Accidents of Marriage (24 page)

CHAPTER 22

Emma

“Put on your jacket,” Emma said.

“I don’t need a jacket.” Caleb twisted the knob on the front door back and forth until Emma was ready to smack him.

“It’s freezing out.”

Weeks of school had gone by, and not one person in her family had a clue that Emma had become the family slave. Clean clothes for school? Emma. Buying school supplies for everyone? Emma. Checking Caleb’s reading list and washing his pissy sheets? Emma.

Emma had entered ninth grade as an entirely different person—not almost fifteen, more like almost thirty. And though her father treated her like a grown-up when he needed her, the moment he wanted to shut her up, he demoted her back to kid.

In two days, her mother returned home. A queasy awful feeling came over her at the thought. She should be jumping for joy. Instead, all she could think about was what her mother would be like when she came home. The stammering, scared woman she’d seen at the hospital—was that now her mother?

Emma could fall asleep right now. Washed out—that’s how she
felt. As though all the color had leached out of her. Her hair would be transparent soon, and her eyes would look like quartz.

“Wait right here.” She squeezed her brother’s shoulder to emphasize her words. Before he could yap at her, she slipped into the hall bathroom. The pile of Dixie cups on the counter looked gross. Caleb, their in-house ecoterrorist, kept putting back his used ones. Emma slipped a clean cup out from the bottom of the stack and filled it with cold water.

After a moment’s hesitation, she pulled a small plastic bag from her pocket. She rattled the ten pills for a moment, then reached in, popped one in her mouth, chased it with water, and swallowed.

With one scowl in the mirror, she jammed the Baggie back next to her hip bone.

“I didn’t move,” Caleb said when she came out.

“You’re a miracle child.” Emma reached into the closet and pulled out Caleb’s green fleece jacket.

“Here. Put it on.” Emma held out the jacket for Caleb, who struggled to get his arms in.

“It’s too small,” he whined.

He was right. “Dad!” she called upstairs.

“What?” Her father’s disembodied voice sounded annoyed. Snafu. Just like good old Dad always said: Situation Normal. All Fucked Up.

“Caleb’s coat is too small,” she yelled.

“So find him one that fits.”

No problem, Dad. I’ll reach into my invisible department store.

“Try one of Gracie’s,” her father added.

“I’m not wearing a girl coat,” Caleb screamed.

“She has the denim one. That’s for girls or boys,” Ben yelled back.

Gracie appeared at the top of the stairs. “Don’t take my jacket!”

Her father’s voice got louder. “Emma, all of you, figure something out. I’ll be there in a minute, and when I get there, you’d better be ready to leave.”

Caleb wrestled his arms into his coat. Gracie ran downstairs, grabbed her own denim jacket from the closet, and ran back upstairs with it.

“Emma, help!” The too-small jacket had imprisoned Caleb’s arms. “Get me out.”

She grabbed the jacket, yanked it off her brother, and threw it on the hall bench. “That’s it. No more. I’m leaving. Tell Dad I’m taking the bus.”

She walked out before her father appeared, before Caleb could ask a million questions:
Why are you leaving; which jacket should I wear; when is Mommy coming home; what did Grandma make for lunch, for supper, for snack; what’s on TV tonight; can I have a cookie?

Emma ran to the bus stop. When she didn’t see one coming, she continued walking. Who cared? She’d catch one, or one would catch her, or she’d just walk to school. Nobody would worry about her.

•  •  •

Emma found Zach in the school library, reading at a table. She came up behind him, waiting for him to sense her. He turned around, grinned, and pretended to clutch his heart like an old man. “You’re early. I’m shocked.”

Emma sat across from Zach and put her feet on the edge of his chair—looking around first to see if the librarian was watching. “I hate my house. I hate living there. I hate my father.”

“Bad morning?”

“Caleb was a brat.” That sounded so nothing, as though Emma herself were the brat for complaining about a minor scuffle. She could hear her father:
That’s because you were being reductionist, Emma.
And she could hear her mother:
Whah wrung?

“What was he doing?”

“Nothing. Just being himself.” Emma picked up
Calculus in Action
and put it back on the table. “I walked out without telling my father,” she confessed. “Let him take care of the kids for a change.”

