Drowning Instinct (24 page)

Mom went absolutely still. Meryl froze, and so did I. I knew that Mom had come to depend, more and more heavily, on credit to meet her bills every month. For the last half year, that was the only thing standing between her and no store at all. The only reason the bank let her keep it was because Dad put up some of his assets as collateral. Without my father, my mother would have no credit at all. Without that, she couldn‘t pay Evan or her rent or keep up a full inventory. She‘d ordered massive amounts of books, hoping this Christmas season her business would turn around. Now, she was nearly at the end of the month, the day before what she hoped would be a huge shopping day but hadn‘t been for years—and now, if Psycho-Dad meant what he said, no way to pay down her debt.

―My God,‖ my mother said, finally. ―This is like when we pulled Jenna out of the hospital. You didn‘t just decide this. You already knew you were going to do this when we had the party, didn‘t you? A month ago! You knew
then
.‖

Psycho-Dad took another swallow. ―What if I did?‖

―Then this whole last month, our trip, everything you said, that we
did ...
‖ Mom‘s lips compressed to a gash. ―What did you think, Elliot? Did you think screwing me again would make it easier to fuck me over?‖ Coming out of her mouth, the words were so much uglier. ―That I wouldn‘t
mind
?‖

―Of course not.‖ Psycho-Dad managed a look of indignation. ―I‘m thinking of us, of protecting our position. That store is a money pit, you‘ve said it yourself. You should be relieved. I‘m only thinking of you.‖ But the way his eyes slid from my mother‘s, I knew he was lying.

―Thinking of
me
? This is about you and your precious money. You son of a . . .‖

She choked back the rest and then stood, slowly, as regally as a queen. ―You do what you need to do, Elliot, but don‘t sneak around. Be a man for once.‖

My father blustered. ―You can‘t talk to me like th—‖

―Fuck. You. Elliot.‖ She waited a moment, but my father had clamped his jaws so tight I‘d heard the click. She said, ―Do what you want. I don‘t give a damn.‖ She swept out.

He didn‘t go after her. Neither did Meryl. Maybe I should have, Bob. Matt wasn‘t her only kid. If I‘d reminded her that I was here, too....

I wish I‘d been braver, but I was paralyzed. And afraid.

Because what if I wasn‘t enough either? What if I had never been?

I didn‘t want to know, Bob. I didn‘t. Everyone breaks. Some wounds will never heal, and I just couldn‘t, I couldn‘t.

So, instead, I only sat and listened to her cursing and rummaging in the hall closet.

When she slammed out of the house, the windows chattered. A moment later, the garage door grumbled; her car roared; and then she was gone.

42: a

After Mom left, Dad and his Scotch stormed off to his study. Meryl and I cleared the table. I scrubbed pots and pans and cleaned counters. I might have gotten down on my hands and knees to scour the tile if Meryl hadn‘t stopped me.

―I‘m going after your mom.‖ She‘d already shrugged into her coat and was knotting a scarf around her throat. ―Thank God, the roads are clear or she‘d have gone off a bridge.

She‘s probably at the store. You want to come with?‖

I didn‘t. After Meryl left, I snagged a cinnamon roll and went to my room. I picked up Lasker‘s book on Alexis, then put it back down without cracking the spine. The book reminded me of how much I missed Mitch, and I ached to hear his voice. Normally, I‘d have been able to talk to him, either in school or on the phone or a text. In person, if we were running—or after: showering, toweling off. Making love.

But Mitch was in Madison until Sunday night and while I probably
could
call or text, he wouldn‘t be able to talk. He might not even answer. After all, there were limits to what you could explain away.

I needed to get out of that house. Go someplace I could breathe. Incredibly, my car was still down at school. I‘d missed school the day after the meet; and then it was break.

We kept meaning to retrieve my car, but Mom got busy with the store and we just hadn‘t gotten around to it.

But there
was
Dad‘s Lexus.

After tucking the Lasker book, my wallet, and cell into my knapsack, I tiptoed into my parents‘ bedroom. Dad‘s keys were on the bureau, along with his wallet and pager. I worked the key off the ring and then crept down the stairs to stand outside his study. I heard the television and what sounded like another game, but Dad was talking to someone, too, probably his nursie-mistress or some moral equivalent because I caught a couple words:
inconsiderate bitch...want to...miss you, too...

I honestly didn‘t care. What with Nate Bartholomew and Mistress Nursie, I think I‘d decided my parents deserved each other.

