The Snowball Effect (2 page)

Grandma Elaine nodded. “You just need to be there. Hold her hand. Tell her it'll be okay.”

I shrugged. “I'll try.”

“I know you will. And I know you'll look after poor little Collin, too. That boy needs a lot of love.”

A few days after she got back to Florida, she had a stroke and died. Obviously I was glad I'd gotten to spend so much time with her before it happened, but who knows how much longer she would have lived if she'd stayed home in Orlando resting and taking care of
herself
instead of flying to freezing cold Baltimore and taking care of my crazy mother.

Mom got worse after we found out about Grandma
Elaine, but it's hard to say if that had anything to do with it. She'd mostly stopped talking to us, so I assumed that she was just still upset over Carl.

I know he was her husband and all, but Mom acted like she didn't have a kid to take care of. Two if you counted me, which I didn't. Her behavior would have been typical of Old Mom, the mom who raised me, who was paranoid and scared and mopey. New Mom, Collin's Mom, just didn't act like that. New Mom had it together. But after Carl and Grandma Elaine died, she'd just sit in Carl's old recliner and cry. I tried telling her it would be okay, but anything I said just made her cry harder.

Fortunately Mabel started coming over all the time to cook for us and talk to Mom. With Carl dead, she and Mom finally had something in common. Before, she'd invite Mom to her Tupperware parties or Basket Bingo night at her church, but Mom always had an excuse not to go (she didn't want to leave Collin with Carl). But a few months after he died, Mom gave up on excuses and let Mabel drag her anywhere.

Mabel thought she would save her. I could have told her that was a waste of time.

 

I didn't want to drive straight to Kara's house. That would have taken about two minutes, and I wanted Mabel to have plenty of time to call and talk to Kara's mom. Instead I went driving around Corben.

I'd lived in Corben my whole life, and it wasn't awful
but it wasn't the greatest place to live, either. In Corben, the coolest place to go on the weekend was the flea market. You could buy anything there—porn, NASCAR memorabilia, bunny rabbits, groceries, furniture. Kids could bring in their report cards and get free BBs for their BB gun for every A they got. I think that says everything you need to know about Corben.

I'd lived in three different houses and three different apartment buildings, and as I drove around Corben, I inadvertently went back to those familiar places. First the apartment where I'd lived briefly with my parents when they were still in love (or at least still together). Then to the house we lived in with Grandma Elaine. The apartment building I lived in with Mom (and, at various times, a Daddy Whoever). The other apartment building we lived in. The house we rented before we moved into the house that we bought.

I made sure that my drive didn't take me anywhere near the house I currently lived in, the house where my mother had just offed herself, the house where police officers might still be hanging around.

The
Corben Courier
did a big story once about how seventy-five percent of Baltimore County's registered sex offenders lived in Corben, like that was shocking news. Where else did they think they would live? Did they think an ex-con pedophile was going to get a high-paying job and afford a half-million-dollar house in the ritzy part of the county? Of course not. He would get a job at a
gas station working for minimum wage, and he'd rent a cheap-ass apartment in Corben.

After Mom starting making more money, transformed from Old Mopey Mom into New Peppy Mom, we did have a choice, but she wanted to be near the people who supported her. For the last few years, Mom had worked as a life coach. She taught workshops out of our house, and she wanted to be near the women in her groups. I knew the women would have followed her anywhere, though.

I drove past the big shopping center on Corben Avenue, close to the beltway, where Riley worked in the auto repair shop. I drove past the mall and then turned into Kara's neighborhood.

When Kara opened the door to let me in, her face was almost as red as her hair. I felt guilty that she'd been crying, even though it wasn't
my
fault that my mom decided to hang herself. Kara had been my best friend since middle school, so she'd known my mom for a while. She was closer to her parents than anyone I'd ever known. After Mabel called, she probably started thinking about what she'd do if she lost both her parents and her grandmother all in the same year.

“I don't want to talk about it,” I said to Kara. I could feel my cell phone vibrating inside my pocket. I checked the caller ID. Riley.

