Outcast (26 page)

“We need to get you home.”

I took the last of her drink from her and placed it on my side of the table. I beckoned the waiter for the bill, wrangling P’s wallet and credit card to pay for her binge. Aunt P continued to wallow in her sadness. Frankly, I considered Doug’s absence a blessing. It was unfortunate that in order to accomplish that he had to hop into Becca’s life instead.

“Want one?” I offered a Camel to Aunt P, thinking it might calm her down. She refused.

When the waiter returned to the table with the slip, she drew a line representing her signature, and I helped her out of the restaurant. Families and couples stared as she leaned on me for support. She collided with the table corners, teetering soft drink glasses and upsetting dinner plates.

“You’re a good kid, Noelle. You deserve so much better than to work in that greasy spoon.”

We finally made it to her parking space. She was drunk, so there was no way she was driving. I had no other choice but to take her home myself. After all, I did pass Driver’s Ed.

Driving on the road proved more difficult than I realized. There was so much to pay attention to. It didn’t help having P yapping the whole way, playing backseat driver in her drunken stupor. I managed, by the grace of God, to make it to her house safely. By the time I had pulled her Mercedes into the garage, she was fast asleep in the passenger’s seat.

I needed to get myself back to the mall before ten-thirty. I considered taking the Mercedes, but there were a number of problems with that plan. The most obvious was that my aunt was still in the front seat. I thought I should call my mother and tell her the truth about the evening, but Aunt P had already been brutalized enough for one evening. Then I thought of Cassie. I only hoped that she was home.

It was nine-thirty by the time Cassie arrived.

I still had an hour before I needed to be back at the mall. Cassie and I decided to waste some time in the darkened corners of the
Civic
Center
area. Tucked in our own secure corner, we smoked cigarettes as I recounted the evening to her. 

“I say losing that job calls for a celebration.”

Cassie opened her purse and removed an envelope. In her other hand she held a pipe that resembled a totem. She packed the weed into the cylinder and lit it, taking a drag. While the smoke filtered through her lungs and wallowed in her throat, she closed her eyes, finally exhaling after several moments. It smelled like burning kindling from a campfire.

“Take a hit.” She extended it to me.

“I don’t think so.”

“You’ll fall in love with it.”

I hesitated, then took it from her and inhaled. After all, it had been a pretty bad night. The smoke attacked my nasal passages and stung my throat. 

It took us fifteen minutes to finish it off. We decided to walk around the park. By that time, I felt thirsty and famished, totally craving a Mean Jean’s chili dog and a large soda.

We passed one of the gift shops along the perimeter of the center. In the window sat a sculpture of a man and woman enveloped in a kiss. I instantly thought of
Chad
. I possessed a strong urge to see him, to be wrapped in his arms, to be meshed with his lips.

“I should drive you back to the mall now,” Cassie preempted my thoughts.

“Take me somewhere else,” I said more to the sculpture than to her.

I lost track of time when Cassie dropped me off. I also misplaced all responsibility. I knew I needed to be at the mall to meet my father, but I felt driven by desire rather than duty. The weed removed all culpability and fear of repercussion from me that night.

I stood in the well-manicured yard, weighing whether to go to the door or to the window. I chose the window. It was on the first floor, providing easy access. The light was on. I knew he was inside. I tapped lightly on the glass, then a little harder, not realizing the force of my knock. He was there all right, and he opened it up.

“Noelle? What…?”

I only wanted to think of positive things, not negative ones like my father worrying over the fact that I was a missing person.

“Can I come in?”

He helped me inside his room—a place I had only been a few times before. He wore boxers, no shirt. Clothes littered the floor and car magazines dusted the bedside and the desk where homework normally lay. On the wall, a picture of a red Ferrari covered the place where a poster of a half-naked
Sports Illustrated
supermodel once resided. Faithful, reliable
Chad
. 

“Are you okay? You look a little … strange.”

Instead of answering him with words, I placed my hand on his skin and kissed him on the lips. At first he seemed astonished, but then he gave in. I pushed him onto his unmade bed, hovering over him. I saw him quickly glance to the door where the lock was secured.

I stood while he continued to lie on the bed. He watched intently as I removed my stained, cherry-colored polo shirt. Aside from the night he unbuttoned my blouse on his living room couch, I never allowed him to do anything but kiss me. As I unfastened the clasps on the back of my bra,
Chad
remained still. I felt detached from myself as I removed my bra, exposing my colorless breasts to him. I liked the way he pored over me. As I undid all the buttons of my jeans, he propped himself up on his elbows to watch.

My clothes slid to the floor, and I kicked them all the way off. I stood in front of him wearing only a tattered pair of cream underwear with yellow daisies and a hole in the seam.

I crawled on top of him, allowing my nipples to brush against his chest. He slipped his hands beneath the waistband of my panties, and I let him because I felt high. He wriggled them off, leaving me completely exposed. He rolled on top of me, kissing the curve of my neck, exploring my unexplored areas with his hands. I peeled his boxers off of him, and we tossed naked within the sheets. I curled my legs around his waist, ready to give myself completely to him. I heard a knock in my head and ignored it. I continued to pull
Chad
toward me, but he stopped as though the two of us weren’t naked in his bed, ready to have sex.

“
Chad
?” It was the voice of a man, his father.

Chad
gathered the sheet around me and pushed me toward the closet. “Coming.” Still aroused, he pressed himself into a pair of shorts. I waited in the darkness, kept company by piles of clothing, a copy of
Playboy
M
agazine
, and the scrolled poster of the supermodel.

