Dead to You (11 page)

Dr. Frost leans forward and doesn’t speak.

It’s quiet again, and I feel pressure to continue. I try to think of something that will satisfy them. Something big. The minutes are creeping by. I start sweating. “She was an escort,” I say. “You know. She hung out with . . . men. For pay. I called her by her first name because she didn’t want anybody to think she was old enough to have a kid my age. She pretended she was my older sister and said our parents were dead.” I pause, my mouth dry. “She got bigger tips that way.”

Dr. Frost nods. “What else?”

I groan and lean my head against the wall. “Sheesh. Nothing. That’s all. That’s all there is. Then she got too old-looking and used up. She couldn’t get work anymore and had to get rid of me.”

Dr. Frost pauses. And then asks, “Are you mad at her?”

“I don’t know.” Hell yes, I am.

“Why do you think she abducted you, Ethan?”

I’ve thought about this a lot over the past year, once I realized what had really happened to me. But I knew. I know. “Because she couldn’t be pregnant. You can’t be pregnant and have that job, you know. That’s what I think.”

“But she wanted a kid?”

“I think she just wanted a kid, yeah. I think she was just real lonely. And she wanted a bigger kid, like I was. I could feed myself, take care of myself when she was out, you know?” I’m just going with it now, but it feels right. It does. I think that’s probably the way it was with Ellen.

“She left you alone a lot?”

“No. Well, I mean, in the evenings and during the night when I was just sleeping anyway. She was working.”

“Did Eleanor ever abandon you before Nebraska?”

I don’t like this question. I chuckle softly for a minute, and then it gets louder, and I feel the hysterics coming up my chest, my throat. I hold them down. “Like, not forever. Ha-ha-ha. Of course not.” I laugh again, thinking how absurd it is. How ridiculous. And this time, the laughter is caught there, not stopping, not softening. I bend forward and move around, trying to interrupt whatever the fuck it is that keeps it going.

Mama looks concerned. I wave her off.

“For a short time? Did she ever leave you for a few days? A week?” Dr. Frost asks.

I shrug in answer to her question and raise a hand to let her know I can’t speak, not right now. The laughter comes in a rough pattern, and I try to think of a song that would go to the beat of it. I don’t want to talk about it anymore, anyway. I just want to go home, go down to my basement, and finish my bedroom. Stay in there.

Mama stands up and comes over, holds my shoulders. “Are you okay? Do you need help?”

It’s much worse than the time after the TV interview. I shake my head and the hysterical laughter won’t stop. It grows. I stand up and see Mama’s frightened look. She’s obviously not sure what to think.

I’m fine! I want to tell her. I’m fine! I hold my forefinger up to Dr. Frost, who doesn’t seem alarmed at all.

“Try some deep breaths if you can,” Dr. Frost says.

I try. But it’s like laughter asthma. Once you start going, it’s hard to bring it back down. Tears are running down my face now, and Mama’s hovering, and finally she just hugs me so tight and rubs my back, shaking right along with me, and whispers to me, over and over again.

“It’s okay, sweetie. It’s okay.”

What it is, is fucking embarrassing.

We drive home in the early snowy darkness, Mama leaning over the steering wheel, concentrating on not crashing. “We’re going back for family counseling on Thursday. All of us. Okay?”

I shrug. I have no control anyway; why bother fighting it?

“Do you know how to drive?” she asks suddenly. “Did you ever learn?”

“No.”

“Do you want to? It would be so convenient to have another driver in the house. If you’re interested, that is.”

My eyes widen. “Yeah,” I say. “I think that would be awesome.”

“Winter’s the best time to learn,” she says. “If you can drive in messes like this, you can drive in anything. I’ll sign you up for a class tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay.” I like that. And that reminds me. “What about school? You saw me in there,” I say. I start blushing. It’s so fucking embarrassing. “That’s what’ll happen at school when they start making fun of me. And once that happens, I’ll be branded a freak for life. Seriously, Mama. I’ll never hear the end of it. That’s why I can’t go. Plus,” I add, “I know I’m going to get stuck in a bunch of freshman classes because I missed so much school, and all my friends are juniors. It sucks.”

Mama’s quiet. We inch along the road. And she says quietly, almost to herself, “I don’t know, Eth.”

