"Lana used to work at a shelter in LA. She did the night shift. One night she heard a knock, and instead of a bum at the door, it was me." She laughs, but I'm not really sure what's funny. "I know that sounds totally made up, but it's true. Little baby all wrapped in a blanket on the porch. The only thing missing was a basket and I didn't have a lightning bolt scar on my forehead. Or wizard parents, but everything else is similar."
All sorts of thoughts pound down on me at once. First, I realize why I wanted to ask her this, besides just wanting to know more about her, but I think I wanted her to have screwed up parents, too. Yeah, totally makes me an ass, but I need that connection with someone else. That piece of our lives that set us apart from others. Makes us feel...alone?
At the same time, I can't stop thinking about what she said. Her mom...or maybe it wasn't her mom. Does she even know? But someone abandoned her. Left her.
Mom drinks. She falls down and hurts herself and doesn't remember how. She loses whole nights sometimes. She slurs when she talks to me and hides bottles in her closest, but she's here. She's never left.
"Damn..." I'm not sure what else to say to her.
"Yeah..."
Then, she drops her head on my shoulder. I freeze, not sure what to do, and then relax. There's nothing to do.
"They think I was a few weeks old. Maybe a month. That's why I said I didn't know exactly how old I am. Not many people can say that. My kids will get a kick out of it one day."
"There's always that." Even though I try, I'm not sure my voice is as light as hers. How does she do it? How does it not bother her? My mom had a few too many drinks tonight and I almost lost it.
"Lana's great though. We have fun together. She's a softie, always bringing home stray kittens and stuff. Guess I should be thankful because it's what made her bring me home too."
This time, I can't find it in myself to say anything, so I don't. I just let her lean on me, looking out at the court, up at the stars, anything to distract myself. A few minutes later, she speaks again. "You have skeletons, too, Carter Shaw. Don't think I don't know it. I think...I think people with secrets, or with a past, I guess I should say, I think we're kindred spirits. Like maybe we see something in each other that no one else takes the time to see."
I want her to be right, want her to see me, something in me that no one else does because it sucks—the hiding. With Kira, I might not have to hide. Could I tell her? Let her know that I'm scared of what could happen? That I lie all the time? That I'm worried my lies could cause someone to get hurt? Cause Sara to get hurt, but at the same time, saying anything would be stabbing Mom in the back.
My arm itches to reach up and wrap around her. To pull her closer, but can we get closer? Right now she might be closer to me than anyone's ever been.
"Melanie? She didn't seem like your type." Her voice sounds from beside me.
"No? I think I wanted her to be. I...she made me feel normal. I needed that from her because I couldn't get it anywhere else, I guess? That sounds fucking stupid, doesn't it?"
Kira's head is suddenly off my shoulder and she's looking at me. Close...so close.
To distract myself, I talk again. "That's why I didn't want to lose her, ya know? She's just..."
I can't keep going because I'm not thinking about Mel. I can't. All I can focus on is Kira's eyes. The organish-brown hair and how the street light kind of reflects off it. She's gorgeous and suddenly there's no one in the world except the two of us. I might regret it—well, not that I would, but I'm risking a slap to the face. I'm risking the moment and whatever it is we've been doing, but I can't keep away from her. I need to know the way she feels because she's right. I see something in her and even though it might not be the same things we're seeing, I know she sees something different in me, too.
Even if I wanted to, I couldn't keep my lips off hers.
Our mouths touch gently at first. I tease her lips with mine: one kiss, another, and another. When no smacks come, I let my tongue slip out to trace her lips. Heat sizzles my skin, boils the blood in my veins because she opens her mouth, tasting me.
I thread my hand through her hair, pulling her closer, trying to get as close to her as I can. Need taking me over, sucking me in like a vortex. She tastes so good. Even better than she smells and I want it all.
Closer, I lean closer again and then her mouth rips away from mine. She's only a few inches away from me which must mean she wants to kiss me again, so I lean forward, ready to pick up where we left off.
