Buried (5 page)

Liz peered over the table at what I was writing. I covered it with my hand.

“I can't believe you're making a list of cleaning chores.
Vacuum bags?
Oh my god, Claude. I love you, but you're such a geek.”

I folded the bag into a square and put it in my pocket. “Don't worry—you're on the list.”

She frowned at me. “You look kind of out of it. Are you okay?”

“I'm fine. Just a lot to do. How are you doing?”

“Good. Really good. It's the group. I'm glad you talked me into going. It's amazing, don't you think?”

“Amazing?” I stood up and wiped up our crumbs. Then we merged with the line leaving the cafeteria.

“The other day, when I was done sharing and it was so quiet, I thought I'd made a complete fool out of myself, but everyone was smiling and nodding. And I'm surprised by how many people we know from school.” She leaned forward. “I mean, that cheerleader? And the agreement that it's all anonymous.”

She said “anonymous” like it was a new word I'd never heard.

“I know the drill. I've got all the books, too.”

 
When I got home from school, Moonpie came out from behind the workshop and met me at the steps, rubbing against my legs. I picked him up and felt him purr, smelling the earth on his paws.

“Where have you been?” I said, pushing my face into his long, tawny fur. He squirmed from my arms and shot back across the garden.

Inside, the answering machine was blinking. It was Liz's mother, the original owner of the machine; she'd insisted on giving it to us when she got her cell phone.

“Serena, it's Marty MacPhee. There's a Boosters meeting Thursday night, and we're hoping you'll make up some of your lovely fall baskets to sell at the fair. Call me.”

Marty never gave up. I think she figured that Mom would improve herself with each hand-me-down or kindness. But Mom didn't get it; she just liked getting the next new thing. “Why does Marty keep giving us stuff?” she'd say. “She's already going straight to heaven. But don't tell her to stop though, okay?”

I made a note to take Mom's baskets to Mrs. MacPhee and pressed the next message. It was Candy, pissed off that Mom didn't show for work at Seaside Cottages.

I dialed her number. Then hung up. What would I tell her about Mom? Leaning against the kitchen counter, I fiddled with the stuff in the junk basket, pocketing some change. With a stab of pain, I thought about Mom leaving me. Not for a road trip with Candy, but for Gary.

I felt sick knowing it was so easy for her to walk away. I dialed again and counted the coins in my pocket:
One, two, three, four, five, one, two, three, four, five, one, two, three, four, five.

“Where the hell is she?” Candy said. “She didn't show up for work, and I had to do all the checkouts alone. This weekend will be a big one, ya know, we're full.” I heard her exhale on the other end of the line. “Well?”

I took out a pen and made lines on a pad of paper. I couldn't say it out loud. I couldn't say she'd left me for a guy. Again. “She's at a rehab program, Candy.”

She laughed. “Rehab? Not Serena, she wouldn't go unless someone went with her. Linwood maybe? But I doubt it. Besides, she was wasted again the other night.”

I dropped the pen and shoved the paper aside. “You knew about that? Why didn't you tell me?”

“Falling off the wagon was up to her. Besides, she and Gary were getting cozy again, and I didn't want to interfere with that. He was leaving in the morning.”

“I could've stopped her if you'd just called me. I was just over at Liz's having dinner. Christ, Candy!” My stomach flipped over. “You could've called me. I would've stopped her.”

“Jesus, Claudine. She's a big girl.” She exhaled again.

I didn't want her to be with Gary. I wanted her in rehab, and I wanted to be the one who put her there. If I'd known—if I hadn't gone to Liz's house . . . “Well, she decided it was time to get serious. She's in rehab and won't be able to work for a while.”

“I guess it's about time she got it under control.”

“Yup. It's about time.”

“Can you fill in when I need someone?”

“Just call me.”

I hung up and went to Mom's room, dragging the vacuum behind me. I sat on the edge of the bed and looked around the room, trying to remember if I'd done the ceiling yet. A lone buzz came from the vacuum. He sounded pissed off, like he didn't like being alone. Under the shade, another fly threw himself against the window. Without leaving the bed, I pointed the wand at the fly and turned the vacuum on.

“Now you're not alone,” I said.

Then I did the walls and ceiling while I stood in the middle of her bed. Even though the floor had been done, I did it again, this time reaching under the bed with the hose. A metallic clink went up the hose and into the vacuum. Fear ripped through me. My hand shook as I turned it off. I leaned the vacuum against the wall and shut the door.

 
I lined up five pages of the application form on the kitchen table, evening up the pages with the edge of the kitchen table. Then I began reading. The first page said I'd been nominated by Ms. Frost, a staff member of the high school. It said I qualified for a full scholarship to the state university, but I needed to fill in all the requested information and write a four-page essay.

Ms. Frost knew the problems I was dealing with. She'd witnessed one of Mom's binges firsthand at last year's Spring Banquet. I was a junior and had made High Honors in English, the only one with an A+ average.

