The Waiting Sky (12 page)

19

I
launch out of bed the second I realize I’ve overslept. “Crap,” I mumble, pulling on my work clothes from the day before. My mind is barely functioning, thanks to the late night with Max and Victor. Maybe with some coffee and food, I’ll feel better.

I trot to the breakfast lounge to grab a granola bar and a to-go cup of joe before heading to town. I assume Hallie is on Jersey Street already, probably pushing a broom along the sidewalk, sweeping up debris. Which is why I’m surprised to see her nursing a glass of orange juice at one of the motel tables.

“Jane,” she mumbles, tapping the glass with her fingers. She’s wearing sunglasses indoors. “Yo.”

I get a whiff of booze coming off her. “Are you—hungover?” I ask.

She nods. “In a bad way. Things got pretty wild at the bar last night. You know how it goes.”

Actually, I don’t. “How long were you there?”

Hallie shakes her head, then groans slightly. “Until closing.”

Not wanting to stand there and pepper her with questions, I walk a few feet to the coffeemaker and pour myself a cup. Just to be nice, I get Hallie one too. I bring them both back to her table and sit.

“Are you going to go to Patchy Falls today?” I ask. “To work?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. I mean, I will if I can figure out how to stand up for five minutes without puking. But I was more hoping to talk to Ethan first. Things got a little weird last night.”

I stiffen. “Weird how?”

I can see Hallie’s eyebrows rise from behind her sunglasses. Like she just remembered that Ethan’s not just a fellow chaser—he’s my brother, too.

“Not
weird
weird. Just, you know.”

It needles me that this is the second time Hallie has said “you know.” Like I drink. Like I know what it’s like to get wasted and wake up with a hangover. Like I understand what it means to pound back so much, I let stupid things happen with other people.

“Whatever it is,” I say, “I’m sure Ethan will want to talk about it too.”

“I hope so,” Hallie agrees. “I mean, God, I hope he even remembers. We were both so wasted.”

The coffee turns to ash in my mouth. I have to work to get it down. “Ethan doesn’t drink.”

“He let loose last night,” Hallie says. “And then, I mean, I know he’s your brother and all, but—I figure I’ll just tell you—we made out in my room. I’m sorry if that’s awkward. He’s this amazing guy, and I never thought about him that way before, but now I don’t know. I think I might like him. But I don’t want to act like a dumbass if he doesn’t like me. So I was hoping to feel him out this morning. Not literally of course. Just, I mean, see where he stood on things.” She pushes her orange juice away with a frustrated sigh.

My blood is pounding so hard, I can practically feel it in my fingertips. “You got my brother drunk?” I ask. “Then made out with him?”

Hallie pulls off her sunglasses and stares at me. The skin around her eyes is puffy and irritated. “Excuse me?”

“My brother doesn’t drink,” I say. “Not even a little. So if he was drunk, you must have done that to him.”

“
Done that to him?
Jane, listen to yourself. What are you talking about? You think I forced shots down his throat, then took him back to my room or something?”

“I don’t know,” I say, standing. “But this isn’t a game. We have—
problems
with this stuff in our family. So when I hear about my brother drinking, then doing stupid things, I get worried.”

Hallie stands too. She rubs her temples. “Can we just take a step back for five seconds? Look, I know about your mom, and I understand things are fucked up with her. But that doesn’t mean Ethan can’t have a drink
ever
. And I don’t appreciate you accusing me of ‘doing things’ to him, then also implying that any time he might have spent with me is stupid.”

I clench my fists. I want to punch Hallie in her stupid scientific head if she thinks she understands anything about my mom, or how dangerous alcohol is to Ethan. Or me. The last thing I need is Ethan going off the edge too.

“Stay away from Ethan,” I say, pushing back my chair, “and stay away from me.”

Before she can reply, I march out of the breakfast room, hoping she spends the rest of the day bending over the toilet and throwing up her stupid hungover guts.

* * *

The day improves when I spot Max on Jersey Street. “What, no barn building today?” I ask.

“Hey, you,” he says, leaning against the shovel he’s using to pitch debris into a pile. “I was hoping I might catch you down here.”

“They’ve got you on cleanup duty, huh?” I don’t know how words are even coming out of my mouth, because my brain just wants to focus on the memory of kissing Max last night.

“Glamorous, I know.”

“Things around here look good, though,” I say, and mean it.

“Like a different place, right?” We gaze down Jersey Street together. I stand closer to him—but not too close, in case other chasers are watching us—and take in how much has been done in such a small amount of time. The fallen trees are all but gone, the stray shingles and debris have been picked up, and a blue tarp is already covering the gaping hole in the roof of the Good Shepherd.

