a man. Gran had begged Mom not to marry Dad, and she’d hated that the woman was right. Haley wouldn’t take that away. Nope. Just one more person she couldn’t be herself with. Well, mostly not herself. She’d have to lie about school and the dismal grades on her report cards, lie about the dreams she’d once spent hours relaying to Gran, lie about being anywhere near good enough for MIT. But Haley could laugh, enjoy food, and spend time with someone who loved her and Mom.
Not like Jocelyn and Dad, who seemed to forget all about Mom during their various shopping trips.
They came in so late Tuesday night from shopping that Haley didn’t hear their entry. She’d already fallen asleep with Mr. Thompson’s extra credit assignment on her chest.
“Haley?” Dad said, nudging her shoulder Wednesday morning. His face was pale, black stubble shadowing most of his jaw, a trace of a smile in his otherwise stony features, and his fingers shook violently. Dad wouldn’t hold out much longer. “Time for school.”
“Thank you.” Haley set the papers on her nightstand. “For waking me up.”
He nodded, sighed and walked away, then looked back as if he had so much to say, so much to make up for. Or was that the imagination of a girl in desperate need of a father? “Don’t forget to turn in those papers.”
Dad tried rehabilitating before, like when Mom died and so many people were in and out of the house, offering useless condolences, serving reheated meals that had been frozen by well-meaning, distant family members. They’d all mistook Dad’s withdrawal for mourning. His shaking for the burden of losing the woman he loved.
Dad had treated Haley with dignified kindness then too, even apologized and promised to get help. But a week later, when the insurance company argued over how he’d filled out the paperwork and threatened to deny the claim, he returned to the bottle, effectively ending his sober period.
But if he meant it this time, if he refrained for a few more days… Maybe this party could be the best thing that ever happened to the Tremaines.
“Hale to the Haley-loo-boo,” Christine slurred. She met Haley on the street, tears in her eyes, hands shoved into her pockets, wearing an ugly, ill-fitting plaid flannel making her appear ten times heavier. Which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, considering how rail-thin Christine was these days. “What’s got you displaying such an odd and rare accessory as a smile?”
Smiling? Haley touched her lips and realized she was smiling, then cursed herself. She couldn’t fictionalize happiness, couldn’t build up a positive future in her head, not when Dad did the things he’d done, not when she’d already accepted that the man who gave her life died long ago.
Christine shook her head. “Trying sobriety out?”
“How’d you know?”
Hooking a thumb toward the pickup sitting in front of the house, Christine said, “Well, saw him driving—he doesn’t usually do that—and I’ve seen the cable company van over a few times. I can’t imagine he’d want them in the house if he’s constantly drunk.”
“Yeah. The box keeps going on the fritz, lots of static. And I guess he can’t handle anything being less than perfect while he’s not drinking.”
“How are you handling this? Well, I imagine, given the very pretty facial expression.”
“It’s not going to last. I don’t know why I’m even getting my hopes up.” She refused to let him crush her again. Not. A-gain. “I just don’t know what to do about Jocelyn. How I’ll pick her up after he disappoints her.”
“Maybe he won’t.” Christine sucked in a ragged breath, reminding Haley of her friend’s unusual emotions. “Where is sweet, naïve Jocelyn at anyway?”
“You’ve got me. What’s up with you?”
Christine lit a cigarette, a departure from her normal morning joint, then blew out the smoke that mingled with the smell of decaying leaves and damp earth. “Called Brandon last night.”
Christine’s baby daddy, or would have been, if not for the abortion.
“How’d that go?”
A bunch of seventh graders ran by, giggling and horse playing on their way to school. One boy picked up a pile of fallen leaves and chucked them at his friend, then screamed, “Race ya!”
“He said he missed me, said he loves me still, then hung up when his parents came into the room and asked who he was talking to. He’s a freakin’ wimp. But that’s enough of that. See ya around, kid.” Christine ran through the double doors and blended in with the crowd.
Poor girl.
