Identical
Ellen Hopkins

              Raeanne
              Mirror, Mirror
            
            When I look into a mirror, it is her face I see.
            Her right is my left, double
            moles, dimple and all.
            My right is her left, unblemished.
            **
            We are exact opposites, opposites
            Kaeleigh and me.
            Mirror-image identical
            twins. One egg, one sperm, one zygote, divided, sharing one complete
            set of genetic markers.
            **
            On the outside we are the same. But not
            inside. I think she is the egg, so much like our mother it makes me want to sere
            Cold.
            Controlled.
            That makes me the sperm,
            I guess. I take completely after our father.
            2
            All Daddy, that's me.
            Codependent.
            Cowardly.
            **
            Good, bad. Left, right.
            Kaeleigh and Raeanne.
            One egg, one sperm.
            One being, split in two.
            And how many
            souls?
            3

            
              Interesting Question
            
            Don't you think?
            I mean, if the Supreme
            Being inserts a single soul at the moment of conception, does that essence divide
            itself? Does each half then
            strive to become whole
            again, like a starfish or an earthworm?
            **
            Or might the soul clone itself, create a perfect imitation of something yet to be
            defined? In this way, can a reflection be altered?
            **
            Or does the Maker, in fact, choose to place two
            separate souls within a single cell, to spark the skirmish that ultimately
            causes such an unlikely rift?
            **
            Do twins begin in the womb?
            Or in a better place?
            4

            
              One Soul or Two
            
            We live in a smug California
            valley. Rolling ranch land, surrounded by shrugs of oak-jeweled hills.
            Green for two brilliant
            months sometime around spring, burnt-toast brown the rest of the year.
            **
            Just over an unremarkable mountain
            stretches the endless Pacific.
            Mornings here come wrapped in droops of gray mist.
            Most days it burns off by noon.
            Other days it just hangs on and on. Smothers like a wet blanket.
            **
            Three towns triangulate the valley, three corners, each with a unique flavor:
            weathered Old West; antiques and wine tasting; just-off-the-freeway boring.
            **
            Smack in the center is the town
            where we live, and it is the most
            unique of all, with its windmills and cobbled sidewalks, designed to carry tourists to Denmark.
            Denmark, California-style.
            5
            The houses line smooth black
            streets, prim rows of postcard-pretty dwellings, coiffed and manicured from curb to chimney. Like Kaeleigh and me, they're perfect on the outside. But behind the Norman Rockwell facades, each holds its secrets.
            **
            Like Kaeleigh's and mine, some are dark. Untellable.
            Practically unbelievable.
            6

            
              But Telling
            
            Isn't an option.
            If you tell a secret about someone
            you don't really know
            other people might
            listen, but decide you're
            making it up. Even if you
            happen to know for a fact
            it's true.
            If you tell a secret about a friend, other people
            want to hear
            all of it, prologue to epilogue. But then they
            think
            you're totally messed up for telling it in the first place. They
            think
            they can't trust you.
            And hey, they probably
            can't. Once a nark, always a nark, you
            know?
            7

        

              Kaeleigh

          
            
              I Wish I Could Tell
            
            But to whom could
            I possibly confess a secret, any secret? Not to my mom, who's never around. A time or two, I've begged her to listen, to give me just a few
            precious minutes between campaign swings. Of course
            it's true the wrong secret could take her down, but you'd think she'd
            want to hear
            it. I mean, what if she had to defend it? Really, you'd
            think
            
              she'd want to be forewarned, in case the
              International Inquisitor
            
            got hold of it. Does she think
            this family has no secrets?
            The clues are everywhere, whether or not she wants to know.
            8

            
              There's Daddy
            
            Who comes
            home every
            day, dives
            straight into a tall amber
            bottle, falls into a stone-
            walled well of silence, a place where he can tread the suffocating loneliness.
            On the surface, he's a proud
            man. But just beneath his not-
            so-thick skin, is a broken soul.
            In his courtroom, he's a tough but evenhanded jurist, respected
            if not particularly well liked. At
            home, he doesn't try to disguise his bad habits, has no friends, a tattered
            family. A part of me despises him, what he's done. What he continues to do. Another part pities him and will always be his little girl, his devoted, copper-haired daughter.
            His unfolding flower. But enough about Daddy, who most definitely
            has plenty of secrets. Secrets Mom
            should want to know about. Secrets
            I should tell, but instead tuck away.
            Because if I tell on him, I'd have to...
            9

            
              Tell on Me
            
            How I'm a total
            wreck. Afraid to let anyone near.
            Afraid they'll see the real me, not
            Kaeleigh at all.
            **
            I do have friends, but they don't know
            me, only someone
            I've created to take
            my place. Someone
            sculpted from ice.
            **
            I keep the melted
            me bottled up inside. Where no
            one can touch
            until, unbidden, she comes pouring out.
            **
            She puddles then, upon fear-trodden
            ground. I am always
            afraid, and I am vague about why. My life
            isn't so awful. Is it?
            10

            
              We Live in a Fine Home
            
            With lots of beautiful stuff--
            fine leather sofas and oiled
            **
            teak tables and expensive
            artwork on walls and shelves.
            **
            Of course, someone used to such things might wonder
            **
            why there are no family
            photos anywhere. It's almost
            **
            like we're afraid of ourselves.
            And maybe we are, and not
            **
            only ourselves, but whatever
            history created us. There are no
            **
            albums, with pictures of graying
            grandparents, or pony rides
            **
            (never done one of those) or memorable Gardella family parties.
            **
            (The Gardellas don't do parties, not even on holidays.)
            **
            No first communions or christening
            gowns. (We don't do church, either.)
            11
            Of course, no one ever comes
            over, so no one has ever wondered
            **
            about these things, unless it's our
            housekeeper, Manuela. Have to have
            **
            one of those, since Mom's never home and Daddy often works late, and even
            **
            if he didn't, he wouldn't clean house or go to the grocery store. Normal
            **
            parents do those things, right? I'm
            not sure what normal is or isn't.
            12

            
              But it Really
            
            Doesn't matter. Normal is what's normal for me.
            I've got nice clothes,
            **
            nicer than most. Pricey
            things that other girls would
            kill for, or shoplift, if they
            **
            could get away with it.
            I have a room of my own, decorated to my taste
            **
            (okay, with a lot of Daddy's
            input) and most of the time
            when I'm home, I hang out in
            **
            there, alone. Listen to music.
            Read. Do my homework.
            What more could a girl ask
            **
            for, right? I mean, my life really isn't so bad.
            Is it?
            13

            
              I Clearly Recall
            
            Once upon a time, long
            ago, when everything was different. Mom
            **
            and Daddy were in love, at least it sure looked
            that way to Raeanne
            **
            and me. How we used to giggle at them, kissing and holding hands.
            **
            I remember how they used to joke about their names.
            Ray[mond] and Kay
            **
            How fate must have been a bad poet and wrote them into a poem together.
            **
            Then Raeanne or I would beg
            them to tell--just one more time-- the story of how they met.
            14

            
              Mom Always Started

              I
              was in college. UC Santa Barbara,
              best university in California.

              I had this really awful boyfriend.

              **

              I thought we'd run away
              and live happily ever after.

              Thank God he got arrested.
            
            **
            
              Then Daddy would
              humph
              and
              haw
              and take over.

              So there he was, in my court-
            
            **
            
              room, with a despicable

              public defender failing
              to come up with an even
            
            **
            
              halfway decent excuse for
              why his client was driving

              drunk. In one ear, out
            
            **
            
              the other. I'd heard it all

              before, and anyway, the only

              thing I could think about
              was this creep's gorgeous

              girl, sitting front and center,
              hoping I'd go easy on him.
            
            15
            And Mom would interrupt.
            
              Actually, I only hoped that
              until I took a good, long look
            
            **
            
              at your father. Then I kind
              of hoped he'd lock up my

              boyfriend for a long time.
            
            **
            Then we'd laugh and my
            parents would kiss and all was perfect in our little world.
            16

            
              But That Was Before
            
            Daddy fractured our world, tilted it off its axis, sent it
            **
            careening out of control.
            That was before the day
            **
            his own impairment
            made him overcorrect, jerk
            **
            the Mercedes onto unpaved
            shoulder, then back
            **
            across two lanes of traffic, and over the double yellow
            **
            lines, head-on into traffic.
            That was before the one-ton
            **
            truck sliced the passenger
            side wide open. That was
            **
            before premature death, battered
            bodies, and scars no plastic
            **
            surgeon could ever repair.
            Yes, that was before.
            17

            
              Afterward
            
            Mom didn't love Daddy
            anymore, though he stayed by her side until she healed, begging forgiveness, promising to somehow make everything right.
            **
            In fact, since the accident,
            Mom doesn't love anyone.
            She is marble. Beautiful.
            Frigid. Easily stained by her family. What's left of us, anyway. We are corpses.
            **
            At first, we sought rebirth.
            But resurrection devoid of her love has made us zombies.
            We get up every morning, skip breakfast, hurry off to work or school. For in those other places, we are more at home.
            **
            And sometimes, we stagger beneath the weight of grief, the immensity of aloneness.
            18

            
              No One Else Suspects
            
            Not our neighbors.
            Not our friends.
            Not even our relatives.
            No one
            suspects Mom's real
            motive for running for Congress is to run
            away from us. No one
            suspects the depth of her rejection, or how drowning in it has affected
            my father a powerful district
            court judge, a man who puts bad guys away, slumped down on his knees, unable to breathe, unable to swim, unable to stop
            begging
            
              me to open my arms,
              let me stay,
              and please, please love
            
            him the way Mom used to.
            19

        

              Raeanne

          
            
              Kaeleigh Closes Herself Off
            
            From Daddy. And I think
            she's completely insane.
            I crave his affection.
            No one, no one normal, that is, will understand. Yeah, yeah,
            I'm all fucked up. My mantra.
            But if anyone actually
            suspects
            how fucked up I am, they've yet to let me know.
            And, really, why would
            my father
            be so taken with her, but distance
            himself from me? We're
            identical. Except for the egg/
            
              sperm thing. Would he fall on his knees in front of me, if I were more like Mom and less like him? Would he come, begging, to me, too,
              let me stay
            
            if he realized I want to love
            him the way Mom used to?
            20

            
              But Obsessions Are Personal, I Guess
            
            Daddy's obsession with Kaeleigh strikes at the heart of me. But looking at it real
            objectively, I think I understand. She's
            soft. Pliable. Gullible. It's easy enough to believe his declaration that should someone
            root out his secrets, he'll swallow a bullet.
            **
            You know, he just might, though I see him as much more likely to pick up that gun and shoot Mom, especially if he's on a bender. More and more of those
            lately, both for him and for me. My own obsession.
            Falling into a state of numb.
            21

            
              Numb
            
            Sometimes that seems like a great
            place to be. Closed off from it all, in no need of love, no need of family.
            **
            To be honest, I've erected a huge, huge wall between myself and Mom, myself and Kaeleigh, who I avoid
            **
            whenever I can. Can't stand that hurt, ever-present in her eyes. Eyes-- and hurt--that mirror my own.
            **
            Anyway, she makes me mad, mad
            that she hides in her own mind so well. Hides there from Daddy.
            **
            The only person I want to be close to is Daddy, and he doesn't even see
            me. It's like I'm not even here.
            **
            Most of the time I muddle through, pretending I don't need to be held, need to be touched, kissed.
            **
            But then need swells up, a thunderhead.
            Storms down, sweeps over me like a summer flash flood of need.
            22

            
              Numb Cannot Fight Such Need
            
            So I turn to Mick, valley hardass in more ways than one.
            
              Mom says,
              That boy is trouble.

              You steer clear, understand?
            
            Like I give a rat's shiny pink butt about what Mom thinks.
            **
            Actually, I'm amazed she even
            noticed. Maybe she has spies who keep an eye on us when she can't be bothered. After
            all, it wouldn't do for a daughter of a United States congresswoman
            **
            to get pregnant, now would it?
            Oh, she would shit, if she had
            any real idea of the things I do with Mick. So if she has spies, they must be voyeurs. I know
            it's ridiculous, but I glance around.
            **
            Nope, no discernable spies. Good
            thing. Mick and I are taking off at lunch.
            We probably won't eat much.
            (No sandwiches, anyway.)
            So if I do head back to class
            afterward, it will be in an altered state.
            23
            Self-medication firmly at the top of my agenda, I blow through
            Lawler's history quiz, put my
            pencil down, and sit staring out the window, waiting for the bell.
            A black shape materializes in the sky,
            **
            wings slowly through the mist. Buzzard?
            No, as it nears, I see it's a condor.
            Some kind of omen there. As I
            consider exactly what kind, someone taps my shoulder. I wheel
            
              around.
              Finished?
              asks Mr. Lawler.
            
            **
            I nod and hand him my paper, and when I look into his gold-flecked
            green eyes, I think for about the hundredth time what a fine
            guy he is. As if I had said it out
            
              loud, he smiles.
              You may go, then.
            
            **
            I smile right back. "Thanks. See you
            tomorrow." I pick up my books, stand with deliberate grace, and as
            I walk toward the door I feel
            eyes on my back, know at least one
            pair belongs to him. Men are so easy.
            24

            
              I Stop in the Girls' Room
            
            For a quick pee and to redo my makeup.
            The bell finally rings. Within seconds, the lunch rush madhouse erupts.
            **
            
              Hurry up!--- What the fuck?

              Hey, you, come here!

              **
            
            It's the same every day. Same voices.
            Same laughter. Same lame people
            I've known most of my life.
            **
            
              Got a smoke?---Got a Tic

              Did you hear about...?
            
            **
            I hustle along the walkway, mostly
            ignoring the waves and hellos of people I rarely give the time of day to.
            **
            
              ...got the lead
              ...---...
              made honor role...

              Ian's looking for you.
            
            **
            Ah, see, they're confusing me with
            Kaeleigh. Sometimes I think that's
            funny. Other times, it just annoys
            **
            the living crap out of me. Guess that's
            what comes of sharing a wardrobe, not to mention a face. Oh, well.
            25
            At least Mick won't confuse me with her. She wouldn't go near him.
            He's much too much like Daddy.
            **
            Both of them are tough outside.
            But dig down under the skin, there's a soft, gooey core.
            **
            Auger into that core, like tapping a maple, you'll get doused with incredibly sweet sap.
            **
            It's a lot of work, work that
            Kaeleigh could never appreciate, because she doesn't like maple
            **
            syrup anyway. But I do. I love
            it. And if Daddy would just stand
            still for me, I'd happily tap his core.
            26

            
              Mick's Sexy
            
            Chevy Avalanche, with slate gray
            paint and silver leather seats, idles in a far corner of the parking lot.
            Two years out of school, he isn't
            really supposed to be here.
            But he generally comes running
            when I call. He likes what I give him.
            **
            I like what he gives me, too, and I'm mostly talking about the bud. I pick up my pace because right under his front seat I know
            there's a fat, stinky joint with my name on it.
            **
            Okay, Mick's name is there too.
            It's his dope, after all.
            But he's always happy to share.
            Of course, he expects compensation, and after smoking a big ol' doobie,
            I'm generally willing to cooperate.
            **
            Life has gotten better--or at least
            more bearable--since I was introduced to my good friend, marijuana.
            You couldn't have a more decent friend.
            I love everything about it.
            27
            I love the way it smells--good green
            bud, anyway, and that's the only
            kind Mick gets. I guess his brother
            knows a Humboldt grower. Okay, the pot smells a lot like skunk juice.
            But somehow, there's a difference.
            A good one.
            **
            I love the way the thick smoke
            tastes, curling across my tongue, snaking down my throat. I love
            holding it in. Coughing it out.
            I love head rushes, the creeping
            warmth that follows.
            **
            And I love the distant place it takes me to. Everything feels
            right there. Mellow. Easy.
            Stress-free. I even love the munchies, the perfect excuse for devouring a pint of Häagen-Dazs. Of course, afterward
            I have to go stick my finger down my throat. Don't dare get fat.
            Daddy would not like that.
            28

            
              Mick and Marijuana
            
            Await me. I'm ready to pay
            Mick's going rate for the pot.
            (And I'm not talking money.)
            Some people would balk at the price tag.
            Not me.
            You might think, because of the things I've seen
            Daddy do, I'd be disgusted by sex. No way.
            I like it.
            I like how it feels physically, yes. Kisses, hot and prickly as August. Hands, tan and rough against my soft
            white skin. And the last, extreme
            punctuation.
            I get off.
            But getting off myself
            isn't the best part. I do
            everything in my power to make sure he gets off.
            And that puts me indisputably in control. (He thinks otherwise, and I let him.) It's the only time
            I am in control. And I like how that feels
            Not me. I like it.
            most of all.
            29

        

              Kaeleigh

          
            
              Call Me Powerless
            
            Yeah, I know on first glance
            I have it all. Looks. Money.
            Straight As. Leads. Popularity.
            I'm a regular princess, right?
            Not me.
            The final bell rings and I dash for my locker, hoping no one
            offers me a ride home. Some
            people despise the bus, but
            I like it.
            Yes, it's mostly freshmen and losers, and I fit right in.
            Anyway, no one bugs me with questions or invitations.
            I am practically anonymous.
            Too soon, brakes screech and
            I get off a few blocks from home. The walk is usually silent. But today Ian's
            Yamaha rips around the corner.
            It slows, stops, and I wait as he gets off, sheds his helmet, draws near.
            
              Have you been avoiding me?
            
            I have, and I struggle to meet his eyes. When I finally do, I find
            concern. Pain. Anger. And love, most of all.
            30

            
              Ian is My Best Friend
            
            He has loved me since fourth grade. I would trust
            him with my life, and all
            my secrets but one.
            **
            
              Soooo...have you?

              **
            
            I wish I were worthy of his love. (Any love.)
            I should tell him to run.
            But I can't. I need him.
            **
            
              Ahem. Hello?

              **
            
            He deserves to be loved, by someone really great.
            He's gorgeous, in an artsy
            way. No ego. All heart.
            **
            
              Earth to Kaeleigh.

              **
            
            All heart and waiting for me to respond. "I...um...Sorry,
            I'm a million miles away.
            What did you say?"
            **
            
              Ah, the old "million miles

              away" excuse.
            
            31
            His smile holds the warmth of the sun, and when he opens his arms, I plunge
            deep between them. "Sorry."
            **
            
              For what? Oh, you
              have
              been avoiding me, huh?
            
            **
            His body is toned, and he smells
            yummy, like some kind of spice.
            I look up into eyes, the turquoise of the Caribbean. "Sort of."
            **
            
              I
              always said I liked your

              honesty. Still...
            
            **
            "Not avoiding you in particular.
            More like everyone, kind of.
            Sometimes I get antisocial.
            You know that, though."
            **
            
              Yeah, I do, but I'm not

              exactly sure why.

              **
            
            "I must get it from my dad.
            Can't be from Mom, the world-
            class go-getter, hand shaker, and baby kisser."
            32
            
              I don't think a judge

              should be antisocial.
            
            **
            Can't talk about my father.
            Too much to say that can't
            be said. I pull away from Ian's
            hug. "You're probably right."
            **
            
              So, may I walk you home?

              Or would you rather ride?

              **
            
            "Two blocks? Think we can
            walk it. But hey, if you be
            really, really nice, I'll let
            you give me a ride to work."
            
              **

              Deal. Being nice to you is easy,
              even when you try to avoid me.
            
            33

            
              This Huge Part of Me
            
            Is so happy Ian won't let me avoid
            him, won't let me push him away.
            What I don't understand is why not.
            **
            I mean, girls hit on him all the time.
            Over the years he has gone out with a few. But he never gets serious.
            **
            I know he wants to get serious.
            He's definitely not a player, not a poser, not a loser, not a user.
            **
            Ian wants deep down forever love, love he knows he can count on.
            And that so sets him up for hurt.
            **
            Last year he and Katie were an item for several months. After he broke up with her, I asked what happened.
            **
            We were on the hill behind his house, soaking up April sun.
            
              Katie's great,
              he said.
              Pretty. Sweet.

              **
            
            "So what, then?" I asked, knowing the answer but wanting to hear it.
            (And realizing how selfish that was.)
            34
            
              He turned his face away from me, into the spring breeze.
              She's great,
              he repeated.
              But she'll never be you.

              **
            
            Then he looked straight into my eyes.
            
              I
              love you, and I know you know how

              much. I also know there's something

              **

              that keeps you from loving me back.

              What is it, Kaeleigh? Is it me?

              Because I swear I'll change....

              **
            
            "No! It's not you. Oh Ian, you're the absolute best. If I could love
            anyone, it would be you. I want..."
            **
            The rest, the "to love you" stuck like a giant wad of gum in my throat.
            Ian pulled me into him, held me close.
            **
            
              Please!
              he pleaded. And then he kissed
            
            me. Gently. And I kissed him back, but only for a second because suddenly
            **
            all I could see was a featureless
            face, with a wide, sour mouth
            
              coaxing,
              Please, baby. I won't hurt you.
            
            35
            Fear enveloped me, clasped itself around me. I couldn't shake
            free, struggled to find breath.
            **
            Still seeking air, I jerked back.
            I will never forget the look on
            Ian's face, contorted with my pain.
            **
            
              What the fuck is it, Kaeleigh?

              Whatever it is, don't leave it
              inside. Someday you'll implode.

              **
            
            Trembling, eyes burning, I reached for his hand. "I know. I only hope
            you won't have to clean up the mess."
            36

            
              I Still Haven't Imploded
            
            Though, I have to admit, sometimes (maybe even often)
            I wish
            I would. Wish I could
            just get it over with. But it's
            not going to happen right
            this moment so I'll go to work instead.
            Arms tight around Ian's waist, cool October wind in my face,
            I truly wish the power of his love
            could eclipse the overwhelming shame.
            He deserves someone better than me, someone pure. Worthy.
            The shadows
            bend long toward evening as the Yamaha quiets to a stutter.
            A cloud of regret boils up, rains sadness down all around me and as I climb from the bike, a strange desire grips me. I can
            do this. Want to do this.
            I steel myself against the specters
            always haunting me, gather all my inner strength, softly kiss the promise of his lips.
            37

        

              Raeanne

          
            
              Promises Are Meaningless

              Mom:
              I
              promise I'll be home soon.

              Mick:
              I
              promise I want only you
            
            I wish
            they'd both take a one-way
            elevator to hell! Okay, I'm used to my mother's lies. Right at this moment
            it's Mick whose bullshit is pissing me off. Yeah, I guess
            I'm a total dumb-ass for believing the thought of being with me
            could eclipse his testosterone-fueled flirtations.
            I mean, at lunch, I could hardly
            wait to be with him. I sprinted toward his truck, out of the shadows and into the bright autumn
            glare. And there, leaning into his open window, was that bitch
            Madison. Jealousy squeezed around me, choked off my scream. Too much to let myself dwell on, like visions, always haunting me, of Kaeleigh and Daddy.
            38

            
              Madison Happens to Be
            
            Mick's ex, the operative two
            
              letters being
              e
              and
              x.
              Why
            
            can't she just leave him
            alone? She's totally
            wrong for him. Anyway, it was her decision for them to break up. A very good decision.
            **
            First of all, Mick's out of school. Graduated, bottom of his class, two years ago.
            Madison is the type who needs a guy on her arm at school, someone to flaunt, someone
            cute she can order around.
            **
            More to the point, the only
            drugs Madison will likely
            ever do are steroids. She's a total mainstream jock.
            Softball team. Swim team.
            Golf team. If it means creaming an opponent, she's all over it.
            **
            Could be why she's hustling
            Mick now. When he was up for grabs, she couldn't care
            less about scratching his
            39
            figurative itch. All it took was his hooking up with me, and out came her stubby claws.
            **
            Well, mine are a whole
            lot sharper, though she doesn't seem to realize it.
            Just wait till I dig them into that sun-toughened
            jockette hide. Then it won't
            matter if I can't scream.
            40

            
              She'll Scream Loud Enough
            
            For both of us, and I do look forward to that. Ooh. Was that mean? Maybe.
            **
            But hey, I'm sick and tired of playing
            passive. No, I'll leave that to Kaeleigh.
            **
            Kaeleigh, queen of passive, all the time
            saying no, but not strong enough
            **
            to mean it. Not strong enough to fight.
            Not anywhere near as strong as me.
            **
            I have to say I rather enjoyed verbally sparring
            instead of retreating. Once I finally caught
            **
            my breath, I climbed up into the Avalanche, slid across the seat, almost into Mick's lap.
            **
            
              He turned (not quite quick enough, but it was what it was), grinning.
              'Bout time you

              **

              got here. I almost took off without you.
            
            Unsaid words hung like a heavy curtain:
            **
            
              Without you. And with Madison.
              I pretended
            
            not to hear them, not to get mad at them.
            **
            Ignoring Ms. Jock completely, I looked straight into his eyes. "Really? And miss out on this?"
            41
            Then I kissed him. Hard. Wet. Sharp stabs of tongue. My fingers drifted in between
            **
            his thighs, finding exactly what they expected.
            Madison gave a little gasp. "Oh," I said. "Sorry,
            **
            didn't mean to offend you." I laughed. Mick
            
              joined me, then said,
              That's my cue. See ya, Mad.
            
            42

            
              She Was Mad, Okay
            
            Madison puffed up red, venomous as an adder. Holy crud. I've never
            seen anyone flip from flirt to viper so quickly. Totally scary!
            **
            She didn't budge as we backed out of the parking space. Just stood
            there, boiling, not a word escaping her lips. But her eyes said plenty:
            
              I'll
              get you back. Wait and see.

              **

              I smiled, moved even closer to Mick, making steering problematic.
              Could

              you give me an inch or two, please?
              he said. I gave him a lot more than that.
            
            **
            In fact, once we were well beyond
            Madison's sight, I scooted clear over by the opposite door, clamped my mouth
            shut before I said something I'd regret.
            **
            
              C'mon. Not my fault she's still hot for me.

              **
            
            He reached across the seat, grabbed
            hold of my arm. Pulled. When I resisted, he yanked harder. Hard enough to hurt.
            Hard enough to leave purple bruises.
            43
            Someone smart would have screamed.
            Someone sane would have waited for a stop sign, thrown themselves free.
            Someone whole would have said no.
            **
            
              Get the fuck over here and don't give me shit.

              **
            
            I did as instructed. Worse, I liked that he told
            me what to do. It meant he cared, really cared.
            Right? Whatever. "Did you score some bud?"
            I asked, more to change the subject than anything.
            **
            
              Under the seat. Twist one up, okay?
              We headed
            
            out Happy Canyon Road, only horses and cattle to mind our business. We could have gone home--
            no one there--but I was still too mad for sex.
            **
            
              You know you want me. You'd take slimy seconds.

              **
            
            Gross. "Yeah, right. Like your pimply butt is such a turn-on." It isn't too pimply, and it's
            kind of a turn-on, but that was beside the point.
            
              His hand brushed my left nipple.
              You love it.

              **
            
            "Not while wondering who you're thinking
            about, Madison or me." I took a deep drag, held it. Took another without passing the joint, exhaling giant smoke puffs right in his face.
            44
            
              Bogart. Pass that fucking thing over here.

              **
            
            So I did, and once we were totally buzzed he pulled off onto a dirt ranch road, parked.
            
              No maid out here. Just birds and squirrels.
            
            Defenses lowered by excellent bud, I said
            **
            okay to a quickie. Totally in control.
            45

            
              In Control
            
            Out of control.
            Sometimes they're the same thing.
            The trick is knowing
            that, realizing
            it's okay to feel
            out of control
            once in a while, as long as you're sure
            you can regain the upper hand
            when you
            absolutely need to.
            And really, when it comes to my
            reclaiming control, it comes down to one
            simple little thing, something I sometimes
            have difficulty with:
            saying no.
            46

            
              I've Got to Learn
            
            To say no, and not only say
            it, but mean it. In some
            situations, not always the right ones, I know,
            I'm strong.
            Really strong. Tough, even. I guess, in a very odd
            way, I'm even something of a survivor.
            But there are times when, much as I want to assert
            myself, know it's the right
            thing to do,
            I can't
            find the inner fortitude to follow through with a simple
            two-letter word. NO. One of the first words babies can
            understand, one of the first they learn to repeat. No. No, Mick, I won't
            let you treat me with disrespect. No,
            Mick, and I don't have to explain
            why I
            won't let you touch me this time.
            Okay, so maybe I'm a little
            confused. Does being in control
            mean I have to cave in, have to crumble?
            47

        
          
            Kaeleigh

            
              If Only
            
            I could say yes, Ian, get close to me.
            But it's a place no one should ever be, and it would be cruel to let him think
            I'm strong
            enough to ever say yes, I need you.
            I start toward the pink stucco building, see Greta at the window. She's a survivor, having defied the Nazis in World
            War II, smuggling Danish Jews into
            
              Sweden.
              They almost caught us twice,
              she remembers.
              But we outwitted them.
            
            I can't
            comprehend that kind of courage.
            Funny thing. My friends (what few
            real friends I have) don't
            understand
            why I work here at the Lutheran
            home. They think old people are lame. But they're not. They're
            awesome, and I know exactly
            why I
            think so. It's because they've
            lived entire lifetimes. Loved.
            Laughed. Surrendered. Stumbled.
            Weathered, beaten, still they don't
            crumble, not even as they inch toward death.
            48

            
              I Work Part-Time
            
            Setting tables for dinner, washing dishes afterward, arranging flowers in vases, reading to those whose
            eyes no longer can. But the absolute best is when
            they share their stories.
            There's Sam Lonnigan, who as a liberal-leaning broad-
            caster became snared by Joe
            McCarthy's communist witch
            hunt. Commie? No way, not that his true ideology
            ever came into play.
            **
            Miss High Fashion Spyre
            lost her modeling career
            
              when "skin-and-bones, raccoon-eyes Twiggy" hit the scene.
              Till then, curves
              were hip,
              she complains.

              Size subzero? Spare me!
            
            Also sharing words of wisdom are a fifties test
            pilot, three retired doctors, one author, one poet, two
            politicians, one Olympic
            medalist, four domestic
            divas, and Greta Sorenson.
            49

            
              Greta is my Faux Grandma
            
            It's nice having her take on the grand-
            parent role, because I never see my own.
            Mom's father was killed in Vietnam.
            **
            Her mother, Grandma Betty, retired to Florida. She used to visit, but not since the accident. I don't blame her.
            **
            Daddy's father and mother divorced
            when Daddy was still in grade school.
            The reasons were so ugly no one
            **
            will talk about them. Other than a few creepy film noir-type scenes,
            I can hardly remember Grandma
            **
            Gardella, can barely conjure her face. Daddy says she only ever
            came around looking for money.
            **
            When I asked what for, he clammed up completely, except to say he wasn't about to finance her binges.
            **
            Grandpa and Daddy haven't
            spoken in three decades. A few
            years ago I tracked Grandpa down,
            50
            told him we were studying family
            genealogy in school. He had no clue
            Daddy was married, let alone about
            **
            Raeanne and me. Sheesh. He
            sent us birthday cards for a year or two, until Daddy found out.
            **
            I'll never forget the fit he threw.
            
              That sonofabitch better stay far,
              far away, or I swear I'll kill him.

              **
            
            When I asked him why, he had
            nothing substantial to say. I haven't
            heard a word from Grandpa since.
            **
            So I have a stranger for a grandma.
            At least she was a stranger until we got to talking. And now it's like
            **
            we've known each other forever.
            Not that she knows everything, a fact that she's quite aware of.
            **
            
              Pretty young woman like you,
              spending so much time with an old

              lady like me, instead of out
            
            51
            
              with your friends? That can

              only add up to one thing
              --

              you're hiding from something.
            
            **
            Said with a sparkle in her ice
            blue Scandinavian eyes. But her tone was 100 percent serious.
            **
            
              That's okay, honey. You know

              you're safe here with me. And if

              you ever want to talk about

              **

              it, I'm a hell of a good listener.

              Meanwhile, why don't I teach

              you to crochet? It's a lost art.

              **
            
            Sometimes, mid-slip stitch,
            I'll catch those sharp blue eyes
            poking at me, as if trying to pierce
            **
            my armor. So far, they haven't
            succeeded. But, to tell the truth, once in a while they come close.
            52

            
              Once in a While
            
            I catch something in her eyes, something
            not meant for me to see.
            Something very close to what she sees in mine:
            fear.
            Once, I gathered up all my courage, asked,
            "What are you afraid of?"
            She sat very quietly for several long minutes.
            fear.
            Finally, she took a long, deep
            breath. Cleared her throat.
            
              Nothing. Now. But I used
              to be afraid all the time.

              I met evil when I was only

              child.
            
            53
            
              It followed me for many

              years, through adolescence,
              into adulthood. I married

              evil, but it was nothing new
              and so I accepted it. It was
              wrong

              thing to do. Never accept

              evil as something you must

              walk with, something you

              deserve. Somehow. Do you

              understand what I mean?
            
            I nod, because I do
            understand. I'm just not
            sure how to go about divorcing myself from the evil I've already
            accepted.
            54

            
              This Afternoon
            
            Greta is in her room, napping.
            Unusual. The pre-dinner hour is generally noisy, busy with afternoon activities designed to keep older minds exercised.
            **
            Card games. Sing-alongs.
            Classes on memoir and poetry.
            I almost always find Greta
            smack in the middle of it all.
            Today she's under the weather.
            **
            I bustle around, doing assorted
            duties, every so often poking
            my head through her door. Shades
            drawn, her room is dark as a coffin.
            And why did I think that, exactly?
            **
            That pulls my thoughts toward something she told me once, how she never really rested until she saw
            "that no-good son of a bitch"
            laid down in the hard, cold ground.
            **
            I asked her who, but she was lost in reverie, stuck in some horrible
            memory, unable to extricate herself.
            I saw something in her eyes, though.
            Something that made me afraid for her.
            55
            
              Hello? Miss Gardella? Sam
              calls from the confines of his wheelchair.

              Would you mind giving me a push

              To the rec room? The arthritis
              is acting up something awful today.
            
            **
            I turn away from Greta's sleeping
            form, softly close her door. "No
            problem, Sam. Sorry about the arthritis." I give the brakes a nudge.
            "Hold on tight. Here we go."
            56

            
              One Problem About Caring
            
            For someone, especially someone
            who's getting on in years, is the likelihood you'll lose them
            too soon.
            The nurse says Greta has a flu
            bug, nothing major, but just the thought of her giving in to death
            makes me indescribably sad.
            I want to wake her, soothe her fever, tell her how much she means to me before it's
            too late.
            
              Don't worry,
              says Psychic Sam.

              No damn flu gonna take Greta

              down.
              I nod, thinking about going "down," no last shot at redemption.
            
            That will likely be my fate.
            Done in by some viral villain, sent straight to the fiery pits, shackled by my silence, sentenced to spend eternity locked in a hot red chamber, no way to claim innocence and avoid an eternal
            dance with the devil.
            57

        

              RAEANNE

          
            
              Mick Picked Me up
            
            And I made sure he kept
            me out extremely late. It's always
            desirable not to get home
            too soon.
            I can't always manage it, though.
            Daddy doesn't always cooperate, drink himself to a state resembling
            death.
            Tonight Kaeleigh and I are in luck.
            The bitter perfume of bourbon
            smacks me as I stumble in. It makes
            me thirsty. It's late, but never
            too late for one last shot. I tiptoe past
            Daddy's snoring, ease the Wild
            Turkey from the table. Can't
            really blame him for choosing
            redemption in a bottle. Two bottles, actually.
            One holds 750 ml of amber liquid.
            The other is small enough to fit in a pocket. Daddy has been sentenced to pain abatement à la OxyContin.
            The accident was eight years ago and his doctor keeps refilling, like he doesn't know about Daddy's
            dance with the devil.
            58

            
              Like I Care
            
            Truth is, I borrow a little Oxy
            every now and then too. Not
            often, though. It's expensive.
            **
            Daddy would miss it, even if his dimwit doctor didn't. I
            have to admit it's tempting.
            **
            It makes me feel like how
            you feel when you fall in a dream. Only you don't
            **
            wake up. You just keep
            falling deeper and deeper into the darkest recesses
            **
            of sleep. Especially when
            you help it out with a nip or two of Wild Turkey.
            **
            of course, I have to be
            very careful not to do it when Daddy's not trapped
            **
            in the snare of sleep too.
            Wouldn't do to be lying
            there unaware if he came
            59
            crawling to me. No, I'd
            want to be totally ready.
            But it won't be tonight.
            **
            Fifth of whiskey beneath my arm, I slip noiselessly into the kitchen, pour two
            **
            fingers, replace the bottle.
            Then I slither into Daddy's
            bathroom, help myself to a
            **
            small green pill. Just one.
            Just enough for a free fall
            totally without a parachute.
            60

            
              My Bedroom Is Dark
            
            Quiet as death, and I keep it exactly
            that way. Even the bed cooperates,
            **
            as I slide like a whisper under the cumbersome quilts, sit up in bed,
            **
            motionless. I feel like I'm in a hollow black space. A cave.
            **
            Empty. I chance a sip of Turkey.
            **
            Have to wet my tongue before letting the Oxy dissolve. Slowly.
            Nasty. Another sip. Jet fuel, hot and acrid against my taste buds.
            **
            Another time, another place, I'd let
            myself cough. Not now. Not here.
            **
            Nothing to disturb the deep breaths
            resonating throughout the house.
            **
            My tongue burns. My mouth
            tastes like crap. The spinning
            **
            inside my head begins. Grins.
            61
            I lie flat, give myself up to the
            **
            Oxy/Turkey merry-go-round.
            **
            Eyes closed, I start the tumble.
            Round. Round. Down. Down.
            **
            Outside, the wind rouses suddenly.
            Branches scratch against the window
            **
            and the sound, like something wants me, carries me where sleep will not follow.
            62

            
              It's Bone-Chilling Here
            
            In this memory. Nothing
            can thaw me. Not quilt. Not
            whiskey. Not even opiate.
            I'm frozen solidly in place, just like I was that night, the first time Daddy came.
            A night Kaeleigh can't (or
            won't) remember. But I do.
            **
            It was a year or so after the accident. Kaeleigh and I were nine, give or take. Mom had gone in for another round of surgery. She was already
            lost to us. Lost. Long gone.
            **
            I could barely remember
            how her kisses felt. They
            rode away on the bumper of that fucking semi.
            How we hungered for them!
            **
            Daddy smelled of Wild
            Turkey. Each night, we knew, he drank more and more.
            That night, he had drunk
            
              just enough.
              Kaeleigh, girl.
            
