“Oh, this and that. Have some errands to run later this afternoon.”
“Well that sounds nice. I think I will be lazy today. Maybe play in the garden a little. Will you be home for dinner?”
“I can be.”
“That would be nice. Dad isn’t supposed to be home until Monday at the earliest, so we could go out somewhere, just the two of us. Maybe that little Italian place we used to like.” That little Italian place had been closed for almost two years. The last time we had gone was on my fifteenth birthday.
Dad had met us there after work. When dinner was over and the bill was paid, he told Mom he had a surprise for me. Why didn’t Mom go on home? He wanted to take me to get my last present. We would see her later. I should have known better.
My gift was some ridiculous CD at a discount music store. He claimed it had meant a lot to him in his teenage years, and he thought I would appreciate it, too. His gift to himself was he got to fondle my knee the whole way to the store and on the way home. It was dark when we pulled into the driveway. He gave me a ‘birthday kiss’. I hadn’t spent a birthday with them since.
On my sixteenth birthday, I feigned illness. They had already told me they were getting me a car but hadn’t found the right one yet. I begged for a MINI Cooper (I became obsessed with them after seeing The Italian Job a few years earlier). Mom said not a chance. They were impractical and way too expensive for a sixteen-year-old, even a used one. Dad said he tended to agree with her.
Because of the expense of a car and insurance, there weren’t any gifts to unwrap, so I spent the evening in bed watching stupid movies on cable. That weekend I went out with Maggie, and we got blitzed. A week later my car showed up in the driveway—a three year old, cherry red MINI Cooper.
Mom was furious. She said it was too new for a sixteen-year-old, and I would wreck it in a week. She asked Dad through clenched teeth what happened to the ten year old Honda they looked at a few days before. Dad gave me a wink and a pat on the butt when he put the keys in my hand. I hated the car, too.
The next year I pretended to forget it was even my birthday. Mom couldn’t understand how someone could forget her own birthday. I couldn’t understand how she could be so naive.
For my eighteenth birthday, I was trying to figure out how to have a funeral instead of a party.
“Yeah, well maybe. I’m gonna shower and get going, Mom. Have a good day.”
“Love you, sweetie.”
“Uh huh.”
It took Ken longer to answer the door than usual. I had to ring twice before I heard footsteps inside.
“Don’t you have any patience, girl?”
“Sorry, sir.” He looked disheveled. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”
“No.” Ken held the door open wider so I could slip in under his arm.
“Did you bring me anything?” He looked at the backpack slung over my shoulder. It reminded me of the scene in The Wizard of Oz—I don’t think there’s anything in that black bag for me. I couldn’t help but chuckle at the comparison of petite, innocent Judy Garland to the giant in front of me.
“If you mean candy, it’s in my bag. Don’t tell me you’ve gone through all of those already?” I couldn’t believe my nerve at even the smallest attempt to tease him. I half-expected to get backhanded right there and then. Part of me wanted him to.
“Nope. The peanut butter gnomes must have gotten them.” Holy shit, was he actually being playful?
“Well, you better keep a closer eye on these.”
“I’ll try. Sneaky little buggers.” I laughed, and I think he did, too. At least it was something like laughter. It sounded like a noise he was vaguely familiar with but wasn’t accustomed to. So maybe he wasn’t a maniac serial killer preying on unsuspecting girls. Maybe dying at the hands of another wasn’t in the cards for me. But this was kind of nice, too.
We walked into the living room together and settled into our chairs. Before I could pick up the book, Ken said, “You’re a senior this year.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yes, sir.”
“What are you going to do after you graduate?” What was this sudden interest in my life? I was in no mood for a what-do-you-want-to-be-when-you-grow-up discussion. Maybe it was because I had no intention of making it that far. I had a life expectancy of twenty-one at most.