Haley made sure to stay awake in all her classes, even though she swore there was no point, that Dad would slip quickly. The stupid dreaming kept up, dammit, all through work. She smiled at people, helped them find the perfect fragrance, checked out their orders, and stocked shelves, humming when she thought no one could hear.
Chris came in to perform his weekly inspection of the store and its operations, wearing a charcoal button-up dress shirt and black slacks, looking every bit the part of CEO In-Training. She even smiled at him.
“Hi, Miss Tremaine.” Such a different tone to his formal work voice, so much distance and nonchalance that she could believe she’d imagined all the interest he’d ever shown. Chris tapped a pen against his angular chin, staring at his clipboard. “How’s the store tonight?”
“Busy, crazy.” Haley drew in a deep breath of pumpkin spice. Best worst time of the year. Reminders of Mom and Mom’s death all wrapped into one season. “But great, amazing.”
Chris laughed. “Change your mind about next weekend yet?”
No, no, no, no. Not an idiot. Not enough hope in the world for this. Haley looked around to make sure no one was listening. “Sorry. Still have that ‘or something’ to do.”
Like sitting on a grave and crying.
“I could always skip the party and go with you.”
What? “No,” she shouted loud enough to draw attention from a few shoppers.
Cringing, he leaned toward Haley, warmth from his arm radiating into hers. “Or you could come by after.”
“Thanks.”
Haley smiled all the way home while walking with Christine, and when she found the house empty, the jealousy only mildly bothered her.
She didn’t need to be invited everywhere.
And at least Dad and Joce did the dishes.
But all that smiling didn’t last long. Not when Jocelyn and Dad stayed out Wednesday night and were gone before Haley made it home from school on Thursday. She survived work without cursing them, saved the anger for the instant she stepped onto the concrete outside the store.
What did she ever do to deserve this life? Wouldn’t it be nice to let her help pick out a dress, at least? If Jocelyn still hadn’t found one, maybe she needed a girl with her and not a dad.
Why would they invite Haley though? Life was fucked up, not a happy tale. She avoided going home and instead headed straight for the cemetery. Haley needed Mom. Haley needed to get perspective back in order.
A dark, inky stain spilled across the sky, blotting out the stars, the moon, light. The air swirled and turned white in front of Haley each time she released a frustrated breath. Summer lost a little more of its grip, at least for the night.
She pulled a gray cotton hood over her head and snuggled in deeper to her jean jacket, hugging herself, avoiding the curious gazes of neighbors as they watched her pass, probably ready to call the cops if she showed any sign of insanity. Small town murders always draw out watch parties.
A car engine rumbled next to her, brakes squeaking. Chris. Of course, Chris.
He rolled down the passenger window and leaned over, those dark lashes making his eyes appear exotic and inviting and lovely. “Would you like a ride?”
&
nbsp; Not lovely. Not inviting. Not hers. Never would be. Not a nice guy. Never would be, despite how he sometimes seemed. Just today she’d heard he lit the Callahan’s pasture on fire, killing at least three of their cattle. The source wasn’t exactly credible, but the rumors flew around, nonetheless. Haley didn’t have room in her world for any more assholes.
“Why the hell are you always so nice to me when you do god-awful things to other people? Why on earth would you want to spend time around me when I’m nothing? Is it just so you can remind me of everything I lost? Everything I’ll never have?”
“That’s not… Haley, wait.” Chris stopped the car and jumped out, running, as usual, to catch up.
But, once again, Haley ran faster.
Haley ran all the way to Mom’s grave, crying, and didn’t look back.
“Please come back to me, as a whisper in my thoughts. What I wouldn’t do to hear your voice, to hear you tell me you’ll fix this, that everything always works out the way it’s supposed to.” Snot drained, and Haley refused to wipe it away, she refused to stop bawling. “Am I supposed to be miserable? Did I do something in another life that made me deserve this? To be treated like I don’t exist? To have people want to be near me only to be mean?” Haley lay on her side and curled into a ball. “What I wouldn’t do for a miracle, for Jocelyn to love me, for Daddy to enter rehab, for you to walk in the door after a long day at work and still take time to help with my schoolwork.”
