A Fistful of God (8 page)

“Anyone else?” Lucy asked the silence. My prayer slithered into my throat and cowered there. I closed my eyes and my mouth and hoped Miguel couldn’t tell what I’d been about to do.

“OK, God, You’ve heard us. Please hear, as well, those prayers unsaid, those too secret to be told. Amen.”

I wanted so badly for my prayer to be one of the ones He heard, anyway.

People began to move, though Miguel stayed next to Stephanie. I sneaked outside and wandered to the far side of the pool in case Miguel came out to check my corner. He didn’t. I squatted on the edge to push at the leaves floating on the surface and took a deep breath.

God, please, help Mom. Don’t let her get drunk tonight. Ever, OK? Make her not want to anymore. Make her not be an alcoholic, please?
Oh, I’d gotten to be so daring, hadn’t I, using that
word
even though no one heard, no one but God. I hoped.
Please
.

I’d thought praying was meant to make a person peaceful, but I felt worse. Panic burned through me. If I’d wanted Mom to stay sober, I should have stayed with her and
made
her. I ran into the house. I had to find some way to get home.

The empty kitchen smelled like sweet soda and pizza boxes. Lucy walked in as I froze, fighting the panic. “Oh, Aidyn, I told Miguel you must have gone home. He was looking for you, but he left. I’m sorry.”

“That’s OK. I need to go home, too, but I need—I don’t have a cell phone—”

“Sure, here.” She handed me a cordless from its base on the counter. “Next time you don’t need to ask.”

Jackson came in with a grocery bag stuffed with squashed cans. “Shannon’s waiting. You ready?”

“My mom said she was coming.”

“What time?’

“Ten. I told her ten.” I wrapped my arms around me and shook.

Lucy looked at the clock. “She’s late. I bet she fell asleep.” She grinned. “My mom always used to do that. It drove me crazy.”

Falling asleep was so different from passing out.

I dialed but our line was busy. I shook so badly I couldn’t get the phone into the cradle. Past ten, Mom would
not
have called her sponsor so late. Joyce, sure. Joyce stayed up all hours, drinking. Encouraging Mom to take another drink.

God, why couldn’t You have answered even one of my prayers?

I looked around and saw Shannon hanging onto Jackson’s arm, frowning. She knew.

“I’ll call my mom.” I jerked to stare at Jackson while he dialed. “Mom, I need to give Aidyn a ride home after all. Her mom didn’t make it, and she’s kind of upset—”

How did he know?

“OK, OK,” he finished. He turned to me. “She said to wait another fifteen minutes, and if your mom’s not here, to go ahead and take you.”

“Fine. Whatever.” He was doing me a favor, I wouldn’t argue. I thanked Lucy and stumbled to the sidewalk. I should have stayed home. I should have.

A tree blocked the streetlamp, and I leaned against its trunk, pressing so the bark dug into my skin. How could she do this to me? I bet Shannon was busy telling them why Mom was late. Why she wouldn’t show.

Lucy’s front door slammed, and I heard Shannon. “Even if she shows up, we’d probably better not let her go—you know. She’s probably—”

“Shannon—” Jackson started.

“You’ve never seen her. I have. It’s scary—she gets so drunk.”

Jackson tried to interrupt again but Shannon talked over him.

“It scares Aidyn, and she’s too tough to get scared easy.”

Tough. Right, only, not me. I’m not tough.

Jackson raised his voice. “It’ll be OK, I promise.”

How could he promise anything?

Shannon started up again and Jackson said, “Not so loud.”

“She’s not out here.”

I pushed away from the tree and stumbled up the walk, staggering just like my mother, only my unsteadiness came from anger. “We might as well go. She’s not coming.”

Shannon squealed and slapped her hand over her mouth. Jackson shook his head. “Wait one more minute, OK?” he begged, just as a car pulled up to the curb.

Mom got out. “Sorry, Aidyn. I couldn’t find that map, and I got turned around.” She smiled and the fear soured my throat until I saw that her steps were steadier than mine had been. “Hi, Jackson,” she went on.

“Hey, Mrs. Pierce. You made it.” He moved off the porch, and Shannon came with him, holding onto his arm as if afraid he’d sprint away, or afraid my crazy, drunken mother would visit some unnamed evil on her. We stood in Lucy’s front yard, waiting for Mom to act like she planned to get back in the car and take me home.

