House Broken (10 page)

ELLA

F
resh air is grossly overrated. And “fresh” is apparently synonymous with “arctic.” Dinner was two hours ago and Ella's hands were still numb. And she hadn't come close to finishing her homework. She spent some time fooling around on the guitar, then dug in a pile of clothes for something clean to wear to school tomorrow, and thought it would be really helpful if her mom did her laundry like she used to. Afterward, she wrote a half-assed outline for her paper on
Pride and Prejudice
and did the problem set for math. Not a single stupid answer matched the ones in the back of the book. How did she ever end up in the second-hardest math track? Oh, wait, let's take a wild guess. Her mom. Well, she was way too tired to figure out where she went wrong in those problems. She'd just do what she always did: Wait for Mr. Ryan to go through them in class.
Everything would be so crystal-fucking-clear she'd wonder how the hell she hadn't breezed through them the first time. Then she'd go home, start another set, and discover the symbols were, in fact, hierofuckingglyphics and she wasn't a goddamn Egyptian scribe.

Her mood was tanking, so she lay on the floor and watched the words float on the ocean for a while. Sometimes they energized her and other times they put her to sleep. Today she just hoped they'd stop her from screaming out loud. Maybe she was PMSing. What day was it? If it wasn't PMS, then she was having a nervous breakdown.

Her stomach felt gross from mainlining that burger. Family dinner. As if everyone was thrilled to hang out together. The whole thing was so contrived, like her mom read a magazine article: “Teenagers from families that sit down to eat dinner together at least four times weekly are 56 percent less likely to use illegal drugs and 62 percent less likely to have an unwanted pregnancy.” What it doesn't mention is that teenagers who eat with their families are so convinced their parents are completely batshit, they'd do anything not to become parents themselves, including never having sex.

Her mom was the most annoying, for sure, but Prince Charles was second place and gunning for the lead. Who the hell did he think he was, yanking her chain about Marcus? Wait until she found the right moment to tell their parents the Prince wasn't such a prince. And not just the porno mags, although she still couldn't get over how nasty that was. After school yesterday she'd run into Charlie at the bagel shop in town. He was with Spencer and two seniors she knew were not just stoners but did meth and E and God knew what else. Nice friends. And guess what. The Prince was totally out of it. Spencer was practically propping him up. When he saw her he tried to be super cool, but couldn't pull it off
because, for one thing, his eyes wouldn't focus. One of these days, when Ella didn't feel like killing him, she'd give him a sisterly lecture about how druggies always turn out to be big failures and that he shouldn't be such a moron. A little discreet weed was one thing, but pills? And meth? And lots of cool kids didn't do drugs at all. Like Marcus. At least that's what she'd heard.

Ella rolled onto her side and curled into a ball. Marcus. As if he would ever be interested in her. Dream on, loser. Maybe if she got a boob job and a personality transplant. Honored guest at her pity party, for one.

Hold on a sec. How the hell did the Prince know about Marcus? It wasn't like she walked around with a giant torch emblazoned with his name. The only person in the entire world who knew was Megan, and she knew for a fact Megan would never tell anyone. Ella wasn't sure of many things these days, but she and Megan had each other's back 100 percent. So how the fuck did Prince Charlie find out about Marcus? Was she that obvious with her nonobvious stares at him? Did everyone at school know?

The thought made her want to puke. And smash something. Maybe smash something, then puke on it.

A knock at the door.

“Ella?”

Her mom.

No, no, no. “I'm really busy.”

“This'll only take a sec.”

She got up and yanked the door open. Her mom had her planner open. Who the hell uses a planner anymore?

“I wanted to remind you that your last SAT prep class is on Saturday at two.”

“I'm not going.”

“But it's your last one.”

“And now we know the last one was my last one.”

Her mom looked like she was going to stomp her feet. “It's important, Ella.”

“To you. So you go.”

“That's not helpful.”

“Here.” She picked a prep book from her desk and thrust it at her mom. “I'm sure you'll think it's a beach read.”

Her mom did that yoga thing with her shoulders that drove Ella nuts. “Do you have a specific reason for not wanting to attend the class?”

“I have a conflict.”

“But I gave you these dates ages ago. Remember the stickie?”

Fuck the stickie. “I'm not going.”

“Can we sit and talk about it?”

“No.” She started to close the door. “Bye, Mom.”

“Ella, really. Please be reasonable.” She put her hand on the door handle.

“I've got a poetry slam. That's my conflict.”

“Poetry doesn't trump SAT prep.”

