The Death of Lila Jane
Read The Death of Lila Jane Online
Authors: Teresa Mummert
THE DEATH OF LILA JANE
From
New York Times
and
USA Today
bestselling author Teresa Mummert comes a cautionary coming of age tale.
Lila Jane Newman is spending her summer vacation preparing for high school. She does everything asked of her, but her parents rarely give her credit for her efforts. She decides to sneak out with a friend to attend a local party and shed her little girl image, to become a woman once and for all. What starts out as a fun escape soon escalates into a life on the run with a boy she barely knows.
Copyright © 2012 by Teresa Mummert
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Printed in the United States of America
ISBN: 1492100870
ISBN 13: 978-1492100874
TO MY CHILDREN –
Know that love is limitless. While we give away pieces of our heart, it grows larger so we can love more people.
TO MY HUSBAND –
You are my best friend, my everything. I love you.
LILA JANE
There was nothing more infuriating then having someone tell you that you wouldn’t understand something because you are just a teenager.
Just a teenager. A child.
As if my feelings weren’t valid. As if they’d never been in my shoes. My eyes dipped down to my vintage black and white saddle shoes that my mother just had to get me. They reminded her of some arbitrary moment in time from her past when life was simpler, meaning before she had children and a mortgage. I used the toe of one shoe to shove the other over my heel, kicking it across the room before stepping out of the other.
I was ready to walk my own path, to make my own mistakes. But my parents weren’t ready to let go yet and allow me to live my own life. They kept me under lock and key, even mentally, with an assortment of medications designed to improve obedience and dull creativity.
Don’t get me wrong, the things they did were out of love. They feared I would do something to wreck my life before it even began like get pregnant or go on a murdering spree. The real problem was they didn’t trust in their own ability to be good parents. But That wasn’t my problem.
KADEN
May 23, 2015
My few possessions that I’d decided to keep were shoved haphazardly in a bag that used to belong to my father, or so I was told. I slung it over my shoulder and knocked on the front door, hoping for some reprieve from the hot, southern sun.
“Qui C'est q'ca?
[1]
” A voice called in Cajun French
[2]
from inside the modest home as heavy footsteps fell closer.
I readjusted my stance from one foot to the other, my legs restless after hours of travel. I hated the muggy Louisiana weather and the sun felt like it was burning the flesh of my shoulders through my cotton shirt. I could feel the heat creeping across my arms and I strained my neck to the side, cracking it as the front door pulled open.
“Mais, garde don
[3]
! You made it,
T. Den
[4]
,” Uncle Daven said as his dull, blue eyes traveled over me, his enthusiasm forced, but who could blame him? He hadn’t shaved in at least a few weeks, giving him a disheveled, almost homeless quality and the odor of booze mingled with sweat wafting off him didn’t help. If it weren’t for his muscular build, I might have thought he was just squatting in this house like a stray dog waiting for his owners who’d abandoned him to return.
“It’s Kaden. Where else would I go?” I took a step forward, across the threshold and he moved out of my way, allowing me inside and under a vent blowing slightly cooled air. I tried not to get upset that he used the nickname for me he had as a child. He didn’t know me anymore. I wasn’t his
Petit Kaden
. I was a man now, one who’d taken care of my mother for years when it felt like the rest of the world had abandoned us. In truth, we’d abandoned the world, running from her fears.
“Your mother thought maybe you’d head up North, ya’,” he replied, but his voice trailed off as if thinking out loud and perhaps wishing she’d been right. I couldn’t blame him.
My eyes had danced over the expansive open living room before I turned to face him, taking in our slight resemblance. Although I took after my father, my mother’s side shone through. We had the same angular jaw, a feature that had given me a hardened look. The same thing that made the guys my age think twice before fucking with me is what kept girls by my side.
“She said there was a
gaienne
[5]
… a girl.”
I cringed, clearing my throat that threatened to close from the mere mention of Taylor, the
only
girl I’d let in.
“Not anymore,” I replied in a clipped tone as I let my bag slide from my shoulder, thudding hard against the oversized tile floor of the entryway. Daven nodded as he glanced around me, avoiding eye contact.
“Yeah, well, women are harder to hold on to than a greased hog. You’re only sixteen. You got time.” His hand clasped down on my shoulder before he walked by me and into his kitchen ahead of us, leaving me trying to figure out what the hell he was talking about. It had been years since I’d heard his accent and it was nearly impossible to decipher his words. My mother had taught herself to speak without it when I was still young. Mine faded not long after and I was thankful I could no longer hear my father’s voice in the echos of my own.