“You shouldn’t have done that, Em. He needs you, you know.”

“Don’t I need someone?”

“Your father is probably fried.”

“Trust me. He didn’t exactly appreciate my mother before the accident.” She shuffled the pile of books in front of him. “You don’t understand; your family is so perfect.”

“Just because my family doesn’t scream and yell at each other doesn’t make them unflawed. Anyway, would you feel better if my family was as screwed up as yours?”

“I didn’t say my family was screwed up.” As she spoke, she imagined Caleb and Gracie shrinking back from her father as he screamed and yelled when he discovered Emma had left.

“Sorry. I meant ‘screwed up’ as in bad things happening to them. To you.” He touched his fingertips to hers.

Emma knew he was lying, but who cared. He was just trying to please her. She wished she were with Caro. At least she could be a bitch to her without feeling bad.

“Let’s cut school. I can’t stand being in one place right now.” Words flew out as though she were manufacturing them at hyperspeed. “Wouldn’t that be a good thing? You and I spending the day together? I mean you and me? Right?”

Zach laughed as though she’d told a joke.

“No, really.” Caro had been right about the pills. Powerful. That’s how she felt. Caro had a prescription for them, so they couldn’t be bad, right? She said it was just to improve concentration, that’s all. And it helped when you were tired. She made Ritalin sound like a vitamin when she offered them to Emma.

“No way, really. My father would kill me,” Zach said.

“How would your father know?” she asked.

Zach clicked his pen until Emma was ready to grab it and throw it at him. “He knows everything. Besides, don’t they send something home?”

For someone bound for medical school, Zach was an idiot. “They don’t send home a letter for being absent for one day.”

“Someone could see us,” he said.

Emma tapped her feet against the chair. “Come on, Zach. We can go to my house.” She paused and added, “No one’s there.”

•  •  •

“Are you sure this is okay?” Zach asked as they walked up the stone path to her front door.

“I already said yes a million times.” Emma pulled her keys out of her jeans pocket. After opening the door, she turned to him. “Everything’s a mess.”

“Who cares?” Once they were inside, Zach seemed more self-assured, while Emma wished she were in English class where she was supposed to be at that moment. The burst of pill energy had become a screeching in her head. It seemed wrong, so wrong, being in the empty house with Zach. He hadn’t even met her parents—unless you counted the time her father snatched her off the street.

“Are you hungry?” she asked. Had Gracie and Caleb finished the cookies Grandma made? “Want one of my grandmother’s cookies? They’re good. Peanut butter with a Hershey’s Kiss.”

“How about an Emma kiss?” Zach put his arms around her and pulled her close.

Until now, their touching had been outside, hidden only by trees. They couldn’t go very far in public. Now what?

He pressed in close. Now her fear and confusion mixed with a thick longing tangled in her stomach, her throat—everywhere. Her father’s stupid words rang in her head.
Once you go forward, there’s no rolling it back.
She heard her mother:
Emma, remember this—it’s important. Engrave this on your brain. Don’t ever, ever, ever do anything with your body if it doesn’t feel one hundred percent right. Do you hear, Emma? One Hundred Percent,
her mother would repeat, capitalizing each word.

How was Emma supposed to know if something felt one hundred percent? Zach pulled Emma in until they were face-to-face. She only needed to tilt her head a bit to meet his spicy-sweet lips—like the cinnamon gum they’d been chewing. She must taste the same.

He took her hand and led her toward the steps, making a little bobbing question with his head.
Is it all right?
She bobbed back:
I guess so.

Embarrassed by her unmade bed, she began to pull the covers up, but Zach stopped her, pulling her next to him. Brushing her bangs away, he kissed her forehead, gentle and sweet.

“You’re so pretty.” He touched his mouth to hers, his lips closed. His hands trembled on her waist. Finally, they kissed hard enough to
topple to the bed. They’d never kissed like that before. Prone. She’d never even kissed any boy but Zach.

Zach pulled up her T-shirt, uncovering her bra. She tried to pull the shirt back, but he put a hand over hers. “Just one minute? Over the bra?” he asked.

Do I want this one hundred percent?