Lucky for me, the Lexus was all-the-time four-wheel drive and had good tires. I took it slow as I drove to Mitch‘s house. I worried about how to explain away my dad‘s car in his driveway—but the hike from the park was a good eight miles. My ankle wasn‘t that bad, but I didn‘t want to push it. Anyway, Mitch‘s house wasn‘t visible from the road and his nearest neighbor was miles away. I should be okay.

It had snowed twice more since the week before, but the Lexus took the packed snow and hills easily and Mitch‘s drive had been plowed. I pulled up to the house, climbed out, and listened to a silence broken only by the susurration of the wind that spun snow into icy dervishes. Mitch‘s house was all sparkling glass, wood, and stone under the full sun, and felt empty even from the outside.

I already had my boots, but now I buckled on a pair of snowshoes and trudged around to the back of the house and looked across the white expanse of frozen lake. Mitch said the lake froze completely in winter, but it was still early in the season, the cold temperatures of the last two weeks notwithstanding. I could halve my travel time to the cabin if I cut across the lake, and there were prints where animals had crossed. But Mitch said the lake was very deep and visions of breaking through the ice kept me on the path instead.

The only sounds were the squeal of snow beneath my snowshoes and the steady huff of my breaths. My ankle complained a bit, then subsided. Sweat trickled down my neck and between my shoulder blades, and as I began to warm, I unzipped my parka and then my fleece. I hiked along for a good hour and when I turned onto the cabin trail, I don‘t recall that I was thinking about much of anything other than stripping down and enjoying a hot shower before making tea and curling up on our window seat with Lasker‘s book. As I rounded the last bend, I looked toward the cabin—

And stopped dead in my tracks.

No
, I thought.
No, that’s not right.

A thin rivulet of gray smoke trickled from the chimney. Two windows fired with a yellow light that was not a reflection of the sun.

Someone was in our cabin. Mitch? But he was down in Madison, wasn‘t he? I hadn‘t looked in his garage. I had no reason. Was Mitch—?

I wasn‘t watching the trail and my shoe caught in a branch and then the snow was rushing at my face. I managed to get my arms out in time to avoid a spectacular face-plant, but not by much. Spitting and snorting snow, I dragged a gloved hand across my watering eyes and got to my feet.

That‘s when I saw something white and ghostly dart across a window to the right of the door, and then the blurry oval of a face.

A face that was not Mitch‘s at all.

I went absolutely still.

I‘d only registered a face: a general impression of dark eyes and the gash of a mouth. Then whoever was in the cabin backed away and out of sight.

I stood there as snow melted on my neck and my heart thumped. My brain churned.

Someone must‘ve found the key. A homeless person? Maybe a runaway. Either was possible. Mitch said that people broke into cabins all the time. Maybe some of those people were dangerous. Whoever was inside must have come in from the park or the opposite side of the lake because mine were the only tracks on this path. Either way, they‘d either bypassed the house intentionally or accidentally stumbled on the cabin.

What should I do? If I called the police, what would I say? What
could
I say that wouldn‘t get Mitch and me both in big trouble?

It came to me then that I was completely alone. No one knew where I was. Mitch was gone, too far away to help. I had my cell, but I‘d left it behind in the Lexus, figuring that if Psycho-Dad called, I could legitimately say I hadn‘t known or gotten the message until later.

I was on my own, and I‘d been
seen
.

The thought stroked gooseflesh on my arms and raised the hairs on my neck. I shivered, partly from sweat chilling on my skin but mostly from fear. Whoever was in the cabin knew I was here.

Get out
, I thought.
Get out now
.

You can‘t back up in snowshoes, but you can turn around and hustle pretty quick.

Which is exactly what I did. Twice I looked over my shoulder to see if some crazy meth head was bursting out of the cabin, ax in hand. But there was no one, only the constant stream of smoke and sun-dazzle bouncing off the windows.

When I made it back to the car, there were eight calls from my father on the cell. All the messages were the same, more or less. Only the profanity changed.

43: a

It was full dark by the time I got home. Meryl was back and my father was snorting fire—just not at me.

―We‘ll talk about punishment for you later,‖ he said, scrubbing away my explanations with the flat of his hand. ―Right now, I want to know where your mother is.‖

―Uh . . .‖ I shot a glance at Meryl. Thought:
Shit, Mom really is with Bartholomew
.

Decided to play dumb. ―She‘s not at the store?‖

―No, and she‘s not answering her cell,‖ Meryl said. ―Your father called all the hospitals, but of course, she isn‘t there and there hasn‘t been an accident. Elliot, calm down before you have a stroke.‖

He ignored her. ―Do you know where she is?‖ he asked me.