“Hope you’ve said your prayers recently,” Max says, “’cuz we’ve all been asked to help out in the House of the Lord after this. From what I hear, the money they raised at
the Pig & Spit last night bought the supplies the
Blisters and Torbros need to clean up their hallowed ground. Though, personally, I’m worr
ied that if they put me on the job, I might burst
into flames the minute I step over the threshold.”

“Why, what have you done that’s been so bad?”

Max grins at me. “The Max Vaughn files are sealed, but I can tell you right now, it’s not as bad as what you’re probably thinking.”

“I’m picturing you helping lost kittens find their way home.”

“Okay,” he says, “it’s a
little
worse than that.”

“Let’s get over to the church, then,” I say. “I’ll keep the fire extinguisher close.”

20

I
definitely don’t expect to see Ethan when I pull open the heavy wooden doors to the sanctuary. After my conversation with Hallie, I figured he’d be as bad off as she is, holed up at the motel and trying to recover.

But to my surprise, he and Mason are just inside the door, carrying buckets of plaster down the aisle. “Heya, Jane!” Ethan says, catching sight of me. “I’d wave, but my hands are a little full.”

“No worries,” I reply, ignoring my urge to run up and ask what in the world went down with Hallie last night. There are just too many people around—not to mention Weather Network cameras.

“Yar, fine day to ye, wench,” Mason says by way of greeting. I look at Max, unsure, exactly, how to explain the talk-like-a-pirate thing. Instead, I just shrug.

“They need help in the sanctuary here,” Ethan calls, mounting the stairs near the front altar, “but if you get bored with that and want to do some heavy lifting, come to the second floor. The damage is worse there.”

“We’ll be on the lookout for scallywags in the crow’s nest!” Mason says, taking the stairs behind Ethan. “Come up—if ye dare!”

I move to follow them both, but stop when I realize I’m standing on the shredded pages of books. It takes me a second to figure out it’s just
one
book. The Good Book. And so many of them were blown to bits in the storm that the entire floor is littered with pages of scripture. I look down and see snippets:

Then Abraham rose from beside his dead wife . . .

Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the Lord your God goes with you . . .

After Jesus was born in Bethlehem in Judea . . .

I stretch out my hand against it to cut off its food supply and send famine upon it . . .

Something about walking on the Bible feels wrong. Like picking flowers in a graveyard. “Um, Max, are you seeing what we’re stepping on?”

“Totally,” says Max. “And I’m legit creeped.”

“If it makes you feel better, you could help put the papers in this trash receptacle.” A plump woman with flower-patterned gloves—I figure her for a church employee—holds out a plastic bag to me, and I take it. “And, if you wanted, you could send your friend upstairs to help the other men,” she says, looking from me to Max.

“Er, okay?” I try to read Max’s expression.

“Sure,” he says to me. “I’ll be with the menfolk doing manly work, and hopefully I’ll see you at lunch when you wear a dress and we talk to each other through a curtain.”

I snort, but the flowered-glove lady doesn’t think it’s funny at all. “We appreciate diligent labor,” she says. “We’re hoping to have services going again by Sunday. Please commit all your efforts here to God.”

I’m not sure, but I think that’s the Good Shepherd’s way of saying work super hard, or else.

With a final wink, Max takes off for the upstairs. The flowered-glove lady leaves, and I begin crumpling thin Bible pages in my hand, one after the other, stuffing them into the garbage bag.

Unfortunately, I don’t get very far before my cell phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out, and when the caller ID says “Mom,” I duck out of the church and hide behind some nearby lilac bushes. I want to be triple sure the Weather Network cameras don’t film or record whatever it is that happens next.

“Hi, Janey. How’s my girl?”

Of course the one time I find the perfect place to talk privately, she sounds fine—like she wasn’t at Larry’s until all hours last night. I stare at leaves made translucent by the sun. “I’m okay. What’s going on?”

“I FedEx’d you something, and it looks like it went to the wrong place. It’s important, so I need the address of where you’re staying right now so I can get it rerouted.”

My mind is racing. What in the world could it be? “Are you in trouble?” I ask.

“No. There’s just some things you need to know.”

My heartbeat speeds up. “So just tell me now.”

“Janey, give me the address already.”

I file through the possibilities of what the FedEx might say. She’s lost her job. She’s depressed. She’s met someone and is getting married.

“Janey,” my mom says after a moment, “don’t sit there trying to figure this out. Just give me the address.”

My hands are shaking. My palms are so slick with sweat, I worry I’m going to drop the phone.

Mom sighs. “I can
hear
you freaking out, you know. The way you’re breathing—you sound like you did that day at Dairy Queen when you thought you ate a cricket.”

