Sweethearts

Mom shook her head. “It’s not fine. While you’re living with us, you’re part of the family, and we don’t leave each other stranded in the rain.”

  My face got hot. We don’t leave each other stranded in the rain, I thought. We just leave each other home alone every day after school for years. We just lie about terrible things that happen. We just pretend like there’s nothing wrong. “You make it sound so uncomplicated, Mom. It’s not.”

  “It really is.” She grabbed her purse off the counter. “I have to run to Smith’s for a few things for dinner, and when Alan gets home we’ll talk. You two figure something out so that this doesn’t happen again.”

  As soon as she left, Cameron said, “She’s kind of protective.”

  “Of you, yeah.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Nothing.” Just that my mother, who didn’t even know her nine-year-old was getting terrorized and narrowly missing something much worse, was worried over a big, strong seventeen-year-old’s cold. “Where did Katy drop you off ?”

  “Hardware store on 400 South. I told her I had to get some stuff for the play. She really wanted to wait.”

  “How’d you talk her out of it?”

  He shrugged. “Just told her not to.”

  I imagined how that went over with Katy. As I drew myself a glass of tap water, I caught a glimpse of Cam’s big hand closing around a coffee cup. I stopped and I stared. It had been a few days since I’d felt the wonder of it — that this was Cameron Quick, the first boy who ever loved me. And he was alive and standing in my kitchen with bare feet and rain-damp hair and the house was quiet and we were alone.

  Like earlier in the under-stage storeroom, I wanted to touch him. But now, being the only ones in the house and being nearly grown-ups, it would be problematic. For so many reasons.

  “Hey,” I said. “Sorry about your stuff and everything. I know Alan would be glad to help you get some new tools if you want.”

  “I’ll be okay. Always am.”

  “I know you are. But people care about you. And would help. If you asked.”

  “It’s hard.”

  “I understand,” I said, running my finger along the counter. “I still haven’t told my mom about what happened. That day.”

  He looked at me, taken aback. “She doesn’t know about that?”

  I shook my head.

  “I thought she knew everything.”

  “Hardly anything, actually.”

  “She should. She should know.” He set his cup down. “Tell her tonight. Promise me.”

  He was right; it was time. Past time. I nodded. “I promise.”

  CHAPTER 21

  MY MOTHER HAD GONE INTO FULL-ON HOMEMAKER MODE, working mom version: a roasted chicken from the grocery store, mashed potatoes from the deli, fancy salad, sautéed zucchini with lemon zest. “It’s a special night,” she said, lighting the candles we usually only pulled out for holidays. “It’s a sort of reunion, really, for Jenna and Cameron.”

  Alan looked skeptical. I wondered how much Mom had really listened to his opinion, if at all. “Where is he now?”

  “He was on his way out when I came in from the store,” she said. “Just running something down to the mailbox. I still can’t get over how tall he is. Jenna, honey, would you get the water glasses and fill them?”

  I brought out our usual glasses and started to put them on the table. “Oh, not those,” Mom said. “The others, from the top shelf ?”

  We hadn’t set the table this nice in ages. Not even for their anniversary. I almost pointed this out but decided against it. Alan and I were mere observers here, watching Mom fulfill some kind of idea she had about what this night was going to be. We helped her set out the food and arrange the silverware. Everything was ready, but Cameron had not come back from the mailbox.

  “I’ll just look down the street,” Mom said, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. “He’s probably headed up the hill.”

  He wasn’t.

  Alan picked up a piece of zucchini with his fingers and popped it in his mouth. Mom shot him a look. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but I’m starving. Everything looks beautiful. Let’s go ahead and enjoy it while it’s hot. We can save a plate for Cam.”

  “Yeah, Mom,” I said. “Me, too. Starving.”

  “Well . . .” She glanced toward the door again. “All right.”

  We ate. Alan talked about his day but it was clear Mom was not paying attention, throwing in “mm” and “oh” and “ha-ha” absently. Finally she said, “I’m officially worried. Where is he? The mailbox is only three blocks away. Let’s call him.”