            63
            His voice was a soft hiss.
            
              Are you awake? Talk to me.

              Daddy ish-is sh-so lonely.
            
            **
            I'd never heard him sound like that. Like a stranger.
            A drunk, slurring stranger.
            Where was my daddy?
            **
            Kaeleigh, all sweetness, wanted to comfort Daddy, who drew her onto his lap.
            Stroked her hair. Kissed her gently on the forehead.
            Cheeks. Eyes. Finally, on her lips, but not nasty or mean or with tongue or anything but misplaced love.
            Love meant for Mom.
            **
            He just held her, kissed
            her. Breathed Wild Turkey
            all over her until they both
            fell asleep, woven together.
            64
            Knitted together, threaded by pain-
            sharpened needles.
            That one innocent
            joining was only the beginning, but neither realized it that night. And all
            I could do was linger in a dark corner, sharp jabs of envy
            tearing my eyes.
            65

            
              The Innocence
            
            With which Kaeleigh
            accepted that gesture was to be corrupted, but not immediately.
            Maybe this is the place she settles into, when
            forced to escape the reality of what came
            later, what continues
            still. See, she doesn't
            really remember the details. It's a defense
            mechanism, a gift from nature around post-traumatic stress.
            Remembering the ins and outs, so to speak, is left up to me. I am almost always there, or at least close by, though I have never
            interfered. Oh, I did
            try to tell Mom once, but she closed up like an oyster around that pearl of truth. I guess I could
            have offered descriptions of Daddy's "privates"
            (his word), the way he wears his scars. But hey, if she didn't care, why the hell should I? Instead,
            I stood by and watched father love turn to...U S T
            66

            
              What Came Later
            
            Belies the purity of that first night.
            Time crept by in slow motion, and I felt a million miles away.
            I watched the two of them dozing, father and mother/daughter, until weariness weighted my eyes.
            I slipped into the river of their breathing, floated in the current of Daddy's
            all-encompassing need.
            I fell
            asleep, thinking about Daddy
            kissing Kaeleigh, craving his kiss, understanding its significance.
            We unraveled
            that night, and I don't think
            things can ever be put right
            again. Sad, that lives can be
            shattered, into so many pieces that they
            can never be put back together, by the relentless force of love.
            Irreparable.
            67

        

              Kaeleigh

          
            
              Can't Believe

              I got the lead in
              Grease,
              the winter musical.
            
            I'm a pretty good actress, but my
            dance is rusty and my singing, well...
            I watched as Ms. Cavendish posted the cast
            list. Everyone gathered around the bulletin board, exhaling loudly.
            
              I slipped in between Ian and Shelby to get a better look.
              Sorry you didn't make

              it,
              poked Shelby. Stupid me,
            
            I fell for it, until she and Ian cracked up.
            
              "You may be sorry I
              did
              make it."
            
            I broke into an off-key rendition of "Fame."
            We unraveled into a giant fit of laughter. People
            stared, including Madison, who got a big part too. The look she gave me
            shattered
            any idea that this play might be fun after all. The slim chance rehearsals
            might go smoothly shredded.
            Irreparable.
            68

            
              Drama Is Last Block
            
            On Tuesdays and Thursdays. Today, however, being Friday, last block is PE. I wish I would've opted for modern dance.
            **
            Instead I'm dressed out for volleyball. And lucky me, my
            dear friend Madison is across the net, getting ready to serve.
            **
            
              Even better, I'm in front, where I can't miss the vile promise in her eyes:
              I'm gonna ram this ball right down your throat.
            
            **
            Fortunately, her anger sends the ball clear out of bounds. We
            rotate, and it's my turn to serve. Madison moves left one slot.
            **
            I swear, even from here, I can see the steam rising off her.
            Whoo-ee, is she hot! I shouldn't let it bother me, but it does.
            **
            
              I serve into the net.
              Side-out!
              yells Madison, and my teammates
            
            groan. "Sorry," I try. "It slipped." Okay, lame excuse.
            **
            Here comes the ball again. Long volley. On the far side of the net, Serena sets up. Madison spikes. Damn! The sucker
            **
            slams right into my chest, bounces undeniably out of bounds.
            
              Madison smiles.
              Too bad you don't have much padding there.
            
            **
            Everyone laughs. My face flashes, hot. But for once the perfect
            retort comes to mind immediately. Love when that happens.
            **
            "Yeah, well, I guess you're right. I don't have much padding, but at least what I've got is all mine, not Victoria's."
            69
            
              Victoria?
              Madison stops. Thinks. Gets a "duh" look on her face. Shakes her head and I've got her.
              Who's Victoria?
              "
            
            **
            I don't know. But she's got a secret. And you're wearing it.
            Oh, wait. Let me look again. Never mind. Can't be Victoria's
            **
            Secret. Anything that lumpy must have come from Wal-Mart.
            Wait, wait. Not even Wal-Mart. More like Salvation Army.
            **
            
              "
              Wha...? Hmph! You shut the fuck up, bitch!
              Madison storms
            
            off, intensely pissed. A chorus of howls follows her.
            70

            
              Not Sure Why
            
            I felt the need to provoke her.
            She and her inner circle
            carry a lot of weight around here.
            **
            I'm just sick of that pissy look, the off-the-wall snipes. I had
            nothing to do with her problems
            **
            with Mick. What wasn't her being a bitch was him, being a creep. All I am is fallout.
            **
            
              The bell rings.
              Okay, girls!
              yells

              Ms. Petrie.
              Hit the showers!
            
            Showers. Oh, goody. Can't wait.
            **
            Yeah, I'm dripping sweat. It's
            not what you might call fragrant.
            Not good fragrant, anyway.
            **
            But public showering is my least favorite thing about
            PE, and considering I hate PE,
            **
            that says a lot. Ugh! Stripping down to skin and hair, showing
            everything to everyone else.
            71
            That includes Ms. Petrie, our
            elderly PE teacher, who seems
            more interested in our hygiene
            **
            than in our physical fitness.
            The one job she takes seriously is making sure we shower.
            **
            It's kind of creepy, although
            I suppose some people might
            never de-sweat without a Ms. Petrie
            **
            to check up on them. Anyway, today I want to make sure Madison is scrubbed and dressed before
            **
            I even look at the shower. I help
            Ms. Petrie bring in the balls and nets.
            By the time I shed my shorts
            **
            and lather up, the locker room is mostly empty. The final bell
            rings and I'm still underwater.
            **
            When I exit, hair dripping, out the double doors, I'm mortified to find the bus has already gone.
            72

            
              I Need to Get My License
            
            I've been old enough for months.
            Problem is, you need a parent to sign off for you. And I do not have the luxury of parents who are able or willing to do that for me.
            **
            Mom is always traveling. She only
            drops by long enough to pick up a change of clothes and maybe, if we're very, very lucky, share a meal. She has completely
            forgotten what being a mother means.
            **
            Kitchen duty and housework fall
            mostly on Manuela, who comes in three times a week to do laundry, dust and vacuum, cook and freeze meals.
            **
            As for Daddy, well, he pretty much
            works from early morning until the sun creeps toward the western
            horizon. The closest DMV is in Lompoc, a half hour from here. Closed Saturdays.
            **
            Not that Daddy is likely to let me
            have my license anyway. A car means
            escape. And I'm pretty sure he plans to keep me his prisoner forever.
            73

            
              The More Immediate Problem
            
            is I need a ride home and the parking lot is deserted. Everyone bails as soon as the last bell rings. Walking home
            **
            isn't impossible, but it's five miles away.
            Who can I call? Ian, of course. But his cell
            rings four times, goes to voice mail.
            **
            I try Shelby. Katrina. Lisa. Danette. No luck.
            Everyone's busy, grounded, unavailable, or simply not picking up.
            **
            Just as I think I'll have to walk after all, a black Charger draws even, window lowering.
            
              Something wrong?
              It's Mr. Lawler.
            
            **
            Kind of. I missed the bus. I've called everyone
            I know but can't seem to find a ride home."
            
              Hop in. I'll take you. I'm going that way.
            
            **
            Does he know where I live? I give the parking
            lot another scan. He smiles at my hesitation.
            
              What? Don't tell me you don't trust me?
            
            74

            
              Not at All
            
            You can't trust a man, any man, any more than you can
            put your
            faith in a rabid dog, not
            even your
            own dog, one who would
            never hurt
            you, except he's rabid.
            **
            Not sure why I believe that.
            But I solidly
            do. I've seen guys act like they are just so in love with their girl-
            of-the-moment, only to turn around and dump her cold.
            **
            And as for adult men, men who should not look twice at someone
            half their age, well that rarely turns out to be their MO.
            No, their method of operation is to hang
            out their tongues and pant.
            75

            
              To Be Fair
            
            I haven't seen Mr. Lawler
            actually pant. And the only
            time I've seen his tongue
            **
            is when I've bothered to look.
            So I say, "Of course I trust
            you. Thanks for offering."
            **
            And mostly against my better
            judgment, I open the door, slip into the shelter of his car.
            **
            
              Promise not to tell, okay?

              I could get into all kinds
              of trouble, you know.
            
            **
            My turn to smile.
            "What? For rescuing a damsel in distress?"
            **
            
              For others' perceptions.

              But I promise to be the
              perfect gentleman.
            
            **
            He turns toward town, drives cautiously, completely the perfect gentleman.
            76

            
              Some Girls I Know
            
            Talk about Mr. Lawler like he's on their "available" list or some-
            thing. He's not married, at least
            I don't think
            so. I guess he could be closet
            married, but why bother?
            Teachers and students?
            Absolutely taboo! If
            I could ever
            get past my private taboo,
            I'd have to call Mr. Lawler
            "cute." But how could I
            get beyond the fact that he's almost as old as Daddy? And yet, as we drive along, I find myself
            moving closer to him, pretending
            I can't quite hear what he's
            saying with his frothy, smooth
            cappuccino voice. One time in class a couple of weeks ago, he was lecturing about immigration.
            I was lost in reverie about the night
            before, and when Mr. Lawler called on me, I almost answered, "Yes,
            Daddy?"
            77

        

              Raeanne

          
            
              Kind of Funny
            
            Watching Lawler and Kaeleigh
            pull up at the house together.
            I don't think
            I've ever seen her alone with a grown man (well, except for Daddy and he doesn't count).
            Maybe I need to miss the bus. If
            I could ever
            find a good excuse to get Lawler
            alone, he would discover a different
            Gardella girl, one who could easily
            get beyond not only his age, but also any
            stupid notion of impropriety.
            I would never act like Kaeleigh, craving his proximity, his touch, yet pretending
            not to notice the cut of his silk
            trousers, the way his biceps fill his tailored shirtsleeves. Even from a distance, I could tell he was interested in more than just giving her a ride home. She should
            consider it. After all, there happen to be better men out there than
            Daddy.
            78

            
              Other Men, Anyway
            
            A whole big, giant world, full of men. Men with blue eyes.
            Brown eyes. Green eyes. And indescribable
            shades in between. Tall men. Short men. Skinny men.
            Built men. And all combinations thereof. Nice men (so I've
            heard, but never really seen). Mean men. Decent men, indecent.
            And who knows which is the best kind to have, to hold, to love?
            I'd say, with so many men in the world, it would pay to sample a few. Scratch that. More than a few. Lots and lots. And then a few more. And maybe, after years and years of research, taste testing, and trying 'em on for size, just maybe, you might find one worth not throwing back.
            But hey, the fun is in the fishing.
            79

            
              Kaeleigh's Not into Fishing
            
            Too much effort, too few rewards.
            Watching her work Daddy now, you'd think she reeled in the big one.
            **
            Selective amnesia?
            Putting on a show?
            **
            She is a good little actress.
            Daddy is already home but hasn't yet waded into his bottle.
            **
            "You're home early today," she soothes. "Special occasion?"
            **
            He's jonesing for a swig. Can't.
            
              Your mother will be here soon.

              Press conference on the lawn.
            
            "Oh, right. I forgot. Do you want
            me to iron a shirt for you?"
            **
            Daddy shakes his head.
            
              A jacket will do. You should

              put on something pretty, though.

              **
            
            She nods and we go to change, knowing where his eyes are.
            80

            
              No Doubt
            
            He'll be watching the sway of Kaeleigh's hips, craving her.
            **
            And a drink. Not sure which one he craves more. But tonight
            **
            he'll have to play the good (sober)
            husband and devoted father.
            **
            As I slip into a Vera Wang blouse,
            Tommy Hilfiger jeans, I can hear
            **
            
              Mom's well-staged entrance.

              Hello, Raymond. You look well.

              **
            
            The election is a few precious
            weeks away. Before the final charge,
            **
            Mom needs to make her constituency
            believe she actually cares about family.
            
              **
            
            Her own family is the best place to start.
            
              They're setting up the cameras.
            
            **
            Being fairly cute and very well
            dressed, we make a damn fine photo
            **
            op, too. Especially just as the sun
            starts to sink behind our designer home.
            81
            Reporters and news crews
            have gathered on the front lawn.
            **
            Mom herds us outside.
            
              Don't forget to smile.
            
            **
            Yeah, Mom. Like what else would
            we do? Stick out our tongues?
            **
            Flip them off? Drop our pants, bend
            over, and tell them just what to kiss?
            **
            The thought makes me smile. Not only
            that, but the grin stretches lobe to lobe.
            **
            Poor Mom only knows I'm smiling.
            
              She smiles too.
              That's my girl.
            
            82

            
              Daddy Isn't Running
            
            This time round, but he has before and is intimately aware of campaign
            protocol. Exactly as might be expected,
            **
            he drapes an arm (a ravenous arm, but no one but his closest family members
            knows that) around Mom's shoulder.
            **
            She stiffens, and her smile slips ever so slightly, but I'm the only one who notices.
            And she doesn't dare shrug him off.
            **
            
              Thank you all for coming,
              she says.

              It's good to be home with my family.

              The campaign trail is a lonely one.

              **
            
            I wonder just how lonely. I wonder
            if she's getting a little on the side.
            Probably not. I can't imagine her
            **
            actually getting close enough to someone--anyone--to invite them into her bed, let alone her pants.
            **
            
              I watch her, the ultimate politician, working the press like she was born for it.
              I'll take questions now.
            
            83
            
              Queries Fly

              **

              ...universal health care

              ...uranium enrichment

              ...trade deficit

              ...right to choose

              ...gay marriage

              ...immigration reform

              **
            
            Mom is prepared, knows every answer by heart, could
            recite them in her sleep, in fact.
            Harder questions.
            **
            
              ...balanced budget

              ...troop withdrawal

              ...raising taxes

              ...torturing terrorists

              ...citizens' rights

              ...presidential authority

              **
            
            Cool under pressure, she words her responses
            carefully, no
            missteps that might
            make dirty TV spots.
            She's twelve for twelve.
            And then...
            84

            
              Some Thirtyish Ditz
            
            Tosses her long, dark-rooted
            platinum hair. In a cheap tweed suit with a skirt much too short
            **
            to compliment the blocky legs
            poking out from under it,
            **
            she clears her throat, squeaks,
            
              What about judicial reform?

              How do you feel about judges
            
            **
            
              who break the same laws

              they are sworn to uphold?
            
            All eyes latch onto Daddy, whose face is the color of raw
            cotton. His own eyes scream
            **
            panic, but the subtle shake of my
            head reassures, "Nope, not a word.
            Mom remains the stoic politician.
            
              I'm sure such a thing is a rare

              occurrence. No judge I know
            
            **
            
              holds him or herself above
              the law. It is sacrosanct.
            
            85
            Ms. Tree-Trunk Legs refuses to be so easily satisfied. She
            hems and haws, checking her
            **
            notes. Finally, just as the others
            seem ready to pack up and leave,
            **
            she throws a bucket of verbal shit.
            
              Isn't it true that while under the
              influence, your husband,

              **

              Judge Raymond Leland Gardella,
              was involved in a fatal accident? And...

              **
            
            If she thinks she can possibly
            go one-on-one with my mother and come out on top, she really
            **
            should think again. Like a wolf on a duck (with incredibly fat legs!)
            **
            Mom turns on the reporter.
            
              Ray is the finest jurist I know.

              He does not hold himself above

              **

              the law, but dispenses it with
              knowledge and forthrightness.
            
            86
            Told you Mom had every
            correct response right at her fingertips. If there was ever
            **
            any doubt about where Kaeleigh
            got her acting ability, this
            **
            afternoon smashed it to bits, and
            Mom is not quite finished yet.
            
              The incident to which you refer

              **

              was a great personal tragedy.

              Should we apologize for not dying?
            
            87

            
              Castrated
            
            Frustrated, the brittle
            blonde shakes her head, ignoring the buzz
            all around her.
            **
            What she still doesn't
            get, I'm betting, is how connected
            my parents are.
            **
            The others, still
            buzzing like electric
            lines in a storm, understand, though.
            **
            My parents' connections
            reach well beyond political circles, and some of those
            **
            connections might very
            well disconnect one
            mouthy young reporter from her job.
            88

            
              Sound Bites Bitten
            
            Mom actually cooks dinner
            tonight, perhaps worried some
            nosy journalist might peek through the window.
            Of course, it's frozen lasagna and bagged salad. But hey, who's complaining?
            It's almost like we used to be, once upon a time. If I close my
            eyes, I can almost pretend like we're a normal family, gathered round the table, discussing
            stuff like plays and grades, not unusual
            dinner-table topics like war
            chests and fund-raisers. If
            I keep my eyes closed, Mom is not indifferent, not some cardboard cutout in a lace apron. Eyes firmly
            closed, Daddy is not famished for affection, perverted or otherwise. Eyes squeezed
            tight, Kaeleigh and I are not irrelevant.
            89

        

              Kaeleigh

          
            
              Having Mom Home
            
            Makes things easier. Makes things
            harder, like looking through the window, needing to see what's on the other
            side, but your eyes have to work
            too hard to reach beyond the grime.
            It's almost as hard as pretending I don't care
            if she leaves again. Almost as hard as sitting around the dinner table like we're a cohesive family unit. A little
            pasta, little wine, little conversation.
            Damn little, which is not unusual for the Gardella clan. What talk
            there is, of course, is election talk.
            I guess I should act like I'm
            not indifferent
            and, really, I'm not. I hope with every ounce of hope I have left
            that the voters snub her. No, I'm
            not famished for revenge. I'm starved for her company and even more, for her affection. I love her, and that's
            not irrelevant.
            90

            
              Actually, I'm Hungry
            
            For more than Mom's affection.
            My body is screaming for food.
            And tonight we get the real deal (instead of our usual fast
            **
            or flash-
            **
            frozen repast).
            But any food is my
            friend because it's under my control, unlike most of the rest of my life. I eat when I'm sad.
            **
            I eat when I'm lonely. I eat when
            I hurt so much inside, it's
            either eat or find an easy way to die.
            The only
            **
            time I
            **
            
              can't eat to total contentment is when Daddy's around.
              No

              daughter of mine will wear double-

              digit clothes,
              he said once, and meant it.
            
            91
            Wonder what he thinks about Mom's
            new curves. She's put on a few pounds. All that
            rich food on the campaign trail,
            **
            I guess.
            **
            Schmooze
            'em with five-star
            dinners, high-dollar wine, and aperitifs; ask 'em for a fistful of dollars. Calorific politics at its best.
            **
            I happen to think Mom wears double-
            digit designer clothes pretty
            well. She is the portrait of a beautiful, highbrow
            **
            woman,
            **
            curves or no.
            What she doesn't look like is a girl, all narrow hips, straight waist, and teacup breasts.
            And if I have my way, I won't either.
            92

            
              And Tonight Mom's Home
            
            I can eat what I want,
            Daddy or no. After dinner
            **
            I help load the dishwasher, more to be close to Mom
            **
            than anything. Every time
            I brush against her, though,
            **
            she stiffens, like a wet sheet in January wind. Not fair.
            **
            Why can't she love me like I love her? Does she
            **
            somehow blame me? I ask
            simply, "What's wrong?"
            **
            Mom keeps scrubbing the stove, like it isn't already
            **
            spotless. Finally she says,
            
              Nothing's wrong with me

              **

              that winning this election

              won't cure. It's been a long,
            
            93
            
              hard campaign, and the polls

              say it's too close to call.
            
            **
            Nothing I didn't know.
            But there's something
            **
            more. Something I can't
            quite put my finger on.
            **
            I mean, even for Mom, this
            woman is unapproachable.
            **
            "Can I ask you something without you getting mad?"
            **
            
              Scrub. Scrub. Scrub.
              Of

              course.
              Scrub. Scrub. Scrub.

              **
            
            She's gonna get mad for sure.
            "Well, what if you don't win?"
            **
            She stops scrubbing, fires at my eyes with her own.
            **
            
              I
              can't think like that, and

              I don't want you to either.
            
            94
            
              Do you think I could just

              tuck my tail between my

              **

              legs, come home and play

              housewife? Never again!
            
            **
            So...what? If she wins, she'll
            spend most of her time n DC.
            **
            But what if she loses? Either
            way, guess who else loses?
            95

            
              Mom Pours a Glass of Wine
            
            A fine pinot noir, grown here in the valley. I've come to appreciate
            good red wine. Mom allows some with dinner sometimes. And once in a while, she allows it after dinner.
            "May I have some more too?"
            **
            She slides the bottle across the table, and I fill my glass to the brim.
            Mom and I sip in silence for a while, but eventually the building buzz in my brain opens my mouth.
            "Do you miss us when you're gone?"
            **
            Now you might think "yes" would
            pop out from between her lips, quick as a jack-in-the-box wound
            tight. No way. She tilts her head
            slightly, as if to tip the right answer into her mouth. The maneuver fails.
            **
            Suddenly, she doesn't look like a politician. She folds up, small, a woman twice her age, beneath the burdens she will forever carry.
            I don't blame her for not wanting to be here. Who does?
            96

            
              We Empty Our Glasses
            
            Mom opens another bottle, pours for us both. I'm getting
            drunk with my mother, and
            **
            
              neither of us can think of a thing to say. Finally, she says,
              I'd better go to bed.
            
            **
            "Sure, Mom. Me too."
            I go around the table, give her a hug. "Love you."
            **
            She turns, looks me in the eye.
            
              Love you too.
              She pauses, stutters,

              A...are you...all right?
            
            **
            Anger flares. I want to shout,
            "Like you suddenly care?"
            Want to cry, "Save me!"
            **
            Something acidy rises in my
            throat. If I break down, say
            those things and more, then what?
            **
            But she has already closed
            herself again, snapped shut like a heavy door.
            97
            "No," I say simply. Wineglass in hand, I start to leave, turn to see her choke back a sob.
            **
            In the living room, the TV is on, but Daddy has drunk
            himself into oblivion.
            **
            Cool. I'll be there soon
            myself. The rest of the house is dark, and I leave it that way.
            **
            I stumble up the hallway, into my bedroom. Turn on the little lamp beside my bed
            **
            Think about calling Ian.
            But it's late, and it's Friday
            night. He's asleep or out.
            98

            
              Out, Where I Should Be
            
            Where any self-respecting
            sixteen-year-old should be on Friday night. Out, getting drunk with friends or, better yet, a really fine guy, instead of tying one on at home with my marble-hearted
            mother, no less. At least I
            caught a couple of tears, which
            leaves
            me wondering if she ever
            just breaks down or freaks
            out. She used to freak out a lot before the accident. At least
            then we knew she had feelings.
            But that was before she came to be
            completely drained of emotion.
            I wonder if I would have liked her when she was young, pretty, desired.
            Did she like herself then?
            Before she had children?
            Before she met Daddy?
            99

        

              Raeanne

          
            
              I Called Mick
            
            As soon as the whole house fell
            quiet except for whiskey-fueled
            snores. Sneaking out, getting drunk, getting high. What better way to spend Friday night? Especially after too many hours stuck at home
            listening to Mom's political
            bullshit. Aaagh! Save me.
            I, for one, can't wait until she leaves
            again. Hell, maybe she'll be
            gone by the time I get up in the morning. I plan to do a lot in the way of self-medication.
            Funny term for getting screwed up to the point of passing out. I need to be
            that messed up to get to sleep at all tonight. I'm totally wound.
            Besides, I want to feel
            desired for more than what I can bring to a campaign. A campaign
            that only fills our lives with pain.
            100

            
              There's a Party
            
            Up on Figueroa. That's a mountain
            not too far from here, but far enough so parents and cops rarely want to take the drive, especially at night.
            Even if they did, we have our favorite
            party place, well off the main road, and a mile or so back on a dirt track, not something they'd happen upon.
            Great place for hide-and-seek.
            **
            Great place for a kegger, too.
            And that's our destination.
            Mick drives like a maniac, which would be all right except
            I really, really want to get high, and smoking dope and speeding
            don't exactly go hand in hand.
            **
            I could be bitchy, and it may come to that. But I'll try sweet talk first.
            "If you slow down a little, I'll roll a nice big joint. And after we smoke
            it, just maybe I'll mess around with your nice big joint too."
            Okay, so it isn't eloquent, but it works.
            101

            
              He Slows
            
            To right around the speed
            limit as I fumble under the seat, searching for his stash.
            
              This slow enough for you?

              Damn, I feel like an old woman.
            
            "Ha. Sound like one too."
            Finally, pay dirt. I reach into the baggie, extract a big bud.
            
              Hurry up with that, would ya?

              Hey, I saw you on TV tonight.
            
            I keep crumbling dope.
            "Really? You watch the news?"
            No frigging way.
            He snorts a half laugh.
            
              Nah. I was channel surfing.
            
            Ah, but of course.
            "So how'd I look? Like a movie star or what?"
            He reaches for my left boob.
            
              More like a rock star, baby.
            
            102
            God, he's a player. A lousy
            player. "Give me your lighter."
            Delectable smoke fills the cab.
            
              Hey, man. You never told

              me your mom was so hot.
            
            My body stiffens and I shove his hand away. "Shut the fuck
            up." I take a giant hit of pot.
            
              Jeez. Pushed the wrong button,
              huh? Sorry. But she is.
            
            "Mom is not hot! She's fucking
            frigid!" Why is this bugging me so effing much?
            
              Okay, okay. Really sorry.

              Now give me the damn doob.
            
            103

            
              Needless to Say
            
            I don't feel much like messing around with Mick's "nice big joint,"
            not even after killing off the nice
            big joint wrapped in a rolling paper.
            **
            Maybe after a beer or ten.
            And hey, lucky me, looks like the beer's flowing up here on Figueroa Mountain.
            **
            Twenty or so vehicles are parked
            helter-skelter, like misaligned
            zipper teeth. Some I recognize.
            Some I've never seen before.
            **
            It's an older crowd. Several
            people graduated with Mick, and a few last year. Not too
            many my age. Fine by me.
            **
            I see enough of those people
            every day at school. Who wants to socialize with them? What
            I want is to leave them in my dust.
            **
            Suddenly a familiar whine
            threatens my jocular mood.
            104
            
              Hey, Mick! I hoped you'd be here,
              even if you had to bring
              her
              along.
            
            **
            You guessed it. My delightful
            friend, Madison. She rubs up against Mick like a hungry cat.
            Is she trying to piss me off?
            **
            And here I just got unpissed.
            Two choices. Jump into the ring.
            Or turn away, move on to that really cute guy over there.
            **
            I turn to assess Mick's reaction to the fur-free feline at his arm.
            He looks vaguely intrigued, and totally unconcerned about me.
            **
            So fine. No use getting into a scratchfest. I wander over to the keg, top off a twenty-ounce
            cup, and go say hi to Prince Charming.
            105

            
              Turns Out
            
            He's not particularly charming, but at the moment, charm is not a prerequisite. I'm not looking for a life partner, just a good time.
            **
            "What's up?"
            **
            
              His eyes, the color of creamed coffee, hold mild interest.
              Not much. You
              a friend of Mick's?
              He tips his head in the direction of said Mick.
            
            **
            "Not really."
            **
            
              Hmm. Got the idea you were.

              Didn't you come together?
              He smiles at the loaded question. I
              mean,
              didn't you
              arrive
              together?

              **
            
            "Doesn't make us friends.
            But yeah, we did actually."
            My turn to smile. "And we've
            come together a few times too."
            **
            
              He looks me up and down like he's shopping.
              I see. Any plans
              to come together tonight?
            
            106
            "Nope." I part my lips bravely.
            
              "Not with
              him,
              anyway."
            
            **
            He nods his head, stands.
            
              How's that beer? Need a refill?
            
            **
            I shrug. "Sure. Don't suppose
            you happen to have anything
            stronger on you, though?"
            **
            
              It's a distinct possibility. Let's

              get those refills and take a walk.
            
            **
            It's stupid even to consider taking a walk with this guy. Like I care.
            I glance toward Mick, who is now in the truck with Madison, filling the cab with smoke. I'm so taking a walk. With a complete stranger.
            107

            
              We Wander into the Woods
            
            Sit on a big stump, slurping foamy beer.
            He's cute, really cute. So what if he's not
            much for words? He reaches into his jeans
            pocket, digging for treasure. Maybe I'll dig in there later myself. Meanwhile, I'll content
            myself with the giant fatty he lights. The pot is the same as (or very similar to) Mick's.
            **
            "So..." I cough out a big hit. "You and Mick
            share a connection, huh?"
            **
            
              Something like that.
              He laughs.
              Let's

              just say we move in mutual circles.
            
            He draws in a long, deep lungful.
            **
            I move a little closer, like I can't quite
            reach the joint. "Since we're sharing a hooter, can we, like, share names?"
            **
            
              The name's Ty. I know who you are.

              I saw you on television tonight.
            
            **
            If he says my mom is hot, I'll kill him.
            "Jeez, man. Did everybody just happen to watch the fucking news tonight?"
            **
            
              What? Did I say something wrong?
            
            Now he scoots closer. Looks into my
            
              eyes.
              Should I apologize?
            
            108

            
              The Guy Knows How
            
            To apologize, for sure. He reaches across the short distance between us, pulls me right into him, kisses me with unexpected hunger. In the time it takes me to react to that, decide
            whether or not to invite more, he already has my top button
            unbuttoned. His hands want to go under the fabric, insist on it, in fact. I should say no. Need to say no. "W-wait," I try, but no little bit of me wants to stop and Ty intuits all of that. He
            doesn't stop, and I don't try to make him. And it isn't long
            before
            I throw every ounce of caution to the nonexistent wind. With only a fleeting thought of Mick,
            I give in to this insane desire to know
            this not-quite-stranger in the most
            intimate way. And so, I sacrifice
            my inner child, give
            myself away.
            109

        

              Kaeleigh

          
            
              My Inner Child
            
            Is sobbing, crying for her mother to please, please come home, stay.
            But she is already leaving, well before dawn, as if to spend any more
            time
            here might chip her thin veneer.
            Her footsteps fall subtly in the hallway, trailed by Daddy's heavy tread and garbled entreaty not to go.
            The front door shuts emphatically.
            I tense, count his paces. Twenty to his own bed, twelve to mine. One, two.
            Three, four. Wordlessly, I beg him not to stop.
            Five, six. Seven, eight. Please, go back to bed. Nine, ten. Eleven, twelve. Pause. The knob turns. Quick, before he can open my door, I scrunch my
            eyes, will my breathing to slow.
            He steps inside, creeps to my bed.
            I give a silent prayer that he'll believe
            I'm asleep, take pity, leave me to my feigned dreams, all the while preparing to give
            myself away.
            110

            
              Daddy Strokes My Cheek
            
            His touch is soft as a dandelion, ready to release its spores.
            I feel his eyes trace my silhouette,
            **
            steel myself against what will come
            next. But the quilt doesn't move.
            **
            His lips brush my forehead.
            
              You're so much like her,
              he whispers.

              Why can't I just take it all back?
            
            **
            He crumbles on the carpet beside my bed. In the growing light,
            I slit open my eyes, watch his face
            **
            fall into his hands. Tears stream through the cracks between
            **
            
              his fingers.
              Why can't I take it back?

              Will you ever be able to forgive me?
            
            Nobody answers. Not her. Not me.
            **
            Before long, Daddy's breathing
            evens, and when he starts to snore
            **
            I slide out from under the blankets, into chill, Turkey-tainted air; tiptoe past his sleeping form. Away.
            111

            
              Not a Creature Is Stirring
            
            In the house or out, as I slide open the door, step out into the crisp Saturday morning,
            **
            biting back sudden teeth chatter.
            **
            The entire neighborhood seems asleep, not a single early-morning mower in sight.
            **
            But smoke trails zigzagging from chimneys
            **
            belie the idea that I'm completely alone.
            Someone's awake, despite the fact that the sun
            **
            has barely risen. I'll be early to work.
            **
            Usually I ride my bike the mile or so to the Lutheran home. Today I think I'll walk,
            **
            inhaling the clean of barely dawn.
            **
            Showered, made-up, and blow-dried, my body is almost as scrubbed as
            **
            the daybreak. So why do I feel dirty?
            112

            
              The Old Folks' Home
            
            Has a new arrival, one who has
            thrown the place into an uproar.
            Seems William O'Connell is something of a ladies' man.
            He's tall, or once was, having
            lost a few inches to stoop.
            And, despite his years, he's
            really quite handsome, in an aged, Irish way.
            **
            
              Come over here, m'darlin',
              he invites, to no one woman in particular.
              I'm thinking

              you're in need of a bit of male

              companionship.
              His offer is met with a chorus of giggles.
            
            **
            Ah yes, it's a breakfast to go down in the history of the Lutheran home, one to be retold in whispered tales, passed around by these good
            (if lonely) ladies. Only Greta
            seems unimpressed.
            **
            
              Who does the man believe
              he is? Sean Connery? Now

              there's an Irishman worthy
              of consideration,
              she jokes.
            
            113
            Unlike some of the home's guests,
            William is completely ambulatory.
            In fact, he gets around so well,
            I have to wonder why he's here, flitting from woman to woman like a horny hummingbird.
            I watch, amused, until it's time to clear the dishes. And that's
            when he finally catches sight of me.
            **
            
              Ah, such a sweet young rose.

              Who might I be addressing,
              my lovely little flower?
            
            **
            For no discernible reason, my arms sprout goose bumps and my forehead leaks sweat.
            I start to say "Kaeleigh," but my
            mouth clamps tight around my answer, squeezes shut around my name.
            114

            
              Memory Strikes Suddenly
            
            Chokes me. Strangles me.
            It was dark in my room.
            Very dark.
            Someone had closed the curtain.
            I was small. Maybe nine.
            Mommy wasn't home.
            But Daddy was.
            He lurched through my door.
            That scared me. But why?
            He'd never hurt me before.
            Only touched me lovingly.
            Like any Daddy.
            So why did I tremble?
            Why did I catch my breath, hold it, as if
            I might never breathe again?
            Why did my heart feel like a race-car engine?
            Daddy must have heard it.
            **
            
              Don't be afraid, little flower.