“I—I wasn’t expecting a crunch in my ice cream,” I say.

“Janey, it was a
cherry
. In a
sundae
.”

My head is starting to pound. “Mom, you can’t just say you’re going to send me something important and then not tell me what it is. Besides, a FedEx is, like, thirty bucks.”

“Janey,” my mom says. “
Please
.” I’m not used to hearing her plead.

“Fine,” I relent. “We’re at the Palomino Stallion Suites in Clarkstown.”

My mom giggles. “That sounds like the name of a strip club.”

I smile. “It kinda does, doesn’t it?”

“Just don’t let any creepy men try to shove one-dollar bills into your panties.”

“Mom!”

“I sent your envelope to the Days Inn, but they’re going to run it over to you. You’ll have it this afternoon.”

“We were at the Days Inn in the last town,” I say. My smile fades. “You promise me everything is okay?” I ask.

“I promise, baby girl. I promise.”

I close my eyes and want for all the world to believe her.

21

I
step back onto the lawn of the church and stare at its dark, carved entrance. I don’t really feel like going back into the sanctuary and picking up more Bible pages, but I also don’t want to go back to the motel and sit around waiting around for my mom’s FedEx to arrive.

Just then, Ethan bursts out the front of the church, carrying two empty paint cans. He pulls up short when he sees me. “Hey,” he says, “what are you doing out here?”

Ethan’s shirt is soaked with sweat, and there’s a sprinkling of white plaster in his hair that makes it seem like he’s going gray. I want to tell him about Mom’s FedEx, but I’m not sure this is the best time.

“Nothing,” I say. “I’m just taking a quick break before I go back inside to do more cleaning.”

Ethan sets down the paint cans and wipes his forehead with his right forearm. “Never play poker,” he says, pulling a bottle of water from his back pocket and taking a swig. “You’re an easy mark.”

“What?”

“You get this
V
just above your eyebrows. It’s a sign you’re bothered by something.” He caps the bottle. “Care to share?”

I want to rub out the
V
with my palm, but I don’t. Instead, I stare at him and wonder how we got here, with him grilling me for every detail in my life but never giving anything up himself.

“Maybe you should go first,” I say, flashing back to my fight with Hallie. “Maybe you should tell me about how you drink now. Or about how you hooked up with Hallie. Are you throwing ’em back because she can drink, so you figure you might as well too?”

Ethan pales. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“No. Who told you that?”

“Hallie. Straight from the horse’s mouth. You got wasted with her, then hooked up.”

Ethan grabs my arm and pulls me away from the church door. We end up back at the lilac bushes where I’d just taken the call from Mom. “If you’re talking about last night at the Pig & Spit,” Ethan says, his voice low, “then, yes, I had a couple beers. And yes, Hallie and I . . . got close. But it’s none—and I mean
none
—of your business, Jane. You hear me?”

“How is it not my business?” I ask, trying to control the tremble in my voice. “You’re drinking now too, Einstein. Just like Mom. Don’t you get it?”

“Because I had two beers at the Pig & Spit? Now I have a problem?”

“Hallie said you were wasted.”

“Two beers is a lot for me. Was I tipsy? Yeah. Does that mean I’m an alcoholic? No way. I’m careful about this stuff, Jane. You of all people should know that.”

“You still hooked up with Hallie.”

“Not because I was wasted. I
like
Hallie. I’ve liked her for a long time, actually. The moment was right, and I made my move. And not that you need to know
any
of this, but she called me on my cell a few minutes ago, and we talked. We’re going to try things out for real. See where they might head.”

Somehow, this makes me more angry, not less. The idea of Hallie and Ethan as an item feels like I’m getting shoved to the back burner so Ethan can focus on his love life. Not that I need tons of attention—I don’t. But I could use a hand figuring out what to do about Mom. Which means more than just leaving her to fend for herself back in Minnesota, thank you very much.

“Dammit, Jane,” Ethan says, squeezing the bridge of his nose, “I don’t understand what’s gotten into you. You’re running around making a big deal out of things that aren’t, and the things that
are
a big deal you just seem to ignore.”

“Like what?” I snap.

“Going to Al-Anon. Living with me. Seeing a counselor.”

More lists. Inside, the black hole opens again, whispering to me that if Ethan can cut our mom off for not doing what he wants, he’ll cut me off, too. Like Mom said he would. He and Hallie will ride off into the sunset together, abandoning me in some run-down motel room.

“She’s sending me a FedEx, you know,” I say. “I want to see what’s inside before I go doing anything super dramatic.”

“A FedEx? Really? You’re going to put your life on hold for that?”

“You say that like you already know what’s inside.”