Her hand on my chest stops me.
"I have to say...you're a good kisser, Coach, but next time you kiss me, do it because you want to. Not because you're missing the ex who just dumped you."
"I...what?" I don't know what to say. I wasn't thinking of Mel. Hell, I can't even remember what Mel looks like right now. I can't make the words come out.
Kira doesn't give me enough time anyway. She pushes to her feet, and walks back to the court, taking my basketball with her.
"Hey!" I scramble to my feet and go after her. "I wasn't. I didn't. I want." Why won't any words come out?
Kira stops moving and puts her hand to my lips. "Shh. Don't. Things said in the heat of the moment never count. You might regret it. I'll think you only said it because you're a guy and guys always want to kiss. Just don't."
Dumbly, I nod.
"Come on, Coach. It's about time you took me home."
We ride to her house in silence, the only time either of us speak is to give or get directions. It doesn't take long to get to her place.
"You heading home?" Her hand is on the handle.
"Shit. I don't know. I forgot I told Mom I'm staying at Travis's."
Kira sighs. "Lana's a nurse now. Works graveyard at the hospital. You have until 7:45 tomorrow morning before you have to be out."
I can't help it, I smile.
"No reason to smile. You're benched. It's the couch for you, Coach."
Chapter Ten
Kira doesn't answer her bedroom door when I knock softly at about 6:30 in the morning. I think about writing her a quick note to say thanks but two things stop me. First, I have no paper, which means I'd have to look around her house which feels a little stalkerish. The second reason, is I don't want to risk being caught by her mom—do I even call Lana her mom? It's what she is, but Kira doesn't call her that.
Not that it's important as I'm standing in her hall, debating life's little mysteries when I should be getting out of here before Lana gets home. And it also wouldn't be smart to leave a note that Lana could find, so before I can stall any longer, I slip out of her house and climb into my truck.
Okay. 6:35. Where should I go? Not a whole lot of options this early in the morning, so ignoring the cramping in my gut, I head home. Inside, the house is silent, which makes sense. Sara is with Bill and Mom must be passed out. No, asleep I mean. I don't want to think of any other option.
When my stomach growls I grab a bowl of cereal and start to eat. Kira was a pretty quick learner last night. I wonder if she'll want to play again—let me teach her again or if it was a one time, I-feel-sorry-for-Carter-because-he-got-dumped-and-his-girl-was-probably-cheating-on-him thing. She's so wild. I can't help but picture her running around the court with my big shoes on her feet and her faded orange hair.
Does anything ever bother her? She seems so...free. Like she can do anything. Be anyone. I'm embarrassed to admit, I envy her that.
Like any sane guy would, my head goes straight to what it felt like to press my lips against hers. How she tasted and smelled so sweet, even though she'd been sweating on the court. It's crazy how girls always smell so good. How soft she is. All girls are soft, but she's somehow softer.
Mel never felt that soft.
"Urgh!" I run a hand over my face. Daydreaming about girls who aren't mine is not a Carter Shaw thing to do. Dumping the rest of my cereal
in the garbage disposal, I jog up the stairs. I don't mean to do it, but my feet stop outside of Mom's door. Pressing my ear against it, I listen. Of course I don't hear anything. Not even sure why I did it, but I thought maybe I'd hear her shower. Know that she is up which means she couldn't have gotten too wasted last night.
As I start to walk away, I hear her cell phone go off. Well, if she wasn't awake before, she will be now. Not ready to see her yet, I make my way to my room. Locking my door behind me, I screw around online, seriously consider jumping into my bed, but end up taking a shower instead, hoping the water will wash away my memories from last night.
Mom's slurred speech memories.
The drama with Mel.
Not the Kira and basketball ones. Those, I lock into that little box in my head where we keep important stuff that I have no plan of ever talking about.
Shower over, I get dressed, planning on doing whatever I want today. No girlfriend to check in with. No sober Mom to give a shit where I am. Today is just for me.