“Shannon?” Mom sounded delighted. “I haven’t seen you in a long time.” From the way she acted, I knew she had no idea why.

“I guess not,” Shannon said, more embarrassed by the second. She looked down and let her hair curtain her face.

I ran to the car and yanked the door open.

“Tell your mother thanks again, Jackson,” Mom said.

After she started the engine I said, “I didn’t know you knew Jackson’s mother.”

She hesitated. “We met a few weeks ago.”

“She called you, didn’t she? Tonight, I mean, and told you to come get me.”

Mom sighed. “Jackson said you were upset.”

“I wasn’t.” I pushed myself against the door. “I figured you were too drunk to remember.”

“I know.” Mom pulled into our carport. “I wish I could help you, Aidyn, but I guess you want to do it for yourself. You won’t let anyone else in.”

Who would want in to help
me
?

7

I lay on my side in bed and stared at blinds broken by age. The dark night rendered them fuzzy. Chunks of streetlight wrestled their way through the holes.

I did not want to hang around the kids from church anymore. Any kids. They all had so much more than I did—fun, friends, families, people they could trust. I would never be like them. They knew it, and I knew it. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t hide Mom, or hide what she was. I couldn’t hide me, or my fear. And if I could, Shannon would blow my cover.

Tears trickled down my face, and I sniffled before I realized what I was doing. I sat up and grabbed a tissue to blow my nose. I was not going to cry just because I wanted to be like everyone else. I wanted it so bad, and I didn’t know how to get it. But crying never helped.

Miguel knew. He was one of them, even though he was like me. How could he do that, be two different people?

I remembered how Lucy said Miguel had been looking for me. He knew all about me, but he’d still come looking for me. Because he recognized me? I closed my eyes and remembered his prayer and prayed it over in my mind, until it melted into my heart. Until I fell asleep.

****

The next morning the gardener’s lawnmower coughing itself to death woke me, and after that, Mrs. Roth, our landlady, started yelling. She yelled at a lot of people, though it seemed she yelled the most at Mom. Either Mom was late with the rent, or she’d done something to tick off one of the other tenants.

The gardener argued back. I rolled over, deliciously knowing this one time, Mom wasn’t the problem. But Mrs. Roth’s heels rang on the stairs and then our bell sounded, and before I could crawl out of bed to let her in, Mom answered. I pulled the pillow over my head, but no matter how I stretched my legs and arched my toes, I couldn’t shake the jumpy fear. I sneaked into the kitchen to listen.

“All right, then.” Mrs. Roth shuffled a pile of papers on the table and sent some of them flying to the floor. I scrabbled them together and handed them over then rummaged in the fridge for some juice.

“Thank you—ah—dear,” she said.

I looked over my shoulder. Mom didn’t look at all worried, so I relaxed. Still, I figured I had to stand sentinel, to protect us from the wicked landlady who’d love to kick us out.

“Even so, Mrs. Pierce,” Mrs. Roth said. “Even so, I want it done in the morning. Not too early. But in the morning. You understand?”

Mom caught my eye and grinned. So what was so important that Mom had to do it in the morning, probably because Mrs. Roth figured she wouldn’t be bombed yet? Hadn’t Mrs. Roth ever seen her with a hangover? Probably not, I decided. Mom liked to stay in bed for those, or just get drunk all over again. I saw nothing in that to share a joke over, though.

“What’s your best time?” Mrs. Roth asked.

Mom shrugged. “Midnight? I don’t suppose you want the weed eater going then, though, do you?”

Mrs. Roth dragged in a hard breath and held it. Mom smiled, and it wasn’t a nice smile, either. “Sorry. Actually, early Saturday morning is good for me.”

“Not too early.” Mrs. Roth turned to me. “You’ll remind her if she forgets, won’t you?”

“Remind her about what?”

“The yard work,” she said. “The garden. You won’t let her forget unless it’s—um—better if she forgets.”

“You mean if she’s drunk?” Why I asked, I don’t know. I’ve never thought Mom’s alcoholism funny. But Mrs. Roth looked like a lemon getting ready to lecture, and I didn’t want to hear it. I wanted her to leave.

She ended up coughing and spitting all over the papers on our table. I thought Mom might choke from holding in her laughter.

“Child! Have you no respect?” Mrs. Roth stood and glared at Mom, wiping slobber off her chin as she stalked to our front door. “I suppose it’s no wonder she’s so disrespectful, but you’d think she’d not want to be like you.”