―No,‖ I said, which was mostly true. Sure, I knew
who
she was with, but not
where
.

―Have you tried Evan?‖

―Of course. He hasn‘t heard from her either.‖

―Then she‘s probably just driving around.‖

―That‘s what I told him,‖ Meryl said. ―Where were
you
?‖

―I was driving around, too,‖ I said.

My father seemed to see me for the first time. ―You‘re wet.‖

―I fell in the snow.‖

―I thought you said you were driving around.‖

―I went for a walk.‖ I was still freaked about the cabin and just so sick of their drama. ―Look, I‘m sure Mom‘s okay. She‘s just angry, Dad. What did you expect? She was going to be thrilled you decided to let her store crater?‖

―Don‘t tell me you‘re taking her side in this. This is for her own good.‖ My father‘s lower lip actually pouched. He looked like a three-year-old ready to take his ball and go home. ―You and she will both see that, eventually.‖

―It‘s not important what I see. But you have to give her some space to be mad. Why is it okay for you to storm off to the hospital whenever you get pissed off but not okay for Mom?‖

―She‘s got you there,‖ Meryl put in.

―Stay out of this.‖ Dad glared down at me, but for once, I wasn‘t frightened of him, maybe because I‘d already gotten my allotment of having the shit scared of me. ―While you were gone, we got a call from Pine Manor. Apparently, your mother went to see your grandfather after she left here.‖

That was a surprise. ―Mom did that? Why were they calling us?‖

―Because he was so agitated when she left they had to put him in restraints and they wanted to know if anything unusual had—‖

―Restraints?‖ I interrupted. God, what had Mom said? ―What did she
do
?‖

―They don‘t know, and neither do we. I want you to call her.‖

―You said she‘s not answering her cell. Maybe she switched it off.‖

―No, it rings. She . . . she‘s clearly screening her calls. So it‘s me . . . my cell, she doesn‘t want . . . but maybe she‘lll. . . if it‘s you . . . if you‘d just please . . .‖ My father‘s face mottled an angry, embarrassed vermillion. I‘d never known him to be reduced to incomplete sentences. He was mortified to have to beg his daughter to do something. ―Will you
please
call her?‖

My eyes shifted to Meryl. ―She won‘t pick up for me either,‖ she said. ―Much as I hate to side with your father, I think it would be good if we knew she‘s safe.‖

So I dialed, listened to the rings, then heard my mother tell me to leave a message.

―Hi, Mom, it‘s Jenna. I‘m going to hang up and call you again. Please answer.‖ I punched out, counted to ten then redialed.

Mom picked up at the first ring. ―I‘m fine,‖ she said. ―I‘m more than fine. I‘m great.‖

―Uhm . . .‖ Dad looked ready to swoop, so I turned away. ―Are you going to come home?‖

―Maybe. Eventually. I don‘t know.‖ Was that a slur I heard? The image of my mother squatting somewhere, with a Stoli bottle clutched in one hand, flashed before my eyes. ―I have to decide what to do.‖

―Okay.‖ I didn‘t have the slightest idea if she meant about her marriage, us, the store, or all three.

―Ask her where she is,‖ Dad hissed.

―Shut up, Elliot,‖ Meryl said.

―Is that your father?‖ asked Mom, and then she went on before I could answer: ―Of course, it is. Lis . . . lishun, honey, lis . . . lishun.‖

―I‘m listening,‖ I said, but my heart sank. Her esses always went mushy when she drank. I could only hope she wasn‘t in her car. ―Mom, are you driving?‖

―No, no ... I ... lis-lishun....‖

―Where are you, Mom?‖

―Jenna, Jenna . . . No matter what, I want you to know I only did what I thought was besh . . . right. I wash trying to protect you, but I didn‘t, I didn‘t
know....
‖

―Mom? Mom, what are you talking about?‖

―Oh, Matt,‖ she said, and then she was crying. ―I don‘t know what I would‘ve done without Matt. I couldn‘t have stst-st ... lived with my-my ... myself if he ...‖ Her words came out in a howl: ―Oh, I mish my baby; I mish my boy . . .‖

―Mom.‖ My eyes were burning. ―Mom, tell me where you are. I‘ll come to you.‖

―What‘s she saying?‖ Dad asked.

I smeared tears from my cheeks. ―Mom, please; Meryl and I, we can come together.

Mom?
Mom
?‖

But there was only dead air. I called back twice, but Mom never did pick up.