“Go to college, I guess.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know. I’ve been meaning to send in some applications. I haven’t decided yet.” Seriously, did we have to do this? It was bad enough that my counselor asked me on almost a daily basis where I was going. And heaven forbid my parents found out I had missed the deadlines for at least a dozen scholarships. The deadline for state financial aid had passed the week before and the federal deadline was only six weeks away. I guess it was another step in my quest for self-destruction.
“I see.” Ken folded his hands in his lap and stared at me, waiting for something. I had nothing else to say on the subject, so I began reading. He was quick to fall asleep, and I was grateful. My head was full of warring emotions, and I could barely get through a sentence without screwing something up.
I was pissed that I’d been given the third degree. I was confused why he even cared and kind of touched he was curious about my future. Tsunami-sized waves of guilt were crashing over me because I knew I was systematically destroying said future. And then I got pissed all over again because I wasn’t supposed to care either way. I wasn’t going to have one anyway, right?
Dad’s car was parked in the driveway when I got home, so I had two immediate reasons to feel furious. Because of the way he parked, my only option was the street. I hated parking in the street. I was utterly convinced it was only a matter of time before my MINI was sideswiped by some drunken country club socialite on her way home from playing Mahjong by the pool. I still loathed the car and everything it meant, but it didn’t change the fact it was my only mode of transportation.
Second, he was home early. I was prepared for him to arrive on Monday night. It took effort to sink myself into the deep emotional void needed to deal with his presence. I didn’t have the reserve strength built up. I was tempted to turn around and head straight over to Maggie’s. She always welcomed me with open arms.
Then I saw Mom through the window. She was slumped on the couch, her head in her hands—everything about her cried defeat. She needed me. Well, she needed someone—someone to help her bear the load of having him in the house. I couldn’t abandon her. I gathered my nerve and went in.
Mom looked up when I opened the door. Her eyes were red and puffy. Good Lord, he was home for a few hours and had already made her cry. Awesome.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Hi, honey. Your dad’s home.” When she was okay with him, he was Dad. When they were fighting or he upset her, he was “your dad”. As if he somehow belonged to me, and I was responsible.
“Yeah, I saw his car. What’s he doing home so early?” My accusatory tone made it sound like it was her fault he was in our house. I guess it pretty much was. She married the son of a bitch.
“Apparently they didn’t need him after all. There’s a new guy they’re giving some accounts to, and this was one of them.”
It was inappropriate to take such pleasure in the knowledge Dad was getting screwed at work. Oh well, no one ever accused me of being appropriate.
“Didn’t he know that before he flew all the way down there?”
“Of course I did. I’m not stupid!” Dad’s voice shot down the hallway and straight into my gut. He followed right behind it. “But that little shit has no idea how to handle an account this size. There was no way in hell I was going to let some wet behind the ears, fresh out of college punk fuck up one of the biggest accounts we have.”
I didn’t point out the obvious—if the kid was so green, Dad would still be down there holding his hand. He wouldn’t have been sent home.
“Maybe if your mother could take better care of things around here, I wouldn�
�t be so distracted while I’m on the road. I wouldn’t be losing accounts to some asshole kid.” He was distracted on the road, alright, but it wasn’t by thoughts of home. It was the little HR gal with her hand in his lap. Once again, I refrained from pointing out the obvious.
“Darren, I am doing the best I can, and I don’t see how a few dirty dishes should have any bearing on -”
“You don’t understand much of anything, do you? I bust my ass, on the road day after day, so you can go shopping, and out to eat, and buy her—” he pointed at me “—anything she goddamn wants. Jesus, I even pay for someone to come clean this house twice a month. How challenging is it to keep it clean the rest of the time?”
Dad swallowed his bottom lip—a sure sign an epic shit storm was about to hit our house. My stomach flipped, and I knew where this was going—screaming and crying, accusations and slammed doors. Sometimes he would back my mom against a wall and punch holes next to her head. He had done it to me once or twice. It would have been better if he had just hit me instead of leaving me there waiting—waiting to see if he would come back, wondering if the next time he would actually let his fist fly into my face. I wasn’t going to stick around and watch it. Not this time.