“Please, Emma. You’re so beautiful. You know I love you.”

Need roughened his pretty face—tightening his jaw, narrowing his eyes. His soft lips were puffy from their kisses. Emma’s neck burned from where he’d rubbed his chin. Her stomach ached with pain and pleasure.

He held himself over her, all his weight on his arms. “Please.” He kissed her again. Soft. “You’re so special. So beautiful. Like a princess.”

Boys will say anything when they want something.
Her father’s words stung.

Listen to your heart, but obey your intellect.
Her mother.

Zach’s mouth touched the bare skin of her neck.

Pure pleasure shot through Emma until she thought she might die. His mouth moved down. He rolled to his side and touched her breast—first soft and whispery, then firmer, then as though he’d squeeze the secrets of the world from her. She wanted him to press deep, lie on top of her, and help her go away.

One hundred percent. Baruch Atah Adonai, Eloheinu Melech Ha’Olam, tell me what to do.

Her mother in the hospital appeared before her. Sad and rumpled. Always looking like she might cry. And behind her towered an angry apparition of her father.
What the hell are you doing? Get the hell out of that bed. Now!

She pushed Zach away. Hard.

“What? What is it?”

Shut up, Zach!

Emma rolled into a ball, hugging her knees to her chest. She rocked back and forth. She wanted to call Caro and Sammi so they could tell Emma what she would feel if she didn’t have the weight of her broken
mother taking over her brain. Taking over everything. Without her father making her into his housekeeper.

She wanted her parents out of her head.

•  •  •

Emma removed the last dinner plate from the dishwasher. No one knew she’d stayed home all day yesterday watching television. That Zach had been here until she’d thrown him out. Which seemed to make him happy. Relieved. Probably snuck right back into school.

After, she’d scrubbed the tub until the whiteness could hurt you if you looked at it too long.

Tomorrow her mother would be home.

“Can I hang up the welcome sign?” Gracie skidded into the kitchen in her white-turned-gray socks. Her father never thought to buy bleach, and Emma never bothered to remind him.

Whiten up!
That’s the stupid joke her mother used to make every time she put bleach in with their underwear and socks.

“Just don’t make a mess, or Daddy will go nuts. And have Caleb help.”

“
Caleb!
” Gracie screamed as she ran out. Neither Gracie nor Caleb had seen their mother since the day she’d woken up in the hospital. They were too young to visit the rehab. When her father talked about getting an exception, Emma had shrieked that it would be stupid and mean to make them go there, and for once her father listened. If the place scared Emma, what would happen to them? People drooled and wheeled themselves along the halls as though they were living corpses. The place smelled like rotting things covered up with flowered chemicals.

Caleb collided into Emma as she swept the floor. “Gracie needs the tape. Where is it?” He hopped from leg to leg.

Emma reached into the junk drawer and rummaged until she found an almost empty roll. “This should be enough, right?” As answer, Caleb threw his arms around her waist and squeezed hard.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, stink. Bring the tape to Gracie.”

In truth, the people and smells didn’t bother Emma that much; she just told her father that. She could volunteer to read to all those broken people and be happy doing it. Just like her mother would have been. Content taking care of the wrecked.

Seeing her mother had been the problem. Choking out words, slow, halting. Everyone told her it would get better, but no one knew for sure. She looked it up. Dysarthria. Hearing her mother speak slashed Emma’s ears.
Eem.
Pause. Breathe. Wait . . .
Aah.
Wait . . . Pause,
Ahh. Eem. Ahh, where . . . is . . . Dad?

He went to the bathroom, Mom.

Emma had answered the same question a minute ago, and then a minute before that, and before that. Her mother gave her a sad stare and said,
Oh. Oh.
She’d look at Emma, waiting for her to say something, drive the conversation. Then she’d fall asleep, and Emma watched her mother, who reminded her of the blue screen on the TV when you turned off the DVD.

Her father told her to be patient.
It’s just a stage.
But maybe it wasn’t. Maybe she’d be this jellied blob of a mother for the rest of Emma’s life while Emma did everything.

“Come, look,” Caleb called.

In the hall, a giant sign Gracie had made on the computer, eight pieces in all, hung on the wall.