Liz and her mother had noticed that Mom was drunk and offered to sit with her in the back of the room while I received the award. Even with several hundred people in the auditorium, her cries still reached me.

“My baby, my only baby. You're such an angel, my princess. Why are you so good to me, Claudine?”

The hum of disapproving voices grew in the audience until Ms. Frost finally took her out to the lobby. On the way out, I heard her go on and on.

“You have no idea how good Claudine is to me. She does everything.” Even while the people in the audience clapped for me, they craned their necks to watch my mother as she was escorted out. As I sat on the stage, I tried to read the minds of the parents. What were they thinking? Was it pity? Disgust? They were probably shaking their heads in disbelief at how the same woman who made gorgeous dried-flower wreaths also made a drunken scene.
Well, she does live in a trailer
, someone might have said.
And you know, she doesn't have a husband
.

After that night, Mom made a deal with me to go on a health regime. All health food, exercise, and no alcohol. She was fabulous from last May to August.

I filled in the first line, printing carefully. APPLICANT: CLAUDINE MARIE CARBONNEAU.

The phone rang, jolting me from the task. It was Liz. “Have you started?”

“Started?”

“Springer's homework. The poet biographies. We're having a quiz on Thursday.” I could hear her crunching on something. I looked at the clock. It was after six, and I hadn't eaten since lunch.

“Did I miss something?”

“No, it's on the assignment schedule.” She rustled a paper. “The one that's due September twenty-first.”

“I haven't done it.” I had four pages to go on the application.

“I haven't either. I'll pick you up at the mailbox.”

I touched each page, counting. One, two, three, four, five.

 
Deep Cove Library was open until nine. We only needed to find and photocopy some information.

Liz was on one end of the poetry stack, and I was at the other. “You're kind of out of it again. Maybe you should stay with us while your mom's gone.”

“Don't tell your parents about Mom being at rehab.”

“Too late, already did.”

“Really?”

“Yup. I was worried about you. Mom looked to heaven and crossed herself and said something about praying for her.”

“Sounds like your mom, but tell her no thanks.”

I settled at a long table with two biographies. Liz thunked a pile of books down across from me. I looked at her, flipping through pages on Coatsworth.

“You know she means well,” she said. Liz looked so together, effortlessly pretty, happy.

I couldn't help staring.
Liz, you have it all,
I thought.

“Did you say something?” she asked, tucking her straight blond hair behind her ear.

“I was just thinking how much I wish I was you.”

“Even though my mother would drive you nuts.” She crossed her eyes.

I stacked my books so the spines were even. “Even though.” I peeled off all the colored Post-it flags from my dividers and arranged them in a row on the edge of the long table. “Things are just harder than they used to be,” I said.

“What's up?” Liz said, leaning in.

I rehearsed the possibilities in my head:
Yeah, Mom took off again. She's with Gary. She fell off the wagon. Again. Left me to take care of myself, yet again. And she didn't clean up her mess, as usual. No, Liz, the rehab program was just wishful thinking
.

“Nothing's up,” I said.

“Nothing except that your mom's at the top rehab program in the state.”

I rearranged the Post-its from lightest to darkest. I almost had all the colors of the rainbow, but I needed a dark blue. I searched my binder pouches.

“Claudine, maybe I never told you, but I've always wanted your brains,” she said.

I zipped up the binder without looking at her.

“You know that, Claude. Ever since second grade. And the help you gave me on that math assignment yesterday, that was exactly what I needed. And the help you'll be giving me on that health report . . . you'll help me, won't you? Look at me, Claude.”

“Yeah,” I said, tapping my head. “My brains, your looks. What a package.”

“What are you saying, Claude? You're pretty. You just—”

“I need a bath, right?” I said, remembering Nurse Gooch and the teasing on the bus.

“Oh my god, are you a little PMS? I was about to say that confidence is all you need. You've kind of lost yours.”

I nodded like I was considering it, but it was easy for her to say. Everything was in place for her. Even with only average SATs, she'd still be going to the college of her choice.

And now that I didn't have to deal with Mom at home, and with the application for the scholarship, maybe I'd be going, too.

 
At home, when I should've been working on my poet biography or the application, I wrote another letter, the kind I wanted to burn.

3

AT LUNCHTIME LIZ DROPPED HER LUNCH BAG beside me and said, “Are we on for after school?”

“Yeah, my place,” I said, lining up my baby carrots evenly.
One, two, three, four, five.
I ate one.

“I'll bring what I started for health, and we can look at the notes for the poetry quiz.”

“What quiz?”

“What quiz? The one tomorrow. It's prep for the test.”

“Hmm.” I touched each carrot, then ate one. Three left. “Liz, do you think it's bad to give someone a lot of chances?”

“What do you mean?”

“I don't know. What if you tried and tried to make it work and just got so tired, you couldn't do it anymore?”
One, two, three, eat one, two left.

“Love changes things. Maybe your mom and Linwood need a break. And nobody makes good decisions when they're emotional.”

I washed down the carrot with my spring water, but I really wanted Liz's Diet Coke.