I went down the stairs and straight out the back door. As I walked around the neighborhood, the sun started to set, illuminating the sky in deep reds and purples. I tried to stop and appreciate the beauty of it. All I could think was, It’s a damn sunset. Happens every night. Who gives a shit?
Dusk turned to full darkness while I walked and smoked. Eventually my feet landed me in front of Ken’s house. It was wrong—I knew it before I even stepped into the front yard, but I couldn’t help it.
There was a single light coming from the small bay window. Through the mini-blinds I could see him sitting in an old wing back chair. I crept closer to the window, curious for a glimpse of his life beyond John Irving and candy.
The walls were covered in old photos and memorabilia of his time in the Marines. I saw a full dress uniform hanging on a coat rack, a shadow box with medals, and a huge woven tapestry with the Marine emblem in the middle on the wall behind him. In his hands was another photo. I knew by the silver frame it was the one from the living room—the one of him and the girl.
In the harsh light of the floor lamp, I could see tears running down his cheeks. It was the silent, unashamed crying of someone who thinks they are alone. It was heart-breaking.
I’m not sure how long I stood there watching his private grief. It was a horrible invasion of his privacy and borderline illegal, but I couldn’t turn away. That was until I heard a gruff voice and the deep-throated rumble of a very large dog behind me.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I was so startled I fell against the window, causing Ken’s head to jerk up. Well shit.
“Nothing. I mean, I just… I know Ken and I…” There wasn’t a single answer that was going to make this look any better. The front porch light came on. Shit again.
“Who’s out there?”
“It’s Bill, Ken, from down the street. I caught some punk looking in your window.”
Punk? Really? I was in sweatpants and a t-shirt—Abercrombie & Fitch at that. There was nothing about me that said punk. Well, except I was lurking outside some old guy’s window. That leaned toward punkish, I suppose.
“She says she knows you. Might want to call the cops.” Well, that seemed over the top. My only choice was to step into the little island of light on the front walk and face the music.
“Hi, Ken. It’s me, Persephone.” Ken looked at me, confused. Great, he didn’t have a freaking clue who I was. Shit, was he really going to call the cops?
“Oh yeah, Persephone. Uh, come on in. We’re fine, Bill.”
“Well, if you’re sure.” Bill looked far from convinced.
“Go home, Bill.” Ha ha, Bill got his nose thumped. I tried to hide my smirk—served the asshole right for trying to get me into trouble. I ducked under Ken’s arm and into the house. He closed the door, turned, and stared at me.
“I’m really sorry. I was out walking, and I saw your light on, and I wasn’t trying to sneak or anything.”
“What are you doing out this late? Where are your parents?” Of course that would be his first question. Ken wasn’t raised in a world where parents let their kids wander alone after dark. Especially their daughters.
“My parents are fighting. I didn’t want to listen to it anymore.” The truth was out of my mouth before I could think of a lie. It sounded so boring and trite, even to my ears. I couldn’t imagine how it would sound to a man who had fought in at least one major war. He probably thought I was some spoiled brat whose mommy and daddy were squabbling over which size jetted tub to put in the master suite. That would have been a great lie.
Ken kept staring at me, causing me to babble more truths. “I’m not really sure why I ended up here. Like I said I was just walking. I hate being home when he’s there. I had to get out.”
He nodded a single time, as if coming to a decision. “Alright then. The blanket’s next to the chair. I don’t have any extra pillows, but the recliner is pretty soft. Leave the bathroom light on. I don’t like walking out into the dark. Goodnight, Persephone.” So I was supposed to stay? It was certainly better than the alternative—a night of sleeping with one eye open, my body on high alert waiting for my late night visitor.