Ella pushed on the door. Her mom, who was super strong, resisted. Ella's face got hot and her head nearly exploded. Her mom was all cool and collected, which made her more furious. She pulled on the door to give it a good slam, but her mom saw it coming and took a step in.

“What's wrong?”

Ella backed away. Her skin prickled and her lungs shrank up until she thought she would pass out. Instead of getting out of her fucking room, her fucking life, her mom took a couple more steps toward her. It was too goddamn much.

“Get out! Get out of my room!”

“Please don't shout.”

“Stop it! Just stop it!”

“Stop what? What am I doing?”

“Telling me what to do! I'm not a baby! I don't want you telling me what to do!”

Her mom stepped back and held the planner up like she could ward off evil forces with it. “I'm only trying . . .”

“I don't give a shit what you're trying to do! Just leave me alone! Leave me alone! I hate you!” She ran at her mom battering-ram style but at the last second threw herself on the floor.

“What's going on?” Her dad's voice.

Tears came out of nowhere. She buried her head in her arms to block out everything. “Dad, make her leave. Please make her leave.”

The door closed. When she opened her eyes, the wordstorm was blurry and spinning.

• • •

It took forever to calm down. She listened to some music but crying had given her bad hiccups and they hurt. She didn't normally risk getting high when her parents were home, but she was desperate. A couple of tokes later, her hiccups had stopped and she didn't give a shit about her mother anymore. She doodled in her poetry notebook while she waited for the orange spray to get less intense, then went to have a shower. She was running the water to heat it up when a loud thud came from the Prince's room, where Nana was staying.

She turned off the water. “Nana?”

Footsteps down the hall from her parents' room. Her mom's
voice came from the Prince's room. “Tom! Can you give me a hand?”

Ella wrapped a towel around herself and stuck her head out the door. She heard Nana say what sounded like “I'm fine. I'm fine.”

Her dad whooshed by.

“Is Nana . . . ?”

Too late. He was already in the room with Nana and her mom. Low voices, shuffling, then Nana said, loud and clear, “I'm fine!”

She closed the door. A minute later, her parents passed by.

“Tom, I swear to God she's been drinking.”

“Now, Geneva, just because she slipped . . .”

“Because she's drunk! I don't know how, but she is.”

“Did you smell alcohol?”

“No, but . . .”

“And, what? She's got a still in her room?”

“Don't put it past her.”

They kept arguing and yelling in the kitchen. Her mom sounded like a paranoid freak. Ella could see why her dad didn't buy her story. But she also knew the Prince and Nana were up to something—and her mom might be right. If her mom wasn't such a tool, she could almost feel sorry for her.

GENEVA

T
om, Geneva, and Helen stopped at Juliana's on their way to yet another Novak family celebration—Tom's father's birthday. Tom had offered to fix his sister's sticky kitchen door. Helen said she'd stay in the car if it was only going be a short while.

When they pulled in, Juliana was making room under the hood of her VW Bug for party food. She always made an array of side dishes to balance the barbecue fetish of the Novak men.

“Jon went for a run so he's showering,” she said. “He should be ready in a minute.”

Tom lifted his toolbox out of the rear of the car. “So long as we're there on time. You know Mom.”

“I know, I know. Says she's Czech, but I swear to God she's Swiss.”

Geneva followed Tom into the kitchen. “Where's Aldo?”

“In the backyard, I guess.”

She moved containers from the refrigerator to the counter, in preparation for carrying them out to the car, and watched her husband work. He opened and closed the kitchen door a few times and examined the problem spots, running his hand over the wood as if the remedy were written upon it in Braille. The sight of his efficient, graceful movements and the serene look on his face amazed her. She would be afraid to take tools to an object as permanent as a door. He would find this amusing, given her willingness to cut open and repair living bodies, but it was nevertheless true.

He said, “Ella seemed okay this morning about going to the prep class.”

“Yes, she did. I'm just grateful for the absence of screaming.”

“That was almost a week ago.”

“Feels like only yesterday.”

“I'm pretty sure some conflict's perfectly normal. From what I can remember, Juliana did battle with my mom nearly every day.”

“Maybe you're right.” But Geneva wasn't convinced. Fighting with Ella didn't feel normal. It felt terrible, like fighting with herself. Whatever was going on, there had to be a better way to cope. She didn't understand how such a quiet, easy child had morphed into a volatile young woman. As a medical professional, she knew hormones were potent chemicals, and that Ella's control over her actions might be limited. As a mother, and as a person, she wasn't looking forward to years of unpredictable behavior and conflict. It hurt too much.

