Saving Phoebe Murrow: A Novel (18 page)

Sandy was a little surprised by Jessie's post-dance report. She'd expected nothing short of:
Oh, my God, Mom, I had such a fabulous time
. But complaints were what she got:
I didn't wanna go with Noah; that was a really dumb idea, Mom. Why didn't Dylan ask me?
And, according to Jessie, it was Phoebe who'd had all the fun. Dancing and laughing with her new set of friends.

This pained Sandy. So much of her life revolved around making Jessie happy. She took to heart her daughter's grievances, and spent much of the afternoon trying to figure out how “to make it better.” From the time Jessie could talk, Sandy had sworn an oath to her little girl.
Mommy will make it better, no matter what
. Not like her own mother.

Mostly, what Margaret had done was shockingly neglectful, and certainly Sandy hadn't forgiven her. There was perhaps the small but not negligible fact that Sandy's relations with Les had played a role in her mother's reaction, though Sandy failed to see it this way.

After vowing to get back at Les, Sandy had kept her promise. She began to bring boys home, mostly when her mother was at work. She'd lie around making out with them on the family room couch, almost always with her stepfather nearby, working in his study on various writing assignments, or so he said. She sensed how much this bothered Les, who occasionally came out and asked her to keep it down. Things changed though when Sandy brought home a guy she actually liked, the first one she took to her room, to fuck, no holds barred.

A few days later, Les stood at her bedroom door, watching her. “So who's your new fellow?” he asked. She could tell her wild episode had rattled him and that now Les wanted her, while her own feelings for him had slowed to a simmer. Still, she couldn't help taunting him.

With a sly smile, and pointing at her bed, she said, “That's where we did it, Les.”

In the next moment he stepped inside her room, grabbed and kissed her. A rough, needy kiss. She willingly gave in to him, allowing him to tumble her onto the bed. When they'd finished Sandy said a bit breathlessly, “I thought our
last
time was at the gym?”

He gave her a sheepish look but said nothing.

“Well, guess what? I don't care any more, Les.” She gave him a self-satisfied, vengeful grin, enjoying her tiny victory.

She never knew if her mother had sensed this breach or Les had been indiscreet, but in any case Margaret stomped into Sandy's room that night and told her to get out. Screamed at her. “You think you can just do whatever you want. Well, you can't! I want you out.”

“Are you kidding me, Mom? I'm your daughter.”

“Not anymore you're not.” She stood with her arms crossed. “Get your stuff and go.”

Sandy had gone to her girlfriend's to spend the night, assuming her mother would calm down and invite her back. But she never did.

And that was how Shane the popular, handsome football star had entered her life and exited a couple of months thereafter. Bastard that he turned out to be. She should have been his date to the prom, she'd dreamed of walking in on the arm of the Prom King, but she wasn't. No, pregnant with Jessie and uncertain of the girl's paternity. Bill believed she was his. Good old Bill, she now thought gratefully.

While mulling over how to improve Jessie's frame of mind, she decided to bake some chocolate chip cookies, and make an extra dozen or two for her neighbor, Mrs. Wilkins, whose son was arriving home after a year in Iraq. Sandy liked to pretend the gracious older woman was her mother, a little like Mrs. E; they'd have imaginary conversations, her favorite being ones where Mrs. Wilkins couldn't wait to introduce her to the daughters of her friends.

Later, she sat at her computer composing Shane's next round of Facebook posts and private messages, determined to rectify the wrongs of the world. To make Jessie happy.

Because life beyond fabric had ceased to exist, Phoebe did not hear her mother's shout. Then her cry rang out a second time. “Phoebeee, DINNER!” Could it be that late already? The clock said six-thirty. A bright, shiny moon hung outside her window. She stared at it as if it were trying to tell her something. Then she remembered her mother's cautionary words last year when all her problems seemed to revolve around Skyla.
The moon is a reminder
, she'd said,
that sometimes things are not as they seem. The moon appears to cast its own light, but it's merely a reflection of the sun
.

