The Fifth Circle (30 page)

S
he’d spun out of my reach again. I killed her father so she could have the freedom to live her life outside of his dark shadow. Now she could do anything she wanted while I sat in jail yearning for the girl who left me behind.

Chapter 31- Alex

As when the fog is vanishing away,

Little by little doth the sight refigure

(Canto XXXI, lines 34 & 35)

“Alex, you have some mail,” my mom said when she came home from work. She shuffled into the kitchen and put her purse on the counter.

“Thanks,” I said, closing the refrigerator and taking the small stack of letters. One was from Family Services. “Can you turn off the oven when the timer goes off? I need to sit down.”

“Sure honey. I told you not to worry about making dinner. You need your rest.”

“I wasn’t on my feet long
. I just threw together a casserole.”

“Well, go sit down and I’ll finish up in here.”

I ripped open the envelope as I entered the living room. My request for monetary assistance had been approved. Now I’d have some money of my own. Amanda said the State probably wouldn’t harass me about getting a job until the baby was at least a couple of years old because if I started working, they’d have to pay for childcare. It was cheaper to pay me to stay home.

The next letter in the stack was from S
aint Louis Community College. I didn’t open it. I’d worry about it once I decided to go to school and that wouldn’t be for a while. The final letter was from Saint Edmunds High School. Maybe it was my official transcript.

I ripped open the envelope and a typed letter fell out. It was from Mr. Chalmers.

Dear Alexandra,

I haven’t received a response to any of the emails I’ve sent; therefore I decided to send a more traditional vehicle of correspondence. I hope you have enjoyed your summer and that you are busy making plans for your future. In case you’ve forgotten about your previous vow to change your life for the better, I’ve included a copy of your essay for your review.

Please do not hesitate to contact
me should you need a letter of reference for employment, or if you require assistance once your college classes begin.

Sincerely,

Edgar Chalmers

I glanced at the copy of my essay with disdain. What was Mr. Chalmers’ problem? Was he a stalker? I hadn’t opened my emails—that’s why I hadn’t responded. Was it inconceivable that someone didn’t check their emails every day?

I’d never pegged Mr. Chalmers as a creeper, but I was clear he had some issues. Maybe he was just lonely and didn’t have anyone to talk to. It probably wouldn’t hurt to send him a quick email later—I didn’t need to tell him that I’d altered my immediate plans, that I’d made the decision to stay home with my baby during his formative years. College could wait.

After dinner, I made my way upstairs and logged on
to my computer. Sure enough, several emails awaited—one for each week since I’d taken my finals. Each letter was nearly identical—a polite wish for my continued well-being followed by an inquiry about my current efforts to improve my life; an offer to help me should the need arise; an attachment of my essay.

Bizarre, but thoughtful.
It was nice of him to remember me. I doubted he made that sort of effort with all his graduating Seniors, but it was uncomfortable being reminded that I’d made promises to myself and quickly broken each one. It was as if he was holding me accountable. I owed him nothing. Or, maybe he was reminding me that I was accountable to myself, that breaking promises—even to me—was an act of dishonesty and cowardice.

I hit the
reply
button and tried to compose a careful response. I didn’t want to admit that I’d done nothing, achieved nothing. The only thing I’d done was set up my life so that I could comfortably continue to do nothing for the next couple of years. Hardly an achievement.

After twenty minutes of typing and deleting prospective responses, I shut down my computer and promised to work on the email later. Of course, I never kept the promises I made to myself, so why would that one be any different?

***

“I’m thinking about taking some classes at the community college.” I helped Callie open her
kiddie meal box while Amanda stared at me in confusion.

The fast food restaurant
was empty of everyone but the elderly and a few stay-at-home moms. Everyone else was either working or at school. Ever since school started back up a couple of weeks ago, I felt adrift. Somehow it was easier to do nothing during the summer because everyone else my age was doing nothing too—tanning, sleeping-in, partying. Now that most of my peers found activities to provide structure to their days, I felt like a loser.

“Why do you want
to go to college?” Amanda asked.

“Well, I’ve always liked school. If I’m not working, I may as well do something.”

“That’s cool, but don’t do it until they make you. If you do it too soon, they’ll expect you to either keep at it, or get a job.” Amanda never did anything without first thinking about how it would affect her benefits, or without considering how the State would view her actions.

“Not now
. I mean, classes have already started. In January,” I said. The baby inside me kicked forcefully. A girl. I’d found out a few weeks ago I was having a daughter.

Callie dipped a chicken nugget in her apple-dipper sauce. Then, she shoved the whole thing in her mouth and washed the concoction down with a gulp of chocolate milk.

“Okay, but that’s too soon. You can’t just start up something like that and then drop out. It looks bad.”

I decided not to push the issue. It wasn’t worth the argument. What could I say? That I intended to finish what I started? I never had in the past. I didn’t trust myself to follow through on anything.

A deluge of chocolate milk came rushing toward me. Grabbing a few napkins, I began cleaning up the sodden mess.

“God dammit, Callie,” Amanda hissed.

“Sawwy,” the toddler replied. “Ou’side?”

“Go. Get out of here.”

Callie struggled to push open the door leading to the playground. She scampered outside and immediately climbed the stairs to the gigantic slide.

“So, Andrew might be moving back in,” Amanda said.

“Really? How did that happen?”

“I ran into him at a party
. He was fucked up and I offered to drive him home. I drove him back to my apartment instead and…”

“Wow.”

“He says he’s gonna quit smoking weed and stuff. He says he wants to be a good father to Callie and the new baby.”