As soon as I hit the hall, I hear her cell phone again. I know it's by her bed. A day doesn't go by she doesn't charge it right there. Just as I'm about to knock, the home phone rings, making me more happy than it should, because bad as it is, I don't want to see her. The thought actually makes me want to hurl.
"Hello?" I'm out of breath after racing down the stairs and into the kitchen.
"Hello. This is Barbara Conner from Ivy Springs Nursing Home. I'm looking for Delilah Baker."
Fuck. No, no, no. I so don't want to go there today. "She's not available right now. I'm Carter, though. I'm on the list of people you can talk to."
Papers shuffle on the other side of the phone. "Mr. Shaw, you're grandfather has had another bad day. He's refusing medication and yelling at employees and calling names. He's even taken a swing at one of them. We told Ms. Baker last time we can't continue to have this behavior. He's only in assisted living and we don't have the manpower nor should we have to deal with this. If it doesn't improve, he's not going to be able to continue staying here. I tried to call your mom at least four times this morning and she didn't answer. I need someone to come down and help us deal with him."
The ropes tying me to my life tighten. I hate the bastard. Hate him, but if I don't go down there, I'll not only have to wake up my hung over mom, but then she'll have to deal with him. Which kills her. Which makes the Vodka and Tequila call to her louder. Which triggers the gag reflex and nausea to attack me even fiercer.
"Mr. Shaw? Like I said, I know this is your grandfather. I'd much rather deal with your mother about it, but again, she hasn't answered my numerous phone calls. That's very unlike her, but regardless, we need someone to help settle him down."
Her words hit me. She's right. No matter how hung over Mom has been before, she's always answered the phone. Between Sara and Grandpa who might need her, it never leaves her side.
"I'll be right there."
Dropping the phone, I run for the stairs. My heart has never pounded so hard. It's like a whole basketball team running across the court, their feet slamming into the hardwood. Every stupid video, assignment and what Travis calls scare tactics from health class slam into me. Alcohol poisoning, choking on your own vomit, all hit me over and over. Nothing has ever kept her from a phone call with Grandpa's doctors or for Sara.
"Mom!" I stumble, running into her room. She's in bed, fully dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, but it's the same ones she wore yesterday. "Mom." My voice is softer this time, scared, as my feet slow to a walk, carrying me closer to the bed.
"Hmm?" she mumbles, and then rolls over. Her eyes flutter, but then close again.
"Ma?"
"Hmm?"
"Are you okay?" Thump, thump, thump. My heart slams into my ribcage.
"Sick... Flu or something."
Or something. My heart is still hitting hard, but now for a different reason. I'm pissed. Pissed that she's so hung over she didn't hear the phone and I thought she could have been dead. What's wrong with her? Why does she have to be like this? How hard is it to just quit?
And then I'm scared. Scared because I think I could start to hate her. I always got it before, but it's getting harder and harder. What kind of son hates his mom? "Get some rest. I... I gotta go."
"Need anything?" One of her eyes opens. The look makes me want to throttle her. To yell at her at the top of my lungs because even though I don't think that's what it is this time, I've seen it before.
Double vision becomes single if you close one of your eyes.
"No." My voice is as tight as my fists.
"Carter... I'm really not feeling so hot. Can you open the store for me? I'll...I'll try to come in later." She doesn't even try to look at me now. Because she's really sick or is it shame?
"Yeah. I have to do something first and then I'll head over." That easily, my day is taken away from me by Grandpa and Mom.
"Thanks. I don't know what I'm going to do when you're gone..."
Ignoring her, I keep walking.
***
For five minutes I linger outside Grandpa's room. It shouldn't be this hard to control your own body, but no matter how much I try to force it, my legs just won't carry me inside. Which pisses me off. Grow a pair, I tell myself before finally pushing into the room.
"What the hell do you want?" he grunts when he sees me walk in.
"Hey, Gramps. Good to see you too." I can't help but be pretty proud that I don't add something else to that sentence.
