North of Beautiful (11 page)

I swallowed hard, seeing my college nest egg disappearing and Williams College spinning even farther out of my reach.

A long pause lulled me into thinking that the discussion was over, but I was wrong. As though the thought were only now occurring to him, Dad languidly spread out the magazine, its pages curling up now.

“You know,” he mused, “I’ve seen run-over deer look better than you.”

Even in my sleep that night, I heard Dad, ranting on and on about the car, about how stupid I was for not being able to control it on the road in any condition. Every word, every accusation chipped away at me until I was nothing at all. When my alarm clock rang, I slammed my hand on the buzzer to shut it up, completely unable to motivate myself out of bed. None of my regular tricks worked, not even the reminder that Erik expected me to have a killer body hiding under my clothes.

What I wanted to do was eat. No, not eat. Gorge. I would inhale waffles slathered with maple syrup. Bacon fried so crispy it broke with a satisfying crunch. Scrambled eggs with blue cheese. Thick slices of bread covered in warm, freshly ground peanut butter.

No wonder Mom found solace in food. I would, too.

But as I headed out of my bedroom, I saw my computer. I didn’t need food, just someone to talk to, and it was too early to call Karin, who slept in every morning that wasn’t a school day. At least I could write to her. She beat me to it though; there was already an e-mail waiting from her.

Hey, Terra,

Guess what? I got into USC!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I know I was complaining that xmas without snow wasn’t xmas at all, but guess what? One of Dad’s weirdo costume contacts told me Entertainment Tonight has summer internships (!!). So guess who’s going to apply?

And this is Karin Mannion, signing out in sunny California . . .

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror across the room as I got up slowly from my desk, wild-haired, red-faced. And green with envy.

Jacob was wrong; I wasn’t a control freak. Just a jealous freak.

Karin, who didn’t need to escape in the first place, had found more than a way out of here, but the fast track I needed. I jerked away from my reflection, flopping back down on my bed. Without thinking, I threw the sheet over my face and winced. Even the weight of soft flannel felt like granules of glass rubbing against my cheek.

I ripped the sheet off and stared up at the ceiling.

Lost sailors studied the stars to pinpoint where they were in the wide blue sea. Dead reckoning, it was their best guesstimate.

Stars or no stars, I knew exactly where I was. Stuck under Dad’s thumb, where I would be forever unless I found a new escape map — and fast. One thing was for certain: I couldn’t stay beholden to Dad’s pursestrings that he wielded as both whip and chain.

Chapter eleven

Mother Map

EVEN FREAKS AND CONTROL FREAKS have to eat at some point. So I threw on my clothes and waited until seven in the morning before venturing downstairs, when I was sure Dad would be holed up in his office, working on his routing algorithm to move people from one place to another with the utmost efficiency. The person he most wanted to define and contain wasn’t in the kitchen, where I’ve always assumed I could find Mom. More troubling, there was no telltale lingering scent of her cooking and baking, as though she had never been here.

“Mom?” I called softly.

I looked in the master bedroom. The bed was neatly made, duvet fluffed, throw pillows tilted at the exact angle Dad liked them. I checked the den, the living room, even the pantry. Back upstairs, I stuck my head in my old alcove-sized bedroom next to the attic. No Mom. Worried now that maybe Dad had done something to her while I slept, I raced down the stairs, flung open Claudius’s bedroom. Still no Mom.

How did I ever think I could go across country to college and leave Mom alone here? I couldn’t. It would never be okay while she stayed with Dad. Who would listen for her when Dad went off on her? Who would make sure his barbs never became physical blows? Who would take care of her when he was done?

There was a thud outside the mudroom. I ran over to throw open the door, found Mom surrounded by freshly cut boughs, mounded high. Her face was flushed pink, and she was panting from exertion.

“Good morning, Terra,” Mom said brightly, wiping the sweat off her cheek. “I was wondering when you’d finally get up.” Her smile dimmed as she scrutinized my face. “Are you feeling okay?” Without waiting for my answer, she was already heading back inside the house, brushing her hands on her pants. “I’ll get you an ice pack.”

“I’m fine, Mom.” I reached out a hand to stop her. “What are you doing with all this?”

“Getting everything ready to make wreaths with Norah.”

