When I tied up the last bag and opened the door, my mom was sitting on the stairs. She looked up, her eyes puffy and red. I dragged two garbage bags past her down the stairs and left them on the sidewalk in front of our town house in the pouring rain. Then I came back for more. One after another and then another. My mom didn’t try to stop me; she just sat there like a zombie. When I had put all the bags outside, I went back into my room and locked my door. I desperately wanted to go into her room and get my winter quilt from Aunt Joan, which was stored under her bed, but I didn’t want to see her again, so I put on a dry T-shirt and jeans, curled up on my bed, and tried to get warm.
I heard my mom’s cell phone ring. She didn’t answer.
In the middle of the night, I woke up sweating but cold. I went to the bathroom and found my mom sleeping on the floor outside my door. The bathroom door was open, a soft orange light coming from the night-light. She sat up, Indian style, and I was struck by how physically small she looked.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
I walked around her and went to the bathroom and got a handful of towels. Back in my room, I closed the door and wrapped myself up in them.
Are you okay? Yeah … sure. Not a worry in the world.
22
AUNT JOAN
THE NEXT DAY, my throat was raw and my pillow wet. I stayed in bed all morning and wouldn’t answer my mom’s knocks. When I went to the bathroom, she snuck in and put white sheets and the “sick blanket” on my bed. It was this plain brown blanket that was easy to wash that my mom always put on my bed when I was sick in case I threw up.
That afternoon, I fell into a woozy kind of sleep, and at one point, I felt her hand on my forehead.
“You’re burning up, Minerva,” she said.
She drove me to an urgent care center and I believe she was grateful when I tested positive for strep because it gave her something to focus on. She brought me juice and applesauce and medicine, and I still couldn’t look at her, so I’d turn and face the bare wall and pretend to be asleep whenever I heard her coming.
I stayed home from school for a few days, and my mom stayed home from work. The home phone rang a number of times, and she whispered a lot, but I didn’t care who she was talking to or what she was saying.
Fin and Hayes texted and called, but I didn’t answer. Joy called, too, frantically, saying that Cassie had quit and asking if I could work overtime if she could rearrange the party times. I didn’t answer anyone. I was beyond vimless.
The antibiotics worked and my throat stopped hurting, but I stayed in bed. At dinnertime on a Wednesday or Thursday, I heard noises at the front door and then in the living room. I tiptoed out into the hallway and was shocked to hear Aunt Joan’s voice.
“… because you obviously both need help, Pat.”
My mom: “We’re fine, Joan. I don’t know why you came all — ”
“Minerva’s text was a cry for help. What exactly did you tell her about Keanu?”
“Nothing. This isn’t about him. Minerva is sick. She has strep.”
“It’s not just strep. She is self-destructing, Pat, she needs — ”
“She is fine — ”
“I called him up. I called Keanu. He told me about the whole episode at the aquarium.”
“You what?”
“I was worried about you, and you wouldn’t talk to me, and I was worried about Minerva, and she wouldn’t talk to me. And Minerva had mentioned Keanu to me, so I’m thinking that he must have shown up and done something downright despicable and I called him up to give him a piece of my mind, and we had a very interesting conversation.”
“So now you’re on his side?” my mom yelled.
“I’m not on either of your sides, Pat. He gave up too easily because his career was more important to him than anything else. He made a huge mistake. But you … Pat … Did you ever think that maybe that girl should have been allowed to have a relationship with her own father?”
I was holding my breath. Feeling dizzy again, I stepped back from the stairs.
“I didn’t do anything, Joan. He was the one who left.”
“Pat, did he invite you to Disneyland and not show up, or did you take Minerva out there yourself and then tell us that he didn’t show?”
Silence.
Aunt Joan went on. “He said you called when you were already at Disneyland, that he didn’t know you were coming, that you had a huge argument because you had a fantasy that once he saw Minerva again, all your troubles with each other would magically disappear. Why did you tell us that he invited you and then didn’t show up? So we’d hate him? So we’d feel sorry for you?”
“He did invite us. He said, ‘Why do I have to move to Illinois to see Minerva? Why can’t you come to California?’ ”
“That’s different, Pat. I think you’re twisting — ”
“He deserves to be hated, Joan. He would not have been a good fath — ”
“Pat, maybe we can find a way to move forward. You can’t change what you did, but you can start fresh right — ”
“Get out, Joan,” my mom yelled. “This is none of your business.”
“He is not an evil person. He’s been paying child support all along. You can’t keep — ”
“This is my house and Minerva is my daughter and — ”
I closed my eyes. I tried to focus on the wooden floor of the hallway under my bare feet, but I was having trouble. A memory kept flashing through my head. When I was nine, I was at Lake Michigan with Fin and his dad as a storm came in. There was no lightning or rain, just wind, and the waves grew bigger than I had ever seen them. Fin and his dad loved it. They were whooping and hollering, diving into the waves, thrilled at the wild force of the water. I tried to keep up with them. I knew I should swim out to where they were, where it was easier to ride the waves, but instead, I was frozen at the middle point, where the waves were breaking. I kept getting slammed back. Then I saw a huge wave coming, like a monster. I remember the dark green underbelly of it as it rose higher and higher; and instead of diving under it, I panicked, turned my back to it, and tried to run against the outgoing current to the shore. The wall of water crashed over me, dragging me under and spinning me upside down. I thought I was going to die.