              It's only me.
            
            **
            And almost instantly, Daddy
            made everything seem just fine.
            Even when it wasn't.
            115
            
              I Didn't Panic Then
            
            But here in the dining room, terror inflates inside me
            **
            like a flame in a breeze,
            Especially when William
            **
            
              echoes,
              Won't you tell

              your name, little flower
            
            **
            Blood rushes from my face to who-knows-where, and I feel
            **
            weightless, helpless, a cloud in a cold, trembling sky.
            **
            Just as I think I'll turn and run, worse, keel completely over,
            **
            dearest Greta takes hold of me, props me up with the force of her.
            **
            
              Kaeleigh seems to have taken

              ill, William. You and she can
            
            **
            
              chat later.
              She guides me away.

              Will you come to my room for a while?
            
            **
            It's a question, not a directive, and for that I am grateful.
            116

            
              Unlike Everyone Else
            
            In my life, Greta knows when to stay silent. She sits me down in a chair by the window, settles into a rocker, opposite me.
            Then all she does is rock.
            **
            I stare out over the fog-shrouded
            valley. The gray gulps me into it, infiltrates my brain. Sad.
            Will I ever find a way beyond this sad? Tears puddle my eyes.
            **
            I let them fall, like how they
            feel, then come to my senses.
            "S-sorry," I sniffle, not sure
            why, except it's lame to cry, like it's ever done any good.
            
              Sorry? What for?
              Greta asks.
              You've

              got some powerful demons, girl,
              but I've got a few of my own.

              Already told you I'm a good listener.

              Talk to me when you're ready.
            
            117

            
              I Want to Talk
            
            But I'm not.....really sure
            what I can talk....about. Daddy?
            Not ever. Mom? Definitely not now.
            The campaign is much too close to call.
            **
            Raeanne? How I miss her, miss how
            close we once were? Miss the sisters we used to be, before...
            **
            Nope. Can't.....crack open
            that particular.....history book.
            Other family members, inexplicably
            unable or unwilling to be a part of my
            **
            life? Ian? Uh-huh. OMG! Greta is undeniably right. Some very
            intense demons have so got hold of me.
            118

            
              I Go Over to Her
            
            Wrap my arms around her neck. "Thank you. But I'm
            okay." Of course she knows
            it's a lie.
            Greta, who patiently
            waits for my confession, can see demons hip-hopping in my eyes.
            She deserves a better answer.
            "Maybe someday we can
            trade stories, okay? But
            I'm on foot today.
            Better go."
            
              Be safe,
              is her reply, and again
            
            I realize I only feel secure here.
            Passing William in the hall,
            I give his shoulder an easy
            poke.
            "Name's Kaeleigh. Gotta go.
            Be good." He offers the usual
            
              Always,
              then turns his attention to a couple of older ladies. Better
            
            them than me, and their giggles
            mean they agree. I step
            out the door, into lengthening
            afternoon, carry my demons
            home, tucked deep inside.
            119

        

              Raeanne

          
            
              We All Have Demons
            
            Some inside us, some outside.
            (Madison is a fine example of the exterior variety.)
            It's a lie to say otherwise. Kaeleigh
            can successfully stow hers away in some dark corner, but in my eyes it is better to confront them than let them roil you into turmoil. And so at the moment
            I'm thinking I'd
            better go
            get in Madison's face. For a day or two, I wasn't sure Mick was worth it. And hey, he probably
            isn't. But she has to learn not to poke
            sticks at snakes, at least not
            venomous ones. Today my
            fangs are exposed. All
            I have to do is sink
            them into the proper artery, pump a little poison, watch her bleed
            out, one less demon to contend with.
            120

            
              I Guess I Might
            
            Just leave well enough alone, but I've been thinking about Mick.
            **
            One way or another, I have to decide whether I want to keep him
            **
            He actually gave me an ultimatum
            when he found me doing the deed with Ty.
            **
            Maybe that's why I got so ballsy, had sex with Ty where I knew Mick could
            **
            find us. Maybe I had to know if he cared or not. He did! He was jealous.
            **
            I'd like to think the reason he was flirting with Madison
            **
            that night was to make me jealous.
            But I don't think he's that complicated.
            **
            "Complicated" takes more brains.
            Not that Mick is a total dolt,
            **
            but he isn't exactly Einstein, either.
            Anyway, most of Mick's brains reside
            **
            in the general area of his groin.
            One thing for sure, sex will never
            121
            be about love with Mick. I don't love
            him, and he definitely doesn't love me.
            **
            Still, he semi-fills a gaping black hole inside me. That place wants love,
            **
            maybe even needs love, but love is something I'm pretty sure doesn't exist.
            122

            
              With or Without Love
            
            I'm not ready to let him go, not without a fight. Besides the easy
            sex thing, there's still the pot.
            **
            I know they say marijuana isn't
            addictive, not like speed or heroin, which claw into you and won't let go.
            **
            Pot is more of a sweet talker, and I'm
            all over that sexy voice. I went Saturday without it, but by yesterday afternoon,
            **
            I was getting antsy. I called Mick, asked him to pick me up after church.
            Yes, I sometimes sneak off to Sunday
            **
            services, always in need of forgiveness, if not always exactly sure why. Freshly
            forgiven, I was eager for corruption.
            **
            
              Okay, I'll come get you,
              he said.

              But not if you're gonna fuck off
              on me. What was that about?
            
            **
            Not like we're exclusive, or have
            ever pretended to be. But the dope was calling. Had to play contrite.
            123
            even if it isn't my best game. "Sorry.
            Guess I was jealous of Madison and wanted to make you jealous too."
            **
            
              Yeah, well, I could have screwed
              her Friday night too. I didn't,
              even though she wanted to.
            
            **
            Zing! Off went a flare in my head.
            My temper [ature] started to rise.
            I kept it in check. "Obviously."
            **
            
              Anyway, Madison says you see

              other guys all the time. Friday

              kind of proved that, didn't it?
            
            **
            Okay, I was starting to lose it.
            "That's just bullshit! If she doesn't
            watch her effing mouth, I'll..."
            **
            
              He waited for me to finish it, but when all I could do was stammer, he asked,
              You'll what?
            
            **
            "Kick her ass."
            124

            
              But Kicking Ass
            
            Could definitely be a double-edged
            sword. Not that
            I've ever tried it.
            **
            But I can see how getting physical could relieve some tension, at least in the short run. Hauling off, letting my fists fly, and feeling them connect with her surprised face just might
            **
            make me feel a whole lot better.
            That is, until the inevitable fallout.
            Suspension for sure. Restitution, possibly. Maybe
            lockup? I could
            even find myself in my dear old
            daddy's court.
            No, the more
            I think about it, the more I
            believe there
            has to be a subtle yet satisfying
            method of revenge.
            125

            
              I Just Have to Find It
            
            And that might take a while.
            Patience? Not my best thing.
            
              **
            
            I make it through Contemporary
            Lit, still puzzling over it.
            **
            
              Spanish II.
              Si, quiero

              venganza.
              I want revenge.
            
            **
            I am on my way to history
            when opportunity falls
            **
            smack in my lap, à la a quick bathroom break.
            **
            As I start toward the girls'
            room, I notice Madison
            **
            ahead of me. She reaches into her purse, roots inside.
            **
            She glances around, but doesn't see me watch her
            **
            extract a tampon, palm
            it, and step through the door.
            **
            I can wait to pee. And now
            I've got my ammunition.
            126

            
              I'll Have to Wait to Use It, Though
            
            First I have to get through history.
            I sit in my usual seat in back, by the window, as Mr. Lawler
            passes out last week's essays.
            I can't help but notice how he moves with feline grace.
            A big cat. Jaguar, maybe.
            Or a tiger. Secure within his stripes.
            **
            Pinstripes, actually, on dark
            trousers, snug at the waist and across his hips, before falling loosely down over his thighs.
            And just as my disgusting
            brain gloms onto a sick
            image of what those thighs
            look like, his voice descends.
            **
            
              Interesting piece of writing.

              I'd like to discuss it further.

              Can you wait after class,
              or come in at lunch?
            
            Interesting, good? Or bad?
            My eyes drop, focusing on a large red A at the top of my paper. Apparently, good. "Let's do lunch."
            127

            
              Doing Lunch
            
            With Mr. Lawler will postpone
            exacting revenge. Lunch would
            **
            have been a great venue for what
            I've got in mind. Instead I'll wait
            **
            for drama--not my class, but I'll
            go to watch Kaeleigh rehearse.
            **
            At least, that will be my excuse.
            Madison will be there too.
            **
            And anyway, lunch with Mr. Lawler and his pinstripes could prove quite
            **
            interesting. Sheesh. Sometimes I turn into a major vamp. It's a fun game.
            **
            I'm all into games, distractions from the day-to-day crap. All vamp,
            **
            I open Mr. Lawler's door. "Ready for me?" His smile tells me definitely.
            **
            
              Come on in. I'm just finishing
              up here. Have a seat.
              He gestures
            
            **
            to a chair beside his desk, scribbles
            something in his grade book,
            128
            and finally looks me in the eye.
            
              I'm fascinated with your take
            
            **
            
              on the Scopes trial. How did you

              arrive at your conclusions?

              **
            
            I outline my research, add a bit about my father and his take on
            **
            this sensational piece of history--
            how different attorneys might have
            **
            made different arguments, the court
            might have allowed the jury to
            **
            sentence Scopes, and the Bible
            might have been the only source
            **
            for schoolchildren for many years to come. Hard to believe they were
            **
            such cretins in 1925, jailing a high
            school teacher for offering evolution
            **
            as an alternate theory to creationism.
            Just who were the monkeys in the "Monkey
            **
            Trial"? Anyway, the entire time I talk,
            Mr. Lawler's eyes stay fixed on mine.
            129
            
              I'm very impressed. You took
              a relatively straightforward
            
            **
            
              topic and gave it a unique

              spin. I appreciate the extra
            
            **
            
              effort that went into this essay.
            
            And then, in a completely
            **
            unexpected move, his hand
            settles gently on top of mine.
            **
            I should pretend propriety, pull
            my hand away. But I like how
            **
            it feels beneath the warmth of his, I give my most vampish
            **
            smile. "Extra effort is my middle
            name. Thanks, Mr. Lawler."
            130

            
              That Was Fun
            
            Maybe even more fun than what I've got on my
            agenda now. We shall see.
            I wander into drama, wearing
            innocent like baby powder perfume.
            Onstage, waiting for direction,
            Madison stands with a couple of girls and several guys.
            Perfect.
            God, she's such a cow, hardly even worth my
            jealous
            response. I almost change
            my mind, but then she catches
            sight of me and her expression
            puts me on my feet. Totally
            guilt
            free, I saunter up the stage
            steps. Kaeleigh hasn't yet appeared, and Ms. Cavendish won't
            know the difference unless
            I try to sing. I pass Madison's
            knot, sniff the air beside her dramatically, loudly project, "Ugh! What's that
            smell? Madison, are you on the rag?"
            131

        

              Kaeleigh

          
            
              Everyone's Laughing
            
            At Madison, whose face has turned the approximate color of pickled beets, as she struggles for a comeback. I almost
            feel sorry for her, not that she's exactly
            innocent of saying mean things to people.
            Or about people, behind their backs, or even worse, where they can overhear.
            Most everyone I know thinks she's a perfect
            bitch. Even her friends don't like her much, that's my guess. Maybe I'm
            jealous
            somehow. Nah. She's the one with the problem, not me.
            Anyway, the more I remember
            how nasty she can be, the less
            guilt
            I feel about thinking what just
            happened is funny. Still, Ian
            appeared
            just about the time she sputtered
            off. He looked at me like I was at fault. Whatever.
            Dramatically,
            I tilt my face toward the ceiling, walk by him without a word.
            132

            
              Ian Retaliates
            
            In his own subtle way, goes and sits by Shelby, rotates
            completely away from me.
            **
            I've studied this scene, know
            my lines. So why can't I
            remember a single one?
            **
            
              Uh, Kaeleigh? You seem
              a bit distracted today,
              says

              Ms. Cavendish.
              Everything okay?
            
            **
            Wonder if Ian...oh, did she just ask me a question?
            "I'm sorry, what?"
            **
            
              Definitely distracted. Get your

              script. You and Ian run lines.

              We'll block this scene later.
            
            **
            I slip quietly into the vacant
            seat on the other side of Ian.
            "She wants us to run lines."
            **
            He nods and Shelby retreats.
            Ian and I crack our scripts without exchanging glances.
            133

            
              Eventually
            
            We reach a romantic scene.
            Onstage, Ms. Cavendish
            has the chorus singing a big
            ol' production number.
            It's an unusual backdrop
            **
            for Ian's and my scripted passion.
            **
            But even with numerous
            vocal errors, corrections, and amended directions, so many distractions,
            **
            our declarations of love intertwine.
            **
            And even as Madison
            stomps back into the theater, to be corralled by Ms. C and told to join the others onstage,
            **
            Ian finally looks up, into my eyes.
            **
            Just then the bell rings, and as everyone deserts the stage, locates possessions, escapes the building, he says,
            **
            
              Sometimes I just don't know who you are.
            
            134

            
              Not Exactly
            
            The words I'd hoped to hear.
            
              Then again, what exactly
              were
              the words I'd hoped for?
            
            **
            Anyway, to be honest, sometimes I'm not so sure
            just who I am either.
            **
            So I admit, "That makes
            two of us, I guess." At least
            when I smile, he does too.
            **
            He offers me a ride home, but I opt for the bus. "Maybe
            tomorrow? I need to think."
            **
            Ian walks me to the yellow
            dinosaur, bends down, kisses a sweet good-bye.
            **
            As the bus belches and squeals, pain bubbles up inside, an evil
            spirit, demanding escape.
            **
            And by the time I reach home,
            I know I've got to uncork the bottle, free my evil genie.
            135

            
              It's Been a While
            
            Since I've really binged.
            Mostly, I guess, because things
            have seemed fairly flatlined
            recently. No major upsets.
            No major downslides.
            **
            But that episode with William
            has bothered me since it happened. I let it fester, though on the surface the blister has popped, scabbed over. William didn't
            cause the infection, he was just
            its manifestation. God, I'm so in need of spiritual antibiotics.
            **
            Then the Madison thing.
            She is a major, total shit
            stirrer, vicious clear through, and obviously out to shred
            any living thing that stands in the way of what she wants.
            On one level, what happened in drama was the funniest
            thing ever. I laughed out loud, along with most everyone
            else. So why did I feel bad later
            136

            
              But When It Comes
            
            To my personal sundae of interior upheaval,
            Daddy is the ice cream.
            Raeanne is the hot fudge.
            Mom is the whipped cream.
            And Ian is now, and maybe
            forever, the cherry on top.
            **
            Why can't he and I find a way to accept each other, lose ourselves in all-
            encompassing love, the kind that can save you?
            The kind that can glue
            all the fragments of two
            broken hearts together.
            **
            Sometimes, every once in a while, it feels like we're almost there. Close.
            So close. But then something
            happens, something out of my control, and mostly it comes from inside of me--
            this terrible black energy, wrenching us apart. I think
            I should be able to control
            it. make it go away. But I can't.
            137

            
              And So, Right now
            
            I will control one of the few
            things I can. Gaining curves.
            **
            Funny thing is, I still haven't
            graduated to double digits,
            **
            despite semiregular binges
            amounting to amazing quantities
            **
            of food. Maybe stress burns a lot of calories or something.
            **
            But hey, I'm gonna try, at least as long as there's food in the house
            **
            and Daddy isn't home. He's not.
            The garage is vacant, awaiting
            **
            the Lexus's return. I glance at the grandfather clock in the hall.
            **
            Not yet four. I should have an hour or more, all to myself and my genie.
            **
            It's screaming to be fed.
            Begging to be satisfied.
            138

            
              It's Probably Weird
            
            To think about an addiction like it's a sentient being, but that's how it feels.
            **
            Like it's something living inside you. Something
            you can't get rid of because killing it means killing you.
            **
            I can't really understand
            addictions to drugs or alcohol.
            Things that control you.
            **
            But an eating disorder is an addiction you control.
            Wait, is that paradoxical?
            I prefer to believe not.
            **
            Either way, I kick off my shoes, slide along the tile and into the kitchen, calming my genie
            **
            with promises. Twinkies. Ice
            cream bars. Halloween candy.
            Screw the trick-or-treaters.
            Little heathens are bums.
            139

            
              Sweet Stuff
            
            Sounds good, but I know from experience I'll get sick before
            I can eat enough sugar to satiate
            this kind of need. I should start with something else. Hey.
            I know. I'll binge healthy and do the five food groups.
            **
            Crackers. Chips. Both whole
            grain. Salsa. Fruit salad.
            Canned, but oh well. Cheese for the crackers. (And later, ice cream, dessert dairy.)
            Protein? Think there's lunch
            meat in the refrigerator.
            Hope it's bologna.
            **
            That just leaves fat. So I'll
            butter my bologna. First,
            I spread a quarter roll of paper
            towels on the table. Have to do this crumb free. Next
            I arrange silverware in a perfectly straight line.
            **
            About the time I turn toward the cupboards, I notice the obnoxious repetitive noise.
            140

            
              The Answering Machine
            
            Is beeping, accompanied by a red warning light.
            
              Blip-blip-blip.
              Three messages.
            
            **
            
              One: Mom.
              Can't talk

              long. But thought you'd

              want to know, in case

              you haven't checked,
              the campaign is picking

              up. I'm ahead in current

              polls. Will be home to watch
              the election coverage.
              Click.
            
            **
            Awesome. Looks like we'll lose her completely. Not that I expected
            anything else. No, not at all.
            **
            
              Two: Daddy.
              Can't talk

              long. But wanted to let

              you know I'm going out
              to dinner with a colleague.

              It could go pretty late,
              so don't worry if you don't

              see me tonight. Any problems,
              call my cell phone and I'll

              get back to you ASAP.
            
            **
            "ASAP," pronounced like a word, instead of initials. No problem,
            Daddy. I'm feeling pretty good now.
            141

            
              My Head Is in the Fridge
            
            When the third message
            fires up. The voice is unfamiliar, but it's someone I sort of know.
            **
            
              Hello? I'm trying to reach

              Raymond Gardella. Ray?

              This is your father. I know

              it's been a long time with
              no word from me. But

              something has come up
              that I thought you should

              hear about ASAP....
            
            **
            A-S-A-P. Unlike Daddy,
            Grandpa Gardella uses the initials, not the acronym.
            **
            
              I had a visit from your mother,
              returned from who-knows-where.

              She wanted to know how
              to find you. Apparently, she's

              actually paid attention to
              the news lately. She knows

              your wife is running for Congress.

              My guess is she's out to make

              trouble unless you shove
              a few dollars in her direction.

              If I were you, I'd expect a call.
            
            142

            
              The Impossible News
            
            Steals my breath, chases away
            all desire for food. I thought for sure my grandmother was dead
            And now this not-so-distant
            relative crawls from the grave, a ghost.
            I wonder where she's been, why it's taken so many years for her to reappear. And now, three weeks until the election, she materializes from the ether, robed in evil
            intent? What information
            can she possibly have? What
            dark recess of Daddy's past harbors
            secrets that could sway voters
            away from Mom now? Will
            my grandmother really, truly
            appear on our doorstep, hugging
            malevolence, money her only motivation?
            Has she no desire to reconnect with her son, meet his family, become our family too? Do we
            want
            that, even if she does? One of those faded filmclips
            flickers in distant memory.
            143

        

              Raeanne

          
            
              Rich!
            
            Both the Haagen-Dazs bar
            dripping into my mouth and Grandpa Gardella's
            phone message.
            A ghost from Daddy's past, one who has remained invisible
            (almost so, anyway) for a very long time, materializes from some sordid history
            we probably don't want to know about. Kaeleigh, the dimwit, is thrilled. She
            harbors
            some idiotic curiosity about our genealogy, as if dissecting the beast
            could help us escape its
            malevolence.
            But I know that this poorly
            timed turn of events can only
            lead to more pain. Sorry, Kaeleigh, but Daddy's mommy can only
            want
            one thing: more than a few bucks.
            144

            
              What a Great Thing
            
            To come home to. Something
            new. Sure to cause a major stir.
            **
            Life is rarely dull around here.
            I consider calling Daddy,
            **
            more to mess up his dinner out than anything. But then it strikes
            **
            me that I want to see the look on his face when he hears the news.
            **
            Maybe I should call Mom instead.
            Someone should break it to her.
            **
            Wonder how long she'll be ahead in the polls, should the ghost decide
            **
            to spread some unimaginable
            rumors about dear old Daddy.
            145

            
              What Could the Gossip Be?
            
            She can't have a clue about Daddy and Kaeleigh. Unless she's been spying, completely covertly, for a very long time. Grandpa Gardella
            didn't even know about us until just a few years ago.
            And our grand-
            mother was still, to everyone's
            knowledge, totally out of the picture then--gone or dead.
            So what can she possibly
            hold over Daddy's head
            now? Could it have something to do with why
            Grandpa and
            Daddy don't
            speak to each
            other? Did my
            father shoot up heroin? Sacrifice neighborhood
            pets? Hit-and-run, DUI, or shoot
            someone, by accident or on purpose?
            
              My curiosity is killing me because
              nquiring

              minds want to know.
            
            146

            
              Mom Will Want to Know
            
            Although maybe not from me.
            But hey, what's a daughter for?
            Not sure what city she's touched down in tonight, but it will
            be pretty late. It's ten here.
            **
            Mom's cell rings five times, threatens to go to voice mail, but she picks up before it does.
            
              Yes?
              Okay, she's miffed, but not as miffed as she's going to be.
            
            **
            "Uh, Mom? It's me. We got a phone message today that I
            think you should know about sooner rather than later.
            Let me play it for you."
            **
            I hold the receiver up to the speaker. When the message
            finishes, I wait out the silence.
            
              Finally she says,
              Thank you.

              I'll put some people on it.
            
            **
            People? Mom has people?
            I mean, I knew she had a staff, connections even. But "people," as in people who handle stuff like a crazy long-lost relative?
            147

            
              Wonder If I Should Be Scared
            
            Or at the very
            least, a little nervous.
            **
            Wonder what it would
            take to make
            **
            Mom decide to put her people on me.
            **
            I know a secret or two
            myself. What if
            **
            I threatened to go public unless she bought
            **
            me a car, paid for my
            insurance, took
            **
            two hours of her precious time to help me
            **
            get my license? Hey! Great
            idea. Or not.
            **
            Really, how far
            would I go if she said no?
            148

            
              How Far Will I Go
            
            To enjoy this little game?
            Daddy will be home soon, at least I assume he will be.
            It might be fun to watch
            him pick up the message, squirm. Freak. Go ballistic.
            **
            But just imagine the fun
            if I erase the warning, wait
            things out. See if my loser
            grandmother actually rings the bell one day. Surprise!
            Guess who's coming to dinner,
            **
            Daddy o' mine. Wow. Decisions.
            Decisions. Kaeleigh would want to tell, but she's crawled on off somewhere. To erase or not to erase, that is the question.
            While I think it over, I'll make
            **
            an easier decision. Another
            Haagen-Dazs bar? Why not?
            Ex-Lax awaits. Chocolate melting into my mouth, I go over to the counter, watch the red light
            flash three times, extinguish it.
            149

            
              In the Dark
            
            of my room, I try to sleep, but thoughts whirl through
            **
            my skull, cerebral tornadoes.
            **
            Life, I'm fairly sure, is about to change. But for better or worse?
            **
            Any guess is as good as mine.
            **
            What would happen if all our dirty
            laundry was hung out on a line
            **
            where the entire world could see it?
            **
            Would Daddy still be a judge?
            Would Mom still run away?
            **
            Kaeleigh and I be taken,
            **
            forced into foster care? Would our
            lives be less filled with misery?
            **
            Or would it just be more of the same?
            **
            My eyes grow heavy, less with weariness than with remembrance.
            **
            A certain night blurs into focus.
            150

            
              Mom Was Gone Again
            
            Can't exactly remember why, only that we didn't expect her to come home until very late.
            It was dark in our room.
            **
            Velvety black. Someone had closed the curtain. Kaeleigh was scared.
            I tried to tell her not to worry, but just
            then, Daddy burst through the door.
            **
            I closed my eyes tight, made myself
            no more than a shadow. Something about him was different. I didn't
            want that something to find me.
            **
            I cracked my eyes just a slit as he sat on Kaeleigh's bed, pulled her into his lap. He smelled of Brut and Wild
            Turkey. His peculiar potpourri.
            **
            
              "
              I
              love you so much, my little

              flower. Daddy needs something
              from my girl, my sweet rose.

              Will you give it to me?
            
            **
            I wanted to be his little flower, would have given my daddy anything.
            What did he want from Kaeleigh?
            She laid her head on his chest. "What?"
            151
            
              "I
              want you to see something,
              something that proves how

              much I love you. This is only
              for you, Kaeleigh girl.
            
            **
            He lifted her gently, sat her down on the bed beside him.
            Then he opened the snaps on the fly of his flannel pajamas.
            **
            It stood up, stiff as a stalagmite.
            
              See how much Daddy loves you?

              Show me you love me, too. Touch

              it.
              He closed her hand around it.
            
            **
            I know it sounds bad, but I wanted to touch it too. I didn't know
            what it meant, only that it made Daddy
            happy. I wanted to make him happy too.
            **
            
              That's right. That's right.

              His voice rocked in rhythm with his body.
              Oh yes, my Kaeleigh

              loves me. My little flower...
            
            152

            
              Kaeleigh Didn't Know
            
            What any of it meant
            either.
            But we both knew
            **
            somehow it was important, because when Daddy
            **
            finished, he burrowed his face into Kaeleigh's hair
            **
            and wept. Confused at his tears, and at the sticky stuff icing
            **
            her hands, still Kaeleigh
            pleaded,
            "Don't cry, Daddy.
            **
            What's the matter? Didn't
            I love
            you good enough?"
            153

            
              That Brought Him Out of His Trance
            
            Like he suddenly realized just what
            he'd done. He scrambled for cover.
            **
            
              Yes, you loved me good enough.

              So very good! But it's our secret, okay?
            
            **
            
              Because if anyone knew how much

              you love me, they'd be jealous.
            
            **
            Now Kaeleigh was really confused.
            "Can I tell Mama our secret?"
            **
            
              No! Especially not Mama. She'd get

              mad because she doesn't love me
            
            **
            
              like you. She might even go away.

              You don't want that, do you?
            
            **
            She thought it over. Again and again.
            But she finally agreed, "I won't tell."
            **
            Daddy pulled her against him. Good.
            
              That's very good. It's okay to have

              **

              secrets between Daddy and his girl.

              Just remember. No one likes a tattletale.
            
            **
            
              Especially not Daddy.
            
            154

            
              She Never Tattled
            
            Didn't want Daddy to get mad.
            Didn't want her mama to go
            away, though she'd already
            gone in spirit, if not yet physically.
            Hard to understand.
            Harder yet to believe.
            Especially when your own
            need is so great. The simple
            need to absorb your mother's love.
            Kaeleigh always needed
            that more than I. No, I
            crave
            more our father's affection.
            But can anyone really love him
            good enough to fill a well of want so deep it must extend all the way to his core, the very
            "who" of who he is? And one
            bigger question remains, begging an answer: Just who (or what?)
            drilled that well in the first place?
            155

        

              Kaeleigh

          
            
              This Morning I Wake
            
            Mired in confusion, an odd
            sort of throb in my torso.
            Hunger. The specter of my genie, physically
            haunting me. Stalking me.
            Beneath my silk
            pajama top, my empty
            belly lies, flatter than ever. I
            need
            that binge, and something
            more. Something to make me
            feel necessary. Alive. This thing I
            crave
            (no, can't) is new. Forbidden.
            (No. Don't.) What's wrong with me? I can't believe I
            want
            this. Why me? Why now?
            Why at all? My hand floats across my curvelessness, moves lower, to the need.
            Who (or what?)
            can I make believe is loving me?
            156

            
              Am I Sick?
            
            My skin is hot. Fevered. Demanding to be soothed. Touched. Satisfied.
            **
            Have I gone crazy? I have never, ever
            done such a thing. Never unlocked
            **
            this private room inside of me. Never
            ever wanted to take a look inside.
            **
            Am I possessed? Entered by a demon, chained and padlocked, inside of myself?
            **
            I feel possessed, taken by some evil, sick desire. Desire I can't control.
            **
            What is wrong with me? I don't want
            this. Oh God. It can't feel good.
            **
            But it does.
            But it does.
            **
            It does.
            It does.
            **
            Does.
            Does.
            157

            
              Totally Humiliated
            
            I go into the bathroom.
            I'd like to take a hot bath, but no time now. I'll have to settle for a shower.
            The steamy cascade
            streams over my body.
            Sandalwood soap
            lifts in a fragranced
            fog, cleanses and perfumes skin and air.
            Nasty stickers of hair
            defile me, the goddess
            within. I reach for my
            razor, triple bladed and critically sharp.
            I've shaved my legs for years, know to be careful, yet suddenly I don't
            give a fuck and push
            hard. The consequences are immediate. Blood
            streams from the long, wide slice I've opened.
            It vanishes down the drain, and I can't help but smile.
            158

            
              Yeah, it Stings
            
            But at least I feel something.
            Something besides hungry.
            Something besides afraid.
            **
            Weird. I always thought
            cutters were sick. Sicker than me, even. But with
            **
            a single swipe I understand
            why they do it. Why they like it, even though they hate it.
            **
            I let the water run over the cut, ratchet it hotter, watch the blood
            slow, stutter, almost halt.
            **
            I like the way the exposed flesh
            looks, all pinkish white. It looks
            new, although I know that isn't right.
            **
            It's the same age as my skin, my bones. Me. It's been there with me since the beginning.
            **
            Been there with me through thick. Thin. Daddy. Suddenly
            I don't like how it looks at all.
            159

            
              Ugly Flesh
            
            Still exposed, I dress in loose
            drawstring pants, a soft, baggy
            blouse. Definitely not haute couture.
            **
            In fact, I look like a pregnant hippie.
            **
            To complete the look, I make two long
            braids with my grown-out bangs, pull them together in back. All I need
            now is some daisies to weave in.
            **
            Several minutes behind my usual
            schedule, guess I'd better skip
            breakfast. Somehow I've lost
            my appetite anyway.
            **
            Not gonna go double digits like this, but I've got plenty of time to work on it.
            And the baggy pants make me
            look larger than the size seven
            **
            I keep trying to outgrow.
            160

            
              Backpack Stuffed
            
            With homework and books, I maneuver the hallway as quietly as possible.
            **
            Right hand on the latch, I'm almost out into the cold, cold morning when
            **
            the sledgehammer falls:
            **
            
              Where do you think you're going,
              dressed like some lunatic street person?

              **
            
            Just the tone of Daddy's voice makes
            my entire body quake. I don't dare turn
            **
            around, don't dare look into his eyes.
            
              In them, I know I'll see the
              real
              lunatic.
            
            **
            I find an excuse. "Uh, we...we have a play rehearsal this morning. This will
            **
            help me get into my role, that's all."
            **
            He doesn't buy a word of it.
            **
            
              Today is Wednesday. You have drama

              Tuesday and Thursday afternoons.

              **
            
            Has he actually memorized my class schedule?
            Does he really keep an eye on such things?
            161
            I mean, yes, he's a control freak and all....
            I finally face him, crazy man in the eyes and all
            **
            He's there, okay, daring me not to admit the lie. I know better. "Yes, that's right,
            **
            but I'm already running late. I don't
            have time to change now."
            **
            The lunatic levels me.
            **
            
              No daughter of mine goes out in public
              like that. Go change. I'll drive you.
            
            162

            
              I Back Up the Hallway
            
            Eyes firmly planted on Daddy, who follows. Why does it have to be just the two of us here?
            **
            I want my sister. I want my mom.
            Surely he won't trail me into my room. Won't watch me undress.
            **
            Won't stop me from transforming from hippie to soc. Right? Right?
            Please tell me I'm right!
            **
            I back into my room, start to close the door, hoping he won't push
            inside. "I'll hurry, okay, Daddy?"
            **
            I stare at him, try to measure
            him, and the weirdest thought
            flashes inside my head: He must
            **
            have been incredibly good-looking
            once, before life crashed around him. Took him down. He pauses.
            **
            
              Should I help you choose

              what to wear?
              His voice is soft as baby skin.
            
            163
            This can go a couple of ways.
            Say no and face his anger?
            Say yes and face...what, exactly?
            **
            Instinct tells me to accept his offer.
            Uh. Sure." But I start to shake as he steps through the doorway,
            **
            moves swiftly across the floor to my
            closet, pokes inside, swaying back and forth like an Indian cobra charmer.
            **
            
              This,
              he says,
              has always
              been one of my favorites. You

              look like your mother in it.
            
            164

            
              He Caresses
            
            A pink angora sweater, pets it softly, as if it were the bunny the fur was stripped from.
            **
            He hands it to me, along with a slim pair of burgundy
            jeans. Daddy has good taste.
            **
            I take his offerings, start toward the bathroom, but he stops
            me with the force of his eyes.
            **
            I know what he wants. Sudden
            nausea rocks me, but just as I think for sure I'll vomit right here,
            **
            the telephone rings, yanking
            Daddy from his trance.
            His head turns toward the door.
            
              Oh. Been expecting that call.

              Hurry and change. You don't

              want to be late for school.
            
            165

            
              The Jeans Rub My Cut
            
            And painfully so, but the pain
            reminds me that I'm still
            alive, still in control of at least one
            thing.
            Right now I need to feel more in control, so I stash my
            hippie clothes deep in my book
            bag.
            Daddy is still on the phone.
            I call "good-bye," rush
            out the door, down the street, after the bus.
            I can see the flash of its tail-
            lights, breathe its greasy
            exhaust, but I
            can't catch up to it.
            I watch it swing wide, onto the highway and up the hill toward school. Now
            what?
            Behind me, I hear a well-
            tuned car and know without turning
            it's Daddy's
            Lexus.
            166

            
              He Pulls Up
            
            Not quite scraping the curb.
            The window lowers, and I wait,
            **
            expecting a hot wave of anger.
            Instead his eyes sweep over
            **
            my body, assessing. He catches
            something he doesn't like.
            **
            
              Much better, except for your

              hair. Take them out.
            
            **
            Take what out? Oh, the braids.
            I do as instructed. Wait again.
            **
            
              That will do. Now get in. Why

              didn't you wait for me?
            
            **
            "You were still on the phone.
            I thought I could catch the bus."
            **
            I settle into the plush warmed
            leather, unworthy of its comfort.
            **
            
              You know I hate disobedience.

              I hope it won't happen again.
            
            **
            "I'm sorry, Daddy. I was just
            trying to save you the trouble...."
            167
            His head snaps in my direction, and his hand flashes toward me.
            **
            It takes all my willpower not to flinch, not to bloat his anger.
            **
            His fingers catch my cheeks, pinch until my mouth opens.
            **
            
              I'll
              decide what is or isn't trouble.

              You just follow orders. Understand?

              **
            
            Drool dripping from my open
            mouth, all I can do is nod.
            **
            His hand falls away from my face, and stress falls away from his.
            **
            
              That's my girl. You're the one

              person in the world I can count on.
            
            168

            
              After That
            
            He pulls carefully away from the curb, turn signal
            doing its obligatory thing.
            To the casual observer,
            I know, we are quite a picture.
            Judge Gardella, dashing in tailored navy blue, and his teenage daughter, pretty in pink angora. But what's underneath that sweater is the antithesis of normality, however that word is defined.
            And hey, when it comes to abnormal, I can only
            be one-upped
            by
            the man driving the car. What
            would the neighbors think if they
            could look through our windows, beyond the closed curtains, and see
            what's inside?
            169

        

              Raeanne

          
            
              School Drags Today
            
            Not that it's ever exactly exciting, with the possible exception of Lawler's history class.
            I know
            it's terribly warped of me to spend an entire block
            thinking about what's tucked behind the man's zipper. Oh yeah, pretty
            damn sick, okay. But at least
            I'm not bored. Right now I'm in English, trying to figure
            out how the word "faggot" is defined, other than by a homophobe.
            We have to do a paper about how English has been bastardized
            by
            popular culture. But, much like Kaeleigh's door, the cover of a dictionary is not particularly
            something I want to open to see
            what's inside.
            170

            
              I'm Trying to Avoid
            
            Exactly that when Shelby
            
              taps my shoulder.
              Look.
            