For the first time in years, I was glad to know I was like Mom. After Mrs. Roth slammed the door Mom collapsed on the kitchen counter, laughing so hard I thought she’d fall. I watched her for a moment, decided she was laughing, just laughing and not bombed, before I turned back to the fridge. “You want some pancakes, Mom?”

“Sure.” She gulped, choked again and finally straightened to wrap her arm around my shoulder. “You almost lost me a job, baby, but it would have been worth it.”

I twisted to face her. “What happened to your job with Toni?”

“Nothing. This is extra. She’s giving me a break on the rent, and we can use it.”

“I thought…I thought we had more money now.”

She held out her hands. “We’re OK, but I had to take off a lot of days these last few weeks. Going through withdrawals doesn’t make working easy. And it’ll help to have something to do. I get…um…restless.” She ruffled my hair. “I’ll do whatever it takes to get through the day.”

I shrugged, still not understanding but not expecting to. Mom handed me the beater, and I cracked an egg over the bowl. “I didn’t…I mean…I never noticed you weren’t at work or anything.” I looked up. “I never noticed you were sick.”

“That’s all right.”

I poured the first batch of pancakes, watched them bubble, watched them burn. Mom reached around me and flicked off the flame, dumped the ruined food in the trash and wiped the pan. “Aidyn, baby,” she said. “Please—”

The phone rang.

“Don’t,” she started, but all I could think of was Miguel, and I grabbed it. “Let me talk to your mother,” an unfamiliar voice said. I didn’t know who this woman was, but I knew she didn’t like me.

I handed over the phone and went back to cooking, and tried to pay attention to the food. Should I call Miguel? If he hadn’t called me by tonight, I decided I would. I’d pretend I didn’t know if the youth group met every week, and we’d start talking and then…

The second batch looked much better, and I took the plate into the living room for Mom. She had her back to me but still I heard her.

“I know Aidyn better than you do,” she said, “and I think she can handle this.”

I should have walked away, but I had the right to listen, didn’t I?

“She’s my daughter. My life. If it weren’t for her I’d never have quit, and right now, anything can destroy our relationship. I don’t want this to come between us.” Silence, then, “She has to know. She’ll find out soon enough, and how will I ever get her to trust me again? I think now…I think she’s starting to.”

I backed into the kitchen.
Did
I trust her? But if she’d kept something from me, something important, why should I? I’d never be able to eat now. I left everything on the table, made sure I’d turned off the stove, and crept to the shower. I came out to find Mom waiting.

“Aidyn, there’s something I…” She bit her lip. “Please try to understand.”

“Mom, what?”

She took a breath and wrapped her arms around herself. “I love you, baby. I don’t want to ever hurt you.”

I couldn’t answer—I couldn’t—but I leaned against her until she put her arms around me, and I let her hold me. For once, I let myself feel like I had my Mom back again, after missing both my parents for years and years.

****

Sunday morning I huddled at the end of the church pew and watched the priest so I’d know the first second I could escape. I’d called Miguel, left a message with his mother, and he’d never called me back. I’d only gone to Mass at all because of that hug from Mom, and I was not waiting around to let those kids start on me again

“Come
on
, Mom.” I grabbed her as soon as the service ended, but she resisted me, hanging back, looking across the parking lot crowd. I saw Shannon and figured Jackson couldn’t be far behind. I turned and barreled into some lady.

Mom’s horrible perfume-disguise engulfed me, just as a barely familiar voice said, “Beth!” Pieces clicked into place. She had called Mom the day before, the lady who didn’t know me but didn’t like me. She was why Mom smelled so horrible after she’d been out. The one who knew something she didn’t want Mom to tell me.

“This is my daughter, Aidyn.” Mom pushed me forward to meet the woman’s ice-blue eyes. I’d seen those eyes before. I just couldn’t think where. We glared at each other. “Aidyn, this is Elaine, my sponsor.”

“So you’re Aidyn.” I figured she hoped I’d crawl back in my garbage-can home and never bother her again. “I’ve heard an awful lot about you.”

Maybe it was the way she said “awful,” maybe it was her eyes, but I shivered.

“She’s as beautiful as you said, Beth.” Once she’d gushed to Mom, she turned back to me. All the kindness she’d used talking to Mom disappeared. “How are you liking the youth group?”