  I got up to get my phone and called him, even though I knew he wouldn’t answer.

  “Maybe we should go out in the car and look,” Mom said when I came back.

  “Evidently he’s taken care of himself for a while now,” Alan said. “Maybe he just decided that he doesn’t want to stay here after all but didn’t have the heart to tell us face-to-face.”

  “He does this,” I said.

  Mom set her wine down. “Does what?”

  “Disappears. Doesn’t communicate. Turns himself off and on.”

  “Given his childhood,” she said, “that’s understandable. It’s probably a survival mechanism. All the more reason we should show him we care. Probably no one ever went after him. That’s what he needs.”

  I pushed some chicken around on my plate. “I never do that,” I muttered.

  “Hm?”

  “I said I never do that. I’m reliable. I show up for things. I’m where I say I’ll be.”

  Alan nodded as he reached for more potatoes. “True.”

  “Sweetie,” Mom said, “those are wonderful traits. But you had the opportunity to develop those and Cameron did not.”

  I put my fork down. “I had the ‘opportunity to develop’ those things? How’d I do that? Waiting around for you to come home from school or work? Having to do my own laundry so the kids didn’t tell me I stank?”

  She froze in surprise.

  “How come you decided to go to nursing school while I was still so young?” I asked. “Why didn’t you just wait?”

  “What’s gotten into you, Jenna? Where is this coming from?”

  “Honey,” Alan started, then lost momentum and got quiet again.

  “I just wonder,” I said. “I mean, you’re all concerned about Cameron and how he deals with his past. What about me?”

  “Jenna,” she said, sounding surprised that this still mattered, that I hadn’t somehow gotten over it. “I know. I’m sorry. You’re right. I could have been home more. I knew that the sooner I got some real job skills, the sooner I could have an actual career with regular hours and benefits and security. And look how it worked out! You’ve got lots of friends and a boyfriend. You’ve got a wonderful stepfather who loves you very much. You’re happy. Nothing horrible happened and we got through it.”

  This version of our lives, her version, was important to her. I knew that. It was the story she always told her friends, the one she had probably told Alan when they were dating. I’d heard and overheard it a million times myself:

  I was a young mother, didn’t know much about the world, and my husband left me. Never sent any child support, nothing, but I decided I wasn’t going to spend my life and my energy chasing him down or trying to change him when the only thing I could control was me. I took destiny in my own hands. Waited tables, put myself through nursing school, all while raising a daughter on my own. But she was a trouper and I never gave up and between us we got through it and look at us now! I’m glad things happened the way they did. Everything works out for the best.

  And it was a true enough version in some ways. Nothing about it was patently false. It just wasn’t the whole story. I felt Alan watching me. “Jenna?” he prompted. “You look like you want to say something.”

  I glanced at him, could hardly look at my mom. “Something did happen. To me. And Cameron. Something kind of horrible.”

  She l
ooked stricken and said nothing, like she was afraid to ask what it was. So I kept talking.

  The candles had burned nearly down to nubs. I’d played with the wax as it spilled out onto the tablecloth. Mom had cried, as I knew she would, but now she was only angry. Enraged. “Oh, my God, Jenna. Oh, my God. Why didn’t you say something?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I would have gone and personally torn that man’s throat out!” Her hand was curled into a fist.

  “I don’t think so,” I said, remembering vividly how tall and scary Cameron’s dad was.

  “Are you telling me the whole story now? You’re not sugarcoating it for me, are you? To spare me the guilt? He didn’t . . .” She couldn’t say it, whatever she was thinking.

  “No. That’s it. We got away. Well, I got away.”

  “It’s incredible,” Alan said, “the way you were able to think so fast and figure out how to get out of there. Smart girl. Brave girl.”

  “It was bad enough,” Mom said. “Psychological abuse is what it was. And imagine Cameron living with it every day. Every day.” She looked at her watch. “We should go out in the car now and look for him. Let’s all go together.”

  Alan answered first. “Absolutely not.”