Right, I had forgotten. Mom muttered now to herself, counting off on her fingers. Then she shook her head impatiently. “Floral wire! How could I forget that?” She bustled through the mudroom while I gazed at all the greenery, enough for at least four wreaths, maybe five. Mom had already brought out two bags of ornaments, all bought at countless end-of-season close-out sales online. Next to those was a bag of festive holiday ribbons and a cardboard box with wire forms that would be used as the wreaths’ bases — a few square shapes amid a bunch of circles and wire hangers.

“Ready?” Mom asked, tossing a spool of green wire into the box. “They’re expecting us at eight.”

“Mom, it’s only seven.”

“It’ll take at least twenty minutes to load everything in your father’s truck, and then it’s a twenty-minute drive to their hotel.”

“But if we leave now, we’re going to be way too early.”

Her shoulders slumped in disappointment. “Okay.”

I hated Mom’s easy acquiescence, hated how guilty I felt at deflating her that easily. So without a word, I grabbed a heap of pungent evergreens into my arms and trudged to the garage. Some of the needles scratched my chin. Hastily, I lowered my load so they wouldn’t brush my tender cheek.

Mom, for once, held the car keys, and as she opened the trunk for me, she chattered: “You know, Norah with all her traveling here and there for her job just didn’t have time to learn how to make basic crafts. Can you imagine not knowing how to make a simple wreath?”

I could.

What would it be like to fly around the world, be at ease in countries where the customs were as foreign as the languages themselves? Make enough money I could escape to the most expensive resort in town for a week and a half and not worry about the cost? I couldn’t wait to find out. With a grunt, I shoved in the mound of evergreens, made a note to vacuum the trunk later so Dad wouldn’t gripe, and wished I had the foresight to lay a sheet inside to corral most of the pine needles.

As soon as everything was packed, Mom handed me the car keys. “Okay, we should go now.”

My protest died at the apprehensive look she cast over her shoulder as if she expected Dad to thunder out of the mudroom, cut off our escape. That’s what this was. Escape. Now, I couldn’t have been more aware of the empty spot in the garage where our other car should have been parked. But that was at the shop in Leavenworth, more fodder for Dad.

I clambered hurriedly into the driver’s side, adjusted the seat to fit me, and then as I swiveled around to look over my shoulder before I backed out of the garage, I caught sight of my face in the rearview mirror. And winced. I had made it a point not to look at myself when I got up, and for good reason. Overnight, my cheek had swollen to the size of a grapefruit, my bruised face now a battered purple. As far as grooming went, I hadn’t done more than drag a brush through my hair and yank it into a ponytail. Thankfully, I had brushed my teeth, and my sweatshirt, while not newly washed, didn’t smell. Still, God, did I really have to see Jacob looking like this? The problem was, going back inside to change was only courting Dad’s wrath.

The gravel crunched noisily beneath the truck’s wheels. Neither Mom nor I spoke until we were well down the road to town. Even then, Mom clenched her hands in her lap as she stared stoutly out the window.

“You doing okay?” I asked Mom.

“Of course!” she answered brightly.

Our town was deserted this early in the morning. Even the coffee shop had only one car in front of it, instead of the usual five or six crowding every parking space.

“That way,” Mom directed, as though I didn’t know to head over the bridge that spanned the Methow River.

I swallowed my sigh. “So when was the last time you went to River Rock Lodge?” I asked Mom.

“Oh.” She thought hard, her forehead wrinkling with the effort. “Too long to remember.”

“Me, too.” I had been inside the massive lodge only twice, and then only to pick Karin up during her brief stint hostessing in its five-star restaurant. Apparently, Karin wasn’t cut out for the service industry. I didn’t blame her. It was a seven-figure world up there on that mountain, where summers meant lavish weddings and falls saw hour-long cowboy cookouts that cost more to attend than I made in a day at Nest & Egg.

As we drew closer to the mountaintop, I couldn’t help but grip the steering wheel tighter. What the hell was I doing up here? I felt like a country bumpkin, smelling of pine and wearing needles where the boughs had shed on me. I picked one off my chest. When I checked the rearview mirror, the bags jammed with dollar decorations in the backseat could have been mistaken for trash. I breathed out heavily. Norah was probably just being polite about making wreaths with Mom, the way I was when I asked Erik about some new wrestling hold he was mastering, not intending for him to go on. And on.