            **
            Outside, clearly framed by the window glass,
            **
            my best and dearest friend
            Madison sidles up to Ian.
            **
            A deep shade of anger
            blossoms beneath my skin.
            **
            Screwing around with Mick-- and so me--is one thing.
            **
            Messing with Ian is something
            else, something unforgivable.
            **
            I can't believe I'm standing up for Kaeleigh, but I so am.
            **
            I raise my hand. "Excuse me,
            Mrs. Finch, but I feel sick.
            **
            May I go to the rest room?"
            Clearly unwilling to invite
            **
            diarrhea or vomit, she waves
            me out the door.
            171
            
              I Have No
              Real Right
            
            To play stand-in for Kaeleigh, but she wouldn't have the nerve to do
            what needs to be done anyway.
            Sorry, twin o' mine, but it's true.
            **
            I watch from a short distance for a minute or two, trying to size up the situation, head to toe. Or
            maybe boob to chest is more apt.
            **
            Not a millimeter separates Ian's
            T-shirt from Madison's blouse.
            In his defense, I will say Ian looks
            immensely uncomfortable.
            **
            As I start toward them, he sees
            me, and his demeanor shifts from complacency to sheer panic.
            Oh darlin', you just wait.
            **
            At the terrified look in his eyes,
            Madison turns to face me. Smiles.
            Oh, girl. That is so not the way to deal with this. I'm ready to rock.
            **
            But since I'm supposed to be
            Kaeleigh, I'll notch it back to something more like passive.
            At least for the moment.
            172

            
              As I Move Closer
            
            The tenor of the scene changes yet again. Madison remains
            possessive, of course. It's Ian
            whose body language alters.
            I had expected contriteness.
            Instead he seems unmovable, despite the certain emotion
            betrayed by his eyes: hurt.
            **
            Okay, what did that bitch tell
            him? All thoughts of Kaeleigh
            tossed aside, I move faster toward the two of them. With
            obvious intent. Madison's smile
            falls from her face and I know she has read the message in my eyes: Get the fuck
            away from him! She does, too.
            **
            But not far. She's a total player, and all in all, a worthy opponent.
            
              Oh, hey Hope you don't mind

              my borrowing Ian's ear. I was
              just asking him to vote for me
              for junior class president.
            
            **
            OMG! She's got to be joking.
            "Oh, really? Brave of you to run..." I leave the obvious
            173
            message hanging. Think better about letting her off so easy.
            "I'm sure Ian is smart enough to vote for the best candidate, though." Then I move between them, turn to face Ian's sad eyes.
            "May I talk to you for a minute?"
            **
            His response is unexpected.
            He levels me with his dark
            
              gaze.
              Not right now. I'm late
              for an appointment with my

              guidance counselor. Later.
            
            And off he stalks, leaving
            **
            Madison and I standing here
            together. We both stare after him, nothing left to say to each other. We both know
            exactly what the other thinks.
            174

            
              Maybe That Wasn't
            
            Such a good move. Then again, maybe it was. Hopefully I at least
            managed some sort of damage
            control. Then again, maybe not.
            I wonder what she said to Ian.
            **
            Well, it still isn't really my business.
            And right now my mind is wrapped around Mick, who's supposed to pick
            me up during third block. Spanish.
            Uh-huh, I'm ditching. Oh, well.
            **
            I stand on the side of the gym, where hopefully no teachers will
            notice me, waiting to do one
            more wrong thing. Okay, several
            wrong things, all at once.
            **
            I can't help but think about Ian, and I can't help but wonder
            what I can do to shut Madison's
            big mouth once and for all.
            It's a quandary, needing a fix.
            **
            Maybe getting my head will
            fix it, I sometimes believe I think
            best when I'm the most loaded.
            Probably just wishful thinking.
            But hey, here comes my ride.
            175

            
              Once Again
            
            My escape is successful.
            Once again
            
              Mick greets me with an uncomplicated
              Hey.
            
            Once again he points the Avalanche
            away from town, heads into the countryside.
            Once again he leaves it to me to roll and light a fatty. Has it only been a few days since I last
            indulged this not-so-bad habit?
            Once again
            we engage in easy sex, hardly a word exchanged between us. We are so not about conversation, and only
            body-to-body communication.
            Once again
            we clean up the obvious, straighten our clothing, pop a few breath mints, and start
            back toward school. Only
            this time, Mick's erratic driving
            draws unwanted attention.
            176

            
              He Announces the Problem
            
            With a most eloquent
            
              Holy fucking shit.

              **
            
            It is then I notice the flashing
            red and blue lights coming up fast behind us. Holy
            fucking shit is right.
            **
            Down go the windows, nothing obvious about that, but the damn truck smells like a den of promiscuous skunks.
            **
            Mick doesn't have a choice except to pull over.
            **
            This could go a number of ways, from a simple ticket to a trip to county lockup. I hope
            it's Option Number One.
            **
            But as the cop-- a burly deputy sheriff--
            strides purposefully closer, my heart slides down into my gut.
            **
            Poor Mick is white.
            
              Do something!
            
            177

            
              Do Something?
            
            Is he talking to me?
            "Like what, exactly?
            **
            
              I
              dunno. Tell him

              you'll give him head?
            
            **
            Hmm. Nah, "Just shut up and don't panic."
            **
            Believe it or not, he shuts
            up. As the cop reaches
            **
            the window, he sniffs.
            
              Uh, license and registration.
            
            **
            Mick digs for his wallet, reaches too quickly toward
            **
            the glove box. The cop's hand
            dives in the direction of
            **
            
              his holster.
              Easy now,
              he urges.
              Open it slowly
            
            **
            What? Is bethinking gun?
            "No problem, Officer," I say.
            **
            He looks across Mick, to me. Instant recognition.
            **
            
              Hey. Aren't you Kay

              Gardella
              s
              daughter?
            
            **
            Damn news conference!
            What can I say? "Mm-hmm."
            178

            
              This, Too, Could Go
            
            A number of ways, depending on how the guy feels about Mom.
            Maybe even how he feels about Daddy.
            Both of my parents carry plenty of baggage--both good and not so- with local law enforcement.
            **
            See, before Mom ran for Congress, she was a county supervisor.
            Not everyone was always happy about the decisions the board
            made, especially when they
            involved money. Still, she has always been a fan of law enforcement.
            **
            As for Daddy, his decisions aren't
            always favorable toward the arresting
            officer, although Mom is right. He's a reasonable judge who does the best he can within the structure of the law.
            So, depending on too many variables to have a clue, the outcome of this
            particular encounter is unpredictable.
            **
            And beyond all that, it just may come down to how much of a tight-ass
            this particular cop happens to be.
            179

            
              Unfortunately
            
            It's so tight it squeaks
            when he walks. He takes
            Mick's information back to his patrol car. We watch in the rearview mirror as he radios in. This is not
            looking particularly good.
            **
            Back he comes, hand
            dipping toward his hip and what's attached to it.
            He stands back from the door.
            
              Please exit
              the vehicle.
            
            **
            Okay, really, really not
            good. We exit the vehicle and Mr. Policeman gestures for us to move to the front of the truck. I am an idiot!
            Holy shit. My dad is so going to be pissed!
            **
            
              "I
              noticed a definite odor
              of marijuana in your vehicle.

              Have you been smoking

              pot this afternoon?
            
            180
            Can't see how lying is going to help at this point, but I'm
            not real keen about admitting it either. I shake my head
            **
            
              just about the time Mick is dumb enough to say,
              Yeah.
            
            **
            Which seems to amuse Deputy
            
              Dawg.
              I should probably haul

              your ass in just for being so
              stupid, Mr. Moron....
            
            **
            
              That's Morona, with an
              a, replies the moron(a) in question.
            
            **
            
              The cop pretends to look at Mick's license.
              Oh yes, I see
              it now. Well, Mr. Morona, you

              wait right there for a minute.

              Ms. Gardella, would you

              please come with me?
            
            181

            
              Not Sure Where
            
            This is headed, but I trail the deputy to his car, out of earshot of Mick.
            **
            The cop gives me a hard
            
              glare, then softens.
              What

              exactly do you think
            
            **
            
              you're doing? This is
              too stupid for words,
              you know that, right?
            
            **
            I nod and finally glance at the name pinned to his chest.
            Deputy Carson. Familiar.
            **
            
              Okay, here's what I'm

              going to do. You go

              get whatever is stashed
            
            **
            
              in that pickup. I'm going
              to write Mr. Moron a
              a ticket, sixty in a forty-five...
            
            **
            Holy crap. He's going to let us walk. My eyes
            must betray my disbelief.
            182
            
              I'd probably do things

              differently, but Kay

              deserves to win that seat.
            
            **
            
              Won't happen if the press

              gets hold of the news that
              her daughter is a stoner.
            
            **
            Kay? Sounds terribly
            informal. Exactly how
            well does he know her?
            **
            The man is good at reading
            
              body language.
              Yes, I know

              her. We met eight years ago.
            
            **
            
              I was a highway patrolman

              then. First on the scene
              at a certain accident....
            
            **
            I stare hard at his face, try to erase several years, and sure enough, it swims
            **
            into view, just as it did in the backseat of Daddy's
            wiped-out Mercedes.
            183

            
              I Rejoin Mick
            
            As Deputy Carson writes the ticket. When I break the news about his pricey
            ounce, he actually gets mad.
            **
            
              What? No way! That cost

              three bills. Add the fine
              for speeding, I'm out more
              than five hundred dollars.
            
            **
            "Shut the hell up, would you?
            At least you're not going to jail...."
            And I'm not going to juvie, and my parents won't be involved.
            **
            As the deputy hands Mick
            Moron his ticket, I'm feeling
            all warm and fuzzy, until his final admonition.
            **
            
              I
              know the last eight years

              cannot have been easy.

              But hanging out with losers

              won't make your life better.
            
            **
            
              I've come to believe that people
              who survive accidents like that one
              are either just plain evil, or saved
              for a reason. Which are you?
            
            184

            
              Most of the Time
            
            I don't feel evil. But saved for a reason? Like what?
            I guess I'm pretty good at sex, but I don't think
            I was saved because the world needs
            more (even better) sex.
            Maybe Deputy Carson is completely full of it.
            Was I saved, or was fate simply too
            damn busy killing other
            people that day to catch up to me, too?
            I don't
            let myself return to that
            backseat very often. It's the place every waking
            nightmare began. I
            know
            (think, anyway) that had
            that day gone any other way, nothing would be as it is now. Right? Right? I guess
            I really don't know.
            185

        

              Kaeleigh

          
            
              PE
              Today
            
            Could have been ugly.
            My leg is swollen, the cut
            raw and inflamed. Jean germs?
            I was saved, believe it or not, by a bomb
            threat. They evacuated the whole school. Turned
            out it was just a prank.
            Was I saved or was it only a fabulous
            coincidence, one that kept me
            fully clothed (hippie style) but shivering in the pale afternoon?
            I don't
            think rescue is a big focus of fate, or whatever (whoever?) may or may not orchestrate history's
            page turns. I'd like to know
            that I have the ability to mold my own future, that if
            I work really hard, I can turn it all around. But truth is,
            I really don't know.
            186

            
              Maybe Life Is Random
            
            No fate. No God. Just time.
            The concept of God escapes
            **
            me. Some all-powerful being, who rules sometimes gently,
            **
            and often not so, all in the name of love? Who dreamed that up?
            **
            I see people who really believe in God, in hope, in charity.
            **
            Mostly, they look pretty happy
            and, on the surface, satisfied.
            **
            Christian. Like Christ. So why are so many Christians unlike him?
            **
            We don't go to church, but in my search for personal answers,
            **
            I have explored the Bible some.
            (Weird, I know, but when you get
            **
            no answers at all, you reach.)
            The Old Testament is scary,
            **
            filled with misery. That God was pretty creepy, all in all.
            187
            but Christ's testament asks for patience, harmony. Not war,
            **
            nor ostracism. Not hate crimes, lies, or offering plates filled to the brim.
            **
            I wonder if there's really a place in heaven for hypocrites
            **
            who preach love, all the while
            kicking the downtrodden.
            **
            Still, I might have bought into the essence of Christ, except,
            **
            according to the scriptures, he also asked for understanding
            **
            and forgiveness, even of our
            enemies. And if he really expected
            **
            that, I could not pass muster.
            Some people I'll never forgive.
            188

            
              It Was Greta
            
            Who first turned me on to the Bible.
            **
            
              Whenever my life takes a wrong

              turn, I look there for direction.

              I went there often,
              she said,
              when

              I was no more than your age and
              the Nazis overran my country.

              **
            
            The Bible, she said, offered comfort.
            **
            
              But it couldn't save the Jews who
              were marked for execution. It took

              people to do that, and my people,

              Lutherans, were not afraid to
              interfere. Every life is precious.

              **
            
            The Bible, she said, gave no solutions.
            **
            
              But it did let us know God

              helps those who help themselves.

              In our Danish eyes, Lutherans,

              Jews, and all in between were no

              more nor less than Danes.
            
            **
            Comforted, validated, they went to work.
            189
            
              Once we got word the Germans
              were definitely coming for our

              Jewish brothers and sisters,
              we smuggled them to safe houses
              along the eastern coastline.

              **
            
            And, to make the original "fisher of people" proud,
            **
            
              Mostly at night, but sometimes

              day, we put them on fishing boats
              and took them safely to Sweden.

              We lost four hundred, but saved

              thousands from the camps.
            
            **
            They lost more than their Jewish friends.
            **
            
              At first the Nazis took little
              except food, but with the Resistance,
              they confiscated property, possessions.

              The freedom fighters they caught

              went to the camps. Or disappeared.
            
            **
            Some were even martyred on the spot.
            **
            
              Many of us were just children.

              I saw a friend gunned down in
              the street. But we were doing
              the Lord's work, and we reaped
              his mercy from that time forward.
            
            190

            
              She Believes That Too
            
            Must be nice to have that kind of unshakable belief in a merciful higher power.
            **
            I believe in a higher power, but you can't call it merciful. No, not at all.
            **
            It's the power of my father, all
            will and rules and law, and governed himself by
            **
            Deadly Sins, chief among them
            avarice and lust.
            The only two that don't apply
            **
            are sloth and gluttony. That last
            one I lay claim to, and before I go to work, I plan on
            **
            giving into it wholeheartedly.
            Gluttony interrupted
            leads to Gluttony, with a capital G.
            191

            
              No Time for a Major Lovefest
            
            I'll have to make do with a sugar OD, leave the five
            food groups for next time.
            Look at me, already plotting a next time. What's up?
            **
            Stupid question, Kaeleigh.
            What isn't up? You can't
            maintain a relationship with the only guy in the world worth loving.
            **
            Your father's a freak, your mother is invisible, your friends don't get
            you at all, and you for real like it that way.
            **
            School used to be an escape.
            Now it's just another place with too much pressure, too much confrontation, and so not enough joy.
            **
            Your entire life is joyless.
            Go ahead. Eat. Pig out, in fact.
            Food is real, too much of it the only thing you feel.
            (Except the razor.) So feel.
            192

            
              Still Feeling It
            
            As I pedal my bike up the hill toward the Lutheran home.
            Several days until the time
            change, it shouldn't be too dark
            when I leave. But I'm going to have to figure out a better way to and from this place once night
            falls when it's still afternoon.
            **
            I despise the short days of winter.
            Don't even like the holidays, and why would I? The only good
            thing about them is the omnipresent
            food. But all that phony good cheer?
            Spare me. Or jump me straight from Halloween to Easter.
            I definitely do candy, so I'm great with those noncelebrations.
            **
            Halloween is actually stupid, unless you're under twelve.
            I know some adults like to dress up (or down) in costumes, drink too much, and ogle
            one another. I remember Mom and Daddy doing that when
            Raeanne and I were little.
            193
            but I totally think everyone past middle school really ought to give it a break. Except maybe
            witches and vampires. I don't
            believe in werewolves. But moon
            worship, bonfires, and--oh yeah, especially--a little bloodletting
            seem like reasonable things to me.
            **
            I doubt anyone here at the old
            folks' home would want to play
            those games. But they are having a Halloween party. William, dressed up like a pirate? Greta, maybe a French maid? Ha! Too funny.
            I was invited, and, thinking about it, I might just have to go.
            Sounds like more fun than spending the evening answering the doorbell and topping off greedy kids' pillowcases.
            194

            
              I'm Almost to Work
            
            When a car beeps and slows to a stop nearby. It's a truly
            forgettable vehicle--a well-
            used Toyota something, silver.
            **
            The surprise is who's driving.
            Brittany. She and I have known
            each other for years. But not
            well enough to swap secrets.
            **
            
              Hey, girl! Bet you can't guess

              what I did this afternoon.
            
            She pauses, and must decide
            
              I'm really dense.
              Like my ride?
            
            **
            "Hmm. Let me see. Did you
            get a haircut? No. Manicure?
            Nah. Your nails look awful. Oh. What did you say?
            **
            Something about...your ride?"
            I smile. "Got your license, huh?
            Oh hey, did you leave school early?
            You missed all the excitement."
            **
            
              I heard about it on the news.

              Top of the hour on the radio.

              Not the best radio, but at
              least I've got tunes.
            
            195
            My smile grows. "Yeah, except for top of the hour. Congrats on the license. I probably
            won't get mine until I'm old
            **
            enough to drink legally. Anyway,
            I gotta run. Drive carefully. We
            don't need another statistic, as my dear old dad would say."
            **
            
              No worries. I don't plan
              on being a statistic, unless
              it's a good one. Hey, want
              a ride to school tomorrow?
            
            **
            I hardly ever take rides from friends, and I start to say no, but she looks so hopeful,
            I just can't. "Why not?"
            **
            We agree on a time and away she goes, and as I pedal up the driveway, it occurs to me
            that Brittany (plus Toyota)
            **
            just might come in handy, especially when winter
            hits for real. Long as her car
            has a heater, of course.
            196

            
              No Party Tonight
            
            At the old folks' home, just more of the same ol',
            **
            except for one major thing.
            Greta has a visitor. Someone
            **
            very special, from the past. I can
            tell he's special by the sparkle
            **
            behind her spectacles. I can
            tell he's from her past because
            **
            they're speaking in Danish, something I've never heard
            **
            her do before. I'm fascinated, and even though I can't
            **
            understand more than a word or two, I keep finding excuses
            **
            to exit the dining room (where
            I'm supposed to be getting
            **
            everything set up for dinner) in favor of the sitting room.
            **
            Greta and her visitor have
            parked themselves in front
            197
            of the fireplace, and their conversation seems every bit
            **
            as cheerful as the song of wood, crackling behind them.
            **
            As dinnertime nears, more and more people stir around them,
            **
            but they are so caught up in each other, they barely notice.
            **
            If I didn't know better, I'd
            definitely guess this was love.
            198

            
              Looks Like Love
            
            And dear Greta.........so deserves love, it makes me happy.......to see it glowing all around her, glowing...inside her, filling her up with this beautiful light. Such brilliant
            light must come straight from heaven, if such a place really exists. She
            believes it does, so for her, it's real, and maybe
            that's enough to make I
            t so.
            **
            Real or no, this
            gentleman caller
            dropped in from out of the blue, so I'll just go
            ahead and make believe he was divinely inspired to bring a healthy
            dose of light into Greta's life. Her smile is ethereal. It makes...me shiver as all up and down my arms,....a colony of goose
            bumps lifts. And suddenly, a jab
            **
            of jealousy
            nails me in the gut.
            199

            
              Envy Surges
            
            Scarlet hot through my veins.
            I mean, the woman is like eighty-two years old or some-
            **
            thing. Why should she know
            love when I don't? When I can't?
            She's only got a few years
            **
            at best. Why should they be warmed by love when my own coming
            decades are doomed to frigidity?
            **
            Greta's beau shares the dinner
            table with a half-dozen old
            women, but he sees only her.
            **
            And she sees only him, despite the banter and pleasantries exchanged
            all around and between them.
            **
            I can't help but watch through eyes
            tinged green. Then Greta laughs, from the heart, like she has laughed
            **
            with me, only sweeter. And suddenly
            I am ashamed. No, horrified, at myself.
            How could I think that way?
            200

            
              That Was an Incredibly Bad Scene
            
            Like looking inside myself and finding a stranger, someone not only vicious but downright
            evil.
            How odd, to suddenly
            glimpse a facet of me
            I didn't know existed.
            I guess it really
            isn't
            all that unusual to surprise
            oneself with an ugly bit of ego. But was this
            unsuspected piece of me
            born at the same instant I was?
            Or was it spawned some
            time between that moment and now? I know, it's a question with no answer, undeserving of introspection.
            But was this hideous thing
            conceived, or was it created?
            201

        

              Raeanne

          
            
              Kaeleigh Takes Herself
            
            Way, way too seriously.
            Everyone has a secret side, one that's not so nice. But
            evil?
            I prefer to reserve that
            designation for presidents, terrorists, and Madison.
            Okay, I guess the bitch
            isn't
            really evil either. Too stupid for evil. Oops. That lets presidents off the hook too. Terrorists are rarely stupid, but even they aren't
            born
            evil. But you know, preach it--
            whatever "it" is--loud enough, long enough, someone will buy in.
            Witness Jerry Falwell. Ask me, it's a sin to pervert faith with religion.
            Despite every church, mosque, and synagogue in it, this is not the world
            any God worth his salt would have
            created.
            202
            
              But Whatever Created It
            
            It's my world, the only one
            I've got. Might as well make the best of it, right? Might as well have a little fun
            while I'm here. Or a lot of fun.
            Might be dead tomorrow.
            **
            I'd call Mick, but he's out of dope, and anyway, he's an irritating prick. Stupid, too, all ranting about how
            he's going to sue the sheriff's
            department for stealing stash.
            **
            I told him to shut up and think about it, and hopefully he's
            doing exactly that about now.
            I do know a few other people who might have some bud.
            But the one who comes first and foremost to mind is Ty.
            **
            
              He gave me his number,
              for the next time you

              find your mouth watering
              for a hot red lollipop...
            
            Yeah, he's totally disgusting.
            Why do I like men that way?
            203

            
              Oh, and Guess What
            
            He answers his phone first ring, and he isn't busy at the moment.
            **
            Lucky, lucky me. It's a school
            night, and I might very well hear
            **
            about not coming straight home, but hey, if I go straight home, I won't
            **
            be going out tonight. No-brainer.
            I wait for him at a little convenience
            **
            store, and about the time I grow
            impatient, a sheriff's sedan cruises
            **
            by, reminding me I do not want to be caught in the backseat of a car
            **
            in a compromising position. Turns
            out that's not a problem. Ty whips
            **
            into the parking lot, in a blue BMW
            24 convertible. Top down. No back-
            **
            seat. We won't be smoking or making
            out in this stunning little car.
            **
            He smiles at the look on my face.
            
              Get in. How 'bout we take a little spin?
            
            204

            
              Zero to Sixty

              In five point six seconds,
              says
            
            Ty. Seemed faster to me. I love the way acceleration presses me
            back against my seat. But what's
            **
            really interesting is that Ty can afford
            this car at all. Might as well just ask.
            **
            "So what do you do, anyway?
            Or are your parents loaded?"
            **
            He smiles and settles the car into an easy cruise mode.
            
              Actually, my parents
              are
              loaded. More ways than one.
            
            **
            I really look at him for the first
            time. Handsome face, chiseled, strong. Works-out-in-the-gym
            body. Dark, longish hair, tied back.
            **
            Simple black T-shirt and Levis, though clean, totally belie the Beamer.
            
              And what exactly did he mean by
              more ways than one?
            
            **
            Might as well just ask. "Your
            parents get high? Do they deal?"
            205
            
              Nah, they don't deal. They indulge

              plenty, though. See, my dad is

              Chumash. When the casino was built,
              he made
              --
              how best to put this?
              --
              more
            
            **
            
              than a tidy little sum on the deal.

              He and my mom now own quite an
              operation out Foxen Canyon Road.

              Cattle. Horses. Young vineyard.
            
            **
            Who would have guessed?
            Certainly not me, not even after our little private party up there on Figueroa. Still...
            **
            "So how about you? What do you do?
            Do you live with your parents?"
            **
            A bunch more questions pop into my head, bubbling over like champagne, but the answers to those two might answer the rest.
            **
            
              Shit, yeah. In a guest house,
              actually. Once our vines mature,

              I'll play vintner. Right now,

              I'm apprenticing at another winery.
            
            206
            Several questions answered indeed.
            Finally I notice we have in fact been driving along Foxen Canyon
            Road. Ty slows the BMW and we
            **
            turn up a long driveway through rows and rows of immature grapes.
            We make a left before reaching the rather overbearing main house.
            **
            
              Finally Ty crunches to a stop in the gravel.
              Here we are. Home

              sweet home. Hope you're up
              for fun and games.
            
            207

            
              Fun, Ty-Style
            
            Begins with tall Jack Daniel's and Cokes. As he mixes them,
            I wander around the "guest house,"
            **
            thinking half the country would
            flip if they could live in a home like this. Two oversize bedrooms.
            **
            Two bathrooms, one with a Jacuzzi
            tub. Beautiful kitchen, open to the leather-and-brass living room.
            **
            With a flick of a switch, Ty lights the gas fireplace, which throws a gentle gleam across the hardwood
            **
            floor. He gestures toward the rich
            burgundy leather sofa and goes into the bedroom. Blink of an eye,
            **
            back he comes, holding a big wooden
            box. He sits close, opens the hand-
            carved oak, reveals the cache inside.
            208

            
              This Is Something New

              My uncle has connections you

              wouldn't believe,
              says Ty.
            
            He pulls out a baggie, a quarter
            full of some crumbly brown substance.
            **
            When he cracks the bag, the perfume
            that escapes smells like heaven.
            **
            
              Opiated hash. Ever tried it?
            
            **
            I shake my head no, but Ty is quick to remedy that, filling
            **
            a small pipe bowl with a miniature
            ball of opium-laced hashish.
            **
            He takes the first toke, and now
            heaven's on fire, and smoking.
            **
            
              Still holding his hit, Ty cautions around it,
              Little tokes, now.
            
            **
            
              Don't want to cough this stuff out.

              Hold it as long as you can.
            
            **
            Slowly I inhale a taste sweeter than any before. Greedy me
            209
            wants more, but I remember his warning. The smoke expands
            **
            in my lungs, and I'm glad I didn't
            take more. I hold it until I just have
            **
            to let go. When I finally do, my head is tingling all over.
            **
            Ty looks at me, measuring.
            
              Having fun yet? 'Course you are.
            
            **
            
              And sweetheart, this is just the start.

              We've still got games to play.
            
            210

            
              Games, Ty-Style
            
            Don't even begin until we're well into the fun. Drinking. Smoking.
            Feeling the creep of the poppy, all along my spine, skull to tailbone.
            **
            I know the high is mostly hash, not so different from regular
            cannabis (though even tastier).
            But the opium topper provides
            **
            a whole new set of rushes. Body
            rushes, like little shivers. Head
            rushes, like turning in circles, round and round, don't fall down.
            **
            
              Shall we move the party
              into the bedroom?
              Ty reaches
            
            over, kisses me. Hard. Harder.
            My heart screams in my chest.
            **
            His teeth rake my bottom
            lip, move down over my chin, down my neck. Not too hard.
            Not really. But hard enough.
            **
            Should I have worn garlic and a silver cross? I laugh
            out loud at the thought, and
            I realize how fucked up I am.
            211
            Ty stands, holds out his hand, but I am so messed up, all I can
            do is laugh. He pulls me to my
            
              feet.
              What's so funny?
            
            **
            "Nothing. Everything. You.
            Me. Especially me. My head
            feels like it came unattached, and my body is all tingly."
            
              His grin is pure evil.
              Excellent.

              I know just how to fix that.
            
            He picks me up, carries me into his bedroom, half throws
            **
            me onto the bed. When he starts to undress me, I burst into a new
            fit of giggles. My jeans are so tight, he can't wiggle me out of them.
            **
            "Want some help, my macho
            vampire?" I shed everything and he does too, but before we
            do another thing, he asks,
            **
            
              How 'bout another bowl?

              Something to take you real,
              real low.
              He leers like a scary

              circus clown.
              Low as a girl can go.
            
            212

            
              True to His Word
            
            He drops me real, real low.
            I'm floating on a poppy sea.
            **
            Naked. Mellow. But a sudden wind
            rouses the breaks and low
            **
            tide builds to major swells. Ty
            kisses me, all fang, pure vampire.
            **
            "Hey. Take it easy." But somehow
            my body responds to the pain.
            **
            And Ty responds to that, clamping
            one hand around both my wrists,
            **
            pulling them up over my head and pinning me helpless.
            **
            It is then I notice the nylon cord, one end tied tight to the headboard.
            **
            
              Ty's voice is almost a snarl.
              This
              is one of my favorite games.
            
            **
            He wraps the rope around my wrists, knots it tightly. Escape-proof.
            **
            I shake my head. "Don't." But he does.
            Should I scream? Would anyone hear?
            213
            Would anyone care? The obvious
            answer softens my plea. "Please?"
            **
            
              Haven't you played this game

              before? guess I'll have to teach

              **

              you the rules. The proper response

              would be, "Please, sir." Say it.

              **
            
            My heart yells, "No fucking
            way." But my brain, the part
            **
            that understands my daddy, makes
            me acquiesce. "Please, sir."
            **
            He flips me onto my belly, yanks
            my legs apart. I don't have to see
            **
            the restraints to know they're there.
            The ankle knots do not surprise me.
            **
            I am helpless. Exposed. And, strangely, somehow I feel at home this way.
            **
            
              Say it,
              he demands, like I should know he means,
              Please, sir. Punish me.

              **
            
            Deliberate, controlled, he punishes me.
            I whisper into the pillow, "I understand.
            214

            
              I Understand
            
            Why Kaeleigh liked the feel of slicing her flesh, releasing
            bottled-up hurt. Leather snaps against my skin, and I remain
            still as stagnant water, afraid I might
            not play by his rules. This is a new game, and the sick
            thing is, I see quickly that I
            like
            it, might ask to play again.
            The pain is fuzzy at the edges, blurring toward pleasure.
            Maybe it's the hash, the gentle
            arms of opium. And now
            new leather--human, Ty--
            falls softly over the heated
            welts, a soothing
            balm of sweat-beaded skin. But then
            heightened pain, forced inside me, stuffed inside me. Seared, branded, likely marked, a moan
            escapes me and Ty surges.
            After, knots loosened, a rub of cool eucalyptus oil persuades
            me I do want to play again. Soon.
            215

        

              Kaeleigh

          
            
              Long Night
            
            Unable to slip into sleep, unable to fall into dreams, unable to lie completely
            still, snared by tangled thoughts.
            Sometimes, usually well after the witching hour, Raeanne
            comes to me, shares my bed like she did so long ago. She
            listens to me, soundlessly, doesn't argue or judge.
            Eventually, I slip into the gentle
            tide of unconsciousness. But
            tonight she doesn't appear.
            I am left to wrestle memories
            alone, comforted only by the balm of cool satin sheets. I force
            my body to relax, feel it grow
            heavy. Heavy enough to sink into the satin balm.
            A moan
            bubbles into my mouth, from I don't know where--
            some inconceivable place where
            pleasure and joy are one.
            216

            
              Not Sure Exactly When
            
            I managed to fall asleep, but it must have been eventually because I'm tugged like cement into morning by the sound of the telephone.
            **
            Daddy's feet pound toward the ringing.
            
              Hello...? Hello...?

              Okay, who the fuck is this?

              **
            
            Funny, I hardly ever hear
            Daddy curse. He must be
            really pissed. The thought is confirmed by his footfall, in angry approach of my door.
            **
            He bursts through and fear
            
              swallows me down.
              Do

              you have any idea who's

              responsible for these hang-ups?

              **
            
            One thought immediately
            crosses my mind, but I'll be
            damned if I want to get caught in the middle of the brewing
            storm. "No. Should I?"
            217
            He softens, but only a little.
            
              I
              thought maybe it was one
              of your friends. Or.. .
              white

              glare ...
              a boyfriend?

              **
            
            Like I would ever let a boy
            call here! Like I would dare
            say that. "None of my friends
            would do that, Daddy. And I
            
              don't
              have a
              boyfriend."
            
            **
            
              Well.. . it's just that this has been
              happening for several days. I

              answer,
              click.
              Maybe it's one
              of your mom's secret admirers.

              **
            
            "Mom's admirers aren't so secret, Daddy. It's probably
            just a solicitor or something.
            Anyway, doesn't the number
            show up on caller ID?"
            **
            
              Now why didn't I think of that?
            
            His voice fairly sprays sarcasm.
            
              It's a private number. Hurry
              it up now, or you'll be late.
            
            218

            
              The Clock Agrees
            
            I'm supposed to meet Brittany in twenty minutes. Still, I just
            can't seem to "hurry it up."
            Mostly because he told me to.
            **
            I slide out of bed, shuffle to the bathroom, do my thing.
            Brush my teeth and hair.
            By the time I return to my
            room in search of clothes,
            **
            
              Daddy is hustling toward the door.
              Come straight

              home after work. Hear me?

              **
            
            Like where else would I go?
            But, of course, despite the serious resentment
            that blooms immediately,
            I say simply, "Okay."
            **
            He is all the way into the garage before calling over his shoulder,
            
              And don't answer the phone.
            
            219

            
              Do This, Don't Do That
            
            I seriously despise the man, would do just about anything not to obey him, at least if I thought I could get
            away with it or even that the sure consequences
            would be sufferable.
            But when Daddy
            decides to make
            you suffer, it's more than any-
            one can
            bear.
            220

            
              But He's Gone Now
            
            So I'm going to do the likely
            less than intelligent thing and dress exactly how I want. Not
            hippie today. Frumpy? Slutty?
            Hey, maybe no clothes at all?
            **
            Probably not a good plan.
            Who knows if Brittany's silver
            bomber can even make it to school without breaking down?
            Speaking of that, she'll be here
            soon. Better shake my tail.
            **
            Where did that saying come
            from, anyway? I slide into a glam velour jogging suit. Not
            frumpy. Not slutty, Just soft and definitely not an outfit
            Daddy would want me to wear to school. Too casual.
            (Although, really not casual
            enough for a decent jog.)
            **
            Out the door, into the cold
            morning, I'm glad I'm wearing
            sweats, if you can really call
            glam velour sweats. Up the sidewalk, to the corner where
            I'm supposed to meet Brittany.
            221
            (Wasn't sure Daddy would
            approve of that, either, should he have been home to see me
            climb into a half-dilapidated
            Toyota.) Hey, maybe I defied
            him twice in one morning.
            Wouldn't that be a coup?
            **
            As I wait for Brittany (late, go figure!), my mind wraps around that "shake my tail"
            thing. Some deep place inside my brain latches onto it and doesn't want to let go. Where
            did I hear that? The voice I
            don't quite remember is low.
            Feminine. Not Mom's, though.
            Too scratchy. So whose?
            222

            
              Brittany, Finally
            
            And she's not alone. Riding
            shotgun is Joel, who I know from drama. And in the back-
            seat, next to my apparently
            appointed place, is Shaun.
            Ian's little brother. Great.
            **
            Not that he's not a nice kid, but sitting back there next to him seems somehow
            incestuous. Oh, well.
            It's just a ride to school, right?
            **
            
              Oh hey.
              coos Brittany.
              Sorry

              I'm late, but I had to pick up
              the guys. Joel was right on
              time but Shaun?
              She giggles.

              **
            
            Oh, yech. Maybe Brittany as transportation won't work
            out so well after all. But
            one day won't hurt, right?
            Anyway, the bus already
            went by. My choices are limited. "No problem."
            223
            
              Not Being Top
              of the hour, the radio blares.
            
            Hip-hop, no less. Definitely
            **
            not my cup of tea, but hey, it's not my freaking radio.
            **
            Joel seems to like it. He jerks his head back and forth till
            **
            he looks like a bobblehead with a really loose spring.
            **
            Beside me, Shaun stretches his legs till his right knee rests
            **
            against my left, totally creeping
            
              me out.
              Awesome song, huh?
            
            **
            I jerk my knee away from his.
            "Uh, sure." If you like songs
            **
            without music. More like ebonic
            poetry. Before I finish the thought,
            Shaun's leg has found its way
            back to mine. "Need more room?"
            
              Warmer like this, don't you

              think?
              Here comes his arm.
            
            224
            I turn and give him my most
            evil glare. "What are you doing?"
            **
            
              Nothing.
              His arm withdraws, but only a little.
              Thought you'd like it.

              **
            
            Irritation flares, red in my face.
            "Oh. really? And why is that?"
            **
            
              He shrugs.
              Heard Ian talking.

              He said you're into other guys.
            
            **
            Irritation fans into anger. "Is
            that so? Well, you can just tell
            **
            your brother for me that I am most certainly not into other--"
            **
            
              A sudden
              thwunk-thwunk-thwunk
            
            interrupts the conversation.
            **
            The Toyota yanks itself hard to the right and Brittany fights
            **
            
              to stay in control.
              Oh, man!