She sat there, twirling a blade of browning grass between her fingers, shivering, the smell of dirt and dying flowers invading her senses.
“You cold, baby girl?” Daddy asked, removing his black suit jacket.
Haley nodded, rubbing her hands up and down her bare arms. The dress Mom picked out was a gorgeous shade of pale blue, the same color as Haley’s eyes, and flowed out beautifully from her straight hips, settling just below her knees, but the thing left her chest and arms and calves exposed to the elements.
The first snow fell, small flakes floating lazily toward the ground, making the Fall Father Daughter dance feel more like a Winter Formal.
“Here,” he said, laying the jacket over her shoulders.
It smelled of Old Spice, strong hints of cinnamon and cedar, and warmed her instantly. “Thanks, Daddy.”
He took Haley’s hand, squeezed. “So, your mother says we don’t have to be home until midnight”—Daddy checked his shiny watch Mom bought him for his birthday—“which gives us fifteen minutes. What do you say to a little trouble tonight?”
“Trouble?” Haley didn’t want to be in trouble. Not at all. “I don’t want to make Mom mad.”
Daddy smiled all the way to his eyes, then leaned down and kissed her cheek. “I don’t think Mom will be all that upset. Come on. Let’s get some late night pie.”
“Haley?”
Haley woke up in tears, missing that dream man—that man who seemed to have resurfaced for Jocelyn, at least for the time being—and glanced up into the very concerned gray eyes of Todd. “Umm—”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said, offering his gloved hand. “But don’t you think your dad and sister are worried about you?”
“Probably not.” Every bone in her body ached, fingers blue and stiff. She’d have to figure out a way never to fall asleep outside again.
Todd flinched ever so slightly and nodded. “Just get home before you get in trouble.”
“Thanks.” Haley ran home, snuck through the window, then rushed to get ready for school before False Dad could come in and “wake” her.
With breakfast bar in hand, Haley walked out the door with Jocelyn and met up with Christine. “Morning, Rine—”
Eyebrow lifted, Christine said, “Rine? Don’t you ever, ever utter that shit again. Hear me?” She laughed. “If you must nickname me, Hales to the Haley-loo-boo, please, call me Chrissy-Sissy—or something stupid like that. But good lord, Rine? So boring.”
Jocelyn rolled her eyes. “Enjoy your pot this morning?”
Christine gave her the finger.
“So classy.” Turning a pristine smile on Haley, Joce said, “Dad and I have had a ton of fun this week. Why haven’t you come with us?”
“One usually requires an invite to go somewhere with people. You know, like the scented envelope the Charmings delivered, personally. Or, there’s always asking.”
Christine doubled over with laughter.
Jocelyn narrowed her eyes and stalked off, causing Christine to laugh harder.
That was weird.
By the time English rolled around, Haley’s night outdoors caught up with her, eyes heavy and burning. Mr. Thompson wrote sentence after unintelligent sentence on the whiteboard—supposedly taken from the class’s last writing assignments—then asked random students to explain what was wrong with it.
If Haley put her head down for two seconds and closed her eyes… wouldn’t be that bad, would it?
“Miss Tremaine?”
She shook so hard that the desk squeaked across the tile floor. “Yes, sir?”
Half the class giggled.
“Can you answer the question?”
Glancing at the board, she said, “The sentence has no predicate, sir. It’s incomplete, written more like slang.”
“Good guess.”
The bell rang, and she gathered her things and darted into the hall before anyone else. She’d used up her last chance with Mr. Thompson, kind Mr. Thompson who only wanted good things for a student formerly known as good.
Maybe she really did suck as a human being.
At home, the smell of alcohol hit Haley as soon as she walked through the front door.
Hope gone. She shouldn’t have hoped in the first place.