She nodded real quick like she didn't want to talk about it either. She rubbed my arm as I walked inside. I let Riley go to voice mail.

“Hi, Lainey!” Kara's mom said in a fake-happy voice. It rubbed me the wrong way, but I knew that she didn't know how to act. I didn't know how I wanted her to act.

I sat on the couch between Kara and her mom, leaning up against the quilt that Kara's grandmother had made. We didn't say much. We watched TV until her dad got home from work. Then we sat in the kitchen while her dad made chicken parmesan for dinner. I pushed my mom—my entire family—out of my mind and listened to Kara's dad talk about his day.

“So this woman comes in, asking about some rugs that she ordered. The girl at the counter tells her we have no record of it. She gets pissed—pardon my French, Lainey—and she wants to talk to a manager. So I come out and look it up, and I can't find any record of it either. That really sets her off. She tells me I'm incompetent. Tells me she's never shopping here again. On and on and on. Finally, I tell her we'll go in the back and look for them. I can still hear her screaming and hollering as I'm walking into the back room. Of course the rugs aren't back there, and when I come back out, the woman's gone.”

Kara's dad stopped and opened a can of green beans. He took his time emptying them into a pot. He never told a whole story straight through. He always stopped and waited for one of them to ask how it ended.

“Then what happened?” Kara's mom asked.

He tossed the empty can into the trash and smiled at us. “About five minutes later, she
calls
. She asks if I'm
the manager she was just talking to and I say yes. So she tells me that she actually ordered the rugs at Masterson's down the road. But she wasn't calling to apologize for screaming at us.” He shook his head. “No, of course not. She tells me that she actually ordered the rugs at a different store, and then says to me, ‘I can't believe you all didn't know that!'”

“Like you could possibly know that!” Kara exclaimed. She and her mother laughed.

“Exactly!” her dad said. “Exactly!”

I couldn't make myself laugh, but I forced a smile.

After a while, dinner was ready and we all sat down and held hands and Kara's dad said grace. If someone took a picture of that moment, we could have passed for a family, sitting around the table in the happy orange and yellow kitchen. Kara's dad had dark hair and brown eyes like me, and except for the flaming red hair, Kara looked just like her mom. She could be the sweet but slightly rebellious younger daughter. I could be the lovably sarcastic older daughter. It certainly made for a nicer family portrait than the picture Mabel had taken of my real family on the day of Collin's graduation. Maybe I'd just stay here with Kara forever. Or at least until she moved out.

“…and God bless Lainey and her family. Please hold them near to you and help them through this troubling time. Amen.”

Kara's dad squeezed my hand and gave me half a grin. “We love you, kiddo,” he said. And that was that. That was
the closest anyone came to mentioning my dead mother.

After dinner Kara went to her room to take a nap before work. I sat on the couch with her parents and we watched the news. I hated the news. It was just a daily count of murders and scandals and four-alarm fires. But once I'd sat on the couch between Kara's parents, I couldn't find any way to extricate myself, so I tried to think about other things. My mind wandered to Riley. But then I remembered that I hadn't called him. I still didn't really feel like talking to him. Or anyone else.

“I'm going to do the dishes,” I announced during the first commercial break.

“Oh no, sweetie,” Kara's mom said. “I'll take care of that later.”

“It's the least I can do,” I said. “To thank you for dinner.”

“You don't have to thank us,” Kara's dad said.

I motioned toward the TV. “I just can't…it depresses me. Everyone…dying.”

Kara's mom frowned and looked at her husband. That, right there, was the Poor Lainey face. They both looked so sad for me. Like their hearts were just breaking in half for Poor Lainey Pike.

“Please don't feel sorry for me,” I mumbled. “I just want to do the dishes. I like to wash dishes. Ask—” I trailed off. I'd almost said, “Ask my mom.” When I was aggravated or annoyed, I went straight to the kitchen sink, because for some reason, washing the dishes relaxed me.

Kara's parents were still staring up at me. “Ask Kara,”
I said, although that didn't make sense, because Kara didn't know I loved to wash dishes.