She gazed at its brilliant surface a moment longer. Then returned her attentions to her sewing. She just needed to finish this one seam before heading downstairs. Once done, she quickly scanned her Facebook page.

A note from Shane! Her heart sped up as she read:
How was the dance? Wish I could have gone with you
.

“Phoebe! Come on!”

“Coming!”

Her youthful lips curled into a smile as she hurriedly typed back:
Me too! I've been working all afternoon on a new jean jacket (I sew) and just saw your note.
Will write more after dinner. How was the football game? Did you win?
With that, she raced down the stairs.

“Oh, my gosh, Phoebe, you look like the proverbial cat that swallowed a canary! What happened?” her mother quipped as she walked into the kitchen.

Gleaming, a broad smile on her face, she said, “Yes, I ate the canary, mom, and it tasted really good.” She licked her lips.

Her mother rolled her eyes. “Teenagers!”

After dinner, as soon as she'd helped with the dishes, she bounded back upstairs and found another private message from Shane:
Yeah, we won. Wish you'd been here
. Excitedly, she wrote back, telling him that the jean jacket could be his if he wanted it. Of course she'd have to get rid of the lace, but that was easily remedied.

She had other personal messages too. One from Emma:
We missed you last night. Did you have fun? How was Michael? He's kind of cute
.

To which Phoebe responded:
Don't let looks fool you. Missed you too
.

Then Shane wrote again:
Jean jacket? Nice! What happened at the dance?

Phoebe:
The guy I went with was a creep
.

Shane:
What happened?

Phoebe:
He was drunk and sort of attacked me, but please don't tell anybody
.

Shane:
For real? He attacked you?

Phoebe:
I don't really want to talk about it. He's history
.

Shane:
Just tell me, you can trust me
.

Phoebe:
I will when we meet. I promise
.

Shane:
What about Jessie and Emma? Did you see them?

She wondered why he was asking her, since she'd already told him she was going with a different group.
Things are a little tense with Jessie
.

Shane:
Tense, huh? Why?

Phoebe knew she couldn't tell Shane about Noah, so what should she say? She wrote:
Oh, just stupid girl stuff. Drama. You know?

Shane:
Not really, but then I'm not a girl. What happened?

Phoebe:
It's boring, you don't want to know
.

Shane:
Sure I do. I won't tell anyone. We're not even at the same school, remember?

Phoebe wondered why he wanted to know these things, and even considered telling him, but it was far too complicated. To get onto another subject, she wrote:
I'll tell you another time about all that stuff. What do you like to do besides football?

Shane:
I like golfing…and movies. Wanna go sometime?

She couldn't believe he'd just asked her, though in the next instant she grew irritated because she couldn't go.
I'm grounded for another week or so, but after that I'd love to
.

Shane:
Grounded, huh?

Phoebe:
Another long story, but basically I sort of lied to my mom
.

Shane:
Sort of
?

Phoebe:
I didn't tell her where I'd been. Mainly because I was in Adams Morgan where I wasn't supposed to be. So it was more like she assumed something and I let her. You know what I mean?
She wanted to be honest, but was afraid the truth might make him think poorly of her.

Shane:
She grounded you for a month? Except she let you go to the dance?

Phoebe:
Yeah. She's a little crazy. It's a long story…let's save it for when I meet you!

Shane:
Your mom does sound crazy…maybe more like she is a…rhymes with witch?

Phoebe stared at what he'd just written, then wrote:
Totally. Tell me about the game
. She went back and erased the word “totally” and replaced it with “I guess,” just in case her mom checked her Facebook private chats, though she hadn't done this in a while, at least not that she knew of. And the agreement was that she'd do it in front of her. Only then did she notice she'd said her mom was crazy. Oh well, hopefully she wouldn't check.

Shane:
It was great. Too bad we don't play you guys! Send me a picture. Love your Facebook pics. Gotta do some homework
.

Phoebe:
Yeah, me too. I will. Send me one of you? In your football uniform?