The Edge of Juniper (20 page)

Malcolm clapped his hands together and rubbed so vigorously I heard his calluses rasp against each other.  “So, is anyone hungry?  I stash a lot of junk food here, a habit I learned from my grandpa, so that’s something to be happy about.”  He seemed to be aiming to distract Abe, too.

“Got any chips?” Abe asked.

Malcolm strode to a cabinet that was mounted on the wall at the foot of the bed.  He opened it with a flourish and posed beside it like a game show model, revealing all sorts of junk food.

As Abe rummaged around inside, Malcolm motioned me over.  “Let’s sit.”

I sat down at the table, and he turned a chair facing me.  He took me in, head to toe.  “Are you okay?”  He brushed his fingertips down my cheek.

“Can Abe and I stay here forever?  Can we live here in secret?  You can bring us food and news of the outside world, and tell the police you have no idea where we are.”

“You’re not okay.”

“No.”

“You can move in for a couple hours.  I wish you had come to mow with me, then you might not have had to see…whatever you saw.”

I had been planning to ride along on his mower again, but first I’d checked the mail.  I didn’t feel ready to talk about my parents.  The wound was still bleeding, and though I knew he’d comfort me, I didn’t want to feel better yet.  Plus, that was like worrying about a scratch on your arm when your leg had been cut off.  I had bigger things to think about.  “But Abe was there, so I’m glad I was there too.”

He nodded.  “Where’s Celia?  You should go talk to the police, make a statement.  I can take you.  I’ll stay with you the whole time.”

“I didn’t tell the police who I was.  Maybe they’ll never find out it was me.  Celia will figure it out, though.  She sees right through me.”  I put my head in my hands.  We had been whispering so Abe wouldn’t hear, but I felt his eyes on me. Maybe distraction wasn’t the right way to approach this.  Maybe we needed to face it head-on.

“Abe, you’re twelve.  That’s old enough.  Why don’t you join this conversation?”

“Are you sure?” Abe asked, at the same time jumping up and pulling over a chair.

“It’s your family.  And you’re right; I’m just a temporary interloper.  What’s going on in your head?”

Abe looked down at the surface of the table. His black hair fell over his eyes, long past due for a haircut.  He traced the wood grain with his fingertip.  “I hope my mom is alright.”

I put my arm around his shoulders and squeezed.  “I hope so, too.”

“And my dad.”

“And your dad.”

His face scrunched up like he was trying not to cry.  He pressed his fists to his eyes.  “I didn’t do anything to help.  I just stood there, by the porch, and listened.”  His hands had turned white; he was squeezing them so tightly.

I glanced at Malcolm, who looked as lost for words as I was.  “I didn’t do anything to help, either, Abe.  I don’t know if there was anything we could have done.”

He dropped his hands, but still didn’t look up at me.  “One time, I tried to make Mom stop yelling at him.  I knew if she’d just be quiet, he’d stop.  But it just made her madder.”

“So maybe if we had tried to stop them, it would have only made it worse.”

“Maybe.”

I saw Abe’s throat move with a swallow.  “Also, I’m thinking about how mad my dad will be that I got in his truck.”  He tilted his head, almost imperceptibly, toward Malcolm.

I put my hand over his and pressed it to the table, fumbling for any way to help him feel better.

Malcolm reached over and put his hand on top of mine, our hands now stacked three deep.  “There are two things I want to tell you about the fact that you got in my truck,” he said.  “Number one, I drove away with you, even when your dad was shouting for you to get out.  I made that choice on purpose.  I take full responsibility for that one.  Number two, you fled to somewhere safe, the best way that was available to you.  Even if your dad is mad about it, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

With my free hand, I reached into the pocket of my jean shorts, and curled my fingers around the letter from my dad.  Weeks ago I’d tried to school Malcolm on proper timing.  Life schooled me in response, because it was the most unfortunate timing to realize I was falling in love with Malcolm Dearing just as my faith in love began to falter.

Aunt Donna didn’t press charges.  Uncle Todd didn’t press charges.  The very day he cut his hand open using it to break the window, the day he had a square bruise squarely in the center of his forehead, I later found him sitting on the couch eating a peanut butter cookie and watching a rerun on TV.  Apparently, he had been to the hospital for stitches, and then he came home and ate a cookie.

Donna didn’t have as many visible injuries as he did.  She did have scratches down her left forearm.  She had swollen eyes, but they were swollen from crying.  After she sent away the police I summoned, had she gone to the kitchen to bake cookies? Now, she sat on the couch beside Uncle Todd, not eating a cookie.