I went into the kitchen and turned on the faucet. A few minutes later, Kara's dad came into the kitchen and grabbed a towel. “I'll dry,” he said. He picked up a plate out of the rack.

“I really do like washing dishes,” I said after a minute.

He nodded. “I've always been fond of mowing the lawn when I need some time to think about things.”

I shook my head. “I don't really want to think about things.”

He nodded again. “Understandable.”

As much as I didn't want to think about anything, I couldn't shut my brain off. I thought about Riley again, just to have something occupying my mind. I wondered what I'd do if Riley died. Would I feel like I'd never be able to love anyone again? Would I feel like he'd been my last chance to be happy? How long would it take before I felt normal again, like I could live without him?

No
, I told myself.
Stop. You're not going to pretend it makes sense. You're not going to make excuses for her.

And then I guess I started crying. Kara's dad dried a few more plates before he noticed. Then he muttered, “Oh, kiddo. Hold on.” He dropped the towel on the counter and then disappeared into the living room. I stared down at the soapy water in the sink. I closed my eyes and remembered the way Kara's parents had looked at me. I remembered the same look on the faces
of Mabel and her pastor.
Poor Lainey
.

Kara's mom walked into the kitchen. “Honey,” she said. She touched my shoulder. I let go of the dishrag and she pulled me into a hug. We stood there together in front of the kitchen sink, and I cried into Kara's mom's shoulder. My hands were soapy, and I knew I'd gotten the back of her shirt wet, but she didn't say anything. She just held me.

When it started to feel awkward, I pulled away and asked if I could take a shower. She went into Kara's room and found me some clothes to change into—a T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants that I knew were going to be too tight, but I took them and thanked her.

I checked my cell phone on my way to the bathroom. I had nine missed calls—a combination of Riley, Mabel, my dad, and a Florida number that I first thought was Grandma Elaine and then realized had to be my aunt Liz. I listened to the messages, and they were all generic “I'm worried, please call,” messages. I'd call Mabel and Riley back later. Maybe even Aunt Liz. But not Dad. No friggin' way.

I couldn't believe he thought he could step in and play hero now. Every time I'd ever needed him when I was a kid, he'd let me down. Every time I'd asked for something, he couldn't give it to me.

Honestly, I'd never gotten over our visit to Chuck E. Cheese's when I was seven. I hardly knew my father then, because his visits were as sporadic as the child support
checks. But even though I barely knew him, I asked him if I could move in with him.

“Honey, you know you have to live with your mommy,” he said.

“I don't want to!” I started crying. “I don't want to live with Mommy and Daddy Steve anymore. I want to live with you.”

“Does she make you call him that?” Dad asked.

I nodded. She always made me call all her boyfriends Daddy whoever.

“Don't call him that anymore. From now on, call him Asshole.”

I cried harder and shook my head. “That's a bad word.”

“I'm your father, okay?” He pointed his thumb at his chest. “This is the only Daddy you're ever going to have.”

“Then please let me live with you. Or take me to Grandma Elaine's house in Florida. Please, please, please?”

Surrounded by pizza and games and a ball pit—a little kid's paradise—and I was miserable. You'd think that would have told Dad something about my home life.

“Baby, it's not up to me,” he said. “Come on, finish your pizza.”

So, no, I wasn't going to call him back. I wasn't going to ask for his help. I didn't need him anymore. Didn't want him. And hopefully no one would force me to live
with him. I'd be an official adult in less than a month anyway.

When I stepped into the shower, I waited for the tears to come back, but they didn't. Alone, without people staring and feeling sorry for me, I felt fine. I dried my hair and then went back to the living room. Kara's parents had gone to bed. Kara came out of her room wearing her work apron. “Go to work with me?” she asked. I nodded.

 

Kara worked at the diner right off the interstate, not in Corben but in Baltimore City, with the super-big parking lot where truckers could park their tractor-trailers. No one we knew really hung out at the diner until after Kara started working there.