by Sophie Davis
“Thank you,” I told Mr. Wentworth, tearing my gaze from the pendant hanging around my neck.
Mr. Wentworth nodded, oddly transfixed by the dream catcher. Silence stretched between us, comfortable and patient. I had a lot to digest and nothing more to say. My father’s longtime friend continued to gaze thoughtfully at the gift he’d just given me.
“He bought that in Hawaii two Christmases ago,” Mr. Wentworth informed me.
“Were you with him?” I asked, surprised.
“Yes. He joined Jamieson, Melina, and me for the holidays.”
The admission made me both relieved and jealous. Every Christmas and Thanksgiving since the divorce, I’d wondered where Dad was while Mom and I ate takeout Chinese or overcooked turkey. I felt better knowing Dad hadn’t spent the holidays alone, but hated that he’d chosen Jamieson’s family to be with. In fairness to him, he didn’t have many friends and he was the only person in his family still alive besides me. It seemed unfair somehow that, of all people, Jamieson Wentworth saw my father more than I did.
“Thank you,” I said again. “I’m not very hungry and I should probably get going.”
“Of course, Endora. At least let Henry make you something to go. I know how your mother feels about cooking.”
“Henry? Mr. Haverty?” That was when I finally realized that he and Mr. Haverty had been calling each other by their first names all evening. They knew each other.
“Don’t look so shocked,” Mr. Wentworth said with a chuckle. “I have been coming here to meet your father for years; however, I was surprised to learn you were a frequent customer as well.”
“Just in the last week,” I muttered.
Mr. Wentworth, James, flagged down Mr. Haverty, Henry; and ten minutes later I had a turkey club to go in one hand and the ornate box in the other.
I said goodbye to Mr. Haverty and told him I would probably see him soon. While I had no more planned meetings at the Moonlight, I knew I’d be back. He seemed to know it, too.
Outside in the parking lot, Mr. Wentworth hugged me goodbye and told me to call him if I needed anything, even if it was just to talk. I promised that I would, although sharing any more of my deep, dark secrets with Jamieson’s father didn’t hold much appeal. Mr. Wentworth promised me he had his people looking for Dad, which I interpreted as private investigators. One good thing about being associated with so many criminal attorneys, besides the get-out-of-jail-free card I hoped I never had to play, was that they knew a lot of PIs.
“Either way, we will find out what happened to your father,” Mr. Wentworth told me.
“Thank you.”
Mr. Wentworth started moving towards his Escalade, then called over his shoulder, “I know Jamie can be difficult, but she really misses you, Endora,” as though it were an afterthought.
Right. All those Facebook posts painting me as a modern- day harlot really screamed, “I miss you,” I thought, but I just nodded and smiled. Like the diner, the parking lot was not well lit, and I couldn’t be sure if he saw the gesture before climbing into the driver’s seat.
Chapter Seventeen
The clock over the Bug’s dashboard read 9:15 p.m. As I expected, my cell phone was bursting with new text messages.
Mandy: I’m REALLY sorry about this morning. R U mad?
Devon: Call ASAP. Want 2 know details
Kaydon: Wanted to say hi
Mom: Where are you?
Mom: Two nights in a row, Endora?
Mom: Call me.
Since Mom’s messages were the most pressing, I called her first. I’d meant to call her on the way to the diner but had forgotten. My apologies fell on deaf ears. When she asked where I’d been, I lied and said out with Devon. Next, I responded to Mandy, promising her that she had nothing to apologize for. I, better than most, understood that stress makes people cranky. And between gearing up for AP exams, prom, and the fiasco with Kevin, Mandy had been under a lot of stress lately. I also offered to pick her up for school the following morning to prove that our friendship was still intact. Then, I decided Devon could wait and called Kaydon.
“Hey,” he answered on the first ring.
A television blared in the background and the sound of two people bickering filled the phone’s receiver before quickly tapering off.
“Sorry, my sisters are fighting again,” he told me. “How was your day?”
