Leap by Jodi Lundgren Page B

can’t afford to support two households and doesn’t want to just abandon her mom.
    Kevin got caught in the crossfire. When he started partying—just the ordinary teenage stuff—fights happened. Their dad came home and found Kevin and his mom drinking together a couple of times. Bottles were poured down the sink, glasses smashed against the wall. Kevin got blamed for their mom’s relapse. Now he couch surfs.
    Only crusts remained on our plates. “And what about me? I can’t keep living there with her ragging on me all the time. You heard her! She was supposed to go to my aunt’s for a few days and give me some peace, but my aunt won’t even talk to my mom if she’s been drinking.”
    â€œYou can stay at my house tonight.” I dabbed a napkin at my mouth to soak up the grease.
    Sasha stared over my shoulder so long that I turned to see what she was looking at. There was nothing there but a blurry painting of a lighthouse in a storm. She blinked and said, “It’s okay.”
    â€œAre you sure? My mom really won’t mind.”
    â€œShe’ll be passed out by now. I should go check on her. Make sure she’s not choking to death on her own vomit or something.” She checked to see how I’d reacted to that last comment. “I’m kidding,” she said. Her bitter tone made it hard to believe she was joking.
    We paid the bill and I walked Sasha home. The night hugged us, a dark cocoon. We turned off the main drag to escape the exhaust fumes. Wild roses scented the air. I ran my hands up and down my bare arms, chafing cool, goose-pimply skin. I hugged Sasha with one arm. We were alive, we were breathing, and that was all that mattered for now.
    We reached the row of town houses where Sasha lived. “Do you want me to come in?”
    She shook her head. “I’m used to it. It’s no big deal.”
    â€œAre you sure? Why don’t I just come in for a bit?” I started to move past her and up the cement path to their unit. She grabbed my upper arm and held it with a grip so strong, it made me suck in my breath.
    Sasha stuttered in a husky whisper, “I don’t … want you … to see her.”
    My stomach clenched. Slowly, I pried her fingers off my bicep. “Okay, Sash, I won’t.”
    There were no lights on in the town house. I waited until she made it inside and then, with a caved-in chest, turned and began the trek home.
    9:00 p.m., curled up on my bed
    I couldn’t face writing about Part 2 in Con Brio. I just wanted to be in my room.
    Mom made chili and we ate together in silence. She peered at me to see what was wrong, but she doesn’t suspect anything. She obviously doesn’t know I saw.
    Part 2: Our Place
    My legs were burning by the time I arrived home. I noticed Marine’s blue Honda in the driveway. A light glowed in the living room. Mom and Marine were probably watching a video. At the side of the house, jets of water were arcing and falling, arcing and falling. Mom had forgotten to turn off the sprinkler and the grass was soaked. A rivulet of water streamed down the curb, wasting itself in the street. To reach the faucet, I had to pass the living room window. I glanced inside and froze.
    My mother and Marine were embracing on the couch. Marine’s back was to me and my mother’s hands were gripping it. Their faces were joined and they were twisting and turning their heads as if they couldn’t get enough of each other’s mouth but wanted to dig deeper, get under something. Tongue wrestling, tonsil hockey, sucking face … Kevin. I’d never seen Mom and Dad kiss like that. Mom pulled away and looked past Marine’s shoulder right at me. She looked flushed and dreamy. I sprang back, afraid that she saw me, but I’m pretty sure all she could see was her own reflection.
    Or maybe she had a moment of mother’s intuition and knew one of her kids was suffering.