Something in the Way(43)

       
           



       

"You did the right thing," she said.

Not really. I wasn't sure what the right thing would've been, but it  wasn't that. "Mads had this friend next door, Beth. They had a secret,  not-so-secret hole in the fence they'd use to get to each other's  houses. That's where she was going." She'd run so fast out the back.  Because of me. If I'd known it was the last time I'd see her, I  wouldn't've threatened her that way. She'd surely been as afraid of me  as she was of him in that moment. "My dad and I fought. Took down  everything in the kitchen-the table, dishes, pots and pans." There'd  been so much shit all over the kitchen. Noodles on the linoleum floor  from an overturned pot. I couldn't remember getting scalded, but I'd had  a burn from the water for a while after. Broken dining chairs. Blood on  my knuckles. Everything falling away in a second . . .

"I swear, I would've taken my baseball bat to him if I hadn't heard the screaming."

"Maddy?" she whispered.

Hearing Maddy's name out loud, reliving the moments leading up to it, I  needed to take a breath. I looked out my open window. "My mom. She found  my sister floating face down in the pool. After the autopsy and all  that, we figured she'd slipped while running, fallen in, hit her head on  the way down. She was unconscious long enough-while we were all in the  house . . ."

I didn't dream, but once in a while I had nightmares. Getting Maddy out  of a pool red with her blood, the shock of pulling a cold body out of  warm water. Trying to give life to a stiff mouth. Breathing so hard into  her that I nearly passed out.

"When the cops showed, I was still trying to give Maddy CPR while Mom  sobbed on the ground next to me. But my dad had cleaned himself up and  calmed down. His anger was like that, quick to explode, quick to flame  out. He knew they'd see the bruises on Maddy and my mom and the mess in  the kitchen. He hadn't landed a punch on me, but he was bleeding from a  busted nose. I was the only one unscathed. When the officers asked  what'd happened, he'd explained that I'd snapped. Beat Maddy up and  them, too."

"No." Lake covered her mouth. "He blamed you?"

It was fucked up, but my dad had always been a dick. Aside from the  death, it wasn't the part I still wasn't over. "My mom couldn't speak to  save her life, she was a wreck. But when the officers asked if it was  true, she wouldn't say I didn't do it."

"She let you take the rap?"

"She was afraid if she said no, they'd take my dad away."

Lake readjusted her hold on her knees. "Did they arrest you?"

I sat forward and ran my hands over my face. Every time I thought about  it, it renewed a sliver of my faith in humanity. "They took us both to  the station. I told the cops what'd really happened, and they saw right  through the bullshit. Figured out my mom and dad would rather send me to  juvie than have Dad get in real trouble. Beth's parents vouched for me,  too, said they'd heard our parents arguing a lot and that I'd been good  with the girls." I shook my head. "I wasn't, though. Good. I should've  had him locked up the first time it happened."

"But you must've been a kid. How long had it been going on?"

"All of their marriage, but it didn't happen that often. Something  inside him that was just . . . off." And I had to wonder, how did I know  I didn't have the same thing? I got angry like any man. I tried never  to put myself in a situation where I might test the switch, though.

"What happened to him?"

"My dad? Prison. Hard as it was, I had to go up on the stand and  convince them that he'd hurt us before, even though we'd never filed a  report. My mom wouldn't do it. She tried to get me not to, didn't see  what good it did if Maddy was gone anyway. I didn't see it that way,  though. I wanted the max sentence."

Lake fidgeted with the bracelets on her wrist, kept twisting whatever  was in her hand. "All this happened when you were fifteen?"

"You see why I get so worried? It's not just because of Maddy. I saw and  did a lot of things a kid shouldn't. It changes you. Can't ever go  back."

"I get it," she said softly. "Of course I do. I just can't believe . . . what about your mom?"

"Still in Pasadena. I guess."

"You don't know?"