The main lodge rose before us at the apex of the mountain, a megasized Lincoln Log toy structure. Miraculously, Mom knew where the Fremonts were staying: the private cabins. So I continued past the main lodge and its expanse of wide open snow field. A man in a green parka and jeans waved to us from his small tractor while he groomed the field, laying down fresh cross-country ski tracks for the guests. Beyond the field was a small, but steep, sledding hill.

Even driving as slowly as I could up the mountain, it still wasn’t eight when I parked next to Norah’s sleek Range Rover.

“Maybe we should get some coffee,” I suggested, killing the engine. And then, evil me, I added, “And scones. There’s got to be some kind of café inside. . . .”

For a second, Mom took my bait. She nodded. But as we both got out of the car, a familiar screech, muffled yet distinct, came from the cabin. Trevor was up and that was all the invitation Mom needed. She was at their door, knocking, before I could stop her.

“Mom,” I said.

Too late. The door opened and there was Jacob, hair tousled from sleep, wearing a T-shirt and baggy flannel pants, barefaced as me. Stripped of his Goth accoutrements — all his makeup except for his black nail polish — he couldn’t have been more intimately revealed to me other than being naked. Even clothed as he was, I swallowed hard at the sight of him.

“Hey,” he said, smiling almost as though he had been waiting for me.

Good thing Norah called from the bedroom — “Jacob, you’re letting out all the warm air” — otherwise, I would have kept standing there, my mouth wide open. She padded to the entry in a cute sweatsuit, her hair twisted into a loose knot, somehow managing to appear both comfortable and sophisticated.

“Lois, you’re right on time.” Norah lifted her coffee cup. “Can I interest you in some? It’s my personal blend. I only roast it for a few people at my company.”

“Why?” I asked.

After a thoughtful sip of her coffee she answered me with a question of her own: “Why don’t I pour you a cup, too, and you tell me? Have a seat.”

“Mom,” Jacob groaned. “Don’t test them.”

“You can bring in everything from their car,” she answered sweetly, and then checked to confirm with Mom. “Right?”

I lost track of their interchange when Jacob yawned, stretched. His T-shirt lifted a good couple of inches to reveal nicely muscled abs, not the rock hard, super-defined six-pack that Erik sported. But smooth and hairless and begging for me to run my hands over them. Forget caffeine, I was wide awake now. Jacob caught me gawking. I felt the blush start at my chest, willed it to stay there. His lips quirked into a grin I recognized, black lipstick or not, before he stopped in front of me.

Oh God, now what?

“Keys?” he prompted innocently.

“Oh, right.” I fished them out of the pockets of my jeans, handed them to him. Again, the knowing smile.

“What do you smell?” Norah was asking Mom. She gestured more emphatically at me to join them at the round table in the large living room. “Sniff. And tell me. Use any words to describe it. Sound, colors, anything.”

Coffee, that’s what I smell, I wanted to say, but didn’t dare. Not with Norah watching us so expectantly, her eyes glittering like she had given us a gift. Mom looked perplexed as she sniffed her mug, too.

When neither of us answered, Jacob stopped slipping his feet into his Vans by the front door. “Caramel, nuts, earth, monkey poop . . .”

That made Trevor chortle from where he was sitting atop one of the beds, miniature trucks surrounding his construction site of pillows. He cackled, “Monkey poop!”

“I’m not kidding,” said Jacob, eyeing me mischievously. “Monkeys eat the coffee beans —”

I wanted to gag, pushed my coffee cup away from me. “Too much info, thanks.”

Norah rolled her eyes. “Kopi Luwak beans aren’t in this blend.” She pointed to the door meaningfully as she looked at Jacob.

“I’m going, I’m going,” Jacob said good-naturedly. Of course, he ambled out of the cabin without putting on a jacket. Yes, I noticed. What was it with him and braving the elements without the proper gear?

Mom took a hesitant sip of the coffee. “It’s . . . bright.”

“Yes!” Norah beamed like a teacher with a precocious student. “Exactly. Part of this blend comes from Guatemala, my favorite Central American. The beans there are so complex.”

“Guatemala . . . ,” echoed Mom faintly, and I knew what she was thinking about: Aunt Susannah and how she had died in that country.

“You should see the coffee plantations there.” Norah looked into her dark brew dreamily, missing Mom’s consternation. “Each tribe has their own pattern of woven clothes. Seeing them scattered among the dark green coffee trees is one of the most evocative sights I’ve ever encountered. Ever. For someone who loves interior design, Lois, you would just fall in love with the country, all those colors.”