Talisman (2 page)

A soft chime rang from our grandfather clock, sounding its hourly chorus.  It was 5:00 AM.  Both the sun and Daddy would be arriving soon.  My father, Caiden Wallace, worked the night shift at the Riverside Pocahontas Coalmine.  He was one of their senior foremen and without question he
loved
his job.  I just hoped he had a job to “go to” for many years to come.  Now that was something else that had this carefree high-school senior’s little head fraught with worry.

Rumors had been floating around Welch for the past month that its owner, Harper Riverside, was trying his damndest to sell it.  A few weeks ago, I’d overheard his son, Mike, complaining to some of his buddies that his dad thought the mine was becoming a “headache” and way more trouble than what it was worth.  Even though it was one of the safest mines around, the state had imposed a slew of new mandatory regulations.  Mike said his dad was constantly griping about all the money he was going to have to shell out to get it up to snuff.  The whole town was churning with fearful thoughts and its rumor-mill was working overtime, cranking out horrific speculations by the hour.  A round of “lay-offs” would leave hundreds of employees out of a job with no decent work to be found for miles.  A “sale” would send the local coalminer’s union into a tizzy about having to renegotiate their contracts and most likely whittle their workforce in half.  And lastly, a straight-up “closure” would utterly devastate the town.  I could just picture all the tumbleweeds rolling down Main Street and crashing into abandoned buildings caked with dust.  Talk about your “pick of poisons”.  None of them had a smooth bite.

I turned off the TV and used what little light was beaming into the living room from the porch light to guide me over to our front window.  I gently pushed pack a small section of sheers.  My foot tapped on the hardwood floor impatiently, waiting for the tell-tale sign of headlights coming around the bend.  I wanted to catch Daddy before he headed off to bed, but I was also dying to know if there had been any “official” word yet.  ‘Cause lets face it …“Limbo” sucks!

Since I’d started my senior year a couple of months ago, I rarely got to spend any time with Daddy.  Breakfast and a few minutes in the late afternoon, before his shift began at the mine, was all I could catch during the week.  The weekends weren’t any better, what with me working at the Sterling Drive-In.  My mother seemed to be annoyed by his new schedule as well.  Not because he was gone at night, but because he was home during the day.  That was
her
time.  Even though he would usually be sleeping, Charlotte constantly complained that he was and I quote, “interrupting her routine”.  Her so-called “routine” consisted of lying around the house watching TV, reality shows mostly.  Then there were her trips to the beauty salon or out to lunch with a friend, and of course, all of her spur-of-the-moment shopping sprees that she and my little sister would take to the mall in Bluefield. 
Busy, busy, busy.  I see why she doesn’t have any time to clean the house or go to the grocery store…But then again, why buy groceries when you aren’t the one who cooks anyway?
  If I’d learned anything from living with my mother over the years, one credo held true — Around our house, it was “fend for self”.  Unless your name was
Chloe
, that is.

Secretly, I wished we could heal our broken bond. 
But how can you fix what’s wrong when you don’t know “how” it got broken in the first place?
  I truly envied Charlotte and Chloe’s relationship.  Even though I didn’t share their egocentric outlooks on life, I did want to find someway to fit into their world — at least coexist with them without too much chaos or drama.  Which is ultimately why I caved to “the favor” they had asked last night.  My frame dropped down into my father’s leather chair with a heavy
“plop”
of defeat, remembering last night’s events in dreadful high-def detail.

My shift at the Sterling Drive In was nothing less than rough.  The early dinner crowd had started off particularly demanding, and by the time Kara Leighton clocked in, it turned downright grueling — yet another evening of cleaning up after HER customers and picking up HER slack while she flirted with every guy
thumping a pulse.  To make matters worse, Coach Earl Hayes, the head of our school’s football team and my gym teacher, made his usual Wednesday night appearance, along with his wife and their four year-old little monster in tow.  And if that weren’t enough, Chloe topped it off when she and her “too cocky for words” senior boyfriend, Mike Riverside pulled into the parking lot.  Needless to say, between a huge mess that Jeffery Hayes had made (which kept me from punching out on-time) and a heated exchange with my oh-so sweet little sister and her jerk-of-a-boyfriend, I
needed
the rest of my night to be “uneventful”.  I should have taken it as a bad sign when I pulled up to the house at quarter to eleven and all the downstairs lights were still on.  I tried to sneak up to my bedroom, but fate had other grand plans for me.  My mother busted me while I was creeping up the staircase — all because I’d forgotten to turn my cell on “vibrate”.  I knew I should have climbed up the side of the house and snuck in through my window.  She was the one who had called me.  I would soon find out that “she” needed “me”,
finally
…for the first time in a long while.  But what she needed was “a favor”.

Funny, I didn’t know she even knew my number.

Knowing my location had been announced like the shuddering sound of a gong rolling through the house, I huffed and puffed back down the steps as pouty as a toddler.  Suspiciously, I peeked into the living room.  An open bottle of white wine sat atop Charlotte’s curio cabinet. 
Almost empty.  Great…Looks like it’s “drunk” Charlotte tonight
, I predicted as I headed to the kitchen.  She must have been low on Xanax.  I preferred a “medicated mother”.  That way, she was only
half
as witchy.

I grabbed a hold of the doorframe and swung myself around into the brightly lit kitchen.  There they were, the “terrible-twosome”, huddled around our round oak table that sat in the center of the room.  I felt the weight of their eyes scrutinizing me like they were about to “hold court” and the lowly peasant they’d summoned had finally arrived to do their bidding.