How was my day? Strange? Strange was a relative term considering that lately nothing in my life was normal. “Enlightening,” I finally decided on.
Kaydon laughed. “Public school must be more interesting than private,” he joked.
“Not school. I met with James Wentworth - you know, Jamieson’s father? He had something to give me from my dad.”
“Does he know where your dad is?” Kaydon asked.
“No, but he thinks…he thinks Dad might be dead,” I replied miserably.
The tears finally came. Saying those words to Kaydon made them real in a way that talking to Mr. Wentworth had not. Just one tear at first. Followed by two, then three, until finally I was sobbing so hard I had to pull over on the side of Route 140.
“Where are you, Endora? I’ll come get you,” Kaydon said, sounding alarmed.
“No, no,” I sobbed. “It’s late and my mom is expecting me. I have to go home.”
“You can’t drive when you’re this upset. Tell me where you are,” he demanded.
“I’m fine,” I said, repeating the phrase several times to reassure both of us.
“Okay,” he finally agreed. “But I’m staying on the phone until you get home. We don’t need to talk about your dad. We can talk about anything. You won’t believe what Terrence did at practice today.”
The sobs gave way to a slow trickle of tears as Kaydon filled me in on Terrence mooning the girls’ softball team as he ran past their practice field. And how, as a result, their coach put Terrence on equipment duty indefinitely.
Slowly, I eased the Bug back onto the highway and started for home. Kaydon kept up a running commentary about his day. He told me about his mother burning the meatloaf, but how everyone ate it anyway, proclaiming how good it was the entire time. He recounted helping the twins with the model of the solar system they were making for the science fair. One twin had managed to get Mercury tangled in her hair, necessitating an emergency haircut. I laughed at the appropriate moments, feeling detached and wishing some scientist would figure out teleportation.
“I’m home,” I told Kaydon when I pulled into my driveway twenty minutes later.
“What would you say to playing hooky tomorrow?” he asked. “Spend the day, just the two of us. If you want to talk, we can. If not, well, I have some other ideas.”
I smiled, really smiled at that. I’d never skipped school before. Whenever I stayed home sick, my mother called every hour on the pretense of making sure I had everything I needed. On occasion, she would even drop by at lunchtime. But Kaydon’s idea sounded like a good one. Facing my friends and pretending that everything was fine when it most certainly was not seemed daunting.
“Sure,” I agreed before remembering Mandy. “Oh wait, I can’t. I told my friend Mandy I would pick her up in the morning.”
“Can’t someone else pick her up?”
I thought about that. Devon would grumble and make smart-assed comments the entire time, and probably make me take her to dinner, but she would pick up Mandy for me. “I’ll ask Dev.”
“Good. I’ll meet you at your house in the morning,” Kaydon said.
“Okay,” I agreed.
“Goodnight, Endora. Dream well.”
I touched the dream catcher resting against my chest. The gold was cold, chilled by the April evening air. I smiled again. “I will,” I told Kaydon, knowing for the first time in over a week I wouldn’t dream at all.
Mom was sitting at the kitchen table when I walked in. Despite trying to make as little noise as possible, her dog-like ears heard me the minute I eased the door closed.
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��Endora, it is nearly ten o’clock,” she chastised me from her chair.
“I know, Mom,” I said patiently, remaining in the foyer since my eyes were red-rimmed from crying.
“Just because you are eighteen now does not mean you can stay out until all hours of the night without calling.”
Ten o’clock was hardly all hours of the night, but I let that one slide. She was right, though; I was eighteen. And if I weren’t so tired and depressed, I might have pushed the argument.
“There are rules in this house, Endora,” Mom continued from the kitchen. “You are supposed to call and check in with me.”
Story of my life, I thought, rules. We lived by the rules, we died by the rules, just like the Skulls. I was so tired of my mother and all her damn rules that I exploded.
“Dad is dead and all you care about are your damned rules,” I shouted, stalking to the kitchen to meet the confrontation head-on. The fact I’d been crying no longer mattered; the cat was out of the bag.