I didn’t understand my life.  I didn’t understand how the house felt just like it normally did.  When I came home from the cabin, I took in the scene in the living room, and walked from the front of the house to the back.  For some reason, Esta was in the kitchen, so I sat with her.  She told me she hadn’t heard from Celia when she was supposed to, and no one answered the phone, so she came over.  When she smelled the cookies, she knew something had happened.

“I guess they had a fight.  Celia says her mom only ever bakes cookies after they’ve fought, because baking is a stress reliever for her.  I’m glad everyone was gone, at least,” she said, nibbling on a cookie.  “Where were you today?”

“Everyone wasn’t gone, Esta.”

“You were here?”

“Celia, Abe, and I were all here.  So you have no idea where Celia is?”

“No.  Like I said, I couldn’t get a hold of her, so I came over to wait, but she’s not here yet.  Where’s Abe?”

“I took him to Jeremy’s.  He’s going to stay the night.  I don’t even care if they’re mad about it.”  I nodded to the living room.  I set the phone down on the table, having retrieved it from the yard on my way in.  “And the phone wasn’t in the house, that’s why nobody answered.”

“Fay, what happened here this afternoon?”  She leaned toward me, speaking so quietly I barely heard.

Before I could answer, the kitchen door creaked open and Celia slipped inside, closing it quietly behind her.  “It was nothing, Esta.  Nothing to worry about.”

My jaw dropped.  “That was nothing to you, Celia?”

She gave me a hard look.  “It was nothing that
Esta
needs to worry about.  Right?”

“Am I crazy here?” I said.  “Aren’t friends supposed to be there for you in good times and bad?  Because I don’t think I’m getting that wrong.  Friends get you through the tough stuff.”

Celia dropped into the chair next to her friend.  “What about dignity, Fay?  Do I get to keep any of that?  Because as far as I’m concerned, friendship needs that too.”

Esta sat up straight and spread her hands on the table.  “Will one of you spill it?  I’m freaking out.”

I spilled it.  I told her everything, except I kept Malcolm’s name out of it.  I just said that Abe and I found a place to hang out while my aunt and uncle calmed down. I also left out the fact that it was me who called the police.  I let them speculate about whether it was a neighbor, or someone passing by.

“I can’t believe the police were here again.”  Celia moaned and laid her head on the table.

“What I don’t understand, is why they’re both here after the police came,” I whispered.

Celia sucked her lips in and looked at me thoughtfully.  “I guess it takes somebody pressing charges.  I don’t know how it all works.  But listen, it’s okay now.  This is the usual way this goes.  Things build up for months.  There is an event, like what happened today.  Tension is released, things get better than usual for a while, sometimes a long time, then it repeats.  I think things will be fine now, and you don’t have anything to worry about.  There are only two weeks until you leave, right?”

“Yes, but I’m not just thinking about
myself
.  What about you guys?”

Celia squeezed her eyes shut.  Nobody said anything.  The phone rang, and I grabbed for it before it bothered Donna and Todd.

“Fay, thank God.  This is killing me, just dropping you off there and not knowing if you’re alright.  I can’t believe I let you talk me into leaving you there.  What’s happening?”  Malcolm’s voice was harried, frantic.

“Hey,” I said, trying to calm him.  “It’s okay.  Everything’s fine.”  I tried to be as vague as possible so Celia wouldn’t know who I was talking to.

“Is your uncle still at the police station?”

“Um, no, but everything seems fine.”

“Fay.  What are you talking about?  He’s there, at the house?” His voice was getting louder.

I wrapped my hand around the mouthpiece and tried to shrink into my chair.

“Yes, but don’t worry.”

“I’m coming to get you.  You can crash at my house.”

As much as I liked that idea, I knew I couldn’t do it.  “No, that isn’t necessary.  I’ll see you tomorrow.”  I hung up the phone.

“Fay, was that who I think it was?” Celia asked.

“Probably.”

“That means he knows what happened.  How does he know what happened?”  She spoke through gritted teeth.  “He was the one to call the police, wasn’t he?”  She stood up and walked out the back door.

Esta and I followed her outside, and I was glad for the walls separating us from my aunt and uncle.  Right then, they just didn’t seem like the same people they’d always been. 

Celia paced the yard and Esta sat in a lawn chair.  Even though she wasn’t saying much, her presence was a comfort to me.  I stood by the trees, working up my courage.  “It wasn’t Malcolm who called the police.  It was me.”