  Mom was appalled. “Why not?”

  “Because this is not about him right now,” he said, adamant. “Think about what your daughter just told you. You’re not going anywhere. If Cameron is telling the truth about his legal status then we have no responsibility to him. If he’s lying, we still have no responsibility to him and should probably stay away from the situation until we know much, much more. We do, however, have a responsibility to Jenna. Who is sitting right here in front of us,” he looked at me. “And we haven’t even asked her whether or not she wants us to take Cameron in. And honey,” he said to Mom, “you can’t go back in time and undo it all. No matter how much you want to.”

  She wiped away more tears. “You’re right, I know. I’m just so . . . I feel like the worst mother in the world. And if I let Cameron slip away am I making the same mistake all over again?”

  “You’re not,” I said.

  “He’s seventeen,” Alan reminded her, before turning to me. “What do you think? What do you want to do about Cameron?”

  Somehow I’d gotten through my whole story without crying, but now the tears started. “I don’t know,” I said.

  CHAPTER 22

  CAMERON WAS RIGHT THERE IN HOMEROOM, ON TIME AND AT his desk. Normally I ignored him in class or pretended to, so as not to worry Ethan or make Katy jealous, but I went over to him to say hi. I knew Ethan was watching. “I told her,” I whispered.

  “Good. I left so you would. Didn’t want to be in the way.”

  “You could have told us you were leaving.”

  He shrugged. “Guess I’m not used to that, people caring when I come and go.”

  “Well, they do.”

  I noticed Katy gesturing wildly for me to come over to her. “I’m sure you got the word,” she said, “about Steph’s Halloween party. We’re doing it on the actual night of Halloween, even though it’s a school night, because it will be so much cooler.” She lowered her voice, “And I want to dress in a sexy costume so you have to make sure Cameron comes, okay? You have to.”

  “I don’t even know if I’m going,” I said.

  “What?” she screeched. People looked at us. She lowered her voice again. “Ethan already said he’s going to be a pirate and you’re going to be his wench. I heard him tell Steph!”

  “Well he didn’t tell me.”

  At this, Katy stared for a few seconds and then slumped back in her seat. Mr. Moran came in and started calling roll.

  I took my lunch to the library, hoping to find Cameron and avoid everyone else. He wasn’t there. I sat at a table near the corner and made a barrier with my backpack so I wouldn’t get in trouble for eating, then took out my half sandwich, yogurt, and apple, and down at the bottom of my bag, with my napkin, was a piece of paper folded into a small square. My heart pounded and I looked around, wondering how Cameron had gotten to my lunch bag. But when I opened the note, it wasn’t from him.

  Jennifer-Jenna Elaine Harris Vaughn,

  I hope you are having a wonderful day at school!!!

  Love,

  Mom

  It was the kind of note other kids got all the time when they were little, but I never had. I smiled at it, then ate my lunch.

  Ethan stood outside Mr. Bingry’s room, waiting for me before rehearsal. He looked sulky and irritated. “Where were you at lunch?” he asked.

  “I went to the library.”

  “How come you didn’t return my calls yesterday?”

  Steph slid by us into the room. “Don’t mind me.”

  After she passed, I said, “Because we were having a family crisis.”

  “Your family had a crisis?”

  “Yes, Ethan. My family. Had a crisis. A crisis was had by my family.”

  “So why were you avoiding me today?”

  “I wasn’t avoiding you. I was in homeroom, I was in physiology, I was in drama. I don’t remember you talking to me then.”

  He pointed his finger to his chest. “I’m the one who wanted to talk about it yesterday. I tried and tried.”

  More people were coming in to rehearsal. I pulled Ethan away from the door. “I told you: Yesterday was bad.”

  “Or maybe you’re just busy with someone else.”

  Technically he was right. But not in the way he thought. “Apparently you’re not that mad,” I said, changing the subject, “or else you wouldn’t be volunteering me to go to Steph’s party and be your wench.”

  And then Bingry stuck his head out the door. “Ethan, we need to start.”

