Night Road (12 page)

“Get in,” Jude said with a sigh. “Put on your seatbelts.”

The drive home was utterly silent. When they were all in the entryway, Jude said, “Put Tyler in the media room. He can sleep on the sofa. Now I’m going to bed.” On that, she turned her back on them and walked down the hall. At her bedroom door, she paused, turned back. “Good job for calling,” she said tiredly, and then she went into her room and closed the door.

Mia immediately giggled. Zach shushed her, and they all climbed the stairs to the second floor. Tyler fell a couple of times, yelling out curses. By the time they got him onto the sofa, he was already asleep.

At Mia’s bedroom door, Zach kissed Lexi until she couldn’t think straight, and then left her.

She and Mia crawled into the big king-sized bed. Moonlight spilled through the window, illuminating them.

“Your mom looked pretty pissed tonight,” Lexi said.

“Don’t worry about it. We did the right thing. She wouldn’t want us driving.”

Lexi lay back into the pile of soft pillows, staring up at the dark, peaked ceiling. “About what Zach said … about school…” She didn’t know how to follow that up. The dream was too sharp to handle.

“The thing is…” Mia sighed. “I
want
to go to USC. I actually dream about it. You know? But I’m afraid to go without Zach. I wish I were stronger … but I’m not. I need him with me.”

“I know.”

Mia rolled onto her side and looked at Lexi. “I have a secret. About Tyler and me.” She paused. “We did it.”

Lexi rolled over to face Mia. “It? You did it?”

Mia’s face was so close Lexi could smell the beer on her breath and the floral scent of her shampoo. Her green eyes were bright. “He said he loved me. I know it’s true now.”

“Details!” Lexi said, trying to keep her voice a whisper. As she listened to Mia’s story, Lexi couldn’t help thinking about Zach and how much she loved him, and she wished she hadn’t pushed him away now.

“I guess you’re officially the last virgin in our class,” Mia finally said.

Lexi closed her eyes, feeling strangely adrift, as if she’d missed some boat that everyone else was on. What if Zach only
said
he understood her reluctance? What if someday he just … found someone else to love?

Beside her, Mia started to snore.

Lexi thought about sneaking out of bed and going to Zach’s room. She’d never done that before—she’d promised both Jude and Mia that she wouldn’t do it—and usually it was an easy promise to keep. But tonight, she felt his absence keenly. They had so little time together. It was late December already. No matter what they all said—what they dreamed aloud—they wouldn’t be going to school together. Beginning in September, they would only see one another on breaks. If then.

She closed her eyes and dreamed of Zach, remembering the times on their beach …

“Lexi. LEXI.”

She came awake with a start.

Zach was peering down at her, his blond hair falling forward. “Come with me.”

She took his hand. It was just that simple. He pressed a finger to his lips, said
sshhh
as they tiptoed down the hall toward his room.

She could have stopped him, pulled back as she’d done so many times before, but suddenly all her reasons for holding back felt silly. Whatever he wanted, she wanted. She couldn’t bear the thought that she might lose him. She wanted to be everything to him while she could, so he would keep on loving her.

She followed him up onto his big bed, with its impossibly soft sheets and the airy goose-down pillows. Moonlight spilled through the open window, pooling on the white cotton.

“Here,” he said, handing her a small pink-wrapped box.

“Christmas isn’t for two days. I don’t have your present.”

“We might not have another chance to be alone,” he said.

Her hands were shaking slightly as she opened the box. Inside, on blue velvet, lay a thin silver band with a tiny sapphire chip.

“It’s a promise ring,” he said solemnly. “The lady at the store said it’s what you give the girl you love. It means I want to marry you someday.”

Lexi stared down at it, feeling tears start behind her eyes. He
did
love her. As much as she loved him. When she lifted her gaze, all the love she’d hoarded since childhood was in her eyes. She gave all of it to him, all of herself. “Do you have some condoms?”

“Are you sure this is what you want?” he said. “Because if you aren’t—”

“I’m sure,” she whispered, taking off his shirt. “Love me, Zach. That’s what I want.”

Eight

Jude had very few Christmas memories from her childhood. Here was what she remembered: quiet mornings in the big house on Magnolia Bluff, a fake tree decorated by professionals, a single designer stocking hanging from the mantel. Breakfast had been catered. There had been gift openings, of course—a short, silent affair with Caroline sitting perched on an expensive gilt chair, her foot tapping nervously on the hardwood, while Jude sat cross-legged on the floor. A few solemn thank-yous were passed back and forth, and then the whole ordeal was done. When the last gift was revealed, her mother had practically run for the door.

Once, when her father had been alive, she recalled writing a letter to Santa … but that kind of whimsy had died with her dad.

Jude did things a little differently in her own home. Since motherhood had surprised her with its powerful pull, she’d become a holiday junkie. She decorated from corner to corner, until the entire house looked like a catalog spread. But it was Christmas morning that she really looked forward to, when the family came together, their cheeks creased from sleep, to open presents. In those early morning hours, with her sleepy, grinning children settled around her, she could see the result of her efforts. Her twins would remember these times with fondness.