Both their heads swung toward me. Celia’s expression was feral—lips curled, eyes wide.  I would have laughed had it been any other situation.  My heart pounded in my chest as her accusatory glare burned through me.  “I’m sorry.  I didn’t know what else to do.  I thought he was going to hurt her.”

Celia looked away and crossed her arms, still pacing.  “As you can see, it was him who got hurt the worst.  I can’t believe you called after I told you not to.”

My mouth dropped open.  “Are you out of your mind?  Are you taking his side?”

“I’m not taking his side.  But I have to live here, Fay.  You get to leave.  After the police came last time, it was all Dad talked about for weeks.  He was obsessed with Lyle Dearing.  He started drinking even more.  He got angrier.  Mom picked on him more, almost like she wanted to make him do it again.  And now it
has
happened again.  I cannot believe you called the cops.”

My face burned.  “So your dad felt guilty and blamed Lyle Dearing.  He made it all Lyle’s fault, so he could stop feeling bad that he hit your mom. 
That’s
why this happened again.  Because it was never dealt with in the first place.”

Celia glared at me, her chest heaving.  I noticed she didn’t refute my statement that her dad hit her mom.  She
had
known.  Esta watched us with wide eyes.  Celia crossed her arms over her chest, her angry expression softening into a painful one.  “My parents are dumbasses.”  She dropped down to the grass at my feet.  I joined her.

“They are dumbasses,” I said.  She chuckled.  I laughed a little too.  “You know, we might be cracked.  How are we laughing at a time like this?”

“It’s better than crying.  I’m done crying.”

Esta came over and sat beside us on the grass.  “Don’t keep yourself from crying, though, if you need to.  Like Fay said, friends are meant to be cried on.”

Esta put an arm around each of us.  I put my arms out, and eventually Celia did the same.  Sitting there like that, I felt stable and supported.  After all, triangles are the strongest shape.

16

“I
never
want
to see you get into that truck again.  Never again, do you hear me?”  Uncle Todd pointed the spoon at Abe for emphasis.  When he felt he’d made his point, he scooped a blob of mashed potatoes onto his plate.  He hadn’t looked at me or spoken to me in over twenty-four hours.  “In fact, let me make myself perfectly clear.  You are not to go in their house, their cars, their yard, or anywhere else with them.”

“Got it,” Abe said, his head down.

“You’re a good kid.”  In spite of the lecture, Todd was in a good mood.  “After dinner, let’s you and me drive over to the bowling alley.  Just us guys.”

“Really?”  Abe leaned forward in his seat, excited.  There he was again, living in the moment.

My stomach rolled; sick with the events of yesterday, sick with the way it was being handled.  I’d escaped to work early that morning, and afterward Celia and I had gone to Esta’s to hide out through the afternoon.  I’d come home at five to help make dinner.

I moved the food around on my plate. Stress had a way of filling my stomach, leaving no room for dinner.  I hadn’t seen or talked to Malcolm yet today.  I knew he had a lot of mowing to catch up on.  I could have ridden along instead of hanging out at Esta’s, but I was halfway avoiding him.  I knew he’d tell me things that made sense; things that made me feel like a fool for staying in a house where what happened last night could happen at all.  He’d tell me I should use that emergency number and call my parents.  And I knew if I saw him, I’d end up telling him about the letter from my dad, and I didn’t want to think about it right then.  Avoiding him allowed me to avoid the truth about a lot of things.

After dinner, I went out back.  Donna followed me, carrying a pot full of scraps.  She scraped them into the compost pile, and when that was done, walked over to where I sat.  “I’m sorry you had to see that yesterday.  It’s not who he really is.  I hope you know that.  It’s the alcohol, not him.”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

“I got a letter from your mother today.  She’s worried about you.  She thinks you won’t handle it well if she and Gill split up.  I’m going to write her back, and I’m going to tell her you’re stronger than she gives you credit for.”  When she walked away I released a breath.  My eyes burned with unshed tears.

A rustling in the woods behind me alerted me to Malcolm’s approach.  I can’t explain how I knew it was him, but I could sense him coming.

“You shouldn’t be here,” I said.

“What is this, six weeks ago?”  He spoke from inside the woods.

That made me smile.  I stood up and joined him in the sanctuary of the trees.

