by Amber Garza
The thing I had been so scared of ended up not being scary at all.
* * *
Every time we hung out after that, it revolved around drinking and getting stoned. Millie would sneak cups of her mom’s tequila or vodka into her bedroom after we knew her mom had fallen asleep or gone out for the night. Then we’d sit cross-legged on the ground, plug our noses and down it. Even with my nose plugged, I frequently gagged. But, hey, at least I got it down. Then we’d turn on Millie’s ceiling fan and smoke a joint, holding it out of her bedroom window.
Afterward, we’d lie in her bed eating snacks and talking for hours. I shared more with her during those nights than I’d ever shared with anyone. It was like my mellow extended to my mouth, my lips as loose as my joints. Those nights I revealed my deepest scars. Let her in on my private pain. Confessed my dreams for the future.
At the time I thought it was reciprocated.
But, now, when I look back at those nights, I remember how guarded Millie was. Careful. Don’t get me wrong. She did share a lot with me. But not everything. There were always things she kept hidden. Locked away.
I’m sure there are still lots of things I don’t know about her.
At times it makes me sad. Thinking of all the things she was too afraid to share.
As the weeks bled together, I did feel like Millie and I were getting closer. In fact, I kind of felt like I was turning into her. Being stoned or drunk gave me a confidence I never had before. I didn’t feel embarrassed to dance with her out in public. I talked to people I didn’t know. And even flirted with guys occasionally. It was like I’d found the magic potion I’d been searching for.
But as with any magic potion, it came at a price.
19
SATURDAY, 10:00 P.M.
TWENTY-NINE HOURS
AFTER DROP-OFF
THE SKY OUTSIDE the window betrayed how late it was. The phone in Whitney’s lap remained silent. “God, I wish I could go back in time and say no to her spending the night at Lauren’s. I wish I’d kept her here last night, then she’d be home with me right now.”
Smiling, Natalie said, “My mom used to say, ‘If ifs and buts were cherries and nuts, we’d all have a Merry Christmas.’”
“What?” Whitney laughed, and then felt guilty. How could she laugh with Amelia missing?
Natalie gently touched Whitney’s arm. “You can’t go back in time, and it’s pointless to think about what you wish you would’ve done. The only thing you can do now is move forward.”
At Natalie’s words, a memory formed.
Training wheels off. Helmet strapped on.
Amelia’s little light-up shoes resting on the bike pedals. Whitney’s hand gripping the seat.
“Okay, start pedaling,” Whitney instructed. Amelia obeyed, and Whitney ran behind her, holding tightly to the pink banana seat. Amelia white-knuckled the white handlebars, the pink, yellow and white plastic fringe flapping in the breeze.
Once they got a good rhythm going, Whitney said, “Amelia, I’m going to let go, all right?”
“No, Mommy, I can’t do it.”
It was a Saturday and they were in the parking lot of American River College. Not a car in sight. “You can,” Whitney insisted. “Just keep pedaling.”
As Whitney released her grip, Amelia slowed down.
“Nope. Keep pedaling. You can do it. You just gotta keep pedaling.”
Amelia pumped her legs.
“There you go, sweet girl. You’re moving forward.” Whitney clapped, so proud of Amelia as she pedaled through the parking lot, broad smile across her face.
A knock on the door startled them both.
Natalie smiled. “It’s probably Bruce.”
Whitney hooked her arm around the back of the couch and scooted upward, staring expectantly at the door as Natalie answered it.
She tried to rein in her disappointment when Bruce stood in the doorway. He held a duffel bag in one hand and a pillow in the other. He wore a T-shirt with two handprints on it that read Best Dad Hands Down, sweatpants, flip-flops and a baseball hat that fit a little too snuggly on his head. To Whitney, Bruce embodied the word dad. He had the “dad look” and he never ran out of “dad jokes.” It was almost impossible for her to picture him being anything other than a dad, even though Natalie assured Whitney that he’d been quite the catch when they’d met.