When we finally get home, Mama stops me on the step as we go inside, and puts her hand on my coat sleeve. “Don’t say anything. Let me handle this one,” she says. And then she smiles and goes in.

I feel a surge of warmth toward her and, at the same time, new energy in my weary body. After having to fight every battle for myself for so everlastingly long, it’s such a relief to have her. I finally have an ally.

“Thanks, Mama,” I whisper, but she’s already humming in the kitchen, getting ready for whatever’s next.

Dinner is more awkward than ever.

“We’re all going to family counseling on Thursday,” Mama announces, and that sets the pace for the rest of the evening.

“What?” Blake says. His eyes are blazing.

“You said we never go anywhere as a family,” Dad says. “Well, here’s our chance.”

“No way. I’m not going.” Blake throws his fork at his plate. It sticks in his mashed potatoes with barely a sound.

I think he sees me smirk. I can’t help it. He’s so amusing, getting upset about such little things.

“Shut up, Ethan.”

“Hey, I said nothing,” I say. “Touchy.”

“Back off!”

I tsk. “Sounds like you could use a little counseling session all to yourself.”

“Boys,” Dad says, pushing his chair back to let us know he means it. I think he might be a little nervous about having to break us up if we start fighting.

I look at Gracie and she’s eating happily. She sees me looking at her and she squinches her eyes shut in a long blink. She’s still working on the wink thing. She thinks she’s doing it, though, which is enough to crack me up just a little again.

Blake hauls off and slugs me in the arm.

I shove my chair back and get this huge rush of heat boiling up in my head. I want to get right up in his face and scream at the top of my lungs. My body reacts before I can think, and within two seconds, I’ve got Blake around the throat with one hand, pinning him against his chair, my other fist back and ready to pound the jerk in the face.

Mama screams. “Stop it!”

And that stops me. I look at Blake, his little round face, his usually icy blue eyes now filled with fear, staring back at me. I lower my fist and let go of his neck, shake out my hand.

As soon as I let go, Blake flies out of his chair, nearly wipes out as he runs down the hallway to his room. He slams the door and yells something unintelligible.

I quickly pick up my chair and set it upright, unable to look at Mama. I feel like I let her down. And everybody else just sits there, shocked. I don’t think they’re used to family dinners like this.

Gracie breaks the silence. I can see her eyes tearing up. “That was scary,” she says. Her lip quivers. And then she starts crying.

Fuck.

“He punched me,” I say, defending myself, and I feel like I’m babbling, but I have to say something. I have to explain. “He punched me first, like, totally out of the blue. I didn’t hurt him. I didn’t even laugh at him.” And now I’m scared too. I rub my sore shoulder as Mama and Dad look at each other, silently discussing with their eyes what to do next.

“Stay put,” Dad says calmly. He and Mama get up to go talk privately, leaving their food, and it’s just me and Gracie left at the table.

She looks at me, all blubbery and scared.

“I’m sorry, Gracie. I didn’t hurt him, okay? He startled me when he punched me and I just reacted. I’m sorry you’re scared.”

She just sits there, sad-faced.

A minute later, Blake’s door opens wide and he starts throwing shit out into the hallway. All my stuff—my clothes, my backpack, my shoes. He’s cussing, yelling crazy things.

Gracie covers her ears. And I can hear Dad coming.

I look at Gracie and shake my head, pushing my chair back. “Sorry, kid,” I say. “I gotta go.” And I feel bad. I do.

I slip out to the mudroom, grab my coat and hat, shove my feet in my boots, and I’m out the door.

From the street, I glance up at the big picture
window, and there’s Gracie, nose pressed against it, her little hands cupped around her eyes, peering out at me. The snow is coming down hard, and there’s at least six fresh inches on the roads since the last snowplow came through this afternoon. I’m worked up enough to not be freezing quite yet, but I know I won’t make it out here for long.

Not to mention, I still don’t really know my way around. But I do know there’s a gas station nearby. I head that way. Maybe I can hang out there for a while.

My thighs are nearly numb by the time I get there, but I manage to feel the vibration of my cell phone in my pocket. I’m still not used to that. Anyway, I figure it’s Mama. Gracie would have told them by now.

But it’s not Mama.