When I reached the kitchen table, I stopped abruptly, hands on hips, and glared down at my mother.
“What did you say?” Mom demanded, rising from her chair. She didn’t sound angry like I’d thought she would. Instead, she sounded scared.
Mom and I were nearly the same height, but in that moment she seemed to tower over me. I shrank under her intense scrutiny, all my anger giving way to alarm. She took a step forward, gripped my shoulders with two claw-like hands, and started shaking me. “What did you say?” she repeated, eyes blazing.
“Dad is missing and they think something happened to him,” I stammered, unable to repeat the words verbatim.
“Who is ‘they’ and how do ‘they’ know this?” Mom’s pupils grew to impressive proportions, her fear becoming more transparent by the second.
“Mr. Wentworth,” I admitted.
“You spoke with James?”
“He called and asked to have dinner with me,” I said. “He told me Dad is missing and he has private investigators looking for him.” I saw no point in adding that Dad had also failed to show up for our dinner date and that I hadn’t heard from him since. My mother’s uncharacteristic display of emotion heightened my own anxiety over the situation. There was no reason to make matters worse by adding that tidbit of information.
“What else did James tell you?” My mother’s eyes searched me suspiciously, finally coming to rest on my necklace. She grabbed for the dream catcher at the same time I stumbled several paces backwards, safely out of her reach. “Where did you get that?” she demanded, pointing to the pendant. For a brief second the fear turned to horror, and I had the unsettling feeling she was going to make the sign of the cross and say something ridiculous like, “Back, devil child.” She didn’t. Mom just stood there mute, one finger quivering in the air between us.
“It was a gift,” I said, clutching the dream catcher to my chest protectively.
“From your father,” she guessed, tone flat now.
I nodded defiantly.
“When did you see him?” she asked, sitting back in her chair, resigned.
“I didn’t,” I admitted, relaxing slightly now that Mom had regained her composure. “Mr. Wentworth gave it to me tonight.”
A faraway expression filled Mom’s features. She still stared straight at me, but no longer saw me as if caught in a memory.
“Mark isn’t dead,” Mom muttered, more to herself than me.
“I hope not,” I said, the tears from earlier returning. “I hope my last memory of my father isn’t from that day in the courtroom.”
The accusation was harsh, even if she did deserve it. My father had cried the day the judge all but terminated his parental rights. Mom had practically dragged me from the courtroom, kicking and screaming, when I tried to run to him. On the car ride home, she’d explained in her matter-of-fact manner that her actions weren’t done out of cruelty but rather a need to protect me. “From what?” I’d demanded. To this day, I still don’t know the answer to that question.
Whether it was my words or my tears or the situation as a whole, I couldn’t know for sure. But Mom looked so defeated sitting slumped over in the kitchen chair. I actually wanted to put my arms around her, comfort her. Only before my feet would obey my brain’s command to move, she started speaking again.
“All I have ever wanted was to protect you, Endora. Ever since I found out about you, I have made it my life’s mission to keep you safe. If I let Mark stay in your life, you would be in constant danger. The funny part about that is that when we agreed to raise you we both agreed it was to give you a better life.” Mom laughed, short and mirthless, and my blood ran cold. What was she talking about? Found out about me? Agreed to raise me?
“Sam was hesitant at first, but she never wanted children. My baby sister was too selfish for that. I worried that she would change her mind after you were born. I loved Sam, but when she died and you lived, I actually thanked God. Now I could protect you, for real. Nothing could come between us.”
All the color drained from my face and I shook my head like there was water in my ears. Mom wasn’t making any sense, her words little more than gibberish. Surely, surely she was not saying what it sounded like she was saying.
Oblivious to the world crashing down around me, Mom continued, “Then Mark got this crazy idea in his head that there was something wrong with you. I begged him to let it go,” she shook her head sadly, “but no, not Mark Andrews. He could never let anything go. He told me he did, though. Imagine my surprise when I found out his sabbaticals were really research trips for his obsession with the underworld. And now, after I have exhausted every resource I have to keep you safe from his manic ramblings, he still manages to get to you.”