              I think we've got a flat tire.
            
            225

            
              Flat Barely Describes It
            
            The entire sidewall is gone, what's
            left of the tread part, shredded.
            We're not going anywhere, not on this tire. "Do you have a spare?"
            **
            
              I
              dunno, but even if I do, I have

              no idea how to change it. Do

              you guys?
              She looks at the boys, who shake their heads in unison.
            
            **
            We're already late for school.
            Not much we can do but be
            later. "Okay, then. Do you have like AAA or something?"
            **
            
              "I
              dunno. Oh, wait. My mom

              showed me a number to call.

              It goes with our cell service.
            
            She leans into the car.
            **
            As she roots through the glove
            box, I notice cars slowing a bit as they drive by. Something about four late-for-school kids,
            **
            looking helpless as hell beside a useless car, barely
            pulled onto the shoulder?
            Could be it, I guess.
            226
            Then again, you might
            think one of them would
            stop and offer to help.
            But no, they cruise on by.
            **
            
              Here it is!
              says Brittany, punching at her cell phone.

              Hi. Um. I guess I need help.

              er...roadside assistance?
            
            **
            If she giggles one more
            time, I'm going to push her out into oncoming
            traffic. We stand, stupid
            **
            as hell, waiting for a tow
            truck. My teeth chatter, and Shaun dares to move
            closer. Really, really close.
            **
            Once again, his arm tries to slide around my shoulder, and I shrink from the touch of his calloused skin. "No."
            **
            
              What is your fucking problem?

              I'm just trying to keep you

              warm. Oh, that's right.

              You prefer being frigid.
            
            227

            
              His Term or Ian's?
            
            It's going to bug me all day.
            I always thought Ian was on my side, that he understood, if not everything, that I am only
            lukewarm because I'm damaged.
            **
            Frigid? Maybe I am. But why
            should it even be a topic of conversation with Shaun?
            Did Ian call me that? And did he really say I'm into other guys?
            **
            Who did he say it to? And why?
            Wait...a sudden "aha" strikes.
            Madison. Would she have told
            him such a thing, sunk so low?
            And why would he believe her?
            **
            A stronger person would go
            straight to the source, confront
            him, ask if any of the things his little brother had to say
            could possibly be true.
            **
            But I could never do that.
            What if I just couldn't stand to hear what he had to say?
            What if he walked away?
            What if I lost him completely?
            228

            
              The Tow Truck Finally Arrives
            
            And I still don't have any
            answers, despite a good forty
            minutes, standing here with nothing else to do but think.
            Shaun finally gave up on me and moved on to Brittany, who's obviously into Joel.
            Shaun is a total clod.
            How
            can he be Ian's brother?
            They're about the same as straight sex and gay sex--
            some similarities, but different in ways that really count.
            One thing I do know is that
            if Ian deserts me, I'll never
            repair the giant rip in my
            life.
            I don't dare let him go.
            But how do I keep him without losing me?
            Who knew love
            could be
            such an enigma?
            229

        

              Raeanne

          
            
              Life Is Rarely Dull
            
            At the Gardella house.
            Kaeleigh was late for school
            this morning. Now you might not
            think
            that should be a big problem, especially considering she had
            what for most would be a good
            excuse. But that's not
            how
            things work around here. See, one of Daddy's friends happened to drive by the tow truck scene and notice Kaeleigh. A
            different
            person might have shrugged it off completely. Not Hannah, a nursing student who lives down the block. I cannot for the life of me understand why she felt t he need to call Daddy, but she did. No surprise it made him mad.
            But who knew he could be so unreasonable over such an innocent faux pas?
            230

            
              Kaeleigh Came Home from School
            
            Not particularly worried about the tardy.
            Neither Daddy nor Mom (on those rare
            occasions she's around to peruse progress
            reports) pays particular notice to stuff
            sent home from school. Besides, it was
            Kaeleigh's first tardy. Ever. No big deal.
            **
            Not, that is, until she played Daddy's
            message, left both on her cell phone and on the answering machine at home.
            
              I
              heard you missed school today in favor
              of taking a little joyride with a few friends.

              I'm surprised at you. Surprised, and

              **

              disappointed. I'd better see you at home

              when I get there. You have some explaining to do.

              And then you have to decide what your

              punishment will be. Make no mistake.

              You will be punished. When I ask what

              you think is fair, I hope you have an answer.

              **
            
            By the time he was finished, she was shaking.
            I tried to tell her not to worry, that he'd cool off before he got here. But she went to work
            scared. And she came home from work scared.
            Daddy still hasn't arrived yet, so she goes
            straight to the kitchen in search of consolation.
            231

            
              One of Kaeleigh's Regular Binges
            
            Is gross. Disgusting. I watch her and I want to puke. (And often do.)
            But this one is unlike the others
            I've had the misfortune of seeing.
            She doesn't care what goes into her mouth, as long as it resembles food.
            "Stop," I beg. "Stuffing yourself can't save you from whatever it is you imagine
            he's going to do. Please, Kaeleigh."
            
              But she keeps on shoving stuff into her mouth.
              Can't eat dinner tonight.

              He won't let me, and you know it.
            
            Maybe she's right. But I can't watch
            this self-destruction a minute longer.
            232

            
              The Worst Part Is
            
            She does have something to worry
            about. So I'll just have to help her out. I slip into Daddy's bathroom,
            **
            and this time when I "borrow" his Oxy, it's not for me. Okay, one is for me.
            The other three are for Daddy.
            **
            I can't slip all three into a single drink or he'd taste it for sure. This will be a seduction. One I know he can't refuse.
            **
            He finally roars in, and I've already
            mixed him a highball, long on Turkey, short on Oxy. That will change
            **
            as the evening progresses. He gives
            me a look but takes the drink
            
              anyway.
              Thanks. I need this.

              **

              Thank God he gulps it down before turning on Kaeleigh.
              Well?
            
            I rush to refill his empty glass,
            **
            not 100 percent sure why
            I'm trying to save Kaeleigh, who refuses to save herself.
            233
            I hand Daddy the Oxy-tainted
            highball glass as Kaeleigh answers,
            
              I
              didn't mean to be late, Daddy.

              **
            
            She doesn't dare look him in the eye.
            
              It's just that Brittany's car got a flat,
              and we had to wait for the tow....

              **

              Daddy pounces.
              I never gave you

              permission to ride to school with
              anyone named Brittany, did I?

              **

              Her eyes are like lasers, beaming the floor tiles.
              No, Daddy
              ...She rushes

              on,
              But she just got her license, and...

              **
            
            No, Kaeleigh! Too late. Damage
            done. Daddy raises his voice.
            
              Just got her license? Are you

              **

              plain stupid? Do you
              want
              to die?

              The rest is implicit:
              Don't you

              remember a certain infamous day?

              **

              Kaeleigh crumbles. Her face, only moments ago binge-florid, blanches.
              Oh Daddy, I'm sorry.
            
            234
            She threatens to collapse, and I
            whisper in her ear. "Stay strong, or you know what he'll do."
            **
            Tension begins to melt from
            
              Daddy as the painkiller starts to kick in.
              Fix me something

              **

              to eat and we'll discuss this

              further.
              As he speaks, his voice

              sputters a little, slurs.
              O-ok-ay?

              **

              Sure, Daddy.
              Kaeleigh
            
            rushes to the refrigerator.
            
              What are you in the mood for?

              **
            
            Daddy sucks down his drink.
            
              L-loaded question.
              He crosses the floor quickly, much faster
            
            **
            than I'd thought him capable
            of, half falls against Kaeleigh, who's leaning into the fridge.
            **
            I smile. Whatever he had in mind, punishment or "reward," it will not come tonight.
            235

            
              They Extricate Themselves
            
            From the refrigerator.
            Kaeleigh microwaves
            some leftover stew.
            I watch the two of them
            stuff their faces, fix
            Daddy one last drink.
            Between the rich food, stiff Turkey, and three
            OxyContin, he'll be fast
            asleep in a few minutes.
            Most of the evening's drama behind us. I slip off to the bathroom. Kaeleigh's
            disgusting food binge
            made me want to purge.
            It's more than a habit.
            It's a need. Experts even
            call it a disease. However
            you classify it, though, it's not about body image.
            At least not for me. For me, it's all about maintaining a modicum of control, especially when everything
            goes completely ape-shit.
            236

            
              Most People
            
            Hate to vomit.
            Can't stand the protest of an upset
            stomach, the heave of bile and undigested food, the carve of acid in the esophagus.
            Okay, I don't like that
            part much
            myself. But
            I do like the cool of porcelain on my face, the solid of tile beneath my butt.
            Most of all,
            I like my belly
            emptied, even
            temporarily, of food.
            Of fat.
            Of pain.
            237

            
              Face Washed, Teeth Brushed
            
            Puke free, I emerge from the bathroom, into a house silent but for Daddy's
            impressive snores. Now that I've
            evacuated my stomach, I can swallow the Oxy I borrowed for myself.
            **
            Pop the pill, chase it with whiskey, crawl into bed. Pray such seduction
            brings dreamless sleep. Seems to take a long time for the sleep aid to kick
            in. As I wait, I feel good about aiding
            **
            Kaeleigh's salvation tonight. Too
            many times in the past, I've stood by, powerless to interfere. They say an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure. There is no cure for Daddy.
            **
            Let's hear it for prevention! Of course, it's not like you can always tell what Daddy
            has in mind. I suppose there must be
            triggers that bring him to Kaeleigh's bedside.
            If only they were more recognizable!
            **
            My body slides toward sleep, but my
            brain, though fogging a bit at the edges, is working overtime. The gathering
            haze does not conceal memories of another night. Kaeleigh was ten.
            238

            
              Mom
              Was Off on a Retreat
            
            Like any of that spiritual mumbo
            jumbo ever did her (or any of us)
            one miniscule sliver of good.
            **
            Daddy had been back to Kaeleigh for "lollipop licking" (my term) a few
            times. She had a vague notion that it
            **
            was "wrong," but she wasn't sure
            why, and didn't know who to ask.
            They'd probably just be jealous.
            **
            That warm summer night, she slept in a thin white nightie, nothing more, nothing at all under. The moon, full,
            **
            shimmered against the tan of her exposed skin, and her hair whispered over the pillow like a pale waterfall.
            **
            As usual, the smell of Wild Turkey
            preceded Daddy. In the bright moonlight, you could see Kaeleigh cringe in shallow
            **
            sleep. Daddy crept through the door, to the side of her bed, stood looking down for a very long time before stirring
            239
            her with a volley of kisses. Cheeks.
            
              Forehead. Lips.
              Oh, little girl. Do

              you know how beautiful you are?

              **

              No one was ever as lovely as you,
              not even your mother when she was
              a child. I can't believe you're mine.

              **
            
            Kaeleigh roused at his words, came into the moment, secure in the aura of Daddy's love.
            **
            She tried to sit up, but Daddy
            
              pushed her gently back down against the mattress.
              Stay just

              **

              like that for Daddy. I want to
              teach you something new.
            
            He lifted her nightgown,
            **
            rolled it up over her belly, coaxed her Thoroughbred legs apart.
            She squirmed, a paltry protest.
            **
            
              Don't move!
              Daddy's scarlet
            
            face underlined his command.
            I thought he might smack her.
            240
            But as quickly as his anger
            flared, it dissipated, smoke.
            
              Don't be afraid. This won't

              **

              hurt. You'll like it. I promise.
            
            He kissed the length of her torso, down to the small, naked V.
            **
            It was only his mouth
            that night. He didn't even
            ask her to touch him, prove
            **
            how much she loved him.
            Afterward, she worried.
            Didn't he want her love
            **
            anymore? What had she done
            wrong? And yet, he had taught her something new. Something awful.
            241

            
              Worse,
            
            Something wonderful.
            Something every
            girl should
            know the joy of, though, of course, she shouldn't
            learn it from Daddy.
            **
            At ten, it isn't exactly
            easy to separate
            good touch from bad
            touch, proper
            love from improper love, doting daddy from perv.
            242

            
              But Tonight Will Be Perv-Free
            
            Hugged by my ostentatiously
            thick mattress, falling fast, faster toward blessed sleep, or in my
            case, more likely the sleep of the damned, the space behind my eyes is covered by a dark collage.
            Bodies. Smiles. Leers. Faces.
            Some familiar, some not, as
            if
            they are people I've yet to meet, or maybe have already met in another lifetime. One face
            truly haunts me. I'm sure
            I
            knew her once upon a time.
            Her hair is a rich mahogany, her eyes vivid green, like those of a wildcat. Where do I
            know her from? And why do I feel
            such a connection, if I can't
            even recognize her face? I so want to understand the truth of her, of "us." Yes, wanting and getting are two different
            things. But intuition tells me
            this puzzle needs to be solved.
            243

        

              Kaeleigh

          
            
              Daddy's Still Asleep
            
            At seven a.m. Wonder if I should
            wake him before I leave for school.
            I'm guessing it's a case of damned
            if I do, damned if I don't. He's
            going to have a major headache, though he probably won't have a decent clue why. Then again,
            if
            I let him oversleep, he'll be
            mad at me, too. It's not like a judge can just call in sick, unless he's on his deathbed.
            I
            will probably die before he does.
            Dying, for Daddy, would be the ultimate defeat. But death
            doesn't scare me. To
            know
            exactly when I might
            expect it, up close and in my face, would actually be a comfort. Because to tell the truth, most of the time dying
            seems pretty much like my only means of escape.
            244

            
              Not
              Right Now, Though
            
            Not with the election looming.
            No use ruining that for Mom.
            **
            Although maybe if something
            bad happened to me, something
            **
            bad enough to make me die, she'd win the sympathy vote.
            **
            Never mind. She'd probably
            be too distracted with the funeral
            **
            and the burial and the incredible
            after-the-graveyard party and...
            **
            
              Pht-pht-pht.
              Rewind that old
            
            film to another funeral. Ugh.
            **
            Don't want to go there. Don't
            want to see that coffin, or go
            **
            to the post-service pot luck.
            I huddled alone in one corner,
            **
            trying desperately to ignore the gut-churning potpourri
            **
            of smells: tuna casserole, over-
            cooked broccoli, onion laced
            245
            salads. Booze, in assorted flavors.
            Flowers. Didn't know all their names.
            **
            But their combined perfumes
            smelled like death. Mom sat on
            **
            an overstuffed sofa, vacant-eyed, silently sipping vodka on the rocks.
            **
            Daddy gulped whiskey, and might
            have passed out quietly except...
            **
            Someone stumbled through the door, wearing an aura of Scotch and a marble
            **
            expression on her face--the one I just
            barely remember. She went straight up
            **
            
              to her son.
              You!
              She shoved him into the wall.
              L-look at you, Raymond.

              **

              All red eyed and drippy nosed. You

              don't fool me. Don't f-f-fool them....

              **

              She gave a vague wave.
              W-we all know

              just what you are
              --
              a m-monster!
            
            246

            
              I Don't Want to Relive
            
            That scene, which grew as ugly as any my mind can replay.
            **
            Grandma and Daddy sparred. Verbally.
            Then physically, until someone
            **
            pulled them apart, spitting poison as they separated, not just for that
            **
            evening, but, at least if Daddy
            has his way, forever afterward.
            **
            That's the last solid memory I have of her, broken by secrets. Splintered
            **
            by pain. Escorted into the night, out of our lives. Does she really dare
            **
            try to reenter now? What if I decide to let her back in? I'm guessing
            **
            I'd be crematorium fuel. No
            coffin. No flowers. Just a hot
            **
            white fire, melting me into bone fragments and ashes.
            247

            
              Then Again, the Sad Fact Is
            
            My parents might think cremation
            too good for me- As I slide books into my backpack, it comes to me
            they might just weight me down and throw me into Cachuma.
            **
            Down, down, into that cold blue
            lake I'd go, no one the wiser.
            Who would even miss me?
            Maybe Ian, but after the last
            couple of days, I'm not so sure.
            **
            We've got drama today.
            Hopefully our little love
            scene will warm him (me?) up some and we can talk
            after. A long conversation,
            **
            like we used to have all the time. That's what we need.
            But first I have to get to school. Which means it's time to poke the sleeping bear.
            248

            
              As Expected
            
            It's a less than pleasant
            experience, starting with the obnoxious breath
            coming out of his open
            mouth. "Daddy? Wake
            up. You'll be late for work."
            **
            He snorts and his eyes
            
              flutter open.
              Wha ...?

              What happened? Where
              am I? What time is it?

              **
            
            "You're in the living
            room. You fell asleep on the sofa. It's a little after seven and I have to hurry to catch the bus."
            **
            
              After seven?
              He jumps
            
            upright, too fast. I can
            
              see the pounding in his temples.
              Why didn't you

              wake me sooner?

              **
            
            "I tried, but you went
            back to sleep, I guess."
            Total lie. But he'll never
            know it. And right now, all he's thinking about is how his head feels.
            249
            
              Shit. I've got a heavy

              docket today.
              Finally his eyes focus.
              And I

              feel like a truck ran
              over the top of my head.

              **
            
            "Sorry you don't feel
            well, Daddy. But I've
            got to run. See you later, okay?" I grit my teeth and take a step toward the front door.
            **
            That's as far as I get.
            
              Daddy's hand clamps around my wrist.
              Wait

              just a minute. Do you

              remember last night?

              **
            
            Now my teeth grind'
            uncomfortably. What about last night, exactly, does he want to discuss?
            "Uh, sure, Daddy."
            **
            
              All right, then. No rides
              with any Brittanys,
              okay? I want you all
              in one piece.
              He doesn't
            
            say just what for.
            250

            
              So of Course

              Who comes chugging up as I wait for the bus but the very Brittany in question.
              Wanna ride?

              **
            
            She's alone in the car, an explanation at the ready.
            
              The guys got in trouble
              for being late yesterday.

              **
            
            Well, so did I, but I don't
            want to talk about it. "Ah."
            
              Get in. My mom bought me

              all new tires, so you're safe.

              **
            
            Not really, but I don't want to say that, either. "Um ..."
            
              You're not scared, are you?
            
            She almost looks hurt.
            **
            I glance around, see no sign of Daddy. "Oh, why not?"
            
              Cool. Let's go. Don't want
              to be late two days in a row!

              **
            
            No, we most definitely
            don't want that.
            251

            
              We Actually Arrive
            
            Ten minutes early. And I have to admit even Brittany's nonstop
            chatter wasn't as bad as listening to freshmen guys talk about zits.
            **
            I can't believe I actually defied
            Daddy in such an overt manner.
            But it feels good. Even better, in fact, than missing the zit talk.
            **
            At least as long as I don't get
            caught. That probably wouldn't
            feel too great. So far so good, though you never know where
            **
            his spies might be hiding. No
            use worrying about them now.
            Brittany parks. A bit crooked, but what else could I expect?
            **
            
              She giggles.
              Even new tires

              can't help my peripheral vision.

              I'm supposed to wear glasses,
              but they make me look ugly.

              **

              Oh, wonderful. I can just see the news:
              Judge's daughter

              killed in accident with not-ugly

              half-blind friend at the wheel.
            
            252

            
              I File That Away
            
            Thank Brittany for the ride, head toward the human knots
            clogging the locker breezeways.
            **
            Pre-first-bell yells. Catcalls.
            Laughter. A few tears.
            Nothing out of the ordinary.
            **
            But just as I reach my own
            locker, a loud guffaw makes
            me turn to search for its source.
            **
            It's Shaun, apparently the chief of a small tribe of geeks. When
            I draw my glare even with his eyes,
            **
            he turns his back to me, lowers his voice, and says something to his not-so-braves that makes
            **
            them all laugh out loud.
            Something inside me snaps, almost audibly. I slam
            **
            my locker, take dead aim at the geeklets' chieftain. Straight up in his face, "Something funny?"
            253
            His eyes dart back and forth among his stick figure friends.
            But no one comes to the rescue.
            **
            
              Uh. No. Not really.
              Then he tries to draw strength from numbers.

              We were just talking about girls

              **

              and what they do for attention.

              He pulls himself up as tall as he possibly can.
              What do you do?

              **
            
            If his buddies think about laughing, the look on my face
            must make them think twice.
            **
            Ice-cold anger pulses in my veins.
            I can feel it in my temples. And
            something else, too. Something
            **
            brand-new. "Anything I do is no
            business of yours, you little shit.
            But if you want my attention,
            **
            here it is." That something new--
            courage--brings my palms flat against his shoulders. Hard.
            254

            
              Hard Enough
            
            To make him stumble backward, bump his head against a post.
            I'll probably get in real trouble for this, but at the moment I couldn't
            care less. "Enough attention?"
            **
            This time his friends do laugh.
            
              Shaun's face turns the color of strawberry jam.
              What the fuck
              is your problem? Not my fault

              you're a trashy little shank.

              **
            
            Suddenly a hand is at my elbow and a voice falls into my ear.
            
              C'mon. This is beneath you.
              Ian!

              He turns on his brother.
              You shut

              your mouth and keep it that way.

              **
            
            Ian puts his arm around my
            shoulder, guides me away from the dissolving drama. Dueling
            emotions take aim inside me.
            Relief. Hurt. Happiness. Fury.
            **
            We turn a corner and at the far
            end of the building, few eyes to see, Ian pulls me into his chest.
            My eyes sting and my legs go weak and I let myself gather his strength.
            255
            The first bell rings and I start to pull away, but his arms grip
            
              tighter.
              Tell me what happened.
            
            He looks down into my tear-
            blurred eyes, and next thing
            *
            I know we're kissing. Really, truly kissing, like it's from the heart and we really mean it and there's no
            one else, never will be. Finally I have to come up for air. "I love you."
            256

            
              It Just Slipped
            
            Out of my mouth, and the strange
            thing is, I really mean it. But still,
            I feel all jumbled up inside, like someone put my brain in a blender, turned it to "crush."
            **
            Ian's eyes tell me he feels the same
            
              way. I
              love you, too, you know I do.

              But you always have me walking
              on eggshells. Oh, if you would just

              let me love you the way I want to...

              **
            
            Fire. Ice. Honey. Salt. Eiderdown.
            Iron. Every fiber of me twitches
            confusion. I love him, and he loves
            me. So, then, "Why did you tell
            your brother that I sleep around?"
            **
            He draws back, but only a little, only enough to look deep into my eyes, show me the sudden
            
              anger in his.
              I never said any such

              thing. Did he tell you I told him that?

              **
            
            "He said he heard you say I'm into other guys. Why would
            you say that? And who did you
            say it to?" Before he can craft an answer, the second bell rings.
            257

            
              Saved by the Bell
            
            The hallways
            flood with bodies, faces, voices, hustling
            here and there. Locked
            together, despite the inner
            wedge, Ian and I draw a few
            stares. Definitely not the right
            time to continue such an intense
            
              conversation.
              Can we talk about it
              later?
              asks Ian, knowing I have little
            
            choice but to respond positively. He walks
            me to class, right arm protectively around my
            waist. Despite smarting at the wound of his careless
            words, I decide I like how I feel, joined to him in such an overt way. Especially when we turn the corner and come face-to-face with Madison
            and, just over there, Shaun.
            258

            
              I'm Generally Not
              Big
            
            On smirking. But noticing
            how the smiles drop from both
            Shaun's and Madison's faces,
            I can't seem to help
            it. Booyah! Major smirk.
            It gets better. Madison is no
            more than two feet away
            when Ian bends down to kiss
            me
            good-bye. I so totally let him, even though a very, very big
            part of me needs him to give
            me a plausible explanation so
            I
            can get beyond his brother's
            knife-edged words. "Talk to you later," I say as he walks past Madison. I can't help but think
            she's responsible, and I'm not
            sure what to do about it if Ian's
            story involves her. Ian. All
            thoughts of Madison evaporate.
            I'm in love.
            And I like how that feels.
            And I hate how that feels.
            Because love is an invention of fiction writers.
            259

        

              Raeanne

          
            
              Glad I've Got History Today
            
            I need a major dose of Lawler to keep my mind off other
            things. I wish I could
            help
            Kaeleigh work her way past all the major crap so she could
            accept the good things waiting for her, almost within reach. Ask
            me, she doesn't need someone like Madison to mess things up for her. She sabotages herself.
            
              C'est la vie.
              It is life. Her life.
            
            I
            suppose I myself am something of a self-saboteur, in a constant
            search for "more." More drugs.
            More men. More sex. Do you
            think
            there's really such a thing as
            "enough"? The rhetoric draws a heartfelt sigh, and Mr. Lawler
            turns. Smiles. Oh yeah, I think
            I'm in love.
            260

            
              I Swear His Smile
            
            Means more than "How's it going?"
            Not that I'm a smile expert or anything, but something about that one sure reads "Damn, you
            look fine." Even correctly
            interpreted, though, it doesn't
            necessarily mean, "Let's sneak on outta here and do the dirty."
            **
            Whatever it means, as he passes
            out Monday's graded pop quizzes, he bends just enough for me to make
            out the thick ropes of muscles beneath his trousers. Abductors.
            Hamstrings. Gluteus. Mm-hmm.
            Oh yeah, I remember human
            anatomy. Especially his.
            **
            Committed to memory. He works his way down the aisle, and now his cologne settles around me, a soft, masculine cloud. When he reaches my desk, he leans
            slightly forward, and I notice the not-too-massive, totally
            hot patch of blondish hair
            peeking out of the open
            buttons just below his collar.
            261
            
              His eyes smile.
              Great job,

              Ms. Gardella. If only everyone
              in here cared about history
              the way you do.
              He holds
            
            out my quiz, a big red A+ at the top. When I reach for it, our hands touch. Definite
            fireworks, and I'm 90
            percent sure it's mutual.
            **
            I try to say thanks, but my voice feels like a wad of gum in my throat and it comes out all hoarse and weird,
            "Th...nksss." That makes me
            snort a little laugh. "Sorry.
            Not sure what's in there..."
            I leave the rest hanging.
            And he so totally gets it.
            262

            
              Am I Sick or What?
            
            I mean, how many guys do I need on the line?
            
              I haven't seen Mick in several days, but he left a voice message on my cell:
              Are you mad
              at me or what? Call me. You'll like what I've got.
            
            I assume he's talking weed. It's been a couple of days and the truth is, I'm so wanting a buzz.
            I could call Ty, ask for a bit steeper high (low?).
            Oh yeah, how low can we go? Loaded question.
            But even without those two on my "available"
            list, why would I even consider Mr. Lawler?
            He's not only "mature," but a frigging teacher.
            Cute teacher, sure, but that's not the point.
            The point is: Why do I think he'd consider me?
            263

            
              It's a Game, That's All
            
            And I'm good at games, and betting Lawler is good at them too. I watch him
            **
            lecture, trying to reach these
            dimwads who couldn't care
            less about why yesterday
            **
            influences today, thus creates
            tomorrow. He's so sincere, so well-learned (so disgustingly
            **
            cute), and I seem to be the only
            one who even bothers to notice.
            More power to me, I guess.
            **
            And power, after all, is what
            I'm after. At last, the bell
            rings and once everyone leaves,
            **
            I decide to up the ante a little.
            (Okay, a lot.) I corner Mr. Lawler.
            "Excuse me. I've got some
            **
            questions about the term paper.
            Could we possibly get together to discuss the direction I'm taking?"
            264

            
              Cat and Mouse
            
            That's the name of this game, old as the Garden of Eden.
            **
            I lead. "I'd appreciate your
            advice. Maybe after school?
            **
            
              His eyes flash interest.
              After

              school? Why not now?

              **
            
            I shrug. "Have a lunch date."
            **
            
              He smiles.
              I see. Well...

              **
            
            "Please? I'll buy you a cup of coffee." I lock his eyes.
            **
            
              He does not look away.
              I can

              give you some time, I guess.

              **
            
            Ka-ching! Damn, he is fine.
            **
            
              Where should we meet up?

              **
            
            "How 'bout the library in town?
            I'll be doing some research.
            **
            
              "
              Sounds like a plan. Maybe
              around four o'clock?

              **
            
            "Perfect." He so totally is.
            And he so totally knows it.
            265

            
              I Really Do
            
            Have a lunch date. I haven't
            seen Mick since the scene with the cop. Can't believe
            I miss him, but I do. He's not the brightest guy out there, for sure. But he knows how to show a girl a good time.
            **
            Truth is, more than missing
            Mick, I miss catching a lunch-
            time buzz. I wish I could just
            buy a personal stash, keep it around. But no way do I dare
            take that kind of a chance. Not
            sure who would kill me first
            (or worst)--Daddy or Mom.
            **
            Not to say I won't taunt fate
            just a little. Or maybe a lot.
            I refuse to smoke in transit.
            That cop probably looks for the Avalanche. And me. So after Mick and I rendezvous, we will take a little spin to the Gardella residence, which, hopefully, will be vacant.
            266

            
              While I Might Taunt Fate

              I will not taunt Madison, who seems ever more determined to interfere in my life. Not to mention Kaeleigh's life, like
              she
              needs any more drama! I couldn't
            
            help but notice her with Ian
            this morning. If she could be like that with him more often, they both just might find a big
            scoop of happiness with each
            other. But that won't happen
            if Madison has her way. Guess she thinks fucking with Kaeleigh is fucking with me. And she's right.
            Anyway, I'm not in the mood for her stupidity, so instead of
            Mick picking me up at school,
            I told him to pick me up at
            El Rancho. The market has
            served the fine folks here in the valley since before I was born. Glad to know some things
            have staying power. In my
            admittedly limited realm of existence, El Rancho has
            outlasted every relationship
            I've ever had. Then again, in my
            realm relationships are meaningless.
            267

            
              I Hoof It North
            
            A hundred or so yards, pause before crossing the highway.
            And who should happen to go
            screaming past but my unique
            (if meaningless) relationship, Ty.
            **
            Taillights flash red and brakes
            squeal displeasure. Guess he saw
            me standing here. Guess he has
            something to say because he flips a dangerous U-turn, pulls over
            **
            opposite me. I look both ways
            three times, decide it's safe to cross, and walk real fast (running
            would not be cool) in his direction.
            I bend into his car. "What's up?"
            **
            
              He looks into my eyes, licks his lips.
              Give me your hand.

              I'll show you what's up.
              I do, and he does. And it is.
              Haven't

              heard from you. I'm really

              **

              surprised. Thought you kind
              of liked the play. Was I wrong?
            
            He reaches up, strokes
            
              my cheek gently.
              No encore?
            
            268

            
              Rough Play, He Means
            
            And I really did like it because
            I'm sicker than he is. Giving is one thing. Taking--and
            enjoying--is something else
            altogether. "An encore would
            be nice." I smile. "Maybe nice is not the right word, though."
            **
            
              Nice works. So how about it?

              When can we get together

              again?
              He winds his fingers into my hair. Tugs gently, brings my face right down against his. Opens his mouth.
            
            We are tongue on tongue
            **
            when the beep of a passing
            peeping Tom reminds me
            I'm standing beside a quite
            public thoroughfare. Any-
            one could pass by and, oh
            yeah, I'm supposed to be
            hooking up with Mick.
            **
            For once, I'm glad he's late, although if he doesn't show
            pretty soon I might just have to take off with Ty. Sheesh.
            I really am sick, aren't I?
            269
            Guess the best thing is to play
            coy. "I'll check my schedule and get back to you, okay?"
            **
            He looks like I slapped him.
            Hurt? Pissed? Totally surprised?
            What? Does every girl he asks
            jump straight into bed (cuffs) with him? Has he never been on the far side of "coy"? The
            game moves to level two.
            270

            
              I Triple Promise
            
            I'll give him a call.
            Straight up, I will, because one guy will never be
            **
            enough for the likes of me.
            Truth is, I can't
            believe one anything (guy,
            **
            girl, whatever you
            happen to be into) could be
            enough for anyone.
            **
            Too, too many "anyones" in this ol' world.
            Let's see. I'm currently
            **
            working on three.
            All different. Smart. Not so.
            Accomplished. Not
            **
            so. Older. Not so. Oh, and speaking of Not So, better late than never, Mick
            **
            arrives.
            271

            
              Ty's Quite Recent Invitation
            
            Was totally beyond my control.
            I didn't solicit. Didn't even agree.
            **
            So why, pray fucking tell, do I feel
            guilty? Guilt is not a Gardella trait.
            **
            Certainly not a Raeanne trait. What the hell is up with me? Mick parks
            **
            with an overt flourish. Not much
            subtle about Mick. He reminds me
            **
            of a Rottweiler. Eighty percent
            brawn. Twenty percent affection,
            **
            long as you treat him right. I jump up into the Avalanche, scoot almost
            **
            into his lap, give him an over-the-top
            kiss, hoping he doesn't taste guilt.
            **
            Whatever he tastes, he likes it, wants
            another dose. I stop his tongue (not
            **
            to mention his hands) with a single
            word. "No." Then I assuage his obvious
            **
            disappointment. "Not enough privacy
            here for what I've got in mind. Let's go."
            272

            
              He Starts to Turn South
            
            But I stop him, with a hand on a spot
            too high on his thigh to qualify as
            "thigh." "Let's go to my house.
            It's empty." And, of course, it should
            be empty, with Manuela out sick.
            It's a gamble, inviting Mick to my house to party. But Mom's
            campaigning. Daddy's judging, and
            I
            am the only one brave enough to veer from the "should do" straight into the "want to do." And that is so what I'm going to do. Better to
            be
            a little reckless than like Kaeleigh--
            all uptight and frozen all the time.
            Okay, so maybe I lean a bit
            too far the other way, but scared is something I refuse to be. I'd
            rather spit in the devil's face.
            So Mick and I will smoke up and make out in my bedroom.
            I don't
            think we'll get caught, but the very
            possibility is half the fun. And, with a modicum of luck, no one will
            know.
            273

        

              Kaeleigh

          
            
              I Thought Last Block
            
            Would never come. I've had
            Ian on my mind all afternoon.
            I know right now I
            should
            concentrate on Ms. Cavendish and her impassioned stage direction.
            But I'm standing here, so close to Ian. And he smells good and all
            I
            want to do is kiss him again, like we kissed earlier. Because for the very first time, a kiss felt right, and exactly the way a kiss should
            be
            instead of like something dirty.
            And what rose up inside of me was something so intense and so completely new, it scared
            me, only it scared me in a good
            way instead of making me want to crawl in a hole and die.
            I slip my hand inside Ian's and
            I don't
            want anyone to see because
            I'm afraid someone will pull
            me away from him if they
            know.
            274

            
              Our Fingers Interlock
            
            And it feels like commitment.
            **
            And that begins a tug-of-war
            **
            inside me.
            **
            I want Ian to give me all of himself.
            **
            But that means returning
            **
            the priceless gift.
            **
            I want to open myself, let him inside.
            **
            But how do I give what has
            **
            always been taken?
            **
            I want to know what it means to be in love.
            **
            But in my dictionary, "in love"
            **
            is indefinable.
            275

            
              We Have to Unlock
            
            To rehearse. And I feel regret, and I know Ian feels it too.
            At least our love scenes should
            come easy for once. If I can
            just remember my lines!
            **
            
              Places, everyone,
              directs Ms. C.

              From the top, no music today.
            
            **
            Reluctantly, I start stage right.
            
              Ian stops me with a gentle hand, whispers,
              We need to talk. Can

              I take you home? Please?
            
            **
            Yes. No. Oh God, what does he want to talk about? A wave of fear crashes over me. Makes it hard to draw breath. Still I croak,
            "Okay," look into his eyes, try to discern what's hiding there.
            **
            I cannot see anything secret.
            only love and something
            I myself know only too well--fear.
            276

            
              Ian, Afraid?
            
            What can he possibly
            be afraid of? He's the strongest person I've ever known.
            **
            I fret on that all through drama, flub my lines every
            time the thought
            blankets my brain, disrupts rote memory.
            **
            Finally the bell rings.
            As we gather our things,
            I notice Ian barely looks at me, or at anyone
            else for that matter.
            And believe me, we are the focus of more than one person's attention.
            **
            The one who I notice
            most, beaming evil
            rays from her charcoal
            pencil-smeared eyes, is the most-likely-to-be-
            our-next-class-president, the ever-amiable Madison.
            277

            
              Ian Walks Past Her
            
            Without so much as a nod, despite the come-on smile she gives him, as an obvious
            jab at me. What's up?
            **
            
              Ian slides an arm around my waist.
              Ready?

              **
            
            His touch sends little electric
            jolts through parts of my body
            I usually try to ignore. "Ready."
            Madison is still staring as we
            **
            exit. I can feel her eyes stab
            
              my back, and when I turn, she mouths a single word.
              Slut.
            