“Have you seen Noelle tonight? Mrs. Stark is on the phone.” His hair was tousled, his face colored from a brush with sex.

“No,” he lied. “I think she’s at work.”

“She wasn’t there when her father went to pick her up. Her mother’s wondering if you’ve seen her tonight. If you might know where to find her?”

“No.”
Chad
sounded flustered. “Maybe she’s out with a friend?” 

“I’ll let Mrs. Stark know.”

His parents were trusting. They didn’t interrogate him the way my mother cross-examined me. He was fortunate.

Chad
closed the door and immediately opened the closet.

“You have to go.” The tone of his voice was a paradox to the way he looked. Of course he wanted to finish what we started, but he was conscientious. He’d make me leave. I wanted to stay with him where I felt safe and secure. There would be no way to explain my whereabouts to my parents. I sunk into the sheet that enveloped me.

“You don’t want me.”

“Of course I do, but…”

“What?”

“Your parents.” He heaved a sigh and collected his thoughts. “Besides, we were acting crazy. We need to be safe. I don’t have any—
protection.
”

“I bet you had
protection
when you were with Trina.” The buzz started to wear away.

“I’m not getting into this with you.” He collected my clothing and handed it to me in a pile. He stood outside the closet door, expecting me to dress in front of him.

“Turn around,” I snapped.

“I just saw you naked.”

“I don’t care.”

Chad
faced away from me. As I slipped back into my clothing, tears leaked from the corners of my eyes. I felt rejected as thoughts of
Chad
and Trina erupted in my mind. I bet if she was unclothed in his bedroom, he wouldn’t tell her she had to leave. I wiped the tears on my blemished shirt and pushed past
Chad
toward the window.

“Noelle, wait!” He spun me around to face him. “I love you.”

“Yeah, right.” I wanted to sting him, and I did.

I stood at the edge of the driveway, afraid to go inside. The lights in the living room and kitchen illuminated the house like the eyes of a jack-o-lantern. A slight breeze like the heat from an oven moved over me. The moon was a crystal ball that filled the night sky. I wished I could gaze into it and read my future. Anything seemed preferable to the present moment.

I walked up the stone pathway to the house. As I passed the narcissus, they tipped their heads away in shame. My head ached from the pot and the events of the night. Not a good time to crave a cigarette.

With nothing to aid my nerves, I stepped inside the house. My mother immediately rushed at me and threw her arms around my neck. My father sat at the kitchen table, too depleted to get up. He looked tired. I guess he had something else in mind for himself than the life he led with us. He already had one daughter to worry over. Now another.

“Thank God, you’re alive.” As instantly as she uttered the words, she caught herself and withdrew. “Where have you been?” She pushed back and looked me squarely in the face.

Confusion swarmed my head. I couldn’t concoct a lie or tell the truth.

“Your father searched the entire mall for you. The manager said you quit. We were worried sick. We even called the police. Tell me where you were.”

I remained silent.

“Answer me!”

I only thought of one thing to say as my parents remained frustrated, yet relieved, in front of me. “I know where Becca is.”

My mother’s anger metamorphosed into surprise. “You saw Becca tonight?”

I could have lied and told her that I did. I knew it was a key to having any punishment lifted. But I couldn’t lie. Not about that.

“She’s in
Chicago
.”

“How do you know that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Your Aunt Penelope?”

“I’m tired. I need to go to bed.” I headed for the hallway.

“Come back here, Noelle. Tell me who gave you that information.”

“Leave her be, Joyce.”

I stopped halfway to my room. My dad never spoke up.

My mother ignored him. “I want a name.”

“I can’t.” I defied my mother and made the final steps to my bedroom.

“Don’t you walk away from me. You’re grounded. Did you hear me? You will never leave this house again,” she screamed.   

At that point, I was too tired to care.

“I need your help.”

I heard my mother’s voice as I crept down the hall. A percussion throbbed behind my eyes and inside my head. It was earlier than I normally woke on a Saturday morning. I came out of a fitful night of sleep, tossing and turning. I spent the night thinking of how close I came to losing my virginity. Someone was in the living room with my mother. I stopped and listened.

“So Noelle told you Becca’s in
Chicago
?”

My heart surged with blood and felt like it would explode.

“And she told you it was me?”

It was Aunt P’s voice. Anger grew inside of me. My mother jeopardized my relationship with P to find her precious Becca.

P’s tone was riddled with implication. She fished for the information I disclosed to my mother, waiting to hear her name spoken, anticipating another accusation. I wondered why she bothered to show up at the house.

“She won’t tell me who told her. And frankly, I really don't care. The reason I called you is because I know you have connections there.” My mother choked on her next sentence before spitting it out. “Will you please help me find her?”

“You want
me
to help
you
?” Even after a night of drinking, P was still filled with bitterness. “After the way you’ve treated me and shut me out of the family, you expect me to assist you? What a joke, Joyce! Have you lost your mind? I’d think that you’d be happy Becca disappeared. Isn’t that what you wanted? Why do you want to see her anyway? So you can preach to her how wrong it is to have an abortion? So you can tell her that she’s going to hell? How can you embrace a daughter who slaughtered an unborn child when you still can’t forgive you sister for doing it fifteen years ago?”

Abortion? My head spun. I considered it. It certainly explained my mother’s hostility toward P over the years. If P was pregnant fifteen years ago then she would have had a son or daughter my age. A torrent of emotion and understanding flooded over me at once. No wonder she felt so connected to Becca through the whole abortion ordeal. Because she had experienced it herself. I had so many questions, but knew I couldn’t ask them because I’d eavesdropped on the conversation.