“I hope it works out,” I said, doubtful that it actually would. I didn’t think it was a good omen that he was completely wasted when they hooked up again.

Amanda shrugged and ate a French fry. “We’ll see what happens.”

That was the story of her life—and mine. Waiting, watching, never doing. How long would I wait to see what happened? When would I stop waiting and start making life happen for me? The words I’d written a few weeks ago played in my head. They went round and
round. Like a circle.

***

Susan Droste came over that evening to talk to my mom. It had never occurred to me that she could be that brave. Her hands were trembling and she kept looking over her shoulder, but she was there.

“Hi, Alex. I wanted to speak with your mom if that’s okay.”

“Sure.”

“How are you feeling, sweetie?”

“Good. I’ll go get my mom. Um, you can come in if you want,” I said, stepping back and gesturing toward the living room.

She flinched. It was the place her son killed my father, thus ending both their lives. “I’ll wait out here on the porch if that’s alright.”

My mom’s eyes grew wide when I told her Susan was at the door. She put her book down and heaved herself off the sofa. Mom tucked a few loose strands of mousey brown hair behind her ear and trudged to the door. She exchanged a nervous half-smile with Susan.

“
Ellen, I just wanted to say…”

“You don’t have to…”

“I’m so sorry…”

“It isn’t your fault...”

“I should have seen the signs…”

“There’s a lot of things I should have noticed but didn’t,” my mom said, beginning to cry. “My husband was a good man
, but he was sick. Alcoholism is a disease. Drinking made him do some bad things, but you can’t blame him for it, just like you can’t blame Sean for his mental illness.”

Susan
seemed at a loss for words. She opened her mouth, but shut it again. At last she said, “Alex, please let me know if there’s anything I can do for you or the baby.”

For a moment, I couldn’t speak. I was still reeling from my mother’s declaration.
My husband was a good man
. Was she insane? My father had never done anything good in his entire life. He was evil, cruel, a waste of space. I was glad he was dead—glad there was one less child molester in the world. My face burned with the intensity of the hatred I felt toward my father—and my mother. She was just as bad as he was.

And just like that, I made a de
cision—my mom helped me with her ignorance and her refusal to acknowledge that it was more than a drinking problem that caused my dad to abuse me and Claire. He was flawed, broken, a sociopath. She was his enabler.

I stepped forward, pushing past my mom, and gave
Susan a hug. “I’ll let you know if we need anything. Don’t worry, Susan. I won’t keep your granddaughter away from you. When I come home to visit, you and my mom will be the first people I see. You’re always welcome to come to Columbia. I’m moving in with my sister so she can help me with the baby while I go to college.”

“But, I thought…” my mom trailed off when Susan interrupted her.

“That’s great, Alex. A change of scenery will be good for you,” she said. She cast a quick glance toward my mother and her face hardened into a mask of dislike, but relaxed again when she turned her eyes back to me. “Good for you. I want you to graduate and do something spectacular with your life. Be happy and strong. Give my granddaughter a mom she can be proud of.”

She pulled me into another hug—this time she squeezed me tight. She whispered in my ear, “My son didn’t treat you the way he should have, but I turned my head and looked the other way. I’m sorry for that. Don’t ever let another man push you around.”

“I won’t.”

Susan gave my mom a stilted goodbye. She didn’t apologize again. Maybe she knew my mom played a role in the tragedy of my father’s death—and the tragedy of my life. We were all at fault—each of us played a part. My father played the villain. My mom and Susan each played the enabler
. Sean played the avenger. I played the victim.

I didn’t blame myself for the abuse, only for my continued silence even as Sean began to take over where my father left off. Blame wouldn’t change my life, though. Therefore, I was prepared to let it go.

The most significant day of my life was the day I chose to take responsibility for my own future…

“Alex, I thought you…” my mom’s words trailed away as I climbed the stairs to my bedroom.

The phone rang four times before Claire answered. “What’s up?” she asked.

“Are you still looking for a roommate?”

“Yeah. Why? What’s going on?” She sounded concerned. Maybe she thought Mom kicked me out.

“I just realized something. I’m not mad or anything…well, maybe a little. A lot. Whatever. Mrs. Droste came over to apologize and Mom said it wasn’t Sean’s fault. Just like it wasn’t Dad’s fault he molested us because he was a drunk.”

“She actually said that?”

I tried to repeat my mom’s words exactly as she’d said them, but it was difficult because I was crying so hard.
All the anger I’d held inside—anger directed toward my father, or toward Sean when he’d become abusive and controlling—broke loose and shattered. Shards of rage skittered in different directions, each jagged piece claiming a new owner. Dad, Mom, Sean, Aunt Carrie—each became recipients of my fiery wrath.

“Don’t cry,” Claire sobbed into the phone.

My laughter was forced, but it broke the mood. “I’ll stop blubbering when you do.”

“I’m glad you’re coming to Columbia,” she said.

“Me too, but are you sure I won’t get on your nerves? When the baby comes…”

“I’m sure you
will
get on my nerves,” she said. “We’ll deal with it. Alex, I don’t know how long I’ll be in Columbia. I’m graduating in a year. I just want to help you out for a while, not forever.”

Oh. I thought it would be the two of us against the world, that where she went, I would go. What was the point of going to Columbia if my whole living situation might be changing in a year?

Because Claire was just like Mr. Chalmers. She wanted to give me a hand up. She wanted to help me get over the hump, and once I was on a trajectory toward a positive future, I would have to fly alone. That’s what help was supposed to be about—tossing a pebble in the water to create a new pattern, not jumping in and taking over the whole pond.