Dad barreled down the hall, tripping and hitting the wall with his shoulder. “My drinking is your fault, Mags—”
“I’m not—”
“Shut your mouth. I tried, for you, for Jocey, for Christ’s sake. And you ruined it. I was trying. You always ruin things, Mags. Can’t just be a good woman, can you?” Dad grabbed a flask out of his robe pocket and took a drink, then returned his gaze to Haley, swaying where he stood, black hair soaked with sweat. “You always have to be the spoiled whore brat your mother raised you to be.”
Haley backed up against the screen door, out of reach of his clenched fists. Deep breath. “Where’s Jocelyn?”
Dad narrowed his bloodshot eyes. “Leave her out of this.”
Not home. She wasn’t home. “Please don’t hurt me.”
“Hurt you? All you do is hurt me, your family.” Dad grabbed Haley’s arm and squeezed, brutally, shaking her. He threw her against the wall, then stormed out of the house in his bathrobe.
Haley slid to her butt and put her head between her knees.
ad grounded Haley for a week for “spacing out in class.” She could go to school and work, but walking home with Christine was out of the question. Dad removed the phone and computer from Haley’s possession, made larger messes than usual, bounded into her room at the slightest noise, as if he knew she’d snuck through the window a hundred times to visit Mom.
Guess the bruise wasn’t enough and he had to take payment in other ways, only drilling in the knowledge that he was different, gone, forever. As if the blotchy purple handprint around pale white skin hadn’t already told Haley that. She’d thought Jocelyn should see the mark Dad left, but with the perfect opportunity in her grasp, she couldn’t do it. Not when Joce spent the entire week ignoring Haley, blaming with averted eyes, crossed arms, an upturned chin, with complete and utter silence.
Besides, Mom wouldn’t want Haley to spill their secrets, would she? Mom wouldn’t want Jocelyn to know Dad was an ass, an abusive ass, and that she died on her way to pick up her youngest daughter, to take her to the new house Mom and Haley picked out.
No. Definitely had to keep the lips zipped.
Restrictions ended today—finally—and both Dad and Jocelyn were out of the house, picking up their outfits from the seamstress.
Alcoholic or not, Dad was still going to the party with his naïve little Jocelyn.
“What a mess.” Haley dabbed a small amount of makeup on her bicep to cover the fading bruise, then slipped into the sheer, black button-up with short bubble sleeves and little red flowers that Gran sent as a birthday present a few months ago.
Summer fought ferociously over the last few days, bringing warmer temperatures, blue skies, and plenty of sunshine. Nothing wrong with a little Indian Summer. A perfect day to hang with Gran and visit Mom.
Haley pulled her phone from the junk drawer in the kitchen and dialed Gran’s number.
“Hello?” Gran mumbled, sounding distant, thousands of miles away.
“Gran, your hand is covering the receiver again.”
“Haley-poo! It’s so wonderful to hear your voice, darling.”
“Yours too.” Love fluttered in Haley’s heart, and hot tears leapt into her eyes. “How’d you like to meet up at Champney’s before visiting Mom?”
“Mmm. I already know what I’m going to order.”
“You know ingesting that much greasy meat isn’t good for you.” Gran couldn’t get enough of the Deerfield Farm Burgers, juicy things that practically required a bib and a stack of napkins. Fattening, delicious, but so unhealthy.
“Pish-posh, darling. I thought you were my smart granddaughter? You should know that eating an occasional good thing won’t kill you. It’s overindulgence, Haley-poo.”
Like overindulging in alcohol. That certainly killed a person. “Okay. Fine. Order that.”
“If you were so concerned for my well-being, you should have suggested another place.” Gran sighed. “But before I agree to meet you in such a high-traffic place, I need you to know that I’ve already visited your mother.”
Haley sat on the top step of the porch and stared across the street to Christine’s, some of the excitement for the day ahead wearing off. “You went without me?”
“Listen, your dad called me. He said you have an obsession with going there and that he’s concerned.”
Air whooshed from Haley’s lungs, leaving behind a nervous flutter as they attempted to operate again. “What?”