“Our family has a tendency to clam up when things get tough, and it’s got to stop,” Aunt Joan said. “I know you love Minerva more than anything in this world. I love her, too, and I love you, and that’s why I’m here. Where is she?”
My feet found the floor, and a sudden breath filled my lungs. I ran down the stairs.
“Minerva!”
They were standing in the living room, my aunt Joan looking like a short and sturdy cowgirl with her round face and curly grayish-brown hair, her jacket still on, a suitcase by the door. My mom’s face was white as a stone; she stood, trembling, her arms wrapped around herself, horrified to see me.
“Minerva, honey,” my aunt Joan said.
I rushed past them to the utility room and opened the door. Unable to face it, my mom had left everything as it was, the gifts from one of the tubs spilled across the floor, the baby whale and the charm bracelet lying there. I grabbed the full tub, brought it into the living room, and dumped the contents at my mom’s feet. An explosion of color, of ribbons and bows, of polka dots, and stripes, and stars, and hearts.
There it was again, the huge wave of anger and sadness coming at me with a force that seemed impossible to withstand. The familiar panic hit and I wanted to turn and run, but I looked at my mom, my throat burning. “You knew it would have been wrong to throw them out, didn’t you?” I yelled. “Who would throw away a child’s presents, right? But you couldn’t give them to me, could you? Because you didn’t want me to have the tiniest bit of love for him.”
Tears started streaming down my face. I felt like I couldn’t breathe, but I kept yelling. “So you did what you always do. You tucked everything away in neat boxes and you labeled it with lies and you hid it. You pretended it never ha
ppened. You lied.”
My mom put her face in her hands and started sobbing.
“All these years,” I cried. “All these years, I thought the reason he left was because I wasn’t good enough, or pretty enough, or interesting enough.” The tears were running down my neck. “Every birthday party, when my friends had gone home and you were cleaning up, folding all the gift wrap, I was in my room, looking at myself in the mirror and wondering what was wrong with me.”
She looked up, her face a mess.
“You weren’t protecting me!” I sobbed. “You were hurting me.”
She took a step toward me. “Minerva — I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please …”
I stepped back.
We stood there, staring at each other, my mother, still sobbing, her eyes pleading with me for forgiveness.
Aunt Joan stepped in, crying, too. “It was good to let all that out, Minerva. That was hard, but good. And I’m sure there’s more in there. None of this is going to get resolved in an instant.” She tried to put her arm around me, and my mom started apologizing again.
I couldn’t take it.
I pulled away. “I can’t just forget what you did! I will never forget what you did!”
I pictured myself walking out the door and never coming back, and I swear my mom could see into my mind because fear flashed out of her, and the air in the room turned ice cold. I could tell she wanted to step toward me, to hug me, to hold onto me, but she looked afraid to move.
Finally, Aunt Joan broke the silence. “Nobody expects you to forget, Minerva. You have a right to be angry.” She grabbed a tissue box and handed us each a handful of tissues. “Here’s what I think we should do. Pat, I’m going to make some tea and we’re going to sit down in the kitchen together. Minerva, you go upstairs and take a long hot shower and change out of those pajamas you’ve been wearing all week.” She blew her nose. “Then we’re going to meet back in the kitchen and we’re going to talk some more. We might cry some more, too, and that’s all right.”
IN THE SHOWER, the water washed over me, and I closed my eyes and let all the bad memories come up, and instead of pushing them down, I allowed myself to feel the depth of all that sadness.
23
DEALING WITH WRECKAGE
EVERYBODY THINKS you can’t trust teenagers. Adults make mistakes, too. The only difference is that their mistakes are bigger.
You might think that my mom and I talked it out and lived happily ever after or that my dad and I got together and lived happily ever after or that I went to Colorado with my aunt Joan and lived happily ever after, but none of those things happened.
What happens after a major conflict is this: Each minute passes and you begin a whole series of awkward and painful encounters with the people in your life who you can’t avoid because they are your family. That night, we began the first of many awkward talks around the kitchen table. My mom, me, Aunt Joan.
Aunt Joan insisted that I needed to talk with Keanu. My mom was terrified and I didn’t want to, but Aunt Joan told us a story about a horse on her neighbor’s ranch that died because of a festering wound. “This whole thing with Keanu is going to eat away at you unless you deal with it, Minerva,” she said. “It’s going to take time, and it’s not going to be easy, but you can’t sit there and let it fester.”
Fester. Absolutely great word.
My aunt did the calling right then and there. Keanu said he thought we should all meet in a family therapist’s office. My mom started having a fit, but Aunt Joan gave her a look that shut her up, and she agreed to make the appointment. The days ahead, having to deal with my dad and my mom and Cassie and her mom, all of that was like another storm in the distance. I knew it was coming and I dreaded it, but I also knew that I had to deal with it.