“I do,” Ethan says, gazing at the bright sky above us, like the package is there and he can already see it. “It’s a bunch of empty promises.”

“No!” I cry, frustration making my head hurt. “That’s not true. She could write to say she got the Honda fixed. Or come clean about where all the money’s going. Or . . .” I let the words die on my lips. I can tell from the look on Ethan’s face I shouldn’t have said any of that.

“You think the money’s going somewhere besides booze?” There’s a note in his voice that actually sounds like alarm.

“No,” I say, waving the question away. “I just meant—”

Ethan grabs my hands. “
Don’t lie to me.
Where is the money going?”

My anger vanishes. All that’s left is cold fear.

“I don’t know,” I whisper. At least that much is true. “I don’t know where the money’s going. But it’s more than ever. She’d have to be drinking
so
much for all of it to disappear like that.”

Ethan lets go of my hands. “She’s into something worse, then? Meth? Oxy?”

I shake my head, wanting the idea to fly out of my brain, like a dog trying to shake off water after a bath. I don’t know the answer.

I don’t
want
to know the answer.

“Aw, Jesus, Jane,” Ethan says. I stare at the grass, mottled with sunlight and shade. “All this after what happened to Uncle Pete. I don’t get it. You’d think that would have been a
warning
.”

It wasn’t a warning as much as a punishment, I think. My mom used to have Pete over for dinner when Ethan and I were little—but she told him never to come back after he broke into our apartment and stole our DVD player, hawking it for drug money. That was a few years ago, and up until he died, she’d just shake her head when she got a collect call from him. “I’m too busy trying to get by my damn self,” she’d say, slamming the receiver down. “I don’t have time to get taken advantage of.”

When she got the news he’d passed—that he’d
frozen,
shrunken and cold in the back of his car, his frostbitten body black and decaying—she sat on the couch for an entire day sipping whiskey. It was Pete’s favorite, she said, like she was drinking it in his memory, straight out of the bottle.

After that, she blacked out so hard, she was in bed for nineteen hours straight. It was the first time I’d shaken my mom and wondered if she was dead. I remember the stabbing fear I’d felt as I’d gripped her shoulder and rolled her onto her side. My vision narrowed into two tiny pinpricks, focused on her face, pale and greasy and tinged with green. When she groaned and pushed me away, I burst into tears.

“What if I leave Mom and she dies like Uncle Pete?” I mumble the question, almost asking myself.

“Mom’s going to do what Mom’s going to do. Same as Pete.”

“But Mom could have
helped
him.”

Ethan shakes his head. “Uncle Pete didn’t want help. He probably just wanted money. Or another chance to steal stuff for drug money. I don’t know, but I’m guessing that if he was clean and needed food or shelter, he could have found it. It’s not always easy to get those things when you’re homeless, but I’ll tell you, it’s a lot harder when you’re not
sober
.”

We’re quiet for a few minutes until Ethan clears his throat. “I’m sure to you the Pete stuff makes it seem like Mom might meet the same end. It’s hard to think about, I know, but if she decides to go down that road, you can’t stop her.” His straight-lined jaw flexes—like he’s chewing on his next words, softening them before they come out. “Jane, it’s going to kill me if you go back there. I’m not saying that to make you feel guilty. If there’s guilt here, it’s mine. For leaving you with her. But, cripes. Think about this. Mom’s not just losing one war, she’s probably starting a second with a new drug. And she’s about to take you down into the trenches with her.”

His face is lined with pain, and in that second, I wish I could make all Ethan’s hurt go away. The words
I’ll stay
are right there on the tip of my tongue.

I forgive you.

I’ll stay.

Until I remember that there’s a good chance I wouldn’t be here if Ethan hadn’t left Mom and me in the first place. Maybe things would have turned out differently if he’d stuck around. It’s possible Mom wouldn’t be this bad off if she’d just had a little more help. Like Uncle Pete, who, for all we know, could have been trying to get his life back together and we just ignored him.

Besides, what if
I
fall and need help getting back on
my
feet? Would Ethan just leave me, too? Not that I’m looking to get hooked on drugs, but life can get tough in a thousand other ways, and you need people who will stick by you. Even if I move down here, I’m just not sure Ethan will be there for me.

“I just—I should probably get back to work,” I say.

Ethan’s face crumples, and my heart constricts. He’s really trying to help me. But then he takes a breath and nods, like whatever I’m going to do, I’m going to do and he can’t be bothered with it. “Fine by me,” he says.

We stand there for a moment until Ethan walks back to the paint cans by the church’s front door. He picks them up like they weigh a thousand pounds. I watch him carry them to the Dumpster halfway down the block. When he chucks them in, I step out from behind the lilac bush and head in the opposite direction.