"Ha! Good to see me? You're just like her. Selfish, the lot of you. Guess she was too busy to come down herself, huh? We gave her everything and she can't even be bothered with her own father. Ungrateful little—"
"I'd stop right there if I were you." The calm in my voice is gone. Rage pushes through my body, threatening to erupt. It's his fault. I know it. My life, Mom's problems. It all started with the angry asshole in front of me.
The asshole that’s room is decorated with Mom's stuff, some of the knickknacks, a bookshelf she painted. She did it for him, I know it because there's no way he'd care enough to do it. One of her paintings leans against the wall—not hanging though. My guess is it fell, but he didn't put it back up. There are no pictures: not me, Sara, Mom or even Grandma.
His shirt is dirty, his huge stomach pushing it out. He doesn't have a beard, but probably hasn't shaved in days. His hair is all white now and it wasn't the last time I saw him.
Grandpa throws his arms in the air. "It's true! Always been like that! Always wanting everything from Mary and me, and nothing was ever good enough. I worked damn hard for my family, but neither Delilah or her mother saw that. Complain, complain, complain. And then the second she could, she ran. Just abandoned her family and now she's stuffed me in this place to rot. What kind of daughter is she? She's an ungrateful, little witch!"
Mom's going to kill me, but I don't care. I'm quiet with her. Don't talk too badly about Grandpa. Don't tell her how angry she makes me, but him? I don't owe him anything. All my anger at Mom, Mel, myself—it gains strength inside me, pushing me until nothing can hold me back from saying what I want to say. "Maybe she complained because you were a drunk."
His whole face turns red. "What did you say to me, boy?" His voice shakes and I'm pretty sure it's because he's never had someone talk back to him before. Mom or Grandma didn't. The staff here only call Mom to deal with him. But this time—this time he has to deal with me.
"I said you're an asshole. The whole time she was growing up, you'd drink until you passed out every night and until then, you treated them like crap. You're so miserable you had to make their lives miserable, too."
"You little bastard. How dare you talk to me like that! Your mom and grandma were both spoiled women who drained everything out of me. Once I didn't have anything else to give, your mom moved right onto your daddy. Drove him to an early grave, she did! What
man's heart gives out that damn young unless he's got a woman pushing him too hard!"
My whole body is on lockdown. I have no control over any of my limbs to move them. They're hard...stone, itching to break free and let all my anger out on him. Show him what he's done to all of us. How he started the cycle and now Mom's trapped in it, too. That even though she's not hateful like he is, she's broken. That all her losses have stemmed from him. He's the reason she struggles. The reason she didn't know how to live without my Dad. The reason she ended up with Bill even though she didn't love him. She needed someone and she couldn't go to him. And my Dad was dead and now she's lost Bill too and Sara could be next.
"Nothing to say about that, do you?"
Talk! Open your mouth and say something, Shaw!
"You're just like she is," Grandpa continues. "Soft, selfish. Want, want, want but never strong enough to do anything for yourself."
Finally, my body is jerked into movement when the door creaks open. "Excuse me? It's time for your meds. Would you like me to come back?" The nurse says from the door.
I don't answer. Can't because I don't know what to say. There's no reasoning with his screwed-up version of life. That even if I could, I wouldn't want to because unlike her, I want nothing to do with him. I'm not going to give him any part of me, especially when I don't have much to give anyway. Without a word, I push past the nurse, hating myself for being as soft as he accused me of being.
***
My hands shake the whole way to the store. Of course it's my responsibility to take care of it. I don't turn on any of the lights. I run into a stupid wrack of chimes, making them ding annoyingly. Leaving the front door locked, I head straight to the back, kicking a huge stack of empty boxes to the floor.
Why did I even go talk to him? Why does she still take care of him? He ruined her life and she still puts up with that crap from him.
And her. I picture her at home, the one-eyed look when she told me she was sick, and she definitely is, but not with the flu. Collapsing against the wall, I realize for the first time she really is sick. The drinking is getting worse.