Tears glistened in Mom’s brown eyes when she met my horrified gaze. If I weren’t already in a state of shock, that would have put me over the edge. Mom never cries, I thought dully. As if realizing she’d said more than she meant to, Mom jumped to her feet and crossed the room. Tentatively, she touched my shoulder, giving it a gentle shake.
Words failed me. Coherent thought failed me. Had my mother really just said she hadn’t given birth to me? The cold, detached feeling from the Moonlight settled over me. I was an observer, watching someone else’s life crumble.
“Endora?” Mom said tentatively.
“Are you my mother?” I asked, with the same flat inflection she’d used earlier. The only hint of emotion was the tears flowing unchecked down my cheeks.
“I am your mother,” she replied feverishly. “Samantha gave birth to you, but that does not make her your mother. I raised you. I have done everything to keep you safe.”
I stepped back, brushing her hand off of my shoulder as though it were merely a speck of dust. “I need to lie down,” I told her.
“Endora, please, let’s talk about this,” Mom called after me.
But I didn’t turn around, nor did I go to my bedroom. Instead, I picked up the keys to the Bug from where I’d left them on the hook by the front door. I walked to my car, got in, and started the engine. As I backed out of the driveway, I saw Evelyn Andrews standing in the doorway to our house, her pale and drawn face illuminated by the Bug’s headlights. While I’d never been close to my mother, she’d never seemed the complete stranger she did now.
Time ceased to exist as I drove aimlessly through the back roads of Westwood, no destination in mind. I kept touching the dream catcher around my neck; it was the only thing that felt real anymore. The hands on the steering wheel were too white to be mine. The girl in the rearview mirror was too haunted to be me. The picture of Devon, Elizabeth, and me after we won state’s junior year that I kept propped up in my change dish showed a happy, smiling version of what now seemed like a former self. It had been taken less than a year before, but it felt like a lifetime.
How could my mother drop a bombshell like that out of nowhere? Why did turning eighteen suddenly unlock all the secrets of your past? Did I no longer have the luxury of pretending I was a
normal high school senior like the rest of my friends? And who was my father? Aunt Sam didn’t get pregnant all by herself.
It was like a time warp. One minute I was on a darkened country road and the next I was pulling into the Holloways’ development. The numbers on the Bug’s digital clock glowed 12:34 a.m. Despite the late hour, the Holloways’ house was lit up like a Christmas tree.
The front door flew open the instant my headlights pierced the front bay window. Devon stood in the doorway, dressed in pajamas, arms crossed over her chest. Before I was even out of the car, she was running barefoot across the lawn.
“Where have you been? I was so worried!” she exclaimed, yanking the driver’s side door of the Bug wide and practically throwing her body on top of me.
“How did you know to be worried?” I asked, trying to extricate myself from her vice-like grip.
“Your mother called. She said you two had a fight and figured you would come here. I tried calling you, but you weren’t answering your cell.” Devon squeezed me tighter before stepping back to access my appearance.
My eyes were dry, though the shock had yet to wear off. The telltale signs that I had been crying remained: puffy eyelids, swollen nose and lips from constant wiping, streaks of mascara left over from the post-practice application. Exhaustion weighed on my shoulders, and I wanted nothing more than sleep. I wondered whether my mother had told the Holloways why we fought, although what had transpired between us could hardly be called a fight. It was more like a blitz attack of information.
“Can I stay here tonight?” I asked.
Devon slipped her hand in mine and pulled me to my feet. “Of course. My parents already told your mom it was okay.”
“Thanks,” I whispered, letting her lead me towards the front door.
We reached the kitchen just in time to hear Mrs. Holloway say into the phone, “She’s here, Evelyn. We’re happy to have her.” Pause. “It’s no trouble.” Pause. “I’ll ask her to call you tomorrow.” Pause. “It’s no problem. Goodnight, Evelyn.”
“I’m sorry for keeping you guys up,” I said once Mrs. Holloway hung up with my mother.