"I went to live with Dad's sister. My mom was my mom-I loved her. I  tried to protect her. But she picked a monster over me." I finally let  go of the steering wheel, flexing my aching hand. "I couldn't go back  after that. I realized once I moved out, I resented her anyway for  staying with him all that time."                       
       
           



       

"I wouldn't go back, either," Lake said.

It was her way of showing support, but just thinking of Lake in a  situation like that got under my skin. "My aunt was all right. She  didn't forgive my dad like Mom did but she kinda checked out. She was  torn up about Madison and felt bad she hadn't done anything sooner  knowing my dad's temper. So we left each other alone. I couldn't give  her anything. I had nothing."

"Do you still feel that way?"

"Do you?" I asked.

"No. You have something to give, I know it."

I nodded. "I'm going to help others. That's how I'm going to give."

"Because they believed you," she said, piecing it together. "That's why it means so much to you to become an officer."

"One of the cops who'd been there that night, he stopped by my aunt's to  check in on me from time to time. Made sure I stayed on track and  graduated high school. I never met anyone like him before that or since.  Henry's a good man. That's why I want to be a cop. Help people like he  does."

It wasn't exactly a happy ending, but it was something. It was all I  had. Everything else was mistakes and broken relationships and loss.

"I never would've . . ." Lake's voice trembled. "If I'd known, I wouldn't have run off like that."

Without thinking, I put my hand on her knee, covering it and then some.  She was far away, but I could still reach her. "I know. It just reminded  me of everything, you disappearing like that." Her cheeks were wet.  "Please don't. Don't cry."

"But I . . . I love. This. Our . . . you . . ."

I squeezed her leg. I understood Lake and her broken words. She didn't  mean it like she was in love with me. She was trying to say she couldn't  help her tears. Couldn't stop her heart from breaking for Madison. I  loved her for it, too, for a tenderness so altruistic and pure, it  overflowed outside her control. She released her legs and extended the  one I was holding. I slid my hand down to her ankle, slower than I meant  to, appreciating the smoothness of her calf. I wanted to say come here  and wipe her tears. Hold her until she understood she was still safe,  and I wasn't mad. My hand encompassed her ankle. I realized the thing  clamped in her hand was her bra. She was still the young girl I wanted  to protect. No toenail polish. No makeup. Wet hair. Wanting what she  wanted, no price too high. But there was more to her tonight, there  always had been. The look she gave me, as if she could sense me  responding to her small tits and pink mouth. Those gaping shorts.

She was breathing hard again, but not out of fear. Her tears had dried.  She dug her foot between the seats, where I'd shoved the cigarettes, and  nudged the pack out. "You look like you need one."

I wondered if my face was as gray as hers had been a minute ago. She  seemed warm now, loving, but now my hands shook, even the one holding  her ankle. She sat forward without moving her legs and turned up the  stereo.

I recognized the beginning chords of a song before the DJ even  introduced it. ". . . slow things down with a little Sophie B. Hawkins,"  he was saying. "This request goes out from Naomi C. to John M., and I  don't think I have to tell you what Naomi's trying to say. It's right  there in the title."

Lake scooted closer, bending her leg between us. She picked up the pack  and took out a cigarette, studying it. When she went to put it in her  mouth, I caught her wrist.

"I just want to see what it's like."

I let go of her. It wasn't as if she had anything to light it with.

She put it between her lips, rolling them around the butt, then took it out and pretended to blow smoke. "Did I do it right?"

She held it in the "V" of her index and middle fingers like her  sister-of course. She probably didn't know anyone who smoked besides us.  She held it up to my mouth, and I was suddenly aware of my breath  against her fingers. I took the butt between my lips. It tasted sweet.  Sometime between the lake and the car, she'd made herself taste like  watermelon candy.

I wanted it. The smoke, the girl. My vices. But here she was, trying to  be something she thought I wanted. Something I was trying to protect her  from. I took the cigarette, snapped it, tossed it out the window. "I  told you. I'm quitting."