It’s not Blake, or Dad.

It’s a text from Cami.

What r u doing?

My thumbs are numb. And I’m really slow at this. Plus, the guy at the counter is giving me the hairy eyeball.

nothing just wandering around

It takes me a long minute to type it, and my nose is dripping. I shove the phone back into my pocket and pretend to look at milk in the refrigerator case.

In a ridiculously short amount of time, she replies.

we need 2 talk

I move to the chip aisle, staying in plain sight of the clerk so he doesn’t freak out. I write back:

I’m coming over, k?

And I don’t wait for her reply. I take off out the door, not too fast, so I don’t look suspicious. On the way to Cami’s, working against the snow and wind, my phone buzzes again. It’s Dad. I don’t want to answer, but I know they’ll keep calling. They’re freaking out, I’m sure.

“Hey, Dad.”

“Ethan, where are you? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. I’m just out for a bit. Taking a walk.”

He’s quiet, and I picture him, working his jaw. “Where? We need to know where you are.”

“I’m fine, Dad.” I’m breathing hard, running to get to Cami’s.

“Ethan, come home this instant. Or you’re grounded.”

I’m walking up Cami’s driveway now, and I see her looking out the window, behind the curtains. “Dad, seriously. It’s what, like seven thirty? Are you kidding me?”

“Ethan,” he says, and even with the wind whistling around my head, I can hear his voice change to pleading. “Please come home. Your mother is very worried about you.”

I shake my head and stomp off my boots on Cami’s step. She opens the door. “Tell Mama I’m sixteen, not seven. Gotta go.” I wipe the snow off my coat and hat as much as I can, and then I step inside.

Cami’s not smiling.

Neither am I.

“Hi.” I stand there in her entryway like an idiot.

“I said don’t come over.” Cami folds her arms over her chest.

“Sorry. I was on the phone. I must have missed that. Besides, you were watching out the window for me.”

“Yeah, so I could tell you to leave.”

I take off my hat and gloves. Unzip my coat. “Please don’t make me leave. If I go home now, the terrorists win.”

She tries not to laugh. “Was that your dad on the phone?”

“Yeah. They’re treating me like I’m still seven. I can’t go anywhere without them knowing where I am. They’re currently threatening to ground me if I don’t come home immediately.”

“Ah,” Cami says. She’s eyeing me.

“Plus I need to thank your mother for the cookies from a couple weeks ago.”

“They were brownies.”

“Right.” I smile as sweetly as I can. “Please?”

She steps back, shaking her head but waving her hand at the coat hooks. “Fine,” she mutters.

I go inside and spend a few minutes with Cami’s parents, catching up. Which means they tell me things I used to do and I smile and nod and pretend to be delighted about playing Easy-Bake Oven and Barbies with Cami. And then we go downstairs and hang out in the rec room. It’s really nice and cozy down here, kind of like how I’d want our house to be.

Cami flops into a chair, leaving me the couch. She’s not taking any chances.

“So,” she says coolly. “You want to explain what the hell you were doing, kissing me?”

“Uh . . . ,” I say. “I was being an ass.”

“Seriously.”

“Seriously being an ass, yes. I’m sorry.”

“A big, big, gigantic ass.”

“Yes. That.” I nod.

She seems satisfied. “I’m not going to tell Jason, in case you’re wondering.”

It sounds like a threat, and I’m not sure I like it. “Okay, good,” I say. “Then I won’t tell him you kissed me back.”

She explodes. “I did not!”

I smile. I know she did. That’s all I need for now.

She relaxes a little. “You know,” she says, as if she’s suddenly remembered something, “that’s not the first time you kissed me.”

I sit up. “No?”

“You kissed me when we were six.”

“See, I was a smart kid.”

“Well, you sort of didn’t have a choice.”

I cock my head to the side. “I’m listening . . .”

“Jeremy Winger’s big sister tricked you and me into going inside their dog pen to feed Spotty, and then she slammed the door and locked us in there.”

“Jeremy,” I say, thinking. “Did we call him Jermy? Like germs?”

Cami frowns. “I don’t think so.”

“Oh.” So much for that almost-memory. “Anyway . . .”

“So, yeah, then she said she wouldn’t let us out unless we kissed.”

“I like her.”