As I’d figured, Charlotte was sipping on a glass of white wine in her usual lush-like fashion.  I noticed her dark roots had been touched up, so she must have spent the day at Ginny’s Salon.  If Charlotte wasn’t sleeping, drinking, or fussing, she was usually pampering herself. 
What else would you expect from someone who spent twenty years competing in local and state beauty pageants — only to be chosen as First-Runner up all their life?
  From what Daddy had told me, the coveted “crown” always went to Beverly Rhodes, her childhood best-frienemy.  Honestly, if they’d only been judged on “looks”, I really didn’t see why she
never
won a single title (though I totally got why the honor of being
Miss Congeniality
had eluded her).  Even in her early 40’s, Charlotte was still quite a stunner, though a little timeworn —
naturally
.  She was a super thin, bleach-blonde, blue-eyed mother of two teenage daughters who wasn’t about to let her youth slip away without a fight.  At least not without the help of a little Botox oiling her boxing gloves.

“How was school?” Charlotte inquired in an icky-sweet tone.

My mother rarely showed any interest in me and
never
in my scholastic life.  The only time she thought about school was in the middle of summer, when she wished it were back in session.  Plus, her sugary tongue surprised me, so naturally I was skeptical.

“
Fine
…I guess.  I, um…have a big Geology test tomorrow, and I
really
need to go study for it,” I stressed.  I was just about to make a hasty u-turn, only to be halted by Charlotte’s voice again.

“And how was work?”  My mother’s blue eyes
widened as she pulled her harsh blonde locks behind her ears, suggesting she truly cared about what I had to say.

“The
usual
,” I replied warily.  It suddenly dawned on me what she was hinting about.  “I won’t get
paid
until Friday,” I added.  The two of them were probably in here discussing what to purchase this week with my paltry check — their “hurricane relief fund” when they were low on cash.

Charlotte lifted her glass and took a gulp of wine while she waved her other hand in the air.  Once her glass was back on the table, she
smiled
at me.  She didn’t seem to care about the paycheck.  I couldn’t help but ponder,
If she’s not concerned about that, then what’s with her interest in “me”?

Charlotte’s bizarre interrogation continued.  “Do you have plans this weekend,
dear?
” she asked sweetly.

I thought my eyes were going to pop out of my head at her choice of the word
“dear”
.  If it weren’t for the fact that Chloe didn’t work (except on a tan), I wouldn’t think for one second her question was aimed at me.

After an awkwardly long pause, “Yes” finally shot out of my gaping mouth.  “I’m working Friday
and
Saturday.  It’s Homecoming.  You know how crowded it’ll be, especially after the game.”

Charlotte smacked her hand on the table.  “I’d completely forgotten that Homecoming is
this
weekend,” my mother replied.

That was an obvious lie.  She was one of the football boosters this year and had been up Coach Hayes’ butt for months.  Homecoming was the most important game of the season.  Chloe was even chosen as one of the attendants on the sophomore court.  I seriously doubted she had forgotten about that.

“
Why?
” I probed.  My birthday was on Sunday.  Was it possible she was actually going to acknowledge it this year?  I wasn’t about to hold my breath.  Daddy always handled that.  For as long as I could remember, I would wake up in bed on the morning of my big day to Daddy holding a lit, store-bought cake and singing “Happy Birthday”.  That was one of
our
special traditions that only he and I shared.  One time, he tried to make one from scratch.  We didn’t have any box mixes in the house —
bless his heart
— so his “attempt” turned out to be a huge disaster.  In spite of that, my dependable and surprisingly resourceful father marched into my room with a stack of his blueberry pancakes (my favorite), topped with a long, white tapered candle that he’d snagged from one of the pillars in the dining room.  He claimed that he wanted to do something
different
, but I knew the truth.  Mom hadn’t picked one up, like he had requested.  So that year, it was truly “the thought” that counted.

Charlotte shrugged her shoulders.  “I just thought you might be going to
the dance
,” she hinted in her coyest of voices.

“No. 
I’m not
,” I replied.  A thousand reasons why I didn’t plan on going raced through my head.  Spending a night-off with the same hormone-enraged classmates I saw everyday at school and every evening at the Drive-In —
No thank you!
  I was selective about how I liked to spend my personal time, preferably doing more meaningful or constructive things.  If I wasn’t working, then I was either studying or hanging out with my best friend, Katie Stowell.  She hadn’t mentioned having a date for the dance, so I just assumed we would get together after my shift to watch chick-flicks until dawn.  I wasn’t into the school’s “social scene” like my sister and couldn’t think of a single soul I was even remotely interested in going with anyway…
Well,
not when the only guy I’d ever crushed on was dating someone else.  He would obviously be taking his “girl-friend”. 
Ugh!  If you could call her that
.  I’m sure I wasn’t even a “blip” on his pulse-pounding radar.

Why on earth would she think I would go out with some random guy I wasn’t even “into” for the sake of being “seen” at a dance because of social pressure?

Though I had to admit, there was
one thing
that made the thought of a school dance sound appealing — the “getting ready for it”.  A beautiful dress, matching shoes, a sparkly purse, maybe even going down to Ginny’s Salon to have my hair styled to perfection, possibly a make-over…and even a manicure.  Now
that
I rationalized, was the only perk.  I rarely pampered myself, but I was by no means a tomboy.  All the “girly attention” had always been paid towards Chloe over the years.  A perfect case in point: Halloween, ten unforgettable years ago.  Both of us wanted to go as
Cinderella
.  Daddy was to dress up like Prince Charming, and Mom would go as the Fairy Godmother when they took us around to trick-or-treat.  When the big day arrived, Chloe came down the stairs dressed in a beautiful satin gown that Mom had picked up especially for her. 
My costume,
however, consisted of a ratty old peasant skirt and my hair in a kerchief.  My mother even handed me an old metal pail to hold the candy I would collect and stained my face with coal dust.  She explained that we were
both
Cinderella.  I was simply the version of the fairy tale princess “just before the magic spell was cast”.