She watched Tom dig through his toolbox. “Missing something?”

“A hammer, of all things.”

“I can check the garage.”

“Great. I'll spray the pins in the meantime.”

She thought about Ella as she headed through the living room and into the garage, dark except for a strip of light at the bottom of the garage door. She reached for the light switch on the wall to her left. A loud bark startled her. Before she could back up and shut the door, Aldo appeared from around the corner. In a single bound, he flew through the doorway as she stepped aside. The dog's shoulder hit her thigh, knocking her over.

“Tom!” she shouted, and scrambled to her feet.

But Aldo veered away from the kitchen and bounded down the short hall that led to the bedrooms.

Hearing the commotion, Juliana rushed through the front door. “Aldo!”

Tom appeared from the kitchen, glanced at Geneva, and ran down the hall after the dog. Juliana and Geneva followed.

Geneva gasped. The bedroom door was ajar. The dog plowed into the room without slowing.

“Jon! Watch out!” Juliana shouted.

As Tom reached the open door, Geneva heard Aldo snarl. Jon shouted for help. Geneva stepped into the bedroom in time to see the dog knock Jon backward onto the bed. Jon, shirtless, threw his arm in front of his face and lifted his legs to kick, but Aldo lunged forward, jaws wide, and bit down on his arm. Jon cried out and tried to pull his arm away, but the dog's jaw had locked. With his hind legs braced against the floor, Aldo pinned Jon to the bed.

Juliana screamed, “Aldo! Stop!”

Tom stepped forward and made a grab for Aldo's collar.

Geneva cried, “No! Don't!”

In one lightning movement, Aldo released Jon's arm, whipped his head around, and snapped. Tom jumped away and grabbed his forearm, swearing. Jon rolled quickly onto his side, smearing blood across the bed, and covered his head with his arms. The dog, wild-eyed and snarling, pulled back for an instant, then pounced on Jon again, ripping into his shoulder.

Jon cried out in pain. “Get him off me!”

Tom lifted his hand from his forearm. Blood from two long gashes dripped to the floor.

Geneva, heart racing, scanned the room. A broom, a lamp, anything. Her eyes fell on the small deck beyond sliding glass doors to her left. She rushed over and yanked sideways on the door handle. Locked. She flipped the lever below the handle and flung the door open. A quick sprint across the deck; then she jumped onto the lawn and found what she hoped for—a hose. She picked up the nozzle and opened the faucet. As she ran toward the bedroom, the hose caught on the edge of the deck. She grabbed a loop, whipped it in an arc and jerked it free.

She reached the doorway. Aldo still had Jon's shoulder in his jaws, oblivious to Tom's kicks to his haunches. Through the open door, Geneva shot a stream of water at Aldo's head.

The dog yelped and leaped off the bed. She kept the hose trained on his head. Aldo stumbled against Tom's legs and snarled. Water bounced off him in all directions. He flung his head from side to side and snapped at the spray.

“Get away from the door!” Geneva yelled.

Tom vaulted sideways past the end of the bed and Juliana quickly backed away, leaving a clear path to the hallway.

Geneva stepped from the deck into the bedroom and hoped she would not run out of hose. Aldo stood broadside to her,
unwilling to give up ground even though he could not turn his face into the water. He no longer snarled, but his tail was rigid and his hackles were raised. She turned the hose onto his flank. The dog yelped and lurched away, bouncing off the doorframe. His paws slipped on the wet wood floor; then he regained his balance and skittered down the hall. Geneva released the lever, stopping the stream, and dropped the hose on the floor.

Tom ran across the sodden carpet and slammed the bedroom door. “Jesus Christ.”

Juliana stood frozen against the wall. On the bed, Jon moaned and peeked out from under his arm. “Is he gone?”

“Yes. It's okay now.” Geneva knelt on the bed and tried to gauge the seriousness of his shoulder wound. Several deep puncture wounds and plenty of blood, but not enough to suggest a major artery. “Let me see your arm, okay?”

He gingerly turned onto his back. His face was ashen, and splattered red. Blood poured out from under a six-inch flap of skin on his forearm. Geneva yanked a pillowcase off a pillow, wrapped it around Jon's arm and held it firmly to stem the bleeding. “Who's got a cell phone? Someone call nine-one-one. Juliana, any first-aid supplies in this bathroom?”

Her voice trembled. “I think so.”

