Hand Me Down (31 page)

“I missed you so much,” I say, letting go of her and leaning back into my polyester seat cover. I almost feel secure, like things are finally going to change in the right ways. There’s just one thing left. I say, “What about Sam?”

“He’s not, um”—she clears her throat and shifts in her narrow chair—“jumping for joy at the moment,” she says. My pulse starts to speed up until Tammy says, “But I’m tired of sacrificing my happiness for his.”

“Really?”

“I told him if he wasn’t going to live here permanently, he
couldn’t expect to get his way,” she says. Aside from wringing her hands in her lap, she seems relaxed. “I need to start making decisions and building a life without him since he doesn’t seem interested in giving up his job anytime soon, and he agreed.”

“He’s missing out,” I say, and Tammy smiles at me in that sad way you see on TV when someone feels nostalgic for something they realize they can never get back. “If he was really as smart as he thinks he is, he would come back for you.”

She laughs. “That’s sweet,” she says. “But I don’t think it’s a question of intelligence.”

“Is it me?” I say. “I don’t want to cause problems for you.”

“It’s him.” She squeezes my knee and shakes her head. “We’ve been through worse,” she says, and even though I know that’s probably true, I also know how quickly the women in this family can change their minds. She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “I’m willing to take the risks.”

The hum of the jet engines and circulating air buzz across my skin, and the seat belt light flashes back on with a ding from the overhead speakers. I hope Tammy won’t regret her choice as much as I hope I won’t regret mine. I say, “So this is definitely more than temporary?”

“Why not?” she says. “Your stuff is already at my house and there’s a ceiling with your name on it.”

“Thank you,” I say.

She says, “Thank you.”

“For what?”

She nudges my arm with her elbow. “You make me happy, little girl,” she says. She puts her arm around my shoulders and turns
me toward the window and both our smiles reflect in the plastic oval that frames our destination.

This house still has a
routine, and I am happy to slip back into it over the next few weeks. Tammy leaves for work in the mornings after she opens my blinds and invites rays of sun directly into my eyes. She usually says, “Rise and shine, little girl,” like she used to, and I have been so glad to wake up here I don’t remind her that it’s summer.

I eat Kashi cereal and steel-cut oatmeal, farmers’ market strawberries and nectarines for breakfasts, make Caprese salads with fresh heirloom tomatoes, basil leaves plucked from our garden, soft mozzarella, and crunchy sourdough bread for lunch. I carry my meals on trays to the lounge chairs on Tammy’s patio, and eat al fresco to soak up as much sunlight as possible. I revel in the lack of gray.

I choose new books from the wooden shelves in my room—
The Chosen, Kindred, The Bean Trees
—and read for hours in the natural light, butt sunk into big, patterned cushions, body wrapped in the radiant warmth from heated cement. Out here in Tammy’s garden—our garden—I’m amazed by the growth of the ferns, the blooming power of the rosebush, the now two-foot-tall herbs that give off their strong and spicy scents without even being touched. Reading, tanning, watering the plants, I spend hours each day under the open bowl of a sky in this city edged with stone summits, well-rested, belly full, and muscles loose.

I even call Dean to tell him I’ve returned. “For good?” he says.

I smile that silly, wide-open, teeth-revealing grin that infects my face whenever I hear his deliciously accented voice. It’s too early to tell him I missed him, but I think we’ll get there soon. “For a while at least,” I say. “Depends on what this town has to offer.”

“What made you come back?” he says, and I tell him it’s kind of complicated. I cried when I hugged Jaime good-bye, but my first night here I slept for nine hours straight sprawled out on the queen-size mattress, and I knew this was the right choice. Tammy left my glow in the-dark constellations on the ceiling, and it’s nice to sleep under stars again, even if they’re plastic.

Dean asks if he can come over and kiss me for the whole afternoon. I almost say, “Sure, why not?” but remember my promise to be stronger than my mother, to make smart decisions, and invite him to the movies instead. “It’ll be like that first time we hung out,” I say.

“Hopefully not
exactly
like that time,” he says. I roll my eyes but the goofy grin attacks my face again, and I think maybe romance doesn’t have to sabotage my quest for independence, doesn’t have to be an addiction like Terrance’s, or create the destructive submission I saw in Mom. I think of Dean’s careful words, his shy smiles and cool skin, and know it won’t be the same for me.