Natalie gave him a quick peck on the cheek. He stood awkwardly, his gaze sliding toward Whitney.
She understood. It was hard to know how to behave during your own crisis, let alone in someone else’s. At funerals, Whitney never knew what to do. She’d stand there awkwardly as if her arms were too large for her body, mumbling apologies and empty platitudes.
“Come on in, Bruce.” Standing, Whitney waved him over, hoping to ease some of his discomfort.
He stepped inside, dropping the duffel bag on the ground and handing Natalie the pillow. Then he took a few steps forward and pulled Whitney into one of his big bear hugs. “You hangin’ in there, kiddo?”
His fatherly concern broke her. Tears stung her eyes and her throat burned. Blinking and breathing hard, she pulled back and wiped her hand down her face.
“I...um...I just need...” Whitney pointed down the hall. “A...a few minutes.”
“Okay, hon, we’ll be right here,” Natalie said sweetly.
Making her way down the hallway, she could feel their eyes on her, skating over her back, boring a hole in her head. She crumbled like a Jenga tower after pulling on the wrong block. The sobs in her ears were as loud as the crash the blocks made when they hit the table. She wasn’t used to all of this concern. Accusations she was used to. Distrust. Suspicion. Reprimands. Those were things she could handle. This was too much.
Smothering her mouth with her hand, she muffled the sobs against her palm. When she reached her room, she closed the door firmly behind her.
“Mommy, don’t be sad.” Her big eyes stared up at Whitney unblinking. “Here. Do you need a Band-Aid? Will that make it better?” Reaching up, Amelia thrust a Band-Aid into Whitney’s palm. It was one of her Disney princess ones. Cinderella.
Whitney brushed a tear off her cheek and sniffed. “A Band-Aid won’t fix it this time, my sweet girl.”
“It’s about Daddy, huh?”
Biting her lip, she nodded.
“We’re not gonna live with him anymore, are we?”
Bending down, Whitney tucked a strand of hair behind Amelia’s ear. “No, we’re not. I’m sorry, my love.”
It had been the two of them for years now. Amelia was Whitney’s whole world. She had to find her.
The longer Amelia was gone, the more she felt herself unravel. Stepping farther into the room, she breathed in deeply through her nose and out her mouth the way she did trying to catch her breath after a run. It was supposed to calm her nerves, lower her heart rate. It wasn’t having that effect right now.
Above Whitney’s bed was a large canvas photo of her and Amelia taken several years earlier, smiling faces pressed together. They wore matching white sweaters, causing the greenery behind them to stand out. Whitney remembered following the photographer out into the middle of a giant field near the river to find the perfect backdrop. The sky was a brilliant blue that day, the temperature in the seventies. As the photographer snapped the pictures to the soundtrack of rushing water, Whitney had marveled at how blessed she was by her simple life and her tiny family. After the photoshoot, she and Amelia had gone out to dinner, then to grab ice cream. When they got home, they squished on the couch and watched some rom-com on Netflix.
Back then, the idea of Amelia running away would’ve seemed preposterous.
How had everything changed so drastically?
Whitney turned away from the picture. Her blinds were open, revealing a glowing crescent moon against the black sky. That’s what she needed. Fresh
air. A run. That would help her calm down. Clear her head.
Quickly, she changed into her running clothes and headed back to the family room. When Natalie spotted her, her eyes widened.
“Where’re you going?”
“Just a quick jog around the block.” Whitney brushed past them, nearing the front door. She could practically feel the wind on her face, the pavement beneath her soles.
“Right now?” Natalie glanced toward the window, her forehead a mess of squiggly lines.
“I think it will help me relax, think more clearly.” Whitney threw Bruce a smile as she reached for the doorknob. “Stay as long as you want, Bruce.” Then to Natalie, she said, “I’ll be right back.”
“You better be.” Natalie smiled, but her eyes betrayed her concern as Whitney turned the knob, and stepped into the hall.