            I really don't get her at all.
            **
            But how can I possibly care?
            I am hip-to-hip with the most
            incredible guy in the universe.
            And for once I will let myself
            **
            
              accept our union. At least until he takes me home and tells me, as I fear he will,
              This is a mistake.

              You don't deserve my love.
            
            278

            
              This Afternoon
            
            Comes laced with autumn chill.
            Ian insists I wear his jacket, and the sharp scent of leather lifts up underneath the helmet's face
            shield. My arms hug Ian tight, and as he shifts the Yamaha, the muscles beneath his Levi
            shirt tense and release. Tense and release. And my body
            tenses too. I've ridden behind him many times before. So
            why is it suddenly new?
            **
            His contours, taut and sinewy, are exactly the same. The mink
            curl of his hair creeps gently from beneath his helmet. Same.
            He commands the big bike with skill and respect. Same as always. But I am different.
            And I don't understand
            exactly how. And I don't
            understand just why.
            **
            All I know is I love how it feels.
            And I know I'm going to lose it, just like I've lost everything
            important in my life.
            279

            
              Daddy Isn't Home
            
            Not that I expected him to be.
            It's early yet. I climb down from the bike, biting back
            anxiety. "Want to come inside?"
            **
            Ian hesitates. Normally he wouldn't chance it. But today
            
              whatever he has to say makes the risk worthwhile.
              Okay.

              **
            
            Knowing spies might lurk, we don't touch until we're through the front door. Once it closes, I'm in Ian's arms.
            **
            Our kiss eclipses all others, real, imagined, dreamed of.
            It is the beginning of time, it is the end of the ages.
            **
            I can't breathe, don't want to breathe. I want to give my
            breath to Ian, die in the giving.
            I want to give him more...
            280

            
              Desire Strikes Like a Cobra
            
            Sinks its fangs between my legs, injects its venom. The heady
            creep wanders from groin to belly.
            **
            I lift Ian's hands, urge them against the throb beneath my blouse. "Touch me. Please?"
            **
            
              He wants to, does, and I love his skin on mine. And then he moans,
              Oh, Kaeleigh...

              **
            
            And suddenly a different
            snake strikes, with lightning
            ferocity. Not cobra, but python,
            **
            
              threading itself around me, squeezing. Hissing,
              Oh, Kaeleigh.

              Oh yes, that's right, little flower.
            
            I jerk back and Ian's watery eyes
            reflect the horror in my own.
            
              Oh God, Kaeleigh, what is it?

              **

              Tell me!
              Then he softens, clay in hot-water hands.
              Please

              tell me.
              And he starts to cry.
            
            281
            And I cry too. And I want to confess. And I fall so deep into his tears that I think I'll drown.
            **
            "Oh God, Ian. I love you so much. If I could tell
            anyone, I would tell you...."
            **
            Anger swells inside him now, bloats like August carrion, and his eyes fairly sizzle.
            **
            
              You are all I've ever wanted,
              and I want you now with all

              that I am. I don't mean I want

              **

              sex with you. although I do

              want that. too. I want the part
              of you that you refuse to give.
            
            282

            
              And I Think
            
            He will do as he's always done in the past--stalk away, out the door. Rev up his bike, leave me here, alone in his exhaust. Small. Very small.
            **
            
              Instead he coaxes me,
              Please,
              let me hold you.
              And I look, but the python has dissolved into the jungle, left me numb with confusion and need.
            
            **
            The need for a friend. The need for a lover. The need to trust
            someone, and who can I trust, if not Ian? I lean into the warmth of him, the truth of him. I look
            **
            up into his eyes, find so much
            love for me there I know I'll
            never be okay without him in my life. My eyes beg him to kiss me. And when he does,
            **
            it's like rain on drought-starved
            desert. I want to give him what he asked for. Just as I think I will, it full frontal hits me that
            it's best to let sleeping pythons lie.
            283

            
              Speaking of Snakes
            
            I think it's best for Ian to leave before my personal serpent slithers
            home. "I'm not ready to tell you
            everything yet, but I want you to know something changed today...."
            **
            Something profound, but I don't
            say that. "I've always loved you like a friend, but I want us to be
            more. I want to give you all of me, and I will just as soon as I can. Okay?"
            **
            His eyes are red. Bleary.
            But smeared in them is something
            resembling hope. He smiles.
            
              I've waited this long. Guess
              a little longer won't hurt

              **

              But please try to trust me. Love
              is meaningless without trust.

              I can't change what has happened
              in the past, Kaeleigh. I can only

              promise to make the future better.

              **
            
            and he kisses me again, and there is no need for sex, no
            need for hands. No demands.
            No control. Only connection.
            284

            
              I Walk Ian to His Bike
            
            Feeling completely disconnected without my fingers twined in his.
            **
            But the idea of spies--Daddy's,
            Mom's, or some unknown covert
            **
            operatives--nags. I look right, left, over my shoulder, across the street,
            **
            but can't discern a single person who might qualify as a spy.
            **
            Before Ian can put on his helmet,
            I sneak one last delicious kiss."
            **
            Oh, hey. You wanted to talk to me about something, remember?"
            **
            
              Ian looks nowhere but directly into my eyes.
              Think we covered it.

              **

              Guess I'll see you tomorrow.
            
            He straddles the Yamaha, turns
            **
            
              the key, pauses long enough to say, I
              love you,
              and he's gone.
            
            285

            
              My Normal MO
            
            After Ian leaves me alone is to run to the refrigerator, empty most of it onto a plate and smother every bad feeling.
            **
            
              Like an automaton, I go into the kitchen, open the fridge, peek inside. But for once, nothing shouts,
              Eat me now!

              **
            
            Thinking back, I didn't have
            lunch, didn't have breakfast.
            I should be starving, and in fact, my tummy's rumbling.
            **
            I grab a bottle of raspberry
            iced tea, one of Mom's Power-
            Bars, and a handful of grapes.
            Eating healthy? So not me.
            **
            But at the moment, nothing inside needs to be killed with food.
            No shame. No pain. No loneliness.
            Every demon is fast asleep.
            286

            
              Notice I Didn't Say Gone
            
            I'm not stupid enough to believe one magical afternoon
            can vanquish my monsters
            forever. And what is forever, anyway, but enough time for monster to beget monster?
            No matter, I take a big bite of the PowerBar, which
            is
            stale, the texture of rubber, and mostly flavorless, though t he wrapper claims "great
            chocolate taste." It takes a long
            while and too many teeth-
            grinding chews to swallow a single bite. I toss the rest, gulp
            some tea, and just about the time
            I consider my homework,
            I hear the garage door open.
            If I hurry, I can slip out the front before Daddy knows I'm here.
            Too much of me is happy right
            now to allow the rest to worry about his current state of mind.
            287

        

              Raeanne

          
            
              The Library
            
            forever,
            Is busy this afternoon.
            Lots of little kids running
            around. It seems like it takes
            forever to find a quiet place in an unobtrusive corner. I put my
            sweater on the chair across from mine. Wait. Mr. Lawler
            is
            late, and it crosses my mind
            that he might stand me up.
            I pretend to be working, and after what seems like a long
            time (though the clock
            insists it's only ten minutes),
            I sense eyes and smell Lawler's
            
              woody cologne.
              Sorry I'm late.

              Time

              got away from me this afternoon.

              Is this yours?
              He points to my sweater and I nod. "Saved
            
            you a seat." He smiles and sits across the narrow table from me and seems not to worry at all that our legs touch.
            288

            
              Glad I Wore Jeans Today
            
            I haven't shaved in a few days.
            Nothing less sexy than stubble, when you're leg to leg with an amazing guy.
            And, teacher or no teacher, ten years (or maybe more) my
            senior or not, he is def amazing.
            **
            I lean forward slightly, notice his eyes fall to what almost
            passes as cleavage, with a good
            Victoria's Secret push-up bra
            helping out. Glad I wore that, too.
            **
            
              He clears his throat.
              Of all

              my students this semester,
              you seem to have the best

              grip on history. Not just

              dates and events, but also
              their relevance to today.

              So how can I help you?

              **
            
            I smile. "Loaded question.
            But what I'd like is your take on conspiracy theories...."
            We spend the next twenty minutes
            discussing the Kennedys, Martin
            Luther King Jr., Castro, Lyndon B.
            Johnson, and government goons.
            289
            Who knew conspiracy theories and sixties politics could be
            such a major turn-on?
            The entire time, my legs rest
            gently between his, knees
            touching the inside of his, and despite my "lunch" with
            Mick today. I'm starting to feel incredibly, um...aroused.
            **
            And what's more, I can tell
            Lawler feels the same way.
            While we talk, his hair strays down close to his eyes and
            I start to reach up, move it out of the way for him. Reconsider.
            Damn, the man is totally hot.
            **
            Just as I think that, my cell
            phone rings. Once. Twice.
            I glance at who's calling.
            Daddy, of course. "Excuse
            me one second?" I turn my
            back to Lawler, take the call, explain where I am and when
            I'll be home. After I hang
            up, Mr. Lawler says,
            
              Sounds like it's time to go.

              Any more questions?
            
            290

            
              Questions? Yeah, I've Got Them
            
            [the next lines are shaped like a question mark in the book]
            Do you or don't you have a girl-
            friend? If you do, is she prettier than me? If you do, do you
            sleep around on her?
            If you do, would
            you sleep with me?
            Even if you don't
            have a girlfriend, would you pretty
            please sleep with me? Have you ever
            slept with a student?
            If you have, was she prettier than me? Even
            if you've never slept with a student, would
            you pretty please sleep with me? Is this over-
            whelming attraction
            really mutual, or I
            s my believing
            that just a sign of impending
            insanity? Is my
            **
            lunacy on the horizon, or is it already here?
            291

            
              I Don't Actually Ask
            
            Any of those questions, although
            I'd really, really like the answers.
            Instead I say, "No more questions
            **
            right now, at least not about conspiracies. But I'm seriously
            thinking about majoring in history.
            **
            When I start looking at colleges, will you help?" I still haven't moved
            my legs. Neither has he, and that
            **
            encourages my next move. I slide
            my arm under the table, rest
            my hand on his knee. Okay, now
            **
            this can go either way. "I'd like your views on schools. And maybe
            you'll honor me with a good reference?"
            292

            
              Lawler Doesn't Jerk Away
            
            Doesn't run away.
            In fact, he barely
            even blinks.
            **
            All he does is smile and cover
            my hand with his own.
            His palm is smooth, and it wears a thin
            patina of sweat.
            **
            
              You know you're

              my favorite student.

              A good reference is no

              **

              problem at all. And of
              course we can talk
              about schools.

              **

              You still owe me

              that cup of coffee. I'm

              not likely to forget. Next time?
            
            293

            
              Next Time!
            
            There's going to be a next time, and darlin', it's gonna be a lot
            more private than this time,
            **
            I'm guessing. Don't want to look too anxious, though, so
            I simply agree, "Next time."
            **
            Neither of us has moved yet, not a finger, not a knee. I think
            maybe before my next history
            **
            class I'll shave my legs, buy
            some nylons, and make sure
            my shortest skirt is clean.
            **
            Finally he lifts his hand away from mine. I sigh and he smiles.
            
              Thanks for an enlightening afternoon.

              **
            
            He lowers his voice slightly.
            
              You really are an exceptional

              young woman, you know.

              **

              I look forward to coffee and you

              very soon. Better take my leave
              before the gossip mill starts to spin.
            
            294

            
              I Watch Him Go
            
            My heart races and my brain
            buzzes, replaying his words.
            
              **

              I look forward to coffee and you

              coffee and you
              and you

              you.
            
            **
            Maybe I'm reading way too much into it. It's weird, because I so
            **
            believed there was something between us, but now I'm not
            **
            so sure there really is, even
            though just a second ago, I was.
            **
            
              I look forward to coffee and you

              coffee and you
              and you

              you.
            
            Take out the "coffee" and what
            have you got? Words. Decaf words.
            295

            
              Coffee Actually Sounds
            
            Pretty damn good right now
            (coffee and...him).
            All I had for lunch was a big
            **
            fat doobie and an overdose of Mick. My blood
            sugar has bottomed out.
            **
            I told Daddy I'd be home about six, and it's only a little after five now. I'll grab a quick
            **
            something before I try to walk
            home. It's not too far, mostly downhill, but a quick
            **
            carb injection will not hurt one
            bit. I drop into the little
            market nearby, grab a Nutri-Grain
            **
            Bar and a Diet Coke. Mmm. Well, at least it will get me
            home. As I exit, a silver car zips
            **
            into the parking lot, radio blaring.
            
              Hey!
              calls Brittany.

              What's up? Need a ride somewhere?
            
            296

            
              I Know Daddy Has Issued
            
            A "no rides with Brittany" edict.
            But that was to Kaeleigh, not me, and I really don't feel like walking.
            **
            Besides, he's probably halfway to drunk by now. If I'm lucky, he won't notice me come in at all.
            **
            "Sure," I agree. "Why not?" Just in case,
            I point Brittany in the opposite direction, around the block from how I usually go.
            **
            No need to tempt the devil, I always say.
            As she cruises slowly up the street, something makes me turn my head.
            **
            We're passing Hannah's house.
            She's the not-yet-nurse with the big
            mouth, the one who busted Kaeleigh.
            **
            She's standing on her front step, talking to the devil himself. In fact, she is standing very close to Daddy.
            **
            To an outsider, they are the picture of propriety. Neighbor to neighbor, discussing the weather, perhaps.
            297
            But I see something more in the way he leans toward her, close, as if he's hard of hearing.
            **
            Darkness has closed in, but Hannah
            might recognize Brittany's car.
            I think I am too obvious, and duck.
            **
            "Don't slow down. Keep going."
            
              Yeah, sure,
              she says, and she does, apparently used to such deception.
            
            **
            I poke up my face, barely over the seat, look out the back window, fingers crossed I remain incognito.
            **
            Daddy and Hannah are lost in each
            other, and Daddy's body language
            tells me everything I need to know.
            298

            
              I'm an Expert Interpreter
            
            Of body language: slant of face, arc of hand, frame of shoulder, the whisper of knee against willing knee.
            I know that one well.
            **
            I recognize anger in a certain arch of Mom's
            spine; obstinacy, double-
            clenched in her jaw; the tip of chin signaling
            imminent tears.
            **
            Desire? Every man
            displays it differently.
            Some, like Mick, wear it puffed up, peacocks
            strutting ostentation in lieu of real substance.
            **
            Men like Ty are harder to read--granite-faced, molded smiles that can
            mean anything. You find their fire in the unfathomable
            pewter of their eyes.
            299
            Lawler-types store lust
            not in sinew or bone, but rather just beneath the skin, a steady pulse at the wrists and temples. And when need
            rises, easy beat becomes throb.
            **
            But I know one man
            better than the rest.
            I know when it's safe to be near him--when
            booze or pills divorce
            every muscle from stress.
            **
            I know when it's best to sneak away--when he comes in the door
            stiff and heavy as iron, eyelids wide and ears
            practically steaming.
            **
            And I know when his face
            flushes and his breath
            comes in raspy little pants and his red-rimmed eyes fall on all the wrong places, it's definitely time to run.
            300

            
              Right Now His Eyes
            
            Fall on all the wrong places, and those places belong to Hannah. I should yell,
            "Run!" It doesn't really
            surprise
            me that he's hitting on her,
            I suppose. She's only a few
            years older than me, and looks like she's twelve. I
            guess
            she's about five feet tall and size three. (And how will
            someone that little handle ER
            work, anyway?) She's married,
            I'm pretty sure, to some guy
            who
            I've never seen. Soldier?
            Merchant marine? Jailbird?
            No matter. He's not around much and hey, lucky her,
            Daddy's
            just down the street, and always up for some young-
            looking meat. And just
            maybe this little detour
            means Daddy won't be
            screwing
            Kaeleigh, too, at least not for the foreseeable future.
            301

        

              Kaeleigh

          
            
              Today Was Incredible
            
            Today was impossible.
            Today was perfect and terrible and filled with surprise after surprise. The thing with Ian scares the living hell
            out of me. Love, I know, isn't something to second-
            guess, but in my world, love is always defined by ulterior
            motive. To say yes, give
            my whole heart away, simply terrifies me. But
            who
            can I ever trust, if not Ian?
            Trust--another indefinable
            word. I'm not sure how to process learning about
            Daddy's
            possible affair, not that there's
            much overt proof of it. Even
            if it's the real deal, I doubt
            Mom would care. It's not like the two of them do much
            screwing, at least not with each other.
            So why should I care?
            302

            
              My Parents Aren't Real
            
            Parents anyway.
            They're cardboard
            cutouts. I mean, aren't
            
              parents supposed to care about their kids? Care
              for
              their kids? Not abuse
            
            them or use them or lose track of them.
            And aren't they
            supposed to care for each other? Not use
            each other or lose the love that was once central to each
            other's existence.
            Not toss each other
            aside because life
            threw a curveball their way, even if it was a major curve-
            ball. No wonder
            I'm a little paranoid about giving away my
            love. What if I go
            ahead, give it, and he decides to re-gift it?
            303

            
              Of Course, Maybe Daddy
            
            Isn't really sleeping with Hannah.
            Maybe it's a harmless flirtation.
            (Harmless? Daddy?)
            Maybe they were just having an innocent conversation.
            (Innocent? Daddy?)
            Maybe Daddy was just trying to be helpful with some legal advice.
            (Helpful? Daddy?)
            Maybe he was just trying to offer a selfless act of kindness.
            (Selfless? Daddy?)
            **
            And just why am I offering
            him such an easy out?
            (Easy? You?)
            Am I overly generous, or just totally ignorant?
            (Ignorant? You?)
            Am I being loyal, or am
            I, in fact, a little jealous?
            (Enough said.)
            304

            
              Whatever Daddy Did
            
            With Hannah wiped him out. Okay, that and his usual Wild Turkey dinner, plus OxyContin dessert. He's snoozing in front of the TV set, and the TV is off.
            Kinda creepy, but oh so very Daddy.
            **
            Guess I'll make myself something to eat. Something substantial.
            I'm starving. Too bad the pantry
            looks like a raiding party came
            through. Manuela usually handles
            **
            grocery store duty, but she had an asthma attack and wound up in the hospital. Wonder if Hannah
            took care of her in the ER. Wonder
            if Hannah will do the shopping
            **
            this week. Wonder if I can make
            spaghetti with tomato soup and ramen noodles. Sounds disgusting, but beggars cannot be choosers. Oh, wait. Two boxes of mac and cheese.
            **
            At least it's the kind with the cheese in a can, not the stuff with fluorescent
            orange chem cheese powder. I make
            both boxes, because two is always
            better than one. That's my motto.
            3
            305

            
              Double the Pleasure
            
            I polish off every bite of both
            boxes. Enough, according to the label, to feed a family of four. Twice. Not a very hungry
            family, if you ask me.
            **
            Double the pleasure. Now I
            feel the need for liquid fun.
            Tucked away in a low cabinet is my parents' liquor stash.
            Can't touch the Turkey.
            The smell gags me and anyway,
            Daddy would notice it missing.
            **
            The Chopin vodka, stashed in the freezer, is a different
            song, and I'm so ready to drink that slushy tune.
            I'll never sleep without it.
            Too many conflicts, volleying inside my head, bouncing off the interior of my skull.
            **
            I don't really like the taste of vodka, but they say you
            can't smell it on the breath.
            Not sure if that's true, or if it matters. Even if Daddy
            did wake up, he couldn't smell the vodka for the Turkey.
            306

            
              Double the Fun
            
            I poke my head into the living
            room. Daddy hasn't so much as twitched, at least that's my guess.
            The rest of the house is quiet
            **
            as death. Think I'm safe.
            I fill a juice glass half full of fermented potato juice, try
            not to think about such ingredients
            **
            as I down the clear, hot-and-cold
            liquid. Cold, as in not-quite frozen.
            Hot, as in its burn down the throat.
            Frozen smolder, a popular combo.
            **
            Phew! Chopin is definitely
            not cabernet. Still, while I feel it on my tongue, I don't feel it in my brain. Probably the mega
            **
            macaroni meal. This time
            I fill the four-ounce glass
            almost to the brim, think about adding some water
            **
            to the bottle before I put it away, decide against it. I doubt
            anyone will miss it, and I might
            want an encore performance.
            307
            Clutching the glass like a baby holds a bottle,
            I pad softly down the hall, to my room. I try sipping
            **
            the vodka, but gulping it is easier, and very quickly, the glass is empty again.
            Shouldn't I feel inebriated?
            **
            Ha. Funny word. Inebri...
            ineb...whoa. Wouldn't
            want to have to spell it!
            i-n-i...er, inebre...okay,
            **
            so maybe the Chopin is singing a little ditty after all. I'm usually a really good speller.
            308

            
              I Start to Feel
            
            A little fuzzy at the edges, and warm behind my eyes.
            Fuzzy and warm. That makes
            **
            me think of Ian. I glance at the clock. Not quite nine.
            I think I can get away with
            **
            a quick phone call. One ring, two ringies...three ringy
            dingies...C'mon, Ian. Pick up.
            **
            
              Finally,
              Hello? Kaeleigh?

              What's wrong?
              He waits
            
            patiently for me to explain
            **
            just why I'm actually calling
            him. This is something rare.
            "Nu ...nothing. I just wanted
            **
            
              t-to say...uh..." What
              did
            
            I want to say again? Oh. yeah.
            I remember. "Uh...Um..."
            I can't finish it, and his patience comes unraveled.
            
              Have you been drinking?
            
            309
            I could lie, but he'd know
            I was lying. "Uh, maybe a little..." Ball's in his court.
            **
            
              He rallies.
              I don't get it.

              Kaeleigh. Why tonight?

              Wasn't today good for you?
            
            **
            I think back. Good. Good.
            Sorta good. Not so good.
            Better now. Or is it really?
            **
            Don't say any of that! "It was wonderful. That's
            why I called. To tell you..."
            **
            Grow a pair, Kaeleigh. Tell
            him. He needs to hear it right now. "I lu...love you."
            **
            Pregnant pause. About nine
            
              months pregnant.
              I love you. too.

              But love doesn't make me drink.
            
            310

            
              What Does Make Him Drink?
            
            I wonder, trying my damnedest
            not to giggle. My entire core
            knows laughing will make
            him turn his back forever.
            **
            So why do I really need to laugh?
            (Oh girl, too many reasons to mention!) "S-so-sorry, Prince
            P-p-p-perfect. I guess th-that means..."
            **
            Brother! Why won't my mouth
            work? Straighten up and say it.
            "Guess that means you never
            found out your dad is s-scr..."
            **
            I swallow any sort of apology.
            "Screwing your neighbor."
            There. Said it. React, okay?
            Pregnant pause becomes three
            **
            weeks overdue. Four weeks.
            
              Time for a C-section.
              What?

              Oh. Kaeleigh, I'm so sorry.

              Are you sure...?

              **
            
            Spoken like a true guy. Even
            if I'm not sure, I say, "Of course
            I'm damn well sure. Do you think
            I drink for the fun of it?"
            311

            
              I Regret Everything Immediately
            
            The confession. The out-and-out
            meanness. That I called at all, considering the state I'm in.
            **
            "I'm s-sh-sorry, Ian. I just didn't
            know who I could t-t-talk
            to, except for you. I'll go now,'kay?"
            **
            
              Wait. Are you sure you're okay?

              Do you want me to pick you
              up in the morning?

              **
            
            I'm not okay at all, but I never
            will be. The thought pierces
            me. How can he ever love me?
            **
            I struggle to talk without slurring.
            "I...I'm okay. No, don't pick me
            up. I'll sh-see you at school."
            **
            
              Love is about helping each other
              through dark times, Kaeleigh.

              Try to remember that, okay?

              **

              Getting drunk tonight won't make

              tomorrow better. But letting me

              love you will. It's all up to you.
            
            312

            
              I So Do not Deserve Him

              He
              is
            
            Mr. Perfect and I'm a perfect
            ass to have ever, for even a moment, believed
            we could even resemble a real couple, in real love, like such a thing exists beyond media-fed
            fantasies.
            **
            He says he loves me and he'd never lie to me, not on purpose.
            But would he love me if he knew my secrets? I go from Chopin giggles to a Chopin breakdown, steeped in Chopin
            teardrops.
            313

            
              Time For a Chopin Pee
            
            I force Ian out of my mind, do the best I can to do that, anyway. Head spinning, gut
            churning, I go into the bath-
            room, try not to look at the girl in the mirror as I pass by.
            Every time I think I've gained a little control, actually played an active role in determining
            my future, reality punches me in the face. I have no control at all. All I can do is hang on for the ride, and it's starting to make me completely insane.
            The toilet beckons and my
            body responds, evacuating
            Chopin and undigested mac and cheese every which way
            imaginable. Finally I lay my
            sweaty forehead against the cool porcelain. No! I don't
            deserve such comfort. In fact, right this moment, all I really
            deserve, really desire, is pain.
            314

            
              Not Mental Pain
            
            Not emotional pain, things beyond my
            ability to control. But
            physical pain is most
            definitely within my
            limited realm of power.
            **
            I pull back from the mac
            spattered toilet, feel a fleeting sense of shame and commiseration for
            Manuela. But then I
            remember she's out of commission. Just who will scrub this mess?
            **
            Can't trust my shaky
            legs. I crawl over to the tub, hoist myself inside, slide out of my vomit-
            crusted clothes. Ugh!
            My legs are fat. Fat and hairy. Time for a major
            shave. And not just hair.
            315

            
              New
              Blade
            
            No razor burn.
            No razor nicks.
            No more hair.
            Legs are smooth.
            But still fat.
            Open my skin.
            Right ankle.
            Left ankle.
            White flesh.
            Red polka dots.
            Ha! That's funny.
            Ouch. Stings.
            Behind right knee.
            Left knee. Oops.
            A little deep.
            Blood pumps.
            
              Check it out
              .

              Thump. Thump.
            
            Oh my God.
            Can I stop it?
            Who really cares?
            The drain runs red.
            316

            
              I've Heard Exsanguination
            
            Is a pleasant enough way to go.
            Bleeding out, ebbing away, one
            heartbeat, ever slower, at a time.
            
              Thump-thump. Thump...thump. Thump...

              ...thump
              ......until you look
            
            death
            right in the eye, decide you like what you see. I've always feared
            dying before, psychological
            fallout from my childhood
            near
            death experience. The accident
            replays in a series of black-and-
            white snapshots. Raeanne laughs.
            
              Daddy swears. Mom screams,
              Ray!
            
            Glass rains. Darkness. Someone
            calls,
            
              Wake up,
              and I open my eyes to a swarm of disembodied faces.
            
            Halloween masks. Bloated. Distorted.
            Hands, gloved red, reach out to me.
            I fall back into blackness, stumble toward an orange glow, vaguely aware of spectral movement. Ahead, a figure
            leans into a low-banked fire. He lifts his horned head. Daddy! I leap from the shadows into antiseptic white.
            317

        

              Raeanne

          
            OM-Effing-G
          
          The bathroom looks like a battle
          field. Tangerine-colored puke
          paints toilet and tiles, and the whole place smells like death, not only because of the barfed- up whatever, but also because of the blood, thick maroon drips
          all over the tub and towels. And near the sink is a sticky crimson puddle.
          What's up with Kaeleigh, anyway?
          I mean, yeah, I get throwing up.
          It's not bad at all, except for the stomach acid part. The barf monster
          calls to me regularly. But hey, you're
          supposed to get it inside the bowl, and if you don't, protocol dictates
          you clean it up. I guess maid duty falls to me from who-knows-where this morning. Kaeleigh is gone, and if Daddy sees this, all hell
          will break loose. That girl seriously
          owes me, and I'd better collect soon, before she succumbs to the shadows
          overtaking her soul.
          318

              Speaking of Souls, Monsters, Etc.
            
            Tonight is Halloween.
            Ghouls. Goblins. Witches.
            Avoidable candy. And way
            avoidable children in costumes.
            Kind of fun to jump out and scream
            
              boo
              at the little brats. Then
              they

              avoid
              you.
              Woo-hoo.
            
            **
            Not only is it All Hallows Eve, but it's also Friday. The perfect
            excuse to party hearty. All I have to do is decide who to party with.
            Tricks? Treats? Ty? Mick?
            A little (a lot?) of both?
            (I don't think it's the right night f or Lawler, but never say never.)
            **
            Daddy won't try to stop me. He
            knows who he wants to party
            with. Well, maybe. I could have
            read the whole Hannah thing wrong,
            I guess. But if he was flirting and Hannah
            
              didn't go for it, he's a bomb with a very short fuse.
              Tick. Tick.

              **
            
            319

            
              Daddy and Hannah
            
            As I scrub away Kaeleigh's
            disgustingness, I can't help
            thinking about them. Truth is, the idea makes me crazy.
            **
            (Crazy jealous.)
            **
            Am I jealous? I guess I must be, because right now, all I can see
            (besides orange puke) are still
            shots of Daddy and Hannah.
            **
            (Doing the dirty.)
            **
            Shot one: missionary, Daddy on top.
            Shot two: doggie-style, Daddy on top.
            Shot three: can't even say it, let alone
            dwell on the picture, but Daddy's on top.
            **
            (Always on top.)
            320

            
              Being
            
            [the words below, above the asterisks, in the book are arranged in the shape of the letters o and n
            On top means
            never saying you're sorry, not for any damn thing you
            ever say or do. Daddy
            has got to be the king of on top, with Mom a very close runner-up. Hm.
            Wonder who was on
            **
            T O P
            **
            when they did have sex.
            321

            
              Sex, Sex, Sex
            
            I have really got to stop thinking about it so damn much, you know?
            Daddy and Hannah; Daddy and Mom;
            **
            Daddy and Kaeleigh; Daddy and whoever;
            Mom and Daddy,- Mom and whoever;
            Lawler and whoever; Mick and whoever; Ty...
            ***
            Sex, sex, sex. I have really got to stop
            wanting to have it, and more and more of it.
            Clumsy sex (Mick); choreographed sex
            ***
            (Ty); imagined sex (Lawler, assorted others).
            I've even half thought about experimenting with a girl or two. Variety is the spice of life.
            **
            Sex, sex, sex. And what goes with that?
            Drugs, more drugs, and alcohol, of course.
            I'm a living, walking, waking party on
            **
            two unsteady legs. (Not to mention a shaky
            brain.) Tonight is Halloween, a night to walk on the dark side. Can't wait to hit the road.
            322

            
              First, I Have to Get Through the Day
            
            And that starts with getting
            out the door. Standing between me and that goal is a red-eyed Daddy.
            **
            
              Apparently you forgot to tell

              me something important.

              **
            
            Quick. Think. "Uh. Something
            important? Like what?" I mentally
            run down a long list of possibilities:
            He saw the bathroom?
            He saw me with Brittany?
            He saw me see him with Hannah?
            He missed a few "borrowed" pills?
            One of his spies saw me with Lawler, or told him about Mick, the pot, and the cop?
            **
            
              You know, the phone call? Listen...

              **
            
            He advances, menacing, and now
            I'm thinking about phone calls.
            Is he talking about the hang-ups, or--oh, shit--the call from his father?
            He never mentioned it, so I assumed he never found out about it.
            **
            
              If you can't pass on a simple

              answering machine message,
              don't play them back, understand!
            
            323

            
              I Decide to Act Ignorant
            
            And. you know, for the most part
            I am. I have no clue what he's
            **
            talking about. "Uh...I'm sorry, but I'm not sure what you mean."
            **
            
              Your mother called yesterday,
              and left a rather lengthy message....

              **
            
            News to me. "Sorry, Daddy.
            I didn't check the machine.
            **
            
              Really. And here I thought you'd

              made it your mission....

              **
            
            What the hell does that mean?
            Maybe he knows more than
            **
            he's saying too. I apologize again.
            "Sorry. I usually do, but I was
            **
            all excited about writing my term
            paper." No need to mention why.
            **
            
              His eyes say, yeah right, but his lips say,
              Ahem. Okay. well, your

              **

              mother is coming home to watch
              the election returns and expects
            
            324
            
              to host a large party here. It's
              a big deal, as you can imagine.

              **

              and you'll have to help me pull it
              together. We've only got a few days.

              **

              And with Manuela unavailable.

              I'm not sure what to do.

              **
            
            A devious thought crosses my
            mind. Do I dare? Oh, why not?
            **
            "Maybe Hannah from down the street would help out."
            **
            
              H-Hannah?
              he sputters, eyes filling with uncertainty.
              Why Hannah?

              **
            
            How much do I know, Daddy? Not as much as I've guessed, but enough.
            **
            But I don't say that. Instead
            I shrug. "She's always seemed
            **
            pretty friendly, and she looks like she knows how to party."
            325

            
              He Has No Idea
            
            What I mean, or what to say.
            His jaw drops, spittle pooling in the corners of his mouth.
            **
            His eyes blink like some annoying
            spore has found its ocular target.
            Tears puddle, reflect something
            **
            like rising denial. No worries,
            Pop, I won't tell, as long as you
            be nice to me. (Pretty please be nice.)
            **
            One thing for sure, his reaction, silent as it might be, makes me
            know my instincts were right.
            **
            Somehow, some way, that hurts
            more than it should. After all, he's not married to me. Still, why
            **
            not twist the knife a little deeper?
            Kind of fun to make him squirm.
            "Do you want me to talk to Hannah?
            **
            I don't mind. Unless you'd rather
            do it yourself?" I ask, all innocent
            eyed. "I'll help too, of course."
            326
            
              Finally Daddy snaps out of his trance.
              That's okay. I'll talk
              to her. Good idea. She'll be great.

              **
            
            He stands, hands on his hips, looking a lot like Wyatt Earp, facing down bad guys at the OK Corral.
            **
            Guess what that makes me.
            Better holster my six-shooter.
            I'll break out the shotgun later.
            327

            
              School Totally Drags
            
            Tricks and treats are put on hold in favor of tests and ineffectual lectures.
            Teachers can be so heartless.
            **
            At lunch, I'm still deciding who to get witchy with. I'm
            wandering, foodless, when
            I hear someone call my name.
            **
            
              Ms. Gardella? One minute!

              Would you please honor

              me with your presence?
            
            Lawler, sounding all teacher.
            **
            So why does a little chill
            shimmy all up and down my spine? I'll honor him with more than my presence.
            **
            I turn toward his classroom, extremely happy that I shaved
            my legs and wore a very, very short skirt today.
            328

            
              Lawler Definitely Notices
            
            Not only that, but he doesn't
            hide the fact that he's noticing.
            His eyes fall to the source of my
            swishing stockings, stay there until he closes the door behind me.
            **
            
              How's the paper coming?

              Hope I was able to help.

              **
            
            I turn and he's very close behind me. In fact, we're just about nose to nose, I smile my
            most vampish smile. "You've
            helped me more than you know."
            **
            His turn to smile, revealing
            
              perfect white teeth.
              How so?

              **
            
            God, he smells good. I so want to get lost in him. "You
            treat me with respect. Not
            many teachers do that for their students. Power trips, I guess."
            **
            
              You deserve my respect.

              Not many students do.
            
            329
            I must be totally schizoid. As
            much as I like having his respect,
            I wonder what it would take to earn his disrespect. My eyes tell
            him that. My lips say, "Thank you."
            **
            
              Welcome. So I was wondering

              if you have plans for tonight.

              **
            
            Plans? Holy shit! Stay cool,
            Raeanne. Leave the drool
            where it belongs--inside your
            mouth. But wait. Do I have
            plans? Answer: "Not really."
            **
            
              I realize it's Halloween
              and you might be busy.

              **
            
            "No!" Easy now. Don't want to look like you're undateable or something. "I mean I really
            haven't got anything definite
            planned." Breathe in. Breathe out.
            **
            
              I
              was hoping you might be able
              to come over to my place and..
            
            330

            
              Yes, Yes, and...?
            
            Okay, I know he doesn't dare
            say what I want him to, but what he does say surprises me.
            **
            
              ...
              answer my door for an hour
              or so. I have an appointment

              **

              and don't want to leave the house

              empty with all the little tricksters

              running around. I know it's late

              **

              notice, an imposition, but you were
              the first person who came to mind.

              **
            
            A deep breath brings several
            positives to mind. One: I'll
            have my foot, quite literally,
            **
            in his door. Two: He probably
            doesn't have a girlfriend, unless
            **
            she happens to be his appointment.
            Three: what might happen after he gets back from his appointment.
            **
            Four: I was on his mind.
            What can I do but agree?
            331

            
              He Gives Me Directions

              To his house, which isn't far from mine.
              Need a ride?

