spending Christmas here — no friends, his parents just splitting. Before I knew what I was saying, the offer slipped out of my mouth like a fish from a bear’s jaw, inadvertently released: “If you want someone to show you around — not that there’s much to see, I’d be happy to.”
No answer.
God, what had I just done? Of course, he wouldn’t want to tour around town with me looking like this. I flushed and picked up the potato sack to store it in the pantry. To my surprise, Jacob took the bag from me, trading it for another napkin. He smirked. “It’s clean.”
“What?” Then I saw that he had written his number on the napkin.
I laughed out loud before I thought better of it and before I could tell Jacob that I had a boyfriend. All of my intentions disappeared when Jacob grinned back at me, his eyes bright with amusement. Reluctantly, I followed him outside, telling myself how stupid I was being. He just needed a way to kill time while he was stuck in the Valley.
Too soon, the Fremonts drove away, but not before Norah made plans with Mom for a crash course in Wreath-Making 101. I yearned to call them back. But Mom and I were stuck on the wrong side of our own Mason-Dixon Line, the free world vanishing along with Norah’s rearview lights.
Silently, Mom turned to face the closed front door. With a sigh, she told me, “Go do your homework.”
“Are you kidding?” What if this was the time when Dad lost his control and actually hit Mom? The possibility of that was never far from my mind. “I’m not leaving you, Mom.”
“Would you please listen to me for once?” Without thinking, Mom reached out to cup my face with both hands the way she did when I was little, but she stopped short just as I stepped out of her reach. Still, it stung where she would have touched my cheek, phantom pain same as a missing limb. I knew what she was saying: Dad would have a bigger fit about my face than the car. It’d be best for both of us if I just disappeared.
“Okay,” I said reluctantly.
Mom nodded, fussed with her sweater, yanking it down over her stomach, and walked into the house. I headed for the stairs, but still caught Dad’s grim expression as I hurried past the great room.
“What happened to the car?” he asked Mom.
At the staircase, I couldn’t make myself move the way Mom wanted me to, out of danger’s way. I sat on the bottom step, a cowardly watchdog who knew her duty but was too scared to perform it. On the last night Claudius spent at home before he left for college, he came into my bedroom and told me, “Look out for Mom,” probably the same way Merc had told him five years before that.
“We had to leave the car in Leavenworth,” Mom said so softly I could barely make out her words.
“Why would you do that?”
“We got in an accident. The important thing is we’re okay.”
“So it was Terra’s fault.”
“There was a lot of ice —”
“God, can’t she do one thing right? Either of you?” demanded Dad. “I told you there was no reason to go all the way to Seattle. You could have gone to Wal-Mart in Chelan. But no . . .”
“At least it was just the car.”
“Just the car? Just the car, Lois?”
That was Mom’s tactical error; it always was. Saying too much when she should have stayed quiet, apologizing one time too many, which only magnified the problem. Teachers wondered why I didn’t speak up more in class. Why would I when I knew how precarious words could be, how betraying they were, how vulnerable they made you?
“I didn’t realize we had so much money that we could dismiss the cost of repair so easily. But you wouldn’t know about that, would you, Lois? You get to stay home, eat all day, and do what, exactly, aside from getting fatter? Just the car,” Dad repeated. We had had to economize since Dad quit his last job and was now doing freelance work for a few mapping companies. And now, at last, he called for me, “Terra!”
I shivered as I stood up.
No answer.
God, what had I just done? Of course, he wouldn’t want to tour around town with me looking like this. I flushed and picked up the potato sack to store it in the pantry. To my surprise, Jacob took the bag from me, trading it for another napkin. He smirked. “It’s clean.”
“What?” Then I saw that he had written his number on the napkin.
I laughed out loud before I thought better of it and before I could tell Jacob that I had a boyfriend. All of my intentions disappeared when Jacob grinned back at me, his eyes bright with amusement. Reluctantly, I followed him outside, telling myself how stupid I was being. He just needed a way to kill time while he was stuck in the Valley.
Too soon, the Fremonts drove away, but not before Norah made plans with Mom for a crash course in Wreath-Making 101. I yearned to call them back. But Mom and I were stuck on the wrong side of our own Mason-Dixon Line, the free world vanishing along with Norah’s rearview lights.
Silently, Mom turned to face the closed front door. With a sigh, she told me, “Go do your homework.”
“Are you kidding?” What if this was the time when Dad lost his control and actually hit Mom? The possibility of that was never far from my mind. “I’m not leaving you, Mom.”
“Would you please listen to me for once?” Without thinking, Mom reached out to cup my face with both hands the way she did when I was little, but she stopped short just as I stepped out of her reach. Still, it stung where she would have touched my cheek, phantom pain same as a missing limb. I knew what she was saying: Dad would have a bigger fit about my face than the car. It’d be best for both of us if I just disappeared.
“Okay,” I said reluctantly.
Mom nodded, fussed with her sweater, yanking it down over her stomach, and walked into the house. I headed for the stairs, but still caught Dad’s grim expression as I hurried past the great room.
“What happened to the car?” he asked Mom.
At the staircase, I couldn’t make myself move the way Mom wanted me to, out of danger’s way. I sat on the bottom step, a cowardly watchdog who knew her duty but was too scared to perform it. On the last night Claudius spent at home before he left for college, he came into my bedroom and told me, “Look out for Mom,” probably the same way Merc had told him five years before that.
“We had to leave the car in Leavenworth,” Mom said so softly I could barely make out her words.
“Why would you do that?”
“We got in an accident. The important thing is we’re okay.”
“So it was Terra’s fault.”
“There was a lot of ice —”
“God, can’t she do one thing right? Either of you?” demanded Dad. “I told you there was no reason to go all the way to Seattle. You could have gone to Wal-Mart in Chelan. But no . . .”
“At least it was just the car.”
“Just the car? Just the car, Lois?”
That was Mom’s tactical error; it always was. Saying too much when she should have stayed quiet, apologizing one time too many, which only magnified the problem. Teachers wondered why I didn’t speak up more in class. Why would I when I knew how precarious words could be, how betraying they were, how vulnerable they made you?
“I didn’t realize we had so much money that we could dismiss the cost of repair so easily. But you wouldn’t know about that, would you, Lois? You get to stay home, eat all day, and do what, exactly, aside from getting fatter? Just the car,” Dad repeated. We had had to economize since Dad quit his last job and was now doing freelance work for a few mapping companies. And now, at last, he called for me, “Terra!”
I shivered as I stood up.
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