“I got some beer in the icebox to cool ya’ down. Sa fais chaude
[6]
.” He pulled open the fridge and reached inside, pulling back two brown long necks that clanked together in his one-handed grasp. “Laissez les bons temps rouler
[7]
,” He muttered with a dialect only someone from this part of the country could mimic without being accused of having a few too many.
“Yeah,” my voice wavered and I cleared my throat, struggling to sound like him offering me alcohol wasn’t shocking. The smirk on his face let me know he was well aware of the situation I’d come from but it soon fell and I knew my mother spared no details.
“I’m not going to pretend you came here as some misunderstood youth and you won’t insult my intelligence by pretending that’s what you are. Just ‘cause I speak a little slower doesn’t mean I’m stupid, ya’.” He cocked his eyebrow, holding out the bottle as a peace offering. Running my hand roughly through my hair, I closed the distance between us, Taking the beverage and nodding once before tilting it to my lips. The cold liquid felt like Heaven as it slid down my throat offering a slight reprieve from the muggy weather.
“So, you talked to Karen.” It wasn’t a question.
“You call ya momma Karen? Seriously?” He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth as his head shook in disapproval.
“What
should
I call her?” I snapped, but guilt tightened in my chest as I immediately regretted my words.
Sitting his bottle down on the beige speckled faux granite counter, he spun it between his fingers as a sigh escaped him. “I’m not saying she always made the right decisions, Kaden, but she tried.”
“Yeah, well, not hard enough.” I took another long pull from my drink wishing it was something stronger.
“Maybe not. But none of us are perfect.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” My gaze drifted over him as my body grew rigid, thinking of all the times I wanted someone, anyone from my family to come get me. I hadn’t seen my uncle since I was a little boy. At one point, I began to think I’d imagined him and that my mother was the only family I’d had left in the world. I couldn’t blame him, though. My father was a frightening man and when we finally escaped him, my mother kept us far from anyone we knew. She’d taken us from victims to survivors. We became brand new but that didn’t heal my old wounds, only masked them.
“We tried, Kaden.” His palm, dampened by the condensation on his bottle, swiped across his forehead, smoothing out the wrinkles that formed there.
“Not hard enough.” I finished off my beer before sitting the bottle down carefully on the counter and returning to the front door to pick up my bag. I was seconds from disappearing back out into the heat and driving off until my tank sputtered lifeless somewhere along the highway. Anything was better than this half-assed family reunion. I didn’t need a destination, I just needed to escape.
“Rooms down the hall to the left. The second door past the
batt’room
,” Daven called out behind me, his thick accent garbling his words, but there was no hint of anger or frustration in his tone. I adjusted my grip on the bag, teeth biting into the inside of my cheek as I weighed my options. I had none.
“I don’t want to talk about her,” I called out, my jaw clenched hard causing the muscles to jump under the taut skin.
“Which one? Your mom… or the
gaienne
?”
Turning around to face him, I let my frustration dissipate, replaced by exhaustion. “Neither of them.”
“Understood.” He raised his hands, palms out, in mock surrender. “You’re a man of mystery,” he quipped.
I shook my head and disappeared back the hallway, passing by the first open door on the left, the bathroom, before slipping into my new room and flicking on the light.
The walls were a nauseating robin’s egg blue with a single size bed pushed against the far wall and an old four drawer walnut dresser on the opposite wall. Beside it, the remnants of a baby crib were stacked, propped up on the mattress. I dropped my bag on the bed and unzipped it, riffing through my clothes to see if I’d had the foresight to pack any shorts. A knock on the door startled me and I spun around to see Daven shoving his hands down into his jeans pockets.
“You hungry?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“You can uh…” his hand rubbed against the back of his neck. “You can put that crib in the closet if you want. I meant to, I just didn’t have time.”
My eyes went to the baby bed and back to my uncle as I registered his pained expression.
“I could sleep on the couch, man. It really wouldn’t bother me at all.”
“No, no. You should have your own room. It wasn’t getting used anyway.”
I nodded, unable to think of what to say. My mother had only prepared me by saying Daven had suffered a great deal, but I was too wrapped up in my own bullshit to inquire further. There were no words for a situation like his she said. He was going through hard times of his own, but that didn’t stop him from offering me help when I needed it and I was an asshole for no reason. “I could eat.”