I couldn’t bring myself to hug my mom or to accept her apology, but I tried to listen to her talk about how much she loved me and how scared she was of losing me.
At some point, exhaustion hit and none of us could talk any more. I dragged myself to my room and closed the door, but I knew it was going to take me a while to settle down.
My room smelled like a sick person. I threw my dirty clothes in my hamper, opened the window a crack to let in some fresh air, and went to my dresser to get socks because my feet were cold. My drawer was empty. The only things on the top were the things I hadn’t tossed into those big garbage bags: my phone, a half dozen pairs of earrings, the stone Hayes gave me on the beach, and my birthday present from Fin, the uke book.
I picked up the stone, the book, and my phone and crawled into bed.
Outside my door, I could hear my mom and Aunt Joan saying their good-nights.
After I heard my mom’s door close, I called Fin.
“Minerva!” The happiness in his voice almost made me start crying all over again. “I didn’t think you’d ever call. Are you okay?”
“I’m alive.”
“That’s good! Where are you?”
“In my room. My aunt is here.” I took a breath. “Fin, I’m so sorry you didn’t get the part you wanted in the play.”
He laughed. “I’m playing a dead townsperson. I don’t even have one line. I stand there in heaven, choking on my own bile, while I have to watch Jeremy Kutchins butcher the best scene in the play. I’d kill myself, but I’m already dead.”
I had to laugh. “It sounds terrible, Fin. I’m so sorry.”
“When are you coming to school again?”
Suddenly, I wanted to go back, to see Fin’s face, to find Hayes in the hallway, to get on with my life. “Tomorrow,” I said. “I need to get out of here. I need some Fin vim.”
He laughed. “I need some Min vim.”
“See you tomorrow.”
“Okay.”
“I love you, Fin.”
“I love you, too, Min.”
24
MOVING FORWARD
SCHOOL WAS STRANGE because I felt as if my entire world had changed and yet absolutely everything was exactly the same. Almost exactly. In U.S. gov, we had moved on to the Industrial Revolution, and in bio, we had moved on to land mammals. Change in content. No change in boredom.
I called Joy. If I really didn’t have to deal with Cassie at work, I wanted the job. I told her I couldn’t come in that weekend because of my aunt’s visit but that I could return the next. “Thank the Lord,” she said. “And stay away from the fruity-tooty tanning cream.”
Aunt Joan flew back to Colorado on a school day. I was sad to say good-bye, and I think she was, too, because she gave me a bone-crushing hug. That woman is strong. I guess when you live on a ranch, you don’t need to buy workout DVDs to stay in shape.
After school, I arrived home to the hum of the washing machine in our otherwise quiet house. My mom had taken the day off and was doing all the laundry. I grabbed a snack and went up to my room, which was still as bare as a monk’s cell, and there on that ugly brown bedspread was a beautiful, brand-new uke, just like my old one.
I picked it up and strummed it.
In the hallway, my mom walked by with a laundry basket.
“Did Aunt Joan get me this?” I asked.
She shifted the load in her arms. “I did,” she said.
I didn’t know what to say.
She shrugged. “I was dying to buy you a new bedspread, but I’m going to let you pick that out. I have a sneaking suspicion that we do not have the same taste.”
I had to laugh.
Her eyes filled with tears and she choked up. She set down the basket and came into my room to hug me.
I felt the rage rising again, but love was there, too, deep inside, and I reached through the anger and hugged her back.
THAT NIGHT, I played and sang my heart out.
This is the bird that flew in the door,
This is the bracelet that fell on the floor,
This is the gift that should have been mine,
This is the heart of the valentine.
Look what the net dragged in.
br /> Can’t throw it back again, again, again. Oh …
This is the truth I hold in my hand.
This is the truth I hold in my hand.
This is the day I needed the charm,
Tiny and silver to keep me from harm,
“Love is home,” says the painted sign
Hung by the clock that stopped keeping time.
Look what the net dragged in.
Can’t throw it back again, again, again. Oh …
This is the truth I hold in my hand.
This is the truth I hold in my hand.
This is the mermaid who lives on the land,
Knives in her footsteps and trident in hand.
This is the voice that she wouldn’t trade.
This is the wave that couldn’t sweep her away,
Sweep her away, sweep her away, sweep her away.…
This is the truth I hold in my hand.
This is the truth I hold in my hand.
This is the truth I hold in my hand.
25
THE LAST THING
IT WAS HAYES’S birthday. Fin and I took him to Pan Asia Café and I brought cupcakes, so we lit a candle and sang and gave him our present, which was an old paperback we’d found at Bookman’s Alley: Clever and Cool Ways to Avoid Curse Words. We signed the card Love, Joy Banks. Hilarious.
We hung out in town all night. I had my uke, so we did a little busking and made enough money to split a second dessert at Hartigan’s.
Fin had to go, but Hayes and I walked over to the lake. We took off our shoes and walked on the cold, soft sand to the water’s edge. All the stars were out and the moon, full and bright, spilled a glow on the lake, rippling a path of white light across the surface. Small waves were breaking lightly right at the edge of the shore.