“I’ve been worried sick,” he said.  “I know that’s just an expression, but I really have been sick over this.  I couldn’t eat dinner, so I went to find you at the restaurant but Heidi said you’d worked the early shift.  I had to see if you were okay because no one was answering your phone, and I couldn’t come to the restaurant at lunch because we had to mow a couple yards in Bakerstown and that takes most of the day.”

He was rambling, and I knew it was because I wasn’t holding up my end of the conversation.  “We should probably talk.  Will you wait here and let me get permission to leave?”

He nodded and crossed his arms over his chest—a defensive pose.  Nobody is comforted by hearing there needs to be a talk.

When I walked into the kitchen, Aunt Donna and Uncle Todd were standing by the refrigerator, hugging.  I didn’t want to interrupt their surreal make-up session, so I tiptoed past them and went to Celia’s room.  She was slipping her feet into sandals.  “Celia, do you think it would be okay if I went out tonight?  Would they care?”

“Don’t bother telling them, just go.  That’s what I’m doing.  As long as we’re back by midnight, we’re good.  Right now we’re in the sweet spot.  Things don’t get better than this.”  She moved with purpose and grace, her mood the polar opposite of mine.

I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, disturbed by her comment.  To her, the events of last night marked the beginning of a peaceful season, which was something she celebrated.  I couldn’t wrap my head around it.  For me, everything suddenly felt pointless, and I couldn’t find any purpose or direction in any action I might take.  “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to break up with Ronan.  For real this time.”  She swiped some red lipstick across her mouth, and then grinned at me as she snapped the lid back on.  “I’m done fooling myself, about everything.  My parents, Ronan, all of it.  I am done.  I’m not listening to anybody but myself, from now on.  I want to get out of here, and I will as soon as Abe graduates.  Life is long, right?  What’s six more years in the grand scheme of things?”  She brushed out her hair in whip-like strokes.

“Life is long, but so is six years, especially when some of the moments in those years are like last night.”  When had we switched roles?  Now she was the optimistic one and I was the one in the dumps.

“No.  Six years is short and I’m going to fill it will all kinds of planning.  Planning that will have me living in some big, fantastic city.  I’ve also decided I won’t date anymore boys from here, not even Paul.”

“Paul?”

“He asked me out, but I said no.  No more boys from Juniper.  I don’t want to risk getting attached to someone who would try to convince me to stay here.”  She looked down at her hands and massaged lotion into them.

I reached out and put my hand on her shoulder, hoping it would calm her.  Her expression could only be described as gleefully crazed.  “I don’t know about all the other stuff you said, but I do agree breaking up with Ronan seems like the right direction to take.  Are you nervous?”

“Should I be?”

“I’m just saying, are you going to be okay?  He won’t hurt you, will he?”

“God, Fay, that’s a real garbage thing to say.  I didn’t pick a winner, but I didn’t pick a guy who would hit me.  Geez.”

I pursed my lips.  “Okay.  Can I ask you something?”  I fiddled with her perfumes, taking caps off and smelling them.  She waited me out.  “Do you think maybe I should break up with Malcolm?”

“What?  Have you lost your mind?  Why on earth would you do that?”

“I thought you’d be pleased.  You’re the one who said we wouldn’t last.”

“You’re a moron.  Why would you break up with him?”

I sat down on my bed and then flopped all the way over onto my side.  “It’s happening.  My parents are getting divorced.”

My body tilted forward into Celia’s as her weight pulled the edge of the mattress down.  “I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah.  I got a letter.  My dad pretty much said it.”

“Only
pretty much
?  Let me see this letter.”

I tugged it free from my pocket, where I’d been feeling it periodically throughout the day, and handed it to her.  I read over her shoulder as she read, though I had most of it memorized.

Dear Fay,

I hope this letter finds you happy and stuffed with good stories to tell us when we return.  We miss you more than we miss chocolate, which is saying something.  Though the lack of chocolate is trying, the food here only varies between fine and terrific, so don’t worry about that.

As I write this, I’m lying in my bed waiting for sleep.  I am still not used to the things I’m seeing, but not in the way I anticipated.  What I am really taking from this experience is that the people are not different.  They joke, they snuggle their kids, they work hard, they play, and they have community.  The babies fight naps, the big kids use sticks as swords.  We don’t know what’s best for them, it’s up to us to listen, and help them in ways they deem helpful.

I’m glad our group is here, building this school, and I hope it adds something to these people’s lives.  This work has brought back a lot of memories for your mother and me, and we’ve enjoyed reminiscing.  We’ve also achieved a measure of peace, an acceptance of our growth.