It was only a little after nine. Would my parents check on me? What would they do if they found I wasn’t there? I knew the answer to that question before it even formed. Mom would never make it out of her room. Dad would make sure she was too wrapped up in her own misery to worry about me. As for Dad… there was a good chance he would wander down at some point, but he would probably think I was at Maggie’s. I heard Ken’s bedroom door close.
There was no way I would be able to go to sleep so early. It would be hours before I would even be close to tired. But what else was I going to do? Shrugging, I went into the living room and snuggled into the recliner. Ken was right—I didn’t need a pillow. The blanket smelled like vanilla and sandalwood—the way a girl should remember her father. Instead I would remember sweat and foul, panting breath.
I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep almost immediately. When the sun broke through the back window the next morning, I got up as quietly as I could, assuming Ken would still be in bed. The house was silent.
On the front table was another envelope with my name on it.
Let yourself out and lock the door behind you. This is your key so you won’t have to trespass anymore. I will see you this afternoon.
Trespassing! I wasn’t trespassing! I was just… Okay, maybe I was. But how presumptuous to think I would be back in the afternoon. What if I had plans? I mean, I didn’t, and I would come back, but still.
When I got home, my house was as silent as Ken’s. Sunday mornings were sleep-in mornings. I wouldn’t see my parents until well after noon, if at all. Dad would stay holed up in his room until hunger drove him into the kitchen. Mom would probably stay in bed until the cleaning lady showed up on Monday.
As a little girl, I would take her a cup of coffee first thing on Sunday mornings. I would curl up beside her in bed, and Mom would trade me the remote for the mug. We would snuggle and watch cartoons, just Mom and me, even on the weekends Dad was home. During those quiet hours, I could pretend there wasn’t a world outside the sanctuary of her room.
In the shower I thought about the night before. I felt so rested. I couldn’t remember the last time I had slept through the night—no nightmares, no late night visitors, nothing. I didn’t realize how worn down I was until I got a taste of real sleep. It wasn’t only the sleep. There was something else, even if I couldn’t figure out what it was. I wanted more.
8.
“Hi, James, it’s me, Persephone.” It was early afternoon, and I was driving around before going back over to Ken’s house. As I suspected, there had been no sighting of my parents. I had, however, failed to text Maggie
back when she asked if I wanted to grab coffee at Classic Rock. Oh well, she would understand.
“Well, hey there, Miss Persephone. How are things in your neck of the woods?”
“I’m doing okay.” I didn’t know if I should tell James about the night before. On one hand, was it any of his business his friend let an unhappy teenage girl stay in his house? James would want to know why, what happened to lead me there. He would have questions I didn’t want to answer, and I wasn’t sure I would be able to lie. God knows I was no longer capable of lying to Ken. What if James was the same way?
On the other hand, if I didn’t tell him and Ken did, would James think it was weird that I didn’t say anything? Would he assume I was trying to hide something? I was, of course, but I didn’t need him to know that.
“So you had kinda a rough night, huh, sweet pea?” Well that solved that problem. Apparently Ken had already spoken to him.
“Yeah, it was a weird deal. I hope I didn’t make Ken uncomfortable. It just kinda happened, you know?”
“Oh sure. I’m glad you two are taking care of each other. Is he doin’ okay?” Taking care of each other. It had a nice ring to it.
“Yeah, I think so. We’re getting along alright.”
“Well, good. You know, Persephone, I…” There was a long pause I wasn’t sure if I should interrupt or not. “The thing with Ken is—you know what? Never mind.” The thing with Ken is he killed people for the CIA? He was a drug dealer and is now in witness protection? He has split personalities—watch out for the cross-dressing Latin princess one? What? The suspense was killing me.
“What is it?”
“Seriously, it’s no big deal. So when are you going back over there?”
I wanted to scream. Why are adults such a pain in the ass? Even the good ones? Jesus. “I’m actually on my way there now. Almost in the driveway.”
“That’s great. How ‘bout you give me a holler sometime next week? Let me know how things are going?”
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