              **
            
            A ride would be nice, considering it is chilly
            **
            outside, but I don't think
            I should chance it. Oh yeah,
            **
            just think about explaining
            that one to dear old Dad.
            **
            I shake my head. "Maybe a ride home. What time
            **
            do you want me?" I am queen of double entendre.
            **
            Lawler shows his dimples.
            
              My haircut is at six.

              **

              Can you get there around
              quarter to? I should only

              **

              be gone a little over an hour,
              so you won't be tied up all night.

              **
            
            Okay, vamp, ramp it up.
            "How about half the night?"
            332

            
              The Rest of the Day
            
            Crawls along even slower than the first half did. Lawler
            got my "tied up" joke and even
            gifted me with an easygoing
            laugh.
            I'm pretty sure he's got more than an abbreviated house-sitting
            job in mind. Wonder if he wants
            what I do--to wrap ourselves up in each other, make love until we
            cry with pleasure. Pain. Both. More.
            But to go there, I need to catch a buzz, which presents a problem.
            It's
            one thing to ask Mick for bud, then "reward" him after. But to get my head, then ask him to drop
            me at Lawler's? He would not
            appreciate that at all.
            Eek! Have I backed myself into a corner? No Mick, no bud.
            No Ty, no better buzz, and he's
            much more difficult to manipulate.
            Dopeless sex? That could not feel
            good.
            Could it?
            333

        

              Kaeleigh

          
            
              The Bus Seems Slower
            
            Than usual today, and that's
            okay by me. Sitting here, listening to everyone joke and laugh about being too old for trick-
            or-treating but doing it anyway, because hey, it's free candy.
            Okay, it's lame, but not as lame as going home to cry because Ian is going out of town
            this weekend, at a family reunion.
            No treats for me. Looks like it's
            going to be tricks, starting with Hannah, who's knee-deep in conversation with Daddy when
            I finally get home. The topic
            seems to be caterers, and it's
            all
            I can do to be courteous as I pass.
            I mean, if she sat any closer, she'd
            be in Daddy's lap. And it is Mom's
            kitchen. Even if Mom's never in it.
            One thing I know. Nothing
            good
            can come of this "friendship."
            334

            
              But Daddy's Attention
            
            Is drawn to the petite blonde, and so away from me. Yay.
            **
            I do have to go to work, but only for a couple of hours, setting
            **
            up the codgers' Halloween bash.
            Did I just think "codgers"? Where
            **
            in hell did that word come
            from? Some deep, dark, mean
            **
            recess of my brain? Some long-
            forgotten conversation? Some
            **
            past-life dictionary? Sheesh. Just
            think if I didn't like those people!
            **
            Anyway, it will be easy enough to get out the door, not that it isn't
            **
            usually, but usually Daddy isn't
            even home yet. What's so special
            **
            about today? Planning Mom's
            party? The simple chance to get
            **
            together with Hannah? Oops.
            Answered my own question.
            335

            
              I Slip Off My  Shoes
            
            Slide down the hall in my stocking
            feet, evoking a memory of Raeanne and me when we were little, playing
            champion ice-skaters. Wow. I don't
            go there often anymore. Most of my
            childhood memories bloat with pain.
            **
            Laughter trickles from the kitchen, the exact same way it used to, except it is not Mom laughing with
            Daddy. It's her...what? Fill-in?
            Replacement? Divorce would
            probably be a better choice.
            **
            But considering the reputation
            factor, divorce will never happen.
            Ah. See? Happy memory dashed against the rocks of reality. I can't
            deal with it in my normal way.
            Daddy and Hannah have control
            **
            of the kitchen. No stuffing myself until there's no room left inside for hurt. Aching from just behind my eyes to the pit of my too-empty
            belly, I go into my bedroom, sit on the floor, pick open a scab or two.
            336

            
              I'm Kind of Liking
            
            This blood
            **
            thing. Fetish?
            **
            Fixation? Not
            **
            quite an
            **
            obsession
            **
            yet, but I
            **
            can see it
            **
            growing
            **
            into that.
            **
            Drip. Drip.
            **
            Steady. Slow.
            **
            Drip-drip.
            **
            Quicker yet.
            **
            Drip-drip-drip.
            **
            Drip-drip-drip.
            **
            Drip.
            **
            Drip
            **
            Drip
            337

            
              I'd Probably Just
            
            Let myself drip, but I did promise to show up at work and help out with the Halloween decorations.
            **
            I'm rummaging through the medicine
            cabinet for a couple of Band-Aids
            when the telephone rings.
            **
            
              Will you get that, please?
              calls

              Daddy.
              If it's for me, tell them

              I'll call back in a few minutes.

              **
            
            The nearest phone is in the hall.
            I rush to reach it before the fifth
            ring feeds it to the machine. "Hello?"
            **
            No response, but a sharp rustle on the far end, like someone
            has dropped a stack of papers.
            **
            I wait, but no voice follows, so I repeat, "Hello? Is anyone
            there?" Still no answer.
            **
            Bad connection? Prank call?
            Either way, I've got to go. "Sorry.
            I'm late for work. Try back later."
            338

            
              Why Am I Always So Polite?
            
            I mean, that was just so annoying.
            No wonder Daddy
            gets mad about these recent
            hang-up calls.
            Is that what this was? I'm not sure.
            I was the one who did the hanging up, after all.
            **
            
              Who was it?
              calls Daddy as I start toward the door.
            
            "Wrong number," I answer. No
            use letting Hannah
            see his dark underside, is there?
            Okay, maybe there
            is, but I'll save that card for later.
            **
            I pop my head through the kitchen
            doorway. "Bye.
            I'm going to work." Hannah looks up and gives a small wave. Daddy does not
            
              even turn.
              Don't

              stay out late. I'll wait up for you.
            
            339

            
              His Words
            
            Send ice chips pulsing through my veins. No,
            Daddy, don't wait up, unless you wait at Hannah's.
            **
            And suddenly it comes to me that not only is he already home, but he has
            not yet started drinking.
            **
            No Turkey stink; no
            indistinct sentences; no red-rimmed, tear-
            choked eyes. Unreal.
            **
            I can't remember the last time I saw him
            look so human. But
            how long can it last?
            340

            
              My Hand Is Turning
            
            The doorknob when the phone
            rings again. I hesitate, know
            I should ignore it. But somehow
            I have to find out who's on the other
            end. Work will wait. "I've got it!"
            **
            
              Caller ID says only
              Private Name,

              Private Number.
              It's weird, but my hand twitches as I reach for the receiver. "Hello?"
            
            **
            
              Who is this?
            
            **
            Odd way to open a dialogue.
            "Uh, this is Kaeleigh. Who's
            this?" A long stretch of silence
            follows and I repeat, "Hello?"
            **
            
              Kaeleigh?

              **
            
            OMG. Is the woman dense?
            But her voice, soft and scratchy as an old vinyl record, tugs at a place inside of me. "Yes, it's Kaeleigh. And you are...?"
            **
            
              Your grandmother.
            
            341

            
              Not Grandma Betty
            
            Calling from Florida, no, she's busy with her new
            (relatively speaking--
            I think he's like eighty)
            husband. Yech. Ugly
            picture. Anyway, I know her voice, and this isn't it.
            **
            Instinctively, I lower my
            own voice. "You mean my
            father's mother?" The one who vanished so long ago?
            The one who...who what?
            **
            
              That's right. I know

              it's been a very long time...
            
            **
            "Kind of an understatement, wouldn't you say? Where
            have you been?" Where did
            you go? Why did you stay
            away so long? "And why are you calling now?"
            **
            
              It's a difficult story, one

              I need to tell you, but not
              on the telephone. I'm...
            
            342

            
              A Shadow Falls

              Through the doorway, darkens the entire hall. Daddy.
              Who is it?

              **
            
            Can't tell him! Into the phone,
            "Hang on." To Daddy, "It's Shelby, asking about tonight."
            **
            
              Tonight? What about tonight?
            
            Daddy's eyes betray suspicion.
            **
            Think of something quick. "Uh, it is Halloween. A few of the kids are getting together...."
            **
            
              You mean like a party? You know

              how I feel about underage parties.

              **
            
            He'll never go for a party, not
            even chaperoned. "No, no party.
            To take the little kids trick-or-treating."
            **
            He thinks a second, then says,
            
              I
              guess that's okay But not late.
            
            **
            He stands there, head cocked, waiting for me to respond. "My
            dad says okay. We'll talk later."
            343
            
              I Don't Want to Hang Up
            
            But I have to.
            Will she understand?
            
              She seems to.
              Okay.

              **
            
            But she's not
            
              quite ready to hang up either.
              One question.

              **
            
            Daddy has retreated to the kitchen, but he'll
            notice if I keep talking.
            **
            I force my voice real
            low. "One quick one."
            
              Are you all right?

              **
            
            What does she know?
            How can I answer?
            "Yes...no...gotta go."
            344

            
              I'm Running Really Late
            
            So I do something I never do.
            "Daddy, I hate to ask you, but I'm kind of late for work.
            Could you possibly give me a ride?"
            **
            Then I top off the lie, "Shelby's
            mom will pick me up after and bring me home later."
            I'll get home one way or another.
            **
            Daddy scowls and Hannah
            
              reacts.
              I'll give you a ride.

              That way we can talk
              about your mom'
              s
              reception.
            
            I don't want to talk to Hannah.
            I don't want her to give me a ride.
            
              But Daddy seals the deal.
              Great

              idea. And I'll start making calls.

              **
            
            Damn, damn, damn. I hate
            when I'm left without a choice.
            But that's the situation now.
            I follow Hannah out the door,
            **
            and down the block to her Mitsubishi
            Mirage. Red, of course. Black leather
            interior. And still a mediocre ride.
            Mediocre. Just right for her.
            345
            Thank God it's only several blocks.
            Hannah yammers on and on about food and how much champagne
            we should order and
            **
            
              Can you help me out with
              a guest list? I have no idea
              who your mother's friends

              are. I assume she'll invite

              **

              her business acquaintances.

              Oh. and what about the press?

              Should I contact them? Oh, no,
              your father will probably want to.

              **
            
            And on and on some more.
            And I can't concentrate on one-tenth of what she says because the only thing I can
            **
            think about right now is my
            grandmother. A stranger, but somehow not. Her voice is a memory, tucked away so deep
            **
            inside that trying to extricate it makes my head pound.
            And it feels like once I pry it up, a crater will be left behind.
            346

            
              I Thank Hannah for the Ride
            
            Go on inside. Preparations are well underway, and an excited buzz carries along the corridors. Sheesh. You'd
            think the old folks would leave
            Halloween to the little kids, but no. Any excuse to get out of their rooms and party, huh?
            **
            So, okay, that isn't so strange after all. I head straight for the dining room to see how the decorations are coming
            along. I am not surprised to see William flanked by five elderly femme fatales, hanging cardboard skeletons.
            **
            What snatches my immediate
            attention is Greta, hand in hand with the same gentleman who visited a few weeks ago. They
            look like a definite thing.
            **
            When she spies me, Greta
            
              waves me over.
              Kaeleigh,
              dear, I want you to meet

              Lars. We are old friends.
            
            347
            
              Speak for yourself, woman,
              scolds Lars in a heavy Danish

              accent.
              I
              myself am forever young,
              especially now that I've found you

              again.
              He turns his attention to me.

              So happy to meet you. Greta

              has told me so much about you.

              **
            
            No wonder she loves him.
            He loves her, and that little
            bit of wisdom comes from more than his words. It's
            written all over his face.
            "Good to meet you, too.
            And I think you're both
            forever young."
            **
            
              Greta beams but says,
              In our

              hearts, perhaps. But my body

              reminds me regularly of just

              how many years I have worn it.

              No matter. My Lars has found me.

              I can leave this world satisfied.
            
            348

            
              Satisfaction
            
            Not sure what that is or how to find it, and I sincerely doubt
            that it will ever apply to me.
            I look at them, so in love, and I
            think about Ian. Where is he right
            now? Who is he talking to?
            What is he talking about?
            Why should I even
            care, as long as every now and again he thinks about me, pulls me from a place
            deep in his heart? Does he wonder
            what I'm doing? Does he care
            that I've hung paper pumpkins, lit jack-o'-lanterns, baked cookies?
            I want to call him, tell him I
            love
            him. But no, I won't do
            that, won't set myself up for disappointment. If
            he's changed his mind, I
            don't
            want to know. Anyway,
            I've got to go. I say good-bye, hurry away from the All Hallows
            Eve celebration, into the night, close the door behind me.
            349

        

              Raeanne

          
            
              Lawler's  House
            
            Isn't at all what I expected.
            It's not small, not really. And
            it's definitely not untidy. I
            think
            I watch too much TV. Aren't
            all single guys supposed to be
            slobs? Not Lawler. No, not at all. His yard is tended with care and I doubt he makes enough
            money to afford a service.
            His Charger, parked on the street, is washed, polished. Spotless. I
            wonder
            if dirt and bug guts just slide
            right off it. I wonder if lowdown
            slides right off him, or if he worries about it. I would
            love to know if he's even a little
            worried about inviting me
            here, about what the neighbors
            might think. Personally, I
            don't
            give one good damn about gossip. So I walk right up, ring the bell, head on inside, close the door behind me.
            350

            
              He's Gone for Over an Hour
            
            Between doorbell rings and candy grabs, I roam
            room to room, sitting in chairs, straightening photos, opening
            drawers and touching their contents, trying to absorb Lawler by osmosis.
            **
            The last room I enter is his bedroom. Like everything
            else, it is tidy. Spare. Few
            embellishments but the wandering
            star quilt, in sapphire and rose, and matching throw pillows.
            **
            I flop onto the bed, settle into the hand-sewn luxury.
            Who gave him such a personal
            gift? Mother? Grandmother?
            No, this feels like the remnant of a lover. Resentment swells and I bury my head in his pillow, seek his familiar leather scent, breathe it in. In. In. Smother
            myself in leather perfumed eiderdown.
            351

            
              The Doorbell Interrupts
            
            My Lawler-scented reverie.
            I go to answer, expecting a knee-
            high Cinderella or Spiderman.
            **
            Instead I find a half-dozen
            people my age. A couple wear
            masks--a blood-scarred monster,
            **
            a long-fanged werewolf, a Dumbo-
            eared George W. Bush. The rest
            assume they don't need costumes
            **
            to look horrific, and that includes
            my dearest friend Madison, At the sight of me, her jaw drops.
            **
            
              This isn't where you live, is it?

              No
              Hey, how's it going,
              just
            
            demon-eyed inquisition.
            **
            Don't suppose there's any use
            lying or denying. "No, it's not.
            I'm just answering the door."
            **
            
              I have no idea if she knows who
              does
              live here, but I'm not
            
            volunteering the information.
            352
            As if reading my mind, Madison
            
              asks,
              Well, whose house
              is
              it?
            
            They all wait for the answer.
            **
            The answer I really don't plan to give. But as I try to formulate a reply, Lawler's Charger pulls
            **
            against the curb. The jig, as they say, is up. And so, I'm pretty
            sure, is any notion of hanging
            **
            around now that he's home. Anger
            erupts like Vesuvius. "So do you
            freaks want candy or what?"
            **
            The car door shuts and all attention
            turns to Lawler, tall and frigging
            gorgeous beneath his new haircut.
            **
            Madison turns back to me, and the smile on her face is not exactly
            
              friendly.
              You've got to be kidding.

              **

              Mr. Lawler arrives, all charm.
              Hey,
              guys. A little old for trick-or-treat,
              aren't you? Well, help yourselves.
            
            353
            
              Wouldn't want you to knock over
              any little kids for their candy.
            
            He smiles and puts handfuls
            **
            
              of the sweet stuff into their pillowcases.
              Anyway, I don't

              need junk food lying around

              **

              the house. I'll just eat it, you

              know? Thanks for stopping
              by See you all on Monday

              **

              Dismissed! Then he turns to me.
              Thanks so much for
              watching the place. I sure

              **

              didn't need any kids playing

              tricks on me.
              He takes my arm.

              Come back inside and I'll pay you.
            
            354

            
              Seamless
            
            And I wouldn't expect
            anything less. Still, I suspect
            Madison, et al. are lurking
            nearby somewhere, waiting to see when and if I leave.
            No Lawler tonight.
            **
            "The haircut looks great."
            What else can I say?
            **
            He stands very close to me, looks down into my eyes.
            
              Thanks. I had hoped you

              could stay for a while, but now...
            
            **
            "I know. It's okay." Oh
            yeah, real okay. I swear
            I will strangle Madison
            one of these days. "Oh, and you don't have to pay
            me anything. I was happy to help out." Happy to lie on your bed, your pillow.
            355

            
              But Now I Have to Go
            
            And we both know it, and we know it has to be sooner rather than later.
            **
            
              Do you need a ride home?

              **
            
            I'd planned on staying out later.
            Much later. But somehow I don't
            feel like calling Mick or Ty.
            **
            Somehow, going home and fantasizing about Lawler will be more than enough action for one night.
            **
            "Okay. If you think it's safe to leave your house empty."
            **
            
              I'll leave the candy on the front porch.

              **
            
            We walk to the car, far apart, but the street appears deserted, except for a few kids well down the block. "Trick-or-treat seems to end earlier and earlier every year."
            **
            
              I think that started with 9/11.
            
            356
            He opens the passenger door, every molecule the gentleman.
            I'm pretty damn sure no guy
            
              has
              ever
              done that for me
            
            before. "Thank you."
            **
            
              But of course, milady.

              **
            
            I might as well melt right now.
            Even without Lawler in it yet, the Charger smells like him.
            I think I could just curl up and die
            right here in the cushy front seat.
            I know this relationship can never
            work out. But, oh, how I want it to.
            **
            Lawler gets in, starts the car, drives
            me home. And although there is so much to say, neither of us dares
            attempt it. The silence crushes.
            Finally I chance resting my hand on his thigh. "I find older men
            very attractive, you know."
            **
            
              He smiles.
              Older than what?
            
            357

            
              I Know He Has More to Say
            
            I've got plenty more to say too, but I'm afraid if I do I'll jinx
            myself. Still, home isn't so far and my curiosity is killing
            me. "So...what do you think?"
            **
            
              About what?

              **
            
            Is he playing coy? He has to know what I'm talking about.
            This game isn't that complicated.
            "About us." Okay. Said it.
            He sucks in a deep breath.
            **
            
              There isn't an "us.
              "

              **
            
            Now see? Went and jinxed
            it. Oh, well. What's jinxed is jinxed. Might as well push
            things right out into the open.
            "I thought there might be...
            **
            could be, anyway. Kind of seemed like things were moving that way." Enough
            already. Let him talk.
            358

            
              Lawler Pulls Over
            
            A couple of blocks from home.
            I don't move to get out of the car, and he turns to face me.
            **
            
              You are a stunning temptation, not
              to mention an amazing distraction.

              You're bright, beautiful, adventurous.
            
            **
            
              I am totally drawn to you. and if you
              were eighteen and not my student,

              I'd go out with you in a hot second...

              **
            
            No! He's brushing me off.
            I want to yell, but I get the feeling a soft question might work better.
            **
            "What if we were really careful?"
            I can't believe he's about to withdraw from the game.
            **
            
              You saw what happened tonight.

              I guess that was an eye-opener
              for me. Ours is a very small school,

              **

              in a very small town. Secrets are
              difficult to keep here, especially

              this kind of secret. I'm really
            
            359
            
              sorry that I led you on. There's just

              something about you. Something...

              fractured...injured, despite how

              **

              together you always appear to be.

              I wanted to help you. To heal whatever's

              broken in you. To make you whole.

              **
            
            Whole. No one can do that for me. God, why did he have to go and get so serious?
            **
            Game over. I lose. What am
            I going to do? Throw a tantrum?
            "Okay. I understand. But if you
            **
            ever change your mind, you know
            where to find me, at least during second block." Side-out.
            360

            
              A Man with Morals
            
            Or maybe just a coward.
            Either way, lucky me,
            I had to go and fall for him. History will not be
            nearly as much fun from now on. In fact, I'm not
            sure how I'll go to class, listen to his lectures, ace his pop quizzes, etc. etc., without staring at his pecs or better yet, his gluteus.
            Then again, I can still stare, still fantasize, still dream, can't I?
            361

            
              Anyway, Lawler Seems
            
            Like the "fall in love, settle
            down, and have three kids with a picket fence" kinda
            guy. Definitely not my type.
            **
            Not that I'm sure exactly
            what my type is. Other than cute. Built. I'd like to say intelligent, but that
            **
            hasn't always proved the case with some of my selections.
            Still, if I could build the perfect
            guy, he'd be smart. Just not
            **
            as smart as me. Funny.
            And, oh yeah, a stoner.
            Killer combination. Lawler, with connections. Sounds
            **
            pretty good to me. Yet even
            all that can't add up to "happy
            ever after." Does anyone
            really believe in such a thing?
            362

            
              Happy Ever After
            
            Is a concept I'll never believe
            in. I would be content to sample
            some little taste of happiness
            today, tonight, right now, though
            I know without a doubt that tomorrow
            will arrive, saturated with pain.
            Life is like that. At least
            my life. And honestly,
            I can't
            think of anyone whose life is any different. The price
            tag for joy is misery. I don't
            want to go inside, but I can't
            stay
            out here on the grass all night.
            It's crunchy cold. I watch
            Lawler drive away, wish with all
            my heart I could keep him
            here beside me, wrapped around me, blanketing me with security, fragile as that might also be.
            Oh yes, I would like that
            very much.
            But he's gone already, out of sight, a shadow blurred into night, and I will weave dreams no
            longer.
            363

        

              Kaeleigh

          
            
              Sunday Morning
            
            Post-Halloween. The house is silent, fast asleep, but despite the seeming calm,
            I know in my bones that I'm straddling
            more than one powder keg, lit torch in hand. Everything
            wants to blow, although
            I can't
            say exactly why I think so, but it definitely has to do with
            Mom getting home late last night.
            I guess she plans to stay through Election Day. Depending on the outcome of that, she'll leave for DC right away to find a place, or she'll settle back
            here
            indefinitely. Meaning until she finds a new crusade to embark on.
            Why can't her crusade be me?
            The polls say the race is still
            very
            close. Either way, I feel her slip
            away. Either way, our lives
            won't be the same
            much longer.
            364

            
              Either Way
            
            Mom is sleeping in the guest room.
            Maybe that's truly what she is--a guest in her own home. God, how sad.
            **
            For me.
            **
            I just want my mommy back.
            just want to be the little girl she tells
            stories to, whose hair she brushes
            
              **
            
            every night
            **
            until it shines like polished brass.
            Why does life have to be so messed up?
            Why can't it just keep marching in
            **
            perfect order?
            365

            
              I Was Supposed
            
            To be asleep last night when Mom blew in through the door, an unsubtle wind.
            **
            I wanted to run to her, throw my arms around her, snow kisses all over her face.
            **
            But something told me to crack open
            my door, sit beside it in the dark, silent.
            **
            To listen, no more than a hint of the child she loved once upon a time, so long ago.
            **
            Then, she would never leave me or Raeanne.
            My sister and I would sit in the dark, like
            **
            this, only together. We'd sit very close, listening in to our parents' discussions.
            **
            Then, Daddy would often ask to go away with Mom, who refused to leave us
            **
            with an au pair. Then, the only person who ever watched us was...was...a face
            **
            surfaces in memory. She looked like Daddy, and her breath always smelled like Dewar's.
            366

            
              Oh Yeah, Blast from the Past
            
            I sat there last night, shaking, no Raeanne to make the jolt of remembrance better.
            And it was about to get worse.
            **
            
              Mom greeted Daddy about as expected, with a clipped
              Good to see you.
              Next came
            
            several minutes of usual campaign banter.
            **
            Daddy went on to talk about plans for Tuesday, skipping the Hannah
            part. I just about fell asleep.
            **
            Around the time I decided to go
            ahead to bed. Mom began,
            
              Oh, I spoke with your father....

              **

              My father?
              Daddy's voice was startled.
              Why in bloody

              hell would you do that?

              **
            
            Mom's turn for surprise:
            
              You don't know?

              **

              Daddy:
              I
              couldn't hazard a guess.

              **

              So you haven't heard from
              your mother? No demands?
            
            Her words sank in slowly.
            367
            
              I could imagine the expression on his face.
              What in the fuck
              are you talking about, Kay?

              **
            
            She spoke slowly, as if to a dull-
            
              witted child.
              Your father called
              to let you know you might expect

              **

              to hear from your mother. His take
              was she wanted money to keep quiet.

              Quiet about what, Raymond?

              **

              I have no idea,
              answered Daddy, a little too quickly.
              Frankly, I'd be

              shocked to hear from her....

              **
            
            So long, with no word. What, exactly, happened between them? Surely
            something more than just the scene
            **
            after the funeral. I shifted my weight and the floorboards groaned.
            Conversation skidded to an abrupt halt.
            **
            
              Finally, Mom said,
              We'll finish this

              later. I'm exhausted anyway. We'll

              both be clearer tomorrow.
              Finis.
            
            368

            
              I Lay Awake
            
            Most of the night, pondering
            mysteries. Where did my father
            **
            come from? Who made him, and who made him the way he is?
            **
            Who is my grandmother? Where
            has she been all these years, and what
            **
            does she know that Daddy wouldn't
            want us to know? What happened
            **
            between her and Grandpa Gardella?
            What happened between Daddy
            **
            and him? Does Mom know the answers to these questions?
            **
            If she does, why hasn't she ever
            talked about them? If she doesn't,
            **
            why doesn't she? Why don't I?
            Why are there so many mysteries
            **
            shrouding our lives? Will I ever
            know the answers? If so, when?
            **
            If not, why?
            369

            
              Not a Good Time
            
            For those questions. Of course,
            I doubt there will ever be a good
            time for those questions.
            **
            Our family puts the "dys" in dysfunctional. And every time
            I start to think I'm the sanest
            **
            in the bunch, I turn around and do something completely
            insane, like letting myself
            **
            fall hard for Ian. He called
            yesterday, caught me on my
            
              cell.
              Hey, you. What's up?

              **
            
            Just hearing his voice warmed
            me, from the inside out. "Same
            ol'. What's up with you?"
            **
            
              Not much. In fact, I'm bored
              as hell, so I thought I'd call and
              tell you how much I miss you.

              **

              I'll be home Sunday morning.

              Think you could steal a few

              minutes with me?
            
            370
            "Maybe after work. We can
            always try, although my mom is supposed to be home."
            **
            
              Oh, that's right. The election
              is Tuesday, huh? How's it
              looking for your mom?
            
            **"Okay, I guess. Barring some
            major revelation, she's got a pretty good shot."
            **
            
              Major revelation, huh?

              He laughed.
              And what
              are the odds of that?

              **
            
            At the time, I thought
            they were pretty long.
            But now I have to wonder.
            371

            
              I Want to Talk to Ian
            
            About Mom and Daddy and Raeanne and Grandma Gardella, whose face keeps
            trying to materialize behind my eyes, and whose
            motives for appearing now can't be guessed.
            **
            But I don't dare talk to him about any of that, because then he'll realize how truly
            screwed up my family is, and that includes
            me, and if he knows all that, he'll dump me.
            **
            I want to talk to Mom about Daddy and his parents and most of all about Ian, who I
            think I might really be in love with. I want to talk to her about love and what that means.
            **
            But I'm not sure she knows what it means or that she cares in the least that I might
            have found it. I'm not sure she cares about me at all, and that's what I'm really afraid of.
            **
            Afraid, afraid, afraid. I'm always afraid and I'm sick of it and I don't know any
            other way of dealing with it than to go
            find food and stuff myself with it. So I do.
            372

            
              And Still No One's Awake
            
            So I bundle up against the drear
            November fog and pedal off to work. I pass a church, starting to fill with early risers, almost
            think about going inside.
            **
            Like what for, Kaeleigh?
            Forgiveness?
            You'll burn.
            Belonging?
            No one wants you.
            Enlightenment?
            Huh? What?
            Confession?
            Oh yeah, breakdown.
            Daddy would kill me.
            If Mom didn't kill you first.
            And if I don't stop talking to myself, I'll only prove
            that I really am crazy.
            Schizophrenic, maybe.
            Yeah, Kaeleigh, shut the hell up.
            373

            
              Schizophrenic Me
            
            Can barely pay attention to what I'm doing at work, with all the conversation
            going back and forth in my
            head. Mental tug-of-war.
            **
            Finally I get the breakfast
            table set. The residents start to trickle in, many dressed up for their own worship to come. Among those women
            **
            in cheerful flowered dresses is Greta, no gentleman beside her. She sits and I go over.
            "No Lars today? And you
            look so pretty, too!"
            **
            
              Greta sighs.
              Lars will not

              come to church with me.

              He says there is no God.

              He used to think differently,
              once long ago. The war...

              **

              She's known him
              that
              long?
            
            "I didn't realize you've known
            each other since before the war.
            Is that how you lost each other?"
            What wedged them apart?
            374

            
              Greta's Tale
            
            Comes from a place deep, deep inside. It takes a few
            minutes to surface.
            Finally it shudders free.
            **
            
              Lars and I met as small children.

              We played together in the streets,
              and by the time the war started,
              we were in love. Really, we

              **

              were still only children. I must

              have been twelve or thirteen,
              and Lars was a year older.

              Our love was pure, and born

              **

              of friendship. But when my father

              found out, he forbade me to see

              Lars. We met in secret, shared

              kisses and laughter. Nothing more.

              **

              One day my father discovered

              us together He nearly beat me
              to death. I feared he would kill

              Lars, and so it was almost a relief

              **

              when Lars put on a uniform
              and went to fight the Nazis.

              Almost.
              Her voice softens, slows.

              I
              mean, he was only a boy inside,
            
            375
            although on the outside he looked
            every bit the handsome soldier.
            My father tried to stop me from going to say good-bye.
            **
            But for once, my mother
            intervened. "Let her go," she said. "She may never
            see him again." And I didn't.
            **
            Not until a few weeks ago, when he showed up here.
            More than sixty years have gone by.
            Sixty years we can
            **
            never get back, six decades
            filled with things we will
            never speak of. But we accept
            that, and have promised
            **
            to share the few years we have
            left, create new memories, joyous and loving, that we
            can take with us when we go.
            376

            
              Love, Resurrected
            
            After more than sixty years.
            Must be that love never died.
            **
            And that means it had to have been alive in the first place.
            **
            I want to know living love.
            And I don't want to wait for it.
            **
            I go through the motions of this
            mindless work, mind totally
            **
            locked on Ian and possibility.
            As soon as I finish, I call him.
            **
            
              He's home.
              Hey. I was hoping

              I'd hear from you. So...

              **
            
            He doesn't have to ask. "Pick
            me up. Mom can wait."
            **
            It's an impossibly long fifteen
            minutes. Finally I hear his bike,
            
              **
            
            and the sound of its approach
            fills me with happiness. And
            **
            something else. Something
            very much like desire.
            377

            
              And Now I See His Face
            
            And the warmth of his smile
            intensifies the heat
            wave flowing inside me. But I have to play cool because that's what
            good girls do and I want to be
            good for Ian. "Hey. Missed you."
            **
            
              Not as much as I missed you.

              Come here.
              And he pulls me into him and now we're kissing and I want to make this amazing
            
            sense of belonging last forever.
            
              Have I told you lately I love you?

              **
            
            I fold myself up into his arms, close as one body can get to another, except for...I go stiff at the thought.
            No Kaeleigh, no. That's not what
            this is. It's okay to be here, plastered
            right up against this incredible guy.
            **
            But the magic has dissipated, the warmth frozen over. Ian can't
            
              help but notice.
              What's wrong?
            
            I shake my head, cling tighter.
            In the past, Ian would have turned
            
              away. Today he holds fast.
              Stay.
            
            378

            
              Like a Puppy
            
            I stay, and for once I stay
            long enough for the ice dam to melt, warm into an easy
            flow, burgeoning into a river of need. My pulse picks up speed and I lift my eyes to his, have to look away or I might
            go blind at the blaze
            raging
            there. "Oh God, Ian, I can't
            believe how much I love you."
            And he kisses me again, and now
            I understand how love can come
            alive inside you, beneath your skin, beneath your flesh and bone, a separate entity, breathing in and out its own special air, expanding to fill all those hollow places
            that you can't fill by yourself.
            I want to be good. Don't want to go stiff. But if I don't, this
            sudden rush of want will become
            unstoppable.
            So maybe I'd better stop it now.
            379

        

              Raeanne

          
            
              Home, Bitter Home
            
            Mom's home, oh yeah, oh
            boy. Waiting for her to light into Daddy is like standing beside a river
            knowing you're going to fall
            in, no matter what you do.
            The only real question is when.
            I didn't used to mind their raging at each other. When I was little,
            I thought it was better than a deep freeze of silence.
            Rage meant they were still
            
              alive, still feeling
              something.
              Now, since I know they're definitely
            
            dead inside, I don't want to listen to their ever-
            expanding
            list of unfinished rants and just-boiling-to-the-surface raves.
            (Not talking about the fun kind!)
            'Cause once the bitch bus
            starts rolling, it's practically
            unstoppable.
            380

            
              Topping Today's Rant List
            
            Is, of course, my dear grandmama.
            And guess who's going to get
            
              ranted
              at.
              Spot on! It's me.
            
            **
            
              Daddy:
              Why didn't you bother
              to tell me about my father's call?

              **
            
            I suppose I could deny knowing about it. But why lie? I shrug.
            "Guess I forgot. Sorry."
            **
            
              Mom:
              Sorry? That's the best you can

              do? Under the circumstances...

              **
            
            Patience was never my forte.
            "Under what circumstances?
            I don't even know the man."
            **
            
              Daddy:
              Beside the point. You couldn't

              tell the message was important?

              **
            
            "The guy sounded like some sort of nut job. Anyway, why don't I know
            him?" Way to flip the tables!
            **
            
              Mom:
              Your father and I have reasons
              for the things we do or don't allow.
            
            381
            I hate her. She never lets her guard down and always has a ready answer.
            
              "So...
              is
              he a nut job, then?"
            
            **
            Daddy, trying not to lose it:
            
              No, he's not a fucking nut job.

              **
            
            Not doing a good job of not losing
            it, Daddy, love. "Totally okay? Cool.
            Next time I'll pick up and talk to him.
            **
            Mom, definitely losing it:
            
              Are you
              trying
              to make us angry?

              **
            
            The game's getting fun. Keep
            playing. Smile pretty. "Why
            would I want to do that, Mom?"
            **
            Daddy, closer and closer to losing it:
            
              Extremely good question, I'd say.

              **
            
            All of a sudden, I don't want
            this to be a game anymore.
            I want answers. Honest ones.
            382

            
              This Is a Rare Opportunity
            
            With Mom sitting right here,
            Daddy cannot so easily dismiss
            my questions. Valid questions.
            I look him directly in the eye--
            something I don't often dare.
            **
            "Why don't you talk to your father?
            And why won't you let him be a part of our lives?" Like anyone is a part of our lives. Including us. Truth is, there is no "our." No "us."
            **
            Mom stares at Daddy, waiting.
            Doesn't she know? Daddy glances
            
              back and forth between us, like a corralled coyote.
              Let's just say he
              made my childhood extremely hard.

              **
            
            If he thinks that's communication, he should think again. Whose
            childhood isn't hard? I shake
            my head. "Like how, Daddy?
            Can you be more specific?"
            **
            His eyes glaze over, and I know
            he's fallen into the past, a place he most definitely does not want to revisit. He exits quickly.
            
              I
              don't want to talk about him.
            
            383

            
              Surreal
            
            I swear, I've never
            seen Daddy look so shaken.
            So...wow. Scared.
            **
            He looks like a little
            boy who has been sent to the principal's office
            **
            or to the woodshed to wait for a switching.
            I almost feel sorry
            **
            for him, operative
            
              word being
              almost.
              Because the mold of his face
            
            **
            reminds me intensely of Kaeleigh, when she know
            she's on his way to her.
            **
            Like father, like son?
            One day I'll get my answers.
            One day very soon.
            384

            
              Meanwhile, Think I'll Dive
            
            A little deeper into the shit pit.
            What have I got to lose?
            **
            "If you won't tell me about my grandfather, what about my grandmother? What's all the hype about, anyway?"
            **
            Daddy shifts gears to angry, jumps to his feet, stalks to the counter to refill his glass from the fifth of Turkey, drained
            **
            half-dry since this morning.
            It's not even dinnertime yet.
            **
            I think he just might leave the room, highball in hand.
            **
            
              Mom stops him with the weight of her voice.
              Don't you dare

              walk away from her. Raymond.

              Tell her about your mother.

              She has the right to know.
            
            385

            
              Daddy Takes a Gulp
            
            Of his whiskey, adds a big splash to the glass, rotates toward us on one heel. His expression is a curious mix of fury, resignation, and anguish.
            **
            Finally he returns to the table.
            