I’m remembering back to our last big conversation before we left.  You didn’t want to hear us, and we decided to let you close your ears.  We thought it would be okay for you to process things at your own pace.  It’s been eating at me.  The last letter you sent to us left me concerned that you are clinging to the idea that this trip will be the change our family needs.  Sometimes change doesn’t match our hopes.  Sometimes a trip like this helps people see more clearly that the path they are turning down is the right one.  I felt I needed to gently remind you that everything is going to be okay, no matter what happens.

I need to close this letter and get some sleep.  My middle-aged body isn’t used to this degree of physical labor.  You’ll hardly recognize me when I come back; I’ll be tan and carrying a fine physique.  Your mother and I love you very, very much.

                                                                                     Dad

“That’s a vague pile of crap,” Celia said.

A laugh sputtered out of me.  I’d been throwing a silent temper tantrum as I reread it.  I knew it was childish, but that didn’t stop my anger, and Celia’s words were freeing.  She was right.  I didn’t appreciate his vague language.  I didn’t love that he and mom had apparently been talking about how I had my head in the clouds.  After all, they were the ones who had tried to placate me by telling me not to jump the gun.  And I especially didn’t like the insinuation that divorce was more likely than not.

“Why do parents always make a mess of things?” Celia continued.  “Anyway, there is no real information here.  It’s not a definite thing.  Maybe it won’t happen.”

“It’s happening.  That conversation he mentioned, the one before I came here?  They could probably tell I was right on the edge of flipping out, and they were chicken, so they let me hope.  Your mom got a letter from my mom, which hinted at how much of an idiot I’ve been to believe they have a chance, and how I’ll fall to pieces when it happens.  Well, joke’s on them because I’m already in pieces.”

“I’m sorry for it, but what does this have to do with breaking up with Malcolm?  Is it because you’re leaving soon?”

I thought about the space within me that I use to store my doubts, my insecurities, and my fears.  Keeping them in there is no great chore, though every now and then one of them will sneak out and stroll around for a while, before eventually walking right back in.  I keep the door to that space closed, and most of the time I simply shut it and carry on about my life, knowing those things are in there, but that they can’t hurt me.  In the span of a couple of days, I found myself with my back to the door pushing against it, pushing against the fears and doubts that shoved to get out.  Determined to hold them in, it was quite a shock when they all burst out at once, surrounding me and trampling on everything I had been so sure of.  I didn’t know how to explain that to Celia.

“That’s part of it.  I’ll be halfway across the country.  What would be the point?”

“There are things called phones.  And video chats.  Malcolm has a computer; I’ve seen him with his laptop.  He even has a truck.  It wouldn’t surprise me if he drove the million hours it would take to visit you.  Heck, he has money.  He could fly.”

“Stop being so positive.  It’s making me feel weird.”

She laughed a little, and put her hand on my leg.  “So if the distance is part of it, what’s the other part?”

I sighed.  “I always thought my parents had the perfect marriage.  They were so sweet.  Then it just slowly fell apart.  I don’t understand why.  If a couple like them couldn’t make it work, I have no idea how anyone makes it work.”  I didn’t mention how I’d seen her parents hugging in the kitchen.  If they loved each other, nothing about love made sense.

“Some people make it work.  Just because some people break up doesn’t mean love isn’t worth trying.  Maybe you’ll break up down the line, but maybe you won’t.”

“It seems ridiculous to me now.  What was I thinking?  I just got swept up in it.  We’re teenagers.  How many people fall in love at sixteen, and stay in love the rest of their lives?  Why bother?”

“You’re scaring me.  Where have you hidden Fay?”  Celia squeezed my leg.

I sat up and smoothed my hair.  “You’re the one who said I’m practical.  Why should that stop when it comes to love?  Let’s go get these breakups over with, and meet back afterward.”

“You’re making a mistake.  But I’ll bring the junk food.”

I sat on the bleachers with my feet propped on the bench in front of me, my arms wrapped around my middle, my face turned away from him.  He sat with his feet planted firmly on the foot rest, his hands on his thighs, and his body turned toward me.  He radiated calm and connection, and I knew I must have appeared uptight and closed-off.

I knew I’d need to start the conversation.  “Malcolm, I’m leaving.”

I felt his warm, large palm land on my back, and begin to rub circles.  “I thought you had two more weeks.”

“I do.”

“What happened to making the most of every minute?”

“That’s just keeping our heads in the sand.  We haven’t even talked about what happens when I go.  We’ve avoided that whole topic.”