* * *
It was Dr. Carter who first encouraged Whitney to run. He thought she needed an outlet. Something positive. He’d gone as far as to give her an entire lesson on endorphins and the effect of exercise on the brain. At the time Whitney had thought it sounded stupid. The only reason she’d tried it out was because she wanted to lose a little weight.
Dan had convinced her that she wasn’t fat. And she knew he was right. Curvy. Big-boned. That’s how her mom had often described her. Either way, she wasn’t thin, and she wanted to be.
So, she tried it out.
Turns out, Dr. Carter was right. Running did help. Mentally and physically. It made her feel alive. Strong. When she ran, she focused on her breathing, her legs, her arms. Everything else fell away. Became secondary.
The more she ran, the more addicted she became.
Tonight was no exception. As she ran on the sidewalk, next to cars whipping past, she breathed deeply in and out through her nose. She moved her legs quickly, her feet pounding on the pavement, and she pumped her arms in time, her hands slicing through the cool air.
She rounded the corner, shedding her thoughts like a snake shed its skin. The scent of damp air, chlorine and tennis balls floated on the sharp breeze, heightening her senses.
Up ahead, looming in front of her was the gate to the community pool. She slowed her pace. Changed course. Reaching the gate, she wrapped her fingers around it, pressed her face up to the bars. A prisoner, peering out.
The bright lights shone down on the empty pool, illuminated the parking lot and the tennis courts to her left. Amelia was never a fan of tennis. Probably because playing meant she had to get out of the water, something she never wanted to do.
As Whitney stared out at the pool, she imagined Amelia’s head bobbing up and down in the makeshift waves, her arms coming up in large round swoops as she carried herself to the other side. Then she saw her lying on a lounge chair, squirting white sunblock on her legs while talking a mile a minute, her hair crunchy from drying in the sun.
One of her favorite memories was when she taught Amelia to swim. At the time, Dan’s parents lived near them and they had a pool. Amelia spent a lot of time at their house, and always wanted to be near the water. So, the summer she turned four, Whitney made it her mission to teach Amelia. In the afternoons, she’d head over to her in-laws’, traipse in through the back door and she and Amelia would spend hours playing around in the water. The first couple of times, Amelia whined, begging for her “wa-wings.” That’s why the third time, Whitney was smart enough to leave the water wings at home.
“No wa-wings,” she remembered saying over and over. “They’re not here.”
Amelia was upset that she had to be held in the water. That she couldn’t go off on her own, the way she could with the floaties. But once she got past her initial frustration, she started to get the hang of it.
One afternoon, Whitney was tugging Amelia around the pool, but Amelia kept trying to unhook her fingers from her mom’s.
“Mommy, let go,” she begged. “I can’t move my arms. Let go so I can swim.”
They’d been at it for a while. She’d shown her the strokes. And Amelia wasn’t wrong. She couldn’t do any of the strokes with Whitney holding her arms. As scared as she was, Whitney released her grip on Amelia. She didn’t move, though. She stayed right by her side, just in case.
But Amelia didn’t need her. Sure, she floundered a bit. Got water up her nose. Swam in a zigzag. But she made it to the other side without any help at all.
And as Whitney watched her in amazement, her daughter’s words rang out in her head:
Let go so I can swim.
SATURDAY, 11:00 P.M.
When she returned from her run, Natalie was on the couch watching TV. Whitney glanced around, wiped her damp forehead with the back of her hand.
“Bruce left?”
“Yeah, he wanted to get home. Rest. Drink a beer. You know. Guy stuff.” She chuckled. “How was your run?”
“Really good.” Winded, she headed into the kitchen to grab a water. Chugged it down swiftly. Then she set the empty bottle on the counter. “I’m gonna go take a quick shower and change. I’ll be right back.”