Now, though, the boxes and papers and bows were put away, and they were at the table, eating their traditional holiday meal—eggs Florentine with fresh fruit and homemade cinnamon rolls.

Last night, in a burst of holiday cheer, snow had come to the Northwest, and the view outside was a gorgeous tableau of white and blue.

Jude had always loved snow days, and when they came for the holidays, it was a double bonus. Today, after brunch, the whole family was going ice skating down at the pond on Miller Road. It would be a good time, she thought, to have a serious talk with the kids about what had happened the other night at the party. It had taken a superhuman effort not to rail at them, but she had managed it. Still, there was some talking to be done, some ground rules for senior year to be reassigned.

She was so deep in imagining how she would conduct this conversation, what she would say to them, that she hardly heard what Zach had just said.

She turned to her son, who was busily buttering one of the cinnamon rolls she’d made. “What did you say?”

Zach grinned. From across the glittering expanse of their formal dining table, with his blond hair messy from sleep, he looked about thirteen years old. “A promise ring.”

Silence fell. Even Miles frowned. His hand paused midreach. “Excuse me?”

Across the table from Zach, Mother straightened. “Excuse me, did you say a ring?”

“It’s really pretty,” Mia said, pulling a frosted bit from her cinnamon roll. She popped it into her mouth. “Mom? Are you having a stroke?”

Jude had to force herself to remain calm. Her son—her not quite eighteen-year-old son—had given his girlfriend a
ring
for Christmas. “And what exactly are you promising Lexi?” She felt Miles lean toward her. His fingers closed around her wrist.

“It means I promise to marry her someday.”

“Oh, look. We’re out of fruit,” Miles said evenly. “Here, Jude. I’ll help you get some more.” Before she could protest—she still felt frozen—he led her out of the dining room and into the big kitchen.

“What the—”

“Shhh,” he said, pulling her behind the fridge. “They’ll hear you.”

“No shit,” she said. “I
want
him to hear me.”

“We can’t come down on him about this.”

“You think it’s okay for our son to give a promise ring to a girl he’s been dating for three months?”

“Of course I don’t. But it’s done, Jude. A fait accompli.”

She pushed his arm away. “Great parenting, Miles. Do nothing. What if we’d found out he was doing heroin?”

“It’s not heroin, Jude,” he said tiredly.

“No. It’s love. Or so he thinks.”

“It
is
love, Jude. You can tell that by looking at the kid.”

“Oh, for God’s sake.”

“I’m not going to have this debate with you. If you want to throw yourself on the sword, go ahead, but don’t expect me to suture you up when you start bleeding.”

“But—”

“Don’t make a mountain out of a molehill. He was in a jewelry store, shopping for a present for his girlfriend, and he got swept away by romance. That’s all. It happens to men, too, unevolved as we are.” He pulled her toward him. “Sadly, our son is an idiot. They should have told us this when he was born. That way we could have lowered our expectations.”

“Don’t you dare make me smile. I’m pissed at him.”

“It’s Christmas,” he said. “Our last one with them living at home.”

“Low blow.”

She let him put his arms around her. “Let’s not ruin this, okay?”

“JoJo, the idiot boy, promises to marry a girl—”

“Someday—”

“—and
I’m
the one who is endangering Christmas.”

“Zach and Lexi are not going to school together, Jude. Stop worrying. This is nothing. I promise you.”

“Fine,” she finally said. “I will keep my opinion to myself.”

“Yeah,” he said, smiling indulgently. “And you’re so good at that.”

Jude sighed. “I’ll try. But I’ll tell you this, Miles. They
better
go to separate schools.”

Moving with an uncustomary stiffness, Jude went back into the great room and returned to her place at the end of the table. Miles held out her chair for her and squeezed her shoulder as she sat down.

The mood had changed. There was no mistaking the sudden quiet. Mia and Zach were both looking at her with the wariness of the guilty.

She managed a tight smile and said, “Don’t you just love it when it snows for Christmas?”

Someone answered—honestly, she barely knew who it was. Perhaps her mother, saying something about the weather.

Jude’s hands were trembling just a little, and if she were a woman who had to worry about her blood pressure, she would have worried now. She understood suddenly why so many of her friends had warned her about the stresses of senior year. It was only December, and already their lives felt out of kilter, as if the warm water that had always buoyed them up had abruptly begun to drain away. There was danger in shallow water, unseen shoals. Like love and parties and children who lied to you.

“I need to return that pink sweater,” Mia said at one point. “It’s way too big. I want to get something to wear to Timmy’s party on Saturday. You want to come to the mall with me, Mom?”

Jude looked up. “Timmy’s party?”

“It’s on Saturday, remember?” Mia said.

“You two are not going to a party on Saturday,” Jude said, stunned that they would even think to ask.

Zach looked up sharply. “You said we could go.”

“That was before you called me, drunk, at one-twenty to come pick you up.”

“You said we should call you,” Zach said. “I
knew
we’d get into trouble for it.”