He says, “I’m really glad you came back.”

“Me, too,” I say. “See you soon.” I place the white cordless handset back in its base, smiling, and twirl on the ball of my foot on the hardwood floor.

I finger the wooden railing as I climb the white-carpeted stairs, flip the light switch in my room without looking for it. I play
Journey’s
Greatest Hits
album, which I stole from Tammy’s collection, and sing “Don’t Stop Believin’” at the top of my lungs as I finish situating my room. I hang Alanis and the Fab Four back on the walls, rearrange the framed photos of me and Jaime, me and Noah, and a new one of me and Rachel at the river on one of the tables next to my fold-out bed.

I belt out “Be Good to Yourself,” as I unpack my toiletries and put them back in their countertop organizer, where they’ll stay for all of five minutes once school starts. My clothes go back in my nightstand drawers and in the closet, the pink church dress gets squished into the back in case I visit the Cranleys on some weekend in the future, and since Jaime’s there, I’ll have to visit.

So far, Tammy has asked what I want for dinner each night, and I’ve lapped up my old favorites and also new delicacies like curried potatoes and saffron ginger lamb. We take walks up into the Avenues past ivy-coated houses, down tree-lined streets above the Salt Lake Valley, the city lights twinkling gold, yellow, red, and white below us in the still-balmy end of summer air, the sky periwinkle-blue. We inhale the scents of dusty soil and sun-wilted leaves and listen to the crickets strum their creaky songs. We talk about our approaching trip to Mexico, and where we should travel next. We talk about the future, starting school, what universities I might want to attend. I registered for classes last spring because we had to in homeroom, but now I’m glad I’ll be taking classes I chose: playwriting, choir, and honors English. I imagine hanging out with Dean and doing homework together, holding hands in the hallways, elbowing through the jocks in their red-and-black letter jackets as a team. I’m looking forward to bringing home A’s so
colleges will want me and Tammy will be proud. I want to be proud of myself again, too.

One night we get back from a walk and as Tammy fills two glasses with water, I push the blinking red button on her answering machine. The tape clicks and Mom’s voice drifts out of the speaker.

“Hi, Tammy and Liz, it’s Mom.” Pause. “Um, Linda.” I roll my eyes but her formality makes my chest contract. I haven’t talked to her since returning to Utah even though she said she’d call. I glance at Tammy, who stands at the pristine white ceramic sink with her back to me, her head down. Mom continues, “I have good news,” she says, her voice too high to be genuinely cheerful. “You can come home just like you wanted!” she says and my breath catches. Tammy sighs.

Mom says, “Call me when you get this so we can work things out and you can come back before school starts. Thanks!” The answering machine beeps and the red button becomes a steady glow.

I pick up the phone without waiting for the shock to subside. Did she finally get rid of Terrance? What about Jaime? If I could remember Mom’s number right now I would dial, but my mind is full of tumbleweeds. The plastic receiver is cold, but warm hands close around mine and lift the handset from my grasp. Tammy says, “Let’s talk for a minute before you make any calls.” She puts the phone back in its base.

I look at her, eyebrows raised. “What do you know?”

Tammy pulls out a chair for me. I sit and she walks to the freezer, selects a gallon-size Ziploc bag full of brownies. She places
a brownie in each of two bowls and sticks them in the microwave. While the dessert rotates, Tammy says, “That night at Deborah’s, your mom got a pager message that led her to make a private phone call.” The microwave beeps and the smell of chocolate fills the kitchen.

Tammy hands me a bowl. “After the call, she said she needed to leave, even though it was late. She wouldn’t say why.”

Tammy puts the bag of brownies back in the freezer and sits across from me at the table with her treat. “It’s been almost a year since Terrance was released,” Tammy says, and I am surprised to hear it’s been that long since I left Mom’s house. “With his record and the statistics about sex offenders…” She shrugs and licks her fingers. “I had a hunch. After we got back here, I made some calls and filled out some forms. It turns out it’s pretty easy to request copies of police reports.” She leans back in her chair, looking pleased. “I even paid extra for rush delivery, thinking Linda might do something like this.”

“Terrance exposed himself again?” I say.