His mouth turned up with a smile, grateful for the subject change. “I got some boudin
[8]
I could cook up.”
I smiled, nodding my head. I hated anything spicy or with questionable content, but I couldn’t be picky. I hadn’t eaten a thing since I’d choked down one of those prepackaged, artificial cherry pies at sunrise from a gas station a few states away.
“Anything would be good, man.”
“Unpack ya’ grip
[9]
and ‘den put up ‘da clothes and come join me.” He grinned when my face twisted in confusion at his words before disappearing back down the hall leaving me feeling slightly more relaxed about our arrangement. Even though we didn’t know each other well, I could tell Daven was a cool guy who also had endured a lot of suffering he was trying to put behind him.
Removing my clothing from my bag, I tucked my belongings away in the top drawer of the dresser before tossing the bag into the closet and closing the door. If this became a long term thing, I’d slide the crib in there as well, but it didn’t seem like Daven was quite ready for that yet.
I groaned, my body aching as I laid myself out on the mattress to get a few minutes of rest before dinner was ready. The trip had drained me of any energy.
***
September 10, 2004
My father’s fingers tightened in my mother’s long, auburn hair. “Qu'il aille se faire foutre
[10]
! I want you out of my house!” His other hand still gripped his bottle of rum and it sloshed onto her clothing as she struggled to keep him from using it as a weapon, covering her face with shaky hands.
“Please,” she pleaded as sobs ripped from her throat. My father’s gaze met mine and I pulled my knees tighter against my thudding chest, terrified that I didn’t have my blanket that made me invisible. I’d left it at kindergarten for naptime. “He’s just a boy. He shouldn’t see this.”
The sound of the half-filled bottle hitting her cheekbone made an odd thumping noise, barely audible under the grunt that escaped my mother’s lips when he struck.
“No,” I cried out and my mom groaned again, this time slurring my name. She was disappointed with me. I wasn’t supposed to interfere. I was meant to be invisible.
“You want some of this too, you little craute
[11]
?” My father’s fingers left my mother’s hair, her head banging on the wood floor at his release and he trudged toward me, hand extended as his heavy boots scraped against the ground, drawing closer. My body stiffened as I squeezed my eyes shut tightly, preparing for the inevitable blow.
***
May 24, 2015
A kicking at my foot jolted me awake, causing me to flip on my back as I let my eyes adjust to the darkened room. The sun was no longer filtering through the blinds and it took a moment for me to recognize my surroundings.
“Stop being so gallou
[12]
. Dinner is ready. Allons manger
[13]
,” Daven’s voice cut through my panicked thoughts, but he pretended not to notice I’d been startled.
“Jesus. You scared the hell out of me.” Rubbing my palms against my face, I pushed myself up, twisting my back until it popped my spine, easing some of the tension that had collected there from the trip.
"Speak softly, and carry a big stick, ya’?" He grabbed at the crotch of his pants in a crude gesture that would have made me laugh had I not been mentally battling my past.
“Okay, Yoda,” I grumbled as I stood, my stomach growling as I caught a whiff of the food in his hand.
“Have yourself a little gout
[14]
. Tell me whatcha’ think.”
“I don’t know if my stomach can handle creole
[15]
anymore,” I warned.
“Shut yo’ mouth. This here Cajun, not ‘dat city food. You have been gone too long, brah
[16]
. But don’t worry, ya’ because home is a state of mind. You think all those sent runnin’ after the hurricane forgot ‘day roots? You just need to water ‘dem. Lache pas la patate
[17]
.”
“I have no freaking clue what that means, but I’ll try your food if it will get you to stop talking.” I took the plate with thanks and followed him back to the large open room to sit on the couch. I would never admit it out loud, but as he spoke the haze that enveloped his words began to lift and slowly I was starting to remember what it all meant. Picking up the remote, he clicked on the television before shoveling a spoonful of gratin
[18]
into his mouth. His eyes went unfocused as the announcer rattled off the upcoming game schedule for the Saints that would begin playing in September.
“Who dat,” He called out to no one in particular in support of his team. I’d never understood the fascination with watching other people play sports on TV.
Cutting into my sausage, I took a big bite of the rice and meat concoction, wondering if this is where I will be when I hit thirty years old, alone and living vicariously through someone else's joy. “This is good. Thanks.”