  “Sorry. Coming.”

  “I’ll be in the workshop,” I said to both of them, “if anyone needs me.”

  Cameron was there, working by himself, knee resting on a piece of one-by-four as he framed up a flat. He stopped moving for a second when I walked in and then immediately went back to it, brow knit in concentration. I opened the corner cabinet to start inventorying small props and checking them against the list I had for the play.

  “Where’d you sleep last night?” I asked.

  “In here. There’s a gate behind the cafeteria.” He gestured over his shoulder. “Where they put the garbage and stuff. It’s easy to climb, and then you just jimmy the window lock and you’re in.”

  “Well, great. That sounds much nicer than my parents’ sofa.”

  “Can you hold this crosspiece?” he asked. I knelt next to him, steadying the shorter length of wood while he checked it. “It’s gotta be a perfect ninety-degree angle. That’s what Bingry meant when he said frame it up right.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’m not your problem, Jenna,” he said quietly. “I don’t ever want to be your problem. Or your family’s.”

  I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t exactly deny he’d been a problem in some ways. I just kept holding the wood while he took some screws out of a can on the floor. “I should have protected you that day,” he said, quieter still. “You shouldn’t have had to be the one to get us out of there. It should have been me to stand up to him.”

  “You did,” I said, “in the end. You did your best.”

  “You don’t need to go saving me all over again.” He connected the two pieces of wood with the electric screwdriver, which made a high, whining sound. We didn’t notice Freshman Dave come in until Cameron turned the screwdriver off. “You really have trouble finding this place,” Cameron said to Dave.

  “Um, yeah.” The truth was he was probably watching rehearsal as long as he could without being conspicuous, hoping that Steph would even glance his way.

  “Here,” Cam said, handing Dave the screwdriver. “You do the other end. I’ll hold it.”

  I let go, stood up. They talked and built while I looked for a soup ladle, a pack of cards, a spray can. We didn’t have them, or anything
else on my prop list. I didn’t know why I was doing this, anyway, when what I really needed was to spend more time trying to pass trig. Well, I did know. I was doing it for Ethan because I thought that was part of what a good girlfriend did, and I’d spent all of junior high and high school observing those around me to see what “normal” looked like. I’d tried to learn it from the outside in.

  I looked at my hand resting on the shelf of the prop cabinet, thinking of the scars that were there whether anyone could see them or not.

  “Hey, Freshman Dave,” I said.

  “Yeah?” He stood up, all five feet of him, and stared behind my head.

  “How would you feel about being stage manager?”

  Cameron watched me.

  “Oh,” Dave said, horrified, “no. No. That’s an important job.”

  “I know.” I handed him my clipboard. “You might have to go to the dollar store for some of this stuff. And while you’re there, get Steph a bag of salt and vinegar chips. She’ll do anything for those.”

  I left the workroom and went to see Miss Betts to tell her I needed extra help with trig.

  When I got home, Alan was already there. I found him in the backyard, crouched among the white and yellow mums. There was a tiny, fresh mound of dirt at his feet. “We lost Estella last night,” Alan said, tidying the dirt with his spade. “I guess I knew it was coming.”

  “Sorry,” I said. “Hopefully she didn’t suffer.”

  “I know they’re just fish, but it gets me every time.” He stood up. “I need a snack.”

  We went through the kitchen cabinets until I retrieved a box of crackers and jar of peanut butter. A few minutes later we both stood at the counter, me smearing blobs of peanut butter onto crackers and handing them to him or eating them myself, sharing a glass of milk.

  “I ran into the dean of the English department yesterday,” he said as soon as he could talk. “She told me that you’re welcome to stop by anytime if you want to talk about your application essay or anything else.”

  “Oh. Thanks.” Sometimes the idea of college snuck up on me. Cameron wouldn’t be the only one out in the world on his own; we all would. Except I always knew I had a home to come to anytime I needed it. I turned to Alan, who was sucking peanut butter off his teeth. “Do you ever feel helpless?”