A hint of a smile twitches Tammy’s upper lip. “Not exactly.”

From the police reports and
the victim statement, we know that Terrance went to a Target about a half-hour away from Deborah’s house. Security cameras show he entered at 9:22
P.M
. The victim, Shari Knowles, twenty-six, noticed a “dark-skinned man with tattoos and a shaved head,” browsing greeting cards down the aisle from where she stood trying to pick out a new clock for the house she shares with policeman, Brady Knowles. The man,
who turned out to be Terrance of course, spent the next ten minutes inching closer, picking up a card every few steps and glancing at her. As Shari chose her clock and turned to leave, Terrance moved to the middle of the aisle.

“Hi,” he said.

Shari hesitated but returned the hello. “Nice clock,” Terrance said. He put his hands in the pockets of his red Forty-Niners jersey shorts, and the look on his face made Shari uncomfortable. The store intercom clicked on, and Shari instinctively looked up at the voice announcing twenty minutes until closing, which made her realize if she wanted to pee, and she did, she should go soon. Terrance shifted his weight into her personal space. He leered at her, his hands moving in his pockets. “You have the most—”

“Stop,” she interrupted, not sure exactly what was going on, but still creeped out. “I’m married, and I’m not interested.” He looked surprised, but she walked away and didn’t look back. She headed toward the aspirin and vitamin aisle and the doors that led to the bathrooms. She didn’t notice anyone following her.

Shari walked through the swinging doors into the warehouse section of the store. Stacked columns of crates and boxes faded out of view into the darkness of the storage area, but the doors of the individual male and female restrooms were lit by a hanging bulb. Shari heard the swish sound of the double doors opening behind her as she fumbled for the light switch just inside the women’s restroom, one foot propping the door open. She smelled Terrance before she felt his hands on her hips, a metallic scent mixed with cheap cologne. It’s a stench I remember well.

When he grabbed her, she dropped her purse and the clock and jerked her right elbow into Terrance’s chest in the reflexive self-defense move her husband had taught her. Terrance grunted, but pushed her into the bathroom. He called her a bitch, but she felt his excitement pressed against her butt. Shari thought of her husband, the kids she still wanted to have, and her self-defense lessons came roaring back. As Terrance shoved her face-first into the wall, she twisted away, clawed at his jaw and cheek, and kicked him in the balls as hard as she could. Terrance howled with pain and Shari punched his Adam’s apple. Terrance choked and she was out the doors and screaming for security.

I envision Terrance before the attack: buck teeth protruding from his cocky smirk, following a girl he thought was as helpless as all the others. I like to believe he was swaggering and confident, following old habits, sure of his perverted fix like who knows how many times before. I imagine his certainty when he pounced, his shock when Shari fought back and got away, and his frustration at being caught. I imagine him gasping for breath on the dirty bathroom floor, and picture his injuries—bruised testicles, swollen throat, and bloody scabs down his ugly face.

It’s late when we finish
reading all the material that came in the packet from the police, but I still want to call Mom. A million questions ping-pong in my brain and I know I won’t be able to sleep without addressing some of them.

Mom answers on the third ring. I say, “Are you going to tell me why I can suddenly come back?”

“Terrance violated his parole,” she says. “No big deal, but he’ll be back in jail for a while.”

She’s still lying to me. It’s not a surprise, just disappointing. “Mom, I know Terrance got arrested again.” Silence echoes across the line. “For assaulting the wife of a cop.”

“How do you know that?”

“Are you going to stay with him?”

“This was our fault,” she says. She clears her throat. “My fault. I wasn’t there for him that night. He needed me and I deserted him.”

I roll my eyes. “He chose to ignore the help he was offered,” I say. “Just like Dad.”

She sighs. “He can’t help himself.”

“He’s getting worse.”

“I can’t give up on him,” Mom says. “People deserve second chances.”

“He’s had more than two chances,” I say. Mom sniffs and I wonder if she’s crying. Maybe she realizes she’s lying to herself, too, and doesn’t know how to stop.

But I made a vow to take care of me. “What happens if I come home and Terrance gets released with the same condition as before?”

She says, “We have a new lawyer who may be able to get Terrance a reduced sentence since it’s that woman’s word against his and she hurt him so badly.”