Afterward, emerging from the steamy bathroom, she cinched on her robe and went to her room. Heading straight to her dresser, she opened the top middle drawer, searching for her favorite pair of pajama pants. White-and-black-checkered, fuzzy material, elastic waistband. The mere thought of them gave her comfort. Her skin was still damp from the shower, and goose bumps rose on her flesh. Finding her jammie bottoms, she happily tugged them out with vigor, causing several other jammies and underwear to spill out as well, along with the envelope of money she’d been saving.
Bending down, she picked up the envelope—and found it was lighter than it should’ve been. Originally, there had been several thousand dollars in it, mostly in hundred dollar bills, and she’d only spent a couple of hundred on Amelia’s birthday shopping spree. When she peeked inside, her stomach plummeted. Empty.
Swallowing hard, she got down on her hands and knees, dug through the clothes that fell. No money. Standing up, she foraged through the drawer. It wasn’t there either.
The money she’d been saving for months was gone.
Who would’ve taken it? No one, not even Amelia, knew she had it.
Actually, that wasn’t true. There was one person.
The late afternoon sun sprayed in through Whitney’s bedroom window. Even though she was warm, her skin damp with sweat, she drew the blanket up to her chin. If a guy was going to have to see her naked body, Whitney preferred it to be in the dark. But, as a single mom, she had to take the opportunity when it was presented.
Jay rolled over, peeked at his phone. The covers on his side were bunched near his feet. He clearly didn’t have the same body image issues she did. She knew, really, it didn’t make much sense. He’d seen everything of hers a few minutes ago.
The front door popped open, followed by the sound of keys rattling, a backpack being tossed on the ground with a thump. Whitney’s eyes widened.
“The door.” She pointed.
She hadn’t been expecting Amelia home from swim practice. She thought she had another half hour at least.
Jay sprang into action, racing across the room and shutting the bedroom door. Whitney hurriedly pushed her arms through the straps of her bra and tugged her shirt on.
“Mom? You home?” Amelia’s voice got closer.
“Yep,” Whitney hollered. “Um...be out in just a sec.” Searching through the bed, she couldn’t find her underwear. “Had a meeting earlier?” she shouted. “So I’m just changing real quick.”
Amelia didn’t answer. Probably didn’t even care. Whitney heard footsteps in the kitchen, the suction of the refrigerator. When Amelia got home from swim practice, she was always ravenous. Had been since she was little.
“Jay,” she whispered, since he was near her dresser. “Grab me a pair of underwear please. Top drawer. Middle.”
“Sure thing.
” He opened the door, pulled out a lacy pair.
Of course he’d pick those ones, she thought.
Before closing the drawer, his gaze lingered in it for a moment. Then he turned, tossing her the panties. “You know, there are such things as banks, right?”
“Huh?” Standing, she pulled on the underwear, then stepped into her pants.
Face reddening, he shook his head. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s not my business.”
That’s when she realized he must’ve seen her money envelope. She waved away his apology. “Oh, no, it’s not a big deal,” she whispered, walking closer to him as he wriggled into his own pants. “That’s just money from my side gigs. I’m saving it to buy Amelia a car.” She kissed him lightly on the mouth. “Now stay here and keep quiet. I’ll sneak you out when she goes back to her room.”
Then Whitney smoothed down her hair, licked her lips and stepped out into the hallway, closing the door tightly behind her.
Had Jay taken her money? She thought about the apartment that wasn’t his. Did he not have his own place? Was he worse off than Whitney thought? Maybe that’s what the girl meant by him being an asshole. Maybe he was mooching off them or something.
Oh, God. She pressed her hand to her forehead. Why was I so trusting? So gullible?
Taking off her robe, she stepped into her pajama pants, pulled them up to her waist. With her mind on edge, they didn’t quite give her the comfort she’d been hoping for. After changing into one of her soft Ts, she made her way to the bed, crouched down onto it. Clicking on Jay’s name, she pressed the phone to her ear. Bouncing her knees up and down to a beat only she could hear, she waited for him to answer. When it went to voice mail, frustration burned through her, a wildfire obliterating everything in sight.
Was that Jay’s plan all along? To steal from her?