“Go get them.” Juliana didn't move. “Now!” Geneva reached for the edge of the comforter and pulled it over Jon's legs, then looked up at Tom, who watched her minister to Jon. “Are you okay? Can you put pressure on it? There's a towel over there.”

“It's not too bad.” He wrapped the towel around his left arm and pressed it against his stomach. “The hospital's only a couple of miles away. It'd be faster just to take him. Unless you don't think it's a good idea for us to move him.”

She put her hand on Jon's neck to take his pulse. “I don't think he's shocky. Jon, we're going to take you to the car, okay?”

He raised his head a little and nodded. “Okay. But isn't that fucking dog loose in the house?”

Juliana came in and handed Geneva an emergency kit. “This is all I've got. Should I go find Aldo and put him in the garage?”

Out on the street, a car horn blared three times. A bolt of fear shot through Geneva.

“Tom! That's Mom! The front door is open!”

He threw the bedroom door open and ran out. Juliana followed. A minute later, he returned, panting.

“She was leaning on the horn because she's pissed off we left her alone. She saw Aldo take off down the street. Juliana went to find him.”

“Tom, can you let Jon lean against you so I can bandage him?” With practiced movements, Geneva wrapped gauze around the wounds. Blood oozed through the layers. Together, she and Tom helped him up and headed down the hall.

“Watch the wet floor,” she said.

• • •

Geneva drove.

Tom pulled out his phone. “What should I say to Charlie and Ella?” After her prep class, Ella was picking her brother up from batting practice and then going to the party.

“Just say we'll be late. That way your parents will have the kids there anyway. We can explain everything later.”

“Sounds good.” He sent the message, then read aloud a text from Juliana saying she'd found Aldo.

“She needs to put that dog down,” Helen said.

Jon said, “I'd help.”

“Once they taste human flesh, that's it.”

A grim silence hung in the air.

Geneva felt Tom's eyes on her. “What's the law say, Geneva?”

“I'm obliged to file a report, as is the doctor who will treat you. And the dog must be quarantined for thirty days.”

“Even if it's had its shots?”

“Yes.”

“Anything required after that?”

“The right decision.”

• • •

Geneva waited with Helen in the waiting room of the Novato Community Hospital while the men received treatment. Her mother repeatedly asked her how long it would take and whether they might still make the party. The prospect of access to alcohol made Helen dogged.

“Mom, I know why you want to go. Even if I condoned it, I'm not about to leave here before Tom and Jon are ready.”

“Maybe Ella could swing by. It must be on her way.”

“Not really. And I'm not comfortable with her driving unfamiliar routes.”

“You're too protective.”

And she had been overly concerned about Aldo. “I haven't been able to reach Ella anyway. She's not answering my texts.”

“Because she's driving! Let me text Charlie.”

“For God's sake, Mom! Leave it alone!”

Several people in the waiting room turned to look at them.

Helen leaned over and lowered her voice. “You've got no cause to shout at me and attract attention. It's embarrassing.”

Geneva hadn't meant to raise her voice. But before she could apologize, Helen said, loudly enough for everyone to hear, “And it's perfectly reasonable for me to want to get out and socialize. You've kept me cooped up for too long.” She gestured at her walker and her leg. “You think it's easy being laid up like this?”

An elderly woman seated nearby leaned forward and scowled at Geneva.

She pictured walking out of the hospital, leaving her mother behind. She would get in her car and drive away. Perhaps she'd stop by the house, pick up Diesel, and go for a quiet walk at the marsh. Afterward she'd sit outside her favorite café and read a book, Diesel at her feet.

Her mother's voice pulled her out of her reverie. “Are you ignoring me?”

“Not intentionally, Mom. It's been a very stressful day.”

Helen smiled but her eyes did not. “Well, you didn't get bit, did you?”

• • •

After they took Jon home and made sure he had everything he needed, Geneva hoped Tom would want to go home, as she did. But his father had never had a birthday without all of his children present, and Tom refused to be the first to break tradition.

“My arm is fine,” he told her. “I'm fine.”

She acquiesced, mostly because she lacked the energy to disagree. She also wanted to see her children. As terrible as Aldo's attack on Jon had been, at least Ella and Charlie had been far
from the action, unlike during the sausage incident. Geneva counted on her children to return her attention to normal things, such as batting practice and the uselessness of SAT prep class. A crisis like today's certainly put things in perspective.

Their decision to attend the party delighted Helen. And Geneva decided she didn't care if her mother had a drink or two that evening. She had had enough of fending off disaster for one day.