“You let them go to a party?” her mother said, her carefully arched eyebrows raised. “With alcohol?”

Jude drew a deep breath and exhaled it to stay calm. The last thing she needed now was parenting advice from a woman who’d handled motherhood as if it were radioactive waste. “You did the right thing by calling. I’m glad you did. But you also got drunk, and that’s the wrong thing. We’ve talked about this.”

“We learned our lesson,” Zach said. “We won’t drink again. But—”

“No buts. This is the last week of winter break, and I want to spend it as a family. We’re going to Molly and Tim’s tomorrow, and your grandmother’s gallery is having a special show on Monday night. Ty and Lexi are welcome to come over as much as you want them to, but no party on Saturday.”

Zach started to come out of his chair. Miles put a hand on his son’s shoulder, guided him back down.

“I
knew
it,” Zach muttered, slumping into his seat, scowling.

Jude tried to find a smile again and couldn’t. Maybe God had designed senior year so that mothers like her could let their children leave home. If this kept up, it would be easier than she’d thought.

*

In January, on the last day of winter break, precipitation began as an icy, misting rain but quickly transformed into lacy white flakes that frosted fence posts and telephone wires. Soon, the roads were thick with new snow and red safety cones appeared at the bottom of steep hills. Kids bundled up and went out to sled on the barricaded hills; their moms stood by in groups, talking among themselves and taking pictures.

Lexi and Zach were at her house, snuggled up together in her twin bed. On her bedside table, a scented candle burned brightly, dispelling the slightly damp-smelling air that always came to the mobile home when the windows were shut.

“My aunt will be home soon.”

“Define soon.”

She grinned at him and smacked his arm, then rolled away and got out of bed. “You promised your mom you’d finish your college apps today, and she’s been so pissed off lately, I don’t want to make her mad again. So move it.” She got dressed and headed for the door. She meant to walk right out of her bedroom and go straight to the kitchen table, where the paperwork for college was arranged in neat piles.

At the last minute, she weakened and turned around.

He lay in her bed, naked, her tattered blue comforter across his hips, his bare feet stuck out from the end. His smile worked its magic; she moved toward him. When she got close, he reached up and curled his warm hand around the back of her neck, pulling her down for a kiss. Just before his lips touched hers, she heard him say, “I love you so much.” It took all her willpower not to crawl back in bed with him.

“You’re a sex maniac.”

“Takes one to know one.”

Something about his smile, or the green of his eyes and the love she saw, something caught her then. How could she let him go away to college? Just walk away from her?

“Come on. I want your mom to keep liking me, and I told her I would make sure you finished the USC app today. You know she’s going to check.”

“What if I just missed the deadline?” he said.

“You won’t. Now get your ass up. You need to finish putting everything together.”

“Our last day of break and we have to do stupid shit,” Zach grumbled, throwing the covers back. He saw the way she reacted to his nakedness and he grinned wolfishly, but before he could say anything, Lexi left the bedroom and sat down at the kitchen table.

Zach slid into a seat beside her, propping his elbow on the table. “Lex?”

She looked at him. “What?”

“I want to go wherever you go. Really.”

He leaned forward and kissed her, and she thought about how it would feel to let him go, to say good-bye. It was all well and good for him to say he wanted to be with her, but that was a distant cousin to
going
with her. To be with Lexi, he’d have to stand up to his parents and disappoint Mia, who was more than just a sister. It would never happen, so there was no point dreaming about it.

“Come on,” she finally said. “I don’t want to piss your mom off again. Let’s finish up and get going. Mia says everyone is sledding on Turner Hill.”

*

In February, Zach and Mia turned eighteen. The magic number convinced them that they were adults; suddenly they questioned every rule and restriction. Curfews struck them as irrelevant now, unnecessary. They were constantly testing the limits and wanting more freedom.

As the weather warmed, class parties sprung up like mushrooms on the roadside. Blooming instantly. All it took was a phone call and a fake ID in someone’s hand.
My parents are gone
became the class motto, the equivalent of a clan call. Kids arrived at empty houses or on the beach or in the woods with fifths and six-packs and Baggies of pot. Some parents chose to host the parties themselves, rigorously taking car keys, but if no “cool” parent could be found, well, the party must go on.

The whole scenario had exhausted Jude, worn her to a frazzle. She felt more like a warden than a parent, and the constant battling with her twins about safety and compromise and good choices had weakened her. She no longer believed them when they said they wouldn’t drink. At first she had clamped down, denied them, but that had only driven them to sneak out, which led to more clamping down—and more angry rebellion. Every day felt like a mountain to climb, every night they spent at home a triumph.

On top of all that was the college pressure. It had become a cauldron that held them all, parents and kids; the water was heating up fast. One question was asked over and over:
have you heard?
It was asked mother to mother at Safeway, in line at the post office, or on the ferry.

Honestly, Jude was as nervous as her kids about it.

Even now, on this gorgeous March afternoon, when she should have been gardening, she was standing at the window, staring up the driveway. It was almost three-thirty. The kids had just gotten home from school. They’d torn through the kitchen like locusts and then gone upstairs.