              So you want to know about
              your grandmother? Fine.

              Let me tell you all about her.

              What I remember, anyway.

              **

              I remember coming home
              from school and finding
              her passed out in front
              of the TV set, sweating

              cheap scotch and cigarettes....

              **
            
            Holy crap! Deja vu of the most unpleasant kind and he doesn't seem to get it at all. Only difference is the choice of booze.
            **
            
              I
              remember scrounging for
              my own dinner because I

              couldn't shake her out
              of her stupor and my dear

              old dad worked swing shift.
            
            386
            
              I
              remember other kids,
              laughing at my disgusting

              clothes. Mom was too

              fucked up to wash them
              and I was too little to try....

              **
            
            All the while he talks, he sucks down Turkey, and it's easy to imagine the scene, except for the dirty
            clothes. Daddy demands clean.
            **
            
              I
              remember how excited

              my classmates got about
              bringing their parents
              to school plays. I prayed

              mine wouldn't show up drunk.

              **

              I remember working my ass
              off to bring home straight As
              and the day I finally did,
              my mother wasn't home. In

              fact, she'd gone for good.
            
            387

            
              That was the Most
            
            My daddy has said to me in almost ten
            years. I can barely catch my breath,
            **
            and he did all the talking. Still, I have
            questions. "Why did she leave?"
            **
            
              He shrugs.
              She came limping back several

              years later, told me it was my father's fault.

              **

              Said he slept around. Like that was a good

              enough excuse for what her leaving did to me.

              **
            
            Lots of people's parents split up, especially over stuff like that. But...
            **
            "Why didn't she take you with her when she left?" What made him so cold?
            **
            
              She said she thought my father would

              take better care of me. That she had no

              **

              resources. That part, I'm sure, was true.

              But she never once checked on my welfare.

              **
            
            There's more to the story. A lot more.
            But it involves his father. He won't share
            **
            that part--the part I most need to know.
            The part about what makes Daddy tick.
            388

            
              The Topic of Conversation
            
            Plunges him deeper into the depths of his bottle, and he disappears into his bathroom for a while. I know
            what he's after in there. Oxy dessert, to chase his Wild Turkey main course.
            **
            By the time Mom has dinner ready,
            Daddy has reached a state of oblivion.
            He will not share the table tonight.
            **
            Which just leaves us girls. Kaeleigh
            watches Mom whip up a Hollandaise to go with the fresh fish entrée.
            She wants a daughter-mother talk about Ian, but I can't figure out why.
            **
            It would be a blistering day in Antarctica before I confessed any of my extracurricular
            activities. Think I'll reroute the conversation.
            **
            "So, Mom..." I drop my voice to just above a whisper. "Do you know what
            happened between Daddy and his father?"
            Does she know? If so, will she break down and tell us the necessary backstory?
            **
            Mom pauses her whisking, but not for long.
            
              Sorry. He never told me the whole thing.

              Anyway, that will have to come from him.
            
            389

            
              She Knows More, of Course
            
            But she won't spill it tonight. Will we
            **
            ever get the keys to this locked door?
            **
            I want to scream.
            Curiosity strangles
            **
            me until I choke out,
            "Was Daddy abused?"
            **
            Mom opens the broiler, flips the fish. Finally
            **
            
              she says,
              There are all

              kinds of abuse.

              **
            
            This is the perfect
            opening, Kaeleigh,
            **
            the way into asking for help. But no way.
            **
            Kaeleigh doesn't
            want to go there,
            **
            doesn't want to go anywhere near.
            **
            
              Mom saves her the trouble.
              Okay.

              **

              Dinner's ready. Let's

              open some wine.
            
            390

            
              A Lot of Wine Later
            
            We are no closer to learning each
            other's dark secrets, and much
            closer to our own states of stupor.
            **
            Kaeleigh has already retreated, not a single word about Ian.
            No doubt a very wise decision.
            **
            Tomorrow it's back to the books
            (and, damn, a.m. history with
            Lawler) for me, back to party
            **
            planning for Mom. The clock
            says ten forty-five. "Guess I'd
            better go to bed. It's getting late."
            **
            She looks at me through chardonnay-
            
              lidded eyes.
              You look like her,
              you know. Very much so, in fact.

              **
            
            What is she babbling about?
            My head feels wobbly, my
            tongue thick as pudding. "Who?"
            **
            
              Your grandmother. I thought
              so when you were little, but
              it's even more obvious now.
            
            391

            
              I Stumble Off to Bed
            
            But find no comfort in its feathers and patchwork.
            Despite the wine and rich
            food, breaking down into calories,
            I feel cold, way deep inside, and it's the kind of cold
            that can't be fought
            **
            with Hollandaise or alcohol or a pile of quilts. I wish I had a joint. A big, fat, stinky j to slide
            me into sleep. But no, all I
            can do is lie here, brain
            turning somersaults.
            It's nights like
            **
            these when memories
            stir, whipping themselves into stiff peaks of pain. Here
            comes one now, materializing like Daddy did that night.
            The night he came to
            Kaeleigh, crossed
            **
            the final line.
            392

            
              Mom had Been Spending
            
            More and more time away from home. We were getting
            used to it. But that night, something was different.
            Kaeleigh and I lay in bed,
            **
            
              listening to Daddy scream into the phone.
              What the fuck

              do you think you're doing, Kay?

              It's not just me you're hurting.

              Come home. I'll forgive you.

              **
            
            We had no idea where she was, or what she was doing to make
            Daddy so mad. But whatever she said on the other end did not
            pacify him. The receiver slammed.
            **
            The ensuing silence was scary, scarier than his yelling. In
            retrospect, I understand he had
            gone to visit his bottles. But he didn't find enough healing there.
            **
            His footsteps that night were soft. Hesitant. I think they even
            turned around. But eventually
            they came toward us again.
            The door opened slowly.
            393
            Kaeleigh was used to Daddy's
            visits, but that night she, too, felt something different in the air.
            Rage. Lust. Sorrow. Perversion.
            All mingled in Daddy's sweat.
            **
            There was nothing gentle about how he threw back the covers. Already naked, he pushed Kaeleigh roughly to one side, flopped beside her.
            **
            I could tell she was afraid.
            This wasn't her Daddy. This was a demon, his evil hard and sharp as a steel blade, ready to slice into her. It did.
            **
            His attack was brutal, bloody, wordless except for a vicious
            
              Shut the fuck up
              at her pitiful
            
            scream, a plea to please, please
            no, Daddy, no. It hurts. Oh!
            **
            I cowered, sick at the sight, but unable to divorce myself from the horror. I felt Kaeleigh's
            pain. And when Daddy was done and she cried, I cried too.
            394

            
              No Doubt About It
            
            There's a demon inside him.
            Demons, they say, are fallen
            angels. The real question is, who pushed Daddy over the edge, into the abyss? I'd say there are several likely candidates.
            And, oh awesome. I'm related to all of them, heiress of darkness.
            Dark or not, though, I want to know them. Want to know
            exactly what created not only
            Daddy, but through him, me.
            Is
            that so much to ask? We're
            probably too damaged to ever
            be fixable, but if there's even a tiny chance, I need to know
            where to find it. In Daddy? Ha. In
            Mom? Unlikely. In some guy?
            Every single one I know is worse off than me. My only hope is to ferret out exactly who
            I am.
            395

        

              Kaeleigh

          
            
              I Can Hardly Wait
            
            To get to school today, something totally new, and all because of Ian. He takes the edge off my pain. In fact, for once
            I don't feel like fighting pain with food. For once, I feel like I might crawl beyond this place of darkness the place I've called home for as long as I can remember.
            I jump out of bed, start to dress, and my bubble of optimism
            is
            burst almost immediately.
            Down the hall, Mom and Daddy are into it already, scratching at each other like alley cats.
            Where
            did their own love go? Why
            did it have to die and suck me down into its shallow grave?
            Guess I'll go shave my legs, then scope out the pantry.
            I am famished, after all.
            396

            
              I Am on My Third Bowl of Cereal
            
            When Daddy comes into the kitchen.
            His eyes wear "pissed" and when they
            fall to my mouth, stuffed with Shredded
            Wheat, irritation grows to outrage.
            **
            
              What the hell are you doing?

              **
            
            He can't know how many bowls
            I've downed, and I haven't made a mess of the table. I swallow a major
            mouthful. "What do you mean, Daddy?"
            **
            
              You look like a regular pig.

              **
            
            Good. I'm glad he thinks I look like a pig. Still, his words sting and my eyes start to water.
            "I'm just having some cereal."
            **
            
              Ladies don't stuff their mouths full.
            
            I'm not a lady and don't want to be, but Daddy's spoiling to fight with someone weaker than Mom.
            "Sorry. I won't do it again."
            **
            
              That's more like it. Now give me a kiss.
            
            397

            
              He Hasn't Asked
            
            For a kiss since I was small.
            If he wants, he takes.
            The passive demeanor has me
            **
            totally creeped out, but I am not fooled by it. This is no request. It's an order.
            **
            I wipe my mouth carefully, go over to Daddy, who waits, an impatient monarch.
            **
            I reach up to kiss the plump of his cheek, but he turns his face straight on
            **
            to mine, and our lips meet.
            His mouth is wet, hungry, and he kisses me
            **
            like no father should and just as I think I'll retch,
            
              Mom's footsteps
              click-click

              **
            
            on the hall tile, coming toward us. Daddy withdraws.
            
              There's my beautiful little flower.
            
            398

            
              We Are Still Very Close
            
            When Mom enters the room, queen to Daddy's king.
            **
            
              The caterers want a deposit.

              I have to
              --She takes in the scene
            
            **
            
              suddenly. Doesn't like what she sees.
              Uh...is everything all right?

              **
            
            Like she wants to hear the truth--
            yeah, Mom, just making out with
            **
            my father. "Everything's fine.
            I just had something in my eye."
            **
            Her relief at the obvious lie escapes her lungs in an audible sigh.
            **
            Speaking of escape, I can make
            mine now. "I've got to finish
            **
            getting ready for school. See
            you this afternoon, okay?"
            **
            I can't help but look at Daddy, who wears arrogance like aftershave.
            **
            
              Don't be late, little girl. I'll

              be here, waiting for you.
            
            399

            
              I Exit the Kitchen
            
            Dash up the hallway, and barely
            make the bathroom before three
            mountainous bowls of cereal
            come pouring from my belly.
            Stomach acid roils into my mouth, bitter as the spit on Daddy's tongue.
            The thought brings a round of dry
            heaves. Once my stomach stops
            convulsing, I scour my teeth and gums, rinse with Listerine to kill the germs.
            I dare to look in the mirror. "Tell,"
            urges the girl on the far side of the glass.
            "Tell. Or run." But she knows me better than that. Knows I won't do either.
            400

            
              All Hope Dissolved
            
            I catch the bus, sit in the very front
            seat, where I know no one will join
            me. I lay my head against the cool
            window glass, stare at the nothing
            beyond, try to shut out the noise.
            **
            Everyone here has parents. Maybe
            not together parents, and maybe
            some are substitute parents. But
            no one has parents like mine.
            I'm a complete freak, and so alone.
            **
            I was a total fool to ever believe
            that someone could save me, or thaw the frozen death inside me. Oh Ian, if only you could.
            I would run away with you today!
            **
            The brakes squeal and the bus
            coughs up diesel, and as the next
            group boards, I notice a Chevy
            Avalanche drive by. It's Mick.
            And glued to him is Madison.
            401

            
              Fine
              by Me
            
            Although at least one person
            I could name will probably
            not be happy about this reunion.
            **
            But, hey, if it means Madison
            will leave me the hell alone, more power to Mick. Poor guy.
            **
            The bus pulls curbside at school, and I'm the first one off. I go
            straight to my locker, half hoping
            **
            I won't see Ian. The other half
            needs desperately to see him.
            But the bell rings, Ian-less.
            **
            I zombie walk between classes, sit through hours of lecture without hearing a single word.
            **
            Finally it's lunch, and there's
            Ian, by the library. I start to wave, think about running into his arms,
            **
            lifting my face to his for a kiss.
            But then his face morphs into Daddy's, and I duck into the bathroom.
            402

            
              Safe in the Far Stall
            
            I wait for the bell to ring, picking at a scab or two.
            The one on my ankle is recent.
            I open it wide, encourage the flow. It's like milking
            venom from my veins.
            Wonder how long it would
            take to bleed out completely.
            **
            Other girls come and go.
            Talking. Laughing. Sniping.
            A couple dare light up cigarettes, and I almost
            ask for a drag. Filling my
            lungs with nicotine gas
            just might take the edge off.
            **
            But the last thing I need is to get busted smoking in the bathroom at school.
            Think what my suspension
            would do to my parents'
            spotless reputations. Second-
            hand Marlboros will have to do.
            403

            
              I'm Watching Blood Drip
            
            Onto a wad of TP when my cell
            signals a text message coming.
            **
            
              Ian, of course.
              R u ok? Saw

              u run in2 the bathroom. I'm

              w8ing 4 u to come out.

              **
            
            Looks like I'll have to oblige.
            Can't hide in here forever.
            **
            Into the bowl goes the bloody
            tissue. One mighty flush. So long.
            **
            Would be nice to so easily get rid of all of life's varied detritus.
            **
            My fingers are tinted with blood.
            I go to the sink, drawing a horrified
            **
            stare from the freshman standing
            adjacent. "Bloody nose," I explain.
            **
            She accepts the explanation.
            
              Hate when that happens.

              **
            
            Excuses. Excuses. So many excuses.
            Too bad mine always seem to work.
            404

            
              With Everyone, That Is
            
            Except Ian. When I offer the bloody nose pretext, he assesses me head to foot.
            **
            
              Really.
              .., he says.
              Did you clean
              up your nose with your pants?

              What are you, triple-jointed?

              **
            
            I glance down, find one leg of my white jeans striped a dark shade of crimson.
            **
            My face flares a matching
            color. "Oh, that. I cut myself
            shaving this morning."
            **
            
              He pulls me into him.
              Be more

              careful, okay? Don't want

              you to bleed to death.

              **
            
            His sincerity, and the warmth of him dispel every little bit of doubt. Okay, maybe not
            **
            every single bit. My heart
            says I'm so, so his. But, asks
            my head, is he so, so mine?
            405

            
              So, So Mine or Not
            
            I agree to let him drive me home after school. It's a long afternoon until the final bell releases me from
            Monday PE and the usual locker-room
            drama. Madison wears "smug" like sun-
            block, greasing her face to an oily gleam.
            **
            What she doesn't seem to get is it doesn't bother me one little bit.
            Once a bitch, always a bitch, with or without a boyfriend who has
            drunk a six-pack or eight too many.
            Psychic says: Train wreck on the horizon.
            **
            Ian is waiting for me, and I push
            all thoughts of Daddy away as I lean
            forward to kiss him. Oh, yes. This is what a kiss should be. Not wet.
            Not hungry. No ego here. It's all about me. I intensely love this guy.
            **
            He takes a roundabout route home, stops down near the river. Okay, it's mostly a dry river, but who cares?
            My heart races, exhilarated at the ride and at the possibility of what might
            come next. Now. Tomorrow. Beyond.
            406

            
              Ian Kills the Motor
            
            Drops the kickstand, takes off his helmet, and I eighty-six mine.
            He reaches for my hand, leads me across the sand. Finally
            **
            he stops, turns to me. I expect a kiss. Instead I get words.
            
              I
              know you have to get home,
              but I really think we need to talk.

              **
            
            So much for tomorrow.
            What can I say but, "Okay."
            This is not at all going
            where I predicted it would.
            **
            
              You know I've loved you for
              a long time. To believe you

              might love me back is all

              I've ever wanted....

              **
            
            Words spew, an eruption of emotion. "I do, Ian, I do
            love you. I know I haven't
            always acted like it, but--'
            **
            
              Shush. Let me talk. Now I need

              more from you. I need to believe

              you trust me enough to not keep

              secrets. To share your secrets.
            
            407
            Here it comes. Cold, bitter
            panic, rising up like stomach
            acid did just this morning.
            "What do you mean?"
            **
            He pauses. Kisses me gently.
            
              I'm scared for you, Kaeleigh.

              You're losing weight. And, are
              --

              don't get mad
              --
              are you cutting?

              **
            
            Every instinct cries out to deny, deny, deny. "No, I..."
            It might feel good to confess.
            "Things are stressful right now."
            **
            
              The not-quite-confession riles the protector in him.
              You can't

              cut, Kaeleigh. Please. If you

              need help, I'll find it for you.

              **
            
            "No!" No damn help, because they'd want to know the whys behind what I do. "No. I'll be
            all right, as long as I have you."
            **
            
              Then you have to promise

              not to cut, and if you think you

              have to, you'll call.
              He kisses the promise out of me.
            
            408

            
              Almost Home
            
            Ian cruises slowly up the block.
            I want to tell him, "Keep going."
            And going. I know it's impossible, but how amazing it would be to just keep driving until we found
            somewhere safe for the two of us to settle down, merge into one.
            **
            As we pass Hannah's, I happen to notice the front door swing
            open. Just inside is a familiar
            form, standing very close to
            Hannah. (Just like in the kitchen.)
            The thought makes my skin
            crawl. And then he bends to kiss
            her. (Just like in the kitchen.)
            **
            Before I can twist my head away, dig it into Ian's back, Daddy
            turns, preparing to leave. And
            our eyes meet in a moment of mutual, instantaneous recognition. He
            knows who it is beneath this
            helmet. And I know how he has spent this frigid afternoon.
            409

            
              The House Is Crazy
            
            With activity. Odd, to see
            Mom so animated, here at home, so much more the way she used to be.
            Holding court in the living
            room, she gives directions
            regally. Wonder if she notices her nose, tilted so far skyward.
            **
            Delivery guys move furniture, set up chairs, a buffet table.
            Maids-for-a-day vacuum, dust, wash windows, scrub floors.
            Some rental place sets up a wall-sized flat-screen TV.
            If all this energy would focus on the polls, Mom couldn't lose.
            **
            Daddy isn't far behind me through the door. Despite a house full of witnesses, his hands pounce on my
            shoulders, spin me to face
            
              him.
              Haven't I told you no

              rides with young drivers?

              And who was that, anyway?
            
            410

            
              Spit Pools
            
            At the corners of his mouth, and his eyes betray insanity.
            If we were alone, I'd be frantic with fear. But we're not. And
            I hold an amazing trump card. I yank
            myself from Daddy's grasp.
            "That was Ian. I'm sure it means nothing to you, but he and I have been friends
            forever.
            That's right, Daddy. I do have a friend or two, despite you."
            His pupils go black with rage.
            But suddenly I feel brave,
            in
            control. It probably won't last
            long, but for once, I've got as much power as he does.
            The house quiets as I continue
            my
            taunting monologue. "Of course, we're not nearly as good friends as you and Hannah seem to be."
            Think I went too far. He's flat
            trembling with fury. And I know if he could get away with it, he'd
            reward me with the back of his hand.
            411
            
              T.

              411

        

            
              Raeanne

          
            
              Holy Effing Moly
            
            What got into Kaeleigh?
            Has she totally lost her mind?
            Still, the (not real high) estimation
            I hold for her just rose a notch or two.
            Kaeleigh retreats as Mom snaps
            out of her state of shock, hustles
            Daddy back into their bedroom.
            The shouting match seems to take
            forever to fire up, but when it does, it's a doozer. Even from here, my ears are ringing. The cleaning crew
            ignores the hoopla, returns to work
            in
            a matter of seconds. But the delivery
            dudes seem completely unable to move stuff without direction.
            I decide to take matters into
            my
            own hands. "Ahem. Can you
            please put that table over there, under the window?" Beyond the glass, autumn leaves are trembling in the November wind. It's all
            going to tumble down soon.
            And I'm ready to give it a hand.
            412

            
              The Afternoon's Drama
            
            Sent us all to our separate corners.
            [in the print book each section below is in separate corner of the page]
            Daddy's holed up in his bedroom, shacking up with his deadly
            duo, but no Hannah
            **
            Kaeleigh waited for them to fall
            silent, sneaked to the kitchen, yacked down five hot dogs.
            Mom crawled off to the guest room, telephone in one
            hand, wine bottle
            (two) in the other.
            Watching her made
            me go puke up my
            Lean Cuisine. Then
            I put in a phone call to Mick. I need bud.
            413

            
              He Picked Up
            
            With some trepidation.
            Caller ID totally busted me.
            **
            
              Uh, hi. Uh...I should tell you, me
              and Madison are a thing again.

              **
            
            "I know. I don't want to hurt
            your relationship...." Oh no, not at all! "It's just I really need to get my head. Please? I'll make it worth your while."
            **
            The greed factor works every time.
            
              Oh. Okay, just so you know. You know?

              **

              Was I ever
              really
              with this guy?
            
            "Hey, no problem. I promise to be the perfect lady." Just stoned.
            **
            
              Give me fifteen minutes. But hey.

              Promise not to tell Mad, okay?

              **
            
            Fuck. Whatever. I made my voice
            real sweet. "Oh, I'd never do that.
            But I do miss...oh, you know.
            It was always so good with you."
            **
            He's on his way. And I'm ...
            414

            
              Out the Window
            
            Cutting through the sea of fog like an orca on the hunt.
            **
            I don't have to wait long before headlights find me in the mist.
            **
            I climb up into the Avalanche, dive immediately under the seat
            **
            without even saying hi. Not nice.
            I find the tray, start to roll. "Hi."
            **
            Mick looks at me, laughs.
            
              Okay, then. So where to?

              **
            
            Translation-. Exactly how will
            you make it worth my while?
            **
            Not like that, m'dear. For all
            I know, you've got Madison on you.
            **
            "Don't care. Just drive. Not through town. And please don't speed."
            **
            OMG. How long has it been since
            I've filled my lungs, held it in,
            **
            dropped way down low behind a hedge of "who gives a fuck"?
            415

            
              A Half Hour Later
            
            Mick and I are somewhere
            out Foxen Canyon, totally
            wasted. When we drove by
            Ty's place, I half considered
            taunting Mick with a confession.
            **
            Mick pulls over in a deserted spot.
            
              He probably has to pee. But no, he reaches across the seat.
              Come
              over here. Make it worth my while.

              **
            
            "I don't think so, Mick. You're
            back with Madison now. Wouldn't
            want to mess that up for you."
            You so deserve each other.
            **
            He slides over, gagging me with the smell of his sweat. No shower
            
              today?
              She doesn't have to know.

              Better not know. Come on.

              **
            
            Okay. Calling Mick was maybe
            not the best idea. I dig for a twenty.
            "This should cover what I smoked.
            Please take me home now."
            **
            
              Don't want your money.
              His zipper
            
            opens, and what escapes is eager.
            Then he pushes my head down.
            
              Haven't you missed me?
            
            416

            
              I Could Just Do It
            
            Get it over with. Pretend it never
            happened. But I don't think so.
            It has to be my idea or not at all.
            **
            "No, Mick. Goddammit, I said no!"
            **
            But he's all over me and I may not
            have a choice. He outweighs me by a hundred pounds and he's got
            **
            me pinned against the door. His
            fingers, clumsy, work at my own
            zipper. I try to push him off.
            **
            
              What's wrong? You know you want to.

              **
            
            "No, I really don't." But I can't stop his mouth from covering mine, leaving a wet trail of slobber all over my face.
            **
            One hand tugs my shirt over my head, the other is inside my bra, twisting, pinching. I could just get it over with.
            **
            
              See? Your nipples don't lie. You like it.

              **
            
            He's too worked up to manage tight
            jeans, so he leans up over me, demanding
            I do him with my mouth. I could bite.
            417
            But he'd probably kick my ass and finish his business anyway.
            I've never seen this side of Mick.
            **
            Or maybe I have and ignored it.
            I can barely breathe, and the teeth of his zipper are biting into my chin.
            **
            
              Atta girl. You can't say no to...

              **
            
            Daddy. Daddy? Kaeleigh would just
            give in. The thought of her wide-eyed
            surrender gives me a sudden idea.
            **
            But I have to play things right.
            First I go limp, pretend to acquiesce.
            I even give him a taste of what he wants.
            **
            "Stop for a minute. You're hurting me."
            **
            He hesitates, looks down into my
            eyes, which have teared up quite
            nicely. He draws back ever so slightly.
            **
            I dig down, beyond fear, find Raeanne
            again. "If we're going to do this, you
            don't get to have all the fun. And can
            **
            we pretty please take another hit first?"
            418

            
              The Greed Factor, Again
            
            That, and asking instead of demanding.
            I could be a politician one day. Ugh!
            Why did I have to go and think that?
            **
            
              Mick slides to one side of me.
              Okay.

              **
            
            I reach down, grab his tray, complete with maybe a half ounce of great bud.
            Pricey bud. I'm betting on greed.
            **
            "Hang on. I need some light." I open the door wide, send the tray sailing like a pot-covered Frisbee.
            **
            
              What the fuck did you do that for?

              **
            
            Mick jumps across me, out the open
            door. I slam it behind him, hit the lock
            button, move under the steering wheel.
            **
            I'm not about to walk all the way home.
            Mick can do that. He's on his hands and knees scouring the dirt for bud,
            **
            roaches, rolling papers. I can't help but notice the crack of his exposed ass.
            He was in too big of a hurry to zip his pants.
            419
            I think before I do it. I've never actually
            driven before. But how hard could it be?
            Think again. I might just kill someone.
            **
            Hopefully Mick, not me. I laugh, start the engine. Mick looks up, and I know
            I can't let him back in the truck.
            **
            
              What the hell are you doing, bitch?

              **
            
            I have no clue what I'm doing. Fuck it.
            I've seen this done a thousand times before.
            Drop the gear shift to D. Hit the gas...
            420

            
              The Avalanche Lurches Forward
            
            Wheels spinning in the gravel.
            Mick rolls out of the way.
            Good thing. With more force of will than talent, I manage to get tires onto asphalt, weaving back and forth until I sort of get the hang of driving a straight line.
            Almost makes me wish
            I wasn't so high. Almost.
            **
            This isn't so hard. I play a little, testing brakes, acceleration, and steering
            capabilities. Not exactly
            rocket science. Uh-oh.
            Here come some curves.
            I ease off the gas, maneuver through them, half thinking about what I'm doing.
            The rest thinks about Mick.
            He's pissed, for certain.
            But what's he going to do? Call the cops? His
            word against mine. Still, if the cops come knocking .
            421

            
              How Would That Look on Headline Hews?

              
                CONGRESSWOMAN'S DAUGHTER ARRESTED
              
              for theft of would-be rapist's truck. Says

              they were smoking pot after curfew

              when things got out of hand.

              **
            
            I could go back, pick him up.
            If I could manage to turn
            around, anyway. But
            you know, I really don't think
            I will. He started this game.
            I'll play it to the end.
            **
            It's one thing to say okay, do me, do me any way you want and it's no problem,
            **
            because I gave you permission.
            But to say no, and have him
            insist he will anyway?
            **
            No damn way. And as I work it through, it comes to me that for once, I did say no.
            **
            What's up with me, anyway?
            422

            
              The Road into Town
            
            Is pretty much deserted this time of night. I drop over the last dark
            hill, pull well off the pavement, onto the shoulder. Wouldn't want
            some loadie to come along and smash into the Avalanche.
            **
            Guess I'll leave the keys under the seat. I think enough to wipe
            them off, along with the steering
            wheel. Any other fingerprints of mine
            would probably be smeared together with Madison's. Wonder if she says no.
            **
            I know it's stupid as hell, but now I'm worried about Mick. It's a damn
            long walk from where I left him.
            Oh, well. He deserves it. If he gets
            lucky, maybe someone will happen
            by. Yeah right. Well after two on
            Tuesday morning. Election day.
            **
            Better worry about myself. It's a long enough walk for me, and
            I most definitely better be home
            well before the sun comes up.
            423

            
              An Hour's Walk Home
            
            Back in through the window.
            I listen intently, but all's quiet.
            **
            My clothes smell like Mick so I yank them off, crawl into
            **
            bed naked. I don't usually sleep in the raw. But I'm high and tired,
            **
            and the cool cotton sheets feel like water. I'm skinny-dipping.
            **
            Swimming toward deep, deep
            sleep, and I'm afraid to go there.
            **
            Because when I wake up again, it will be tomorrow. The day
            **
            everything changes. Better?
            Worse? Whichever. Looking
            **
            back at this afternoon, not to mention tonight, I understand
            **
            the transformation is already
            well underway. And I'm scared.
            424

            
              I Wake to a Hailstorm
            
            Of sound:
            Footsteps.
            Slams.
            Some
            news
            channel.
            Daddy.
            Mom.
            Furniture
            scraping
            Orders .
            barked.
            The
            telephone.
            The
            telephone.
            Dishes
            crashing.
            The
            telephone.
            The
            telephone.
            425

            
              Light Through the Window
            
            Informs me I've overslept.
            The clock confirms nine twenty-two.
            Oh, yeah. Way over. On a normal day,
            Daddy would have been in here, yanking my butt out of bed.
            **
            Oh. but this is not a normal day.
            **
            I slink out of bed, naked. Naked?
            Last night's clothes are heaped on the floor. Last night!
            Wonder if Mick made it home
            yet. Wonder if I'll hear from him.
            **
            Like he could keep his mouth shut.
            **
            Oh, well. Not to worry. If he wants to play rough, I'm up for the game.
            Meanwhile, I'll bask in the memory of him, moonlight falling on his moon.
            Shower. Dress. Wade into the madness.
            **
            See if anyone even knows I'm here.
            426

            
              No
              One Has a Clue
            
            I emerge from my room, a butterfly from her cocoon, and no one seems a bit
            concerned about the metamorphosis.
            I could spread my wings, let them dry, then fly
            far, far away, and no one
            would notice my departure.
            I'm a shadow.
            Daddy and Mom have
            retreated to their separate
            rooms to dress for a joint
            trip to the polling place, no longer at each other's throats, not until this day settles into dust.
            Wonder if I should just go to school late, pay my pound of flesh, accept detention without complaint. But how would
            I get there? Can't exactly
            call Mick for a ride, and
            I can't ask my clueless parents.
            I look out the window. Hannah's
            home. Delicious. If she'll take
            me, I can draw a little figurative
            blood.
            427

        

              Kaeleigh

          
            
              The Dreaded Day
            
            Has arrived, and with it total
            trepidation. Where will my family
            be, once it's all over? What sort of metamorphosis
            will we experience? I'm torn in two. I mean, most of me hates
            everything about my life (except for Ian. of course). I feel like
            I'm a shadow behind my mother, always
            there, but rarely acknowledged.
            I love her the way I always
            have. How can it be that she no longer
            wants to be my mom? What
            have I done? Is it because of
            Daddy? Does she know about-- and ignore--his taste for young
            flesh, and not only young flesh, but...
            No, that can't be. When she heard about Hannah, she flipped, issued an ultimatum, and
            I'm pretty sure Daddy will at the very least be much more
            careful about his extramarital fun.
            Mom is totally out for blood.
            428

            
              Most of Me
            
            Does hate my life.
            But this tiny sliver is more afraid of what
            life might become than it is of pain, ever-present now.
            **At least I recognize the boundaries imposed on me. I know how
            far to push. I know
            when to step back.
            I know when to tuck
            tail and run. I know
            when not to twitch.
            **
            I love my mom, hate
            when she disappears.
            I love when she comes
            home, hate when she hides inside herself.
            **I hate my father, love
            when he puts distance between us. I hate
            how he treats me.
            Love when he makes
            me feel loved.
            429

            
              School Is My Refuge
            
            At least for today. At least, most of it. Mr. Lawler chooses
            elections as the topic of the day.
            Guess who's front and center.
            **
            
              What can you tell us about your

              mother's political ambitions?
              he asks, rather pointedly.
              Has she
              thought beyond this election?

              **
            
            Is he talking like Mom as president or something? I shrug. "They're her ambitions. You should
            probably ask her about them."
            **
            
              He smiles.
              Fair enough. So

              what about you? How do you

              feel about your mother running
              for Congress? Are you proud of her?

              **
            
            I really wish he would quit
            shining the spotlight on me.
            How am I supposed to answer?
            "How else would I feel, Mr. Lawler?"
            **
            My tone tells him to change the subject, and he moves on to infamous elections in the distant and not-so-distant past.
            430

            
              I Couldn't Care Less
            
            About any election, including the one going on right now.
            **
            All I can think about is seeing
            Ian. We have drama today, so
            **
            we'll get to rehearse together.
            Not that I've had a lot of time
            **
            to practice lately. I'll probably
            blow every line. But at least
            **
            the romantic scenes should take on an air of definite credibility.
            **
            I'm stuck in thoughts of dramatic
            interpretation when the door opens.
            **
            It's some office intern, with a hall pass.
            
              For me.
              Your mom's here to pick you up.

              **
            
            Everyone stares as I gather my stuff.
            Mr. Lawler waves me out the door
            **
            and resentment builds inside me.
            I know I'm off to be presented
            **
            as familial bling, when all I want is to be left way alone. With Ian.
            431

            
              Bling for a Day
            
            That's me. Photo this. Interview
            that. And every damn word is a lie.
            **"Of course I'm very excited about my mother's prospects today...."
            **
            The whole thing fills me with dread.
            **
            "Oh yes, I think she deserves to win.
            She'll work for positive change...."
            **
            For the country, if not for me.
            **
            "Well, if she doesn't win, she'll try
            again, I'm sure. This is her dream...."
            **
            Does she still dream? I'm not sure.
            **
            "The best part of the experience? I guess
            seeing politics in action. I've learned a lot...."
            **
            There is no best part of this experience.
            **
            "The worst part? Having her away so much, I suppose...."
            **
            
              The worst part? That she
              so
              wants to go.
            
            432

            
              The Afternoon Ticks By
            
            By eight, when the polls close, the house has filled with people, good Republicans all. I swear,
            I'm registering Dem. That will
            make it just that much easier to never vote for my parents.
            **
            Daddy is up for reelection in two
            years, and he's sure working
            Mom's crowd now. He's not about to play bling when there's so much Money floating around the living room, drinking Dom
            Pérignon and nibbling canapés.
            **
            Ranchers. Winemakers. Small
            business owners. Developers.
            All might one day call in favors for the votes they no doubt cast
            today. Then there are cops.
            Prison guards. Other judges.
            **
            And, oh yes, there's the mayor, a stout, youngish conservative who rubber-stamps growth-- like if he builds enough new
            neighborhoods, he might actually
            find a life partner in one of them.
            433
            Conspicuously absent is Hannah, who helped pull this shindig
            together. Guess my big mouth
            made her fade into the background, at least until Mom takes off again.
            In hindsight, it was amazingly
            stupid to delete her from this
            complicated equation. Idiotic.
            **
            Oh. Wait. Here she comes.
            Glass in hand, Daddy
            glances at the new arrival.
            His first reaction is to smile
            widely. Then he notices Mom, weaving through guests on the far
            side of the room, and his smile
            slips ever so slightly. Hannah waves, and Daddy moves toward her.
            **
            Mom misses nothing, though she doesn't miss a beat of conversation.
            But when Daddy reaches Hannah's
            side, takes her arm, Mom starts in their direction. This evening
            might get interesting after all.
            434

            
              I Angle Closer
            
            The last catfight I witnessed was my own, with Madison.
            This one should prove more fun.
            **
            But, no, Mom remains the steadfast
            politician. She extends a hand.
            
              So lovely to see you again. Ray?

              **

              Please get Hannah something to drink.
            
            Too subtly for the untrained eye to notice, she extricates Hannah
            **
            from Daddy, who ambles toward the bar like a half-trained puppy, glancing back for trainer approval.
            **
            I move even closer, knowing
            Mom is not about to leave
            things up in the air. I am so right.
            **
            
              I
              hear you helped organize this

              evening,
              she says.
              Thank you
              so much.
              Then, smile slipping not

              **
            
            one inch, she lowers her voice.
            
              I
              also hear the two of you have

              become rather close. I do hope
            
            435
            
              you understand the nature of
              politics. Scandal will not

              be tolerated. My people will

              **

              see to that. Perhaps a mutual

              decision to move on with
              your separate lives is wise.

              **
            
            Mom pauses, but Hannah gives no
            immediate response. I wait for a threat. Instead Mom offers a bribe.
            **
            
              I've told my personal assistant
              to see what he can do about
              your outstanding student loans.

              **
            
            Hannah remains quiet for several
            seconds, as the weight of Mom's
            words sinks in. She glances over
            **
            at Daddy, who has found her a glass of champagne. He smiles, but she doesn't dare smile back.
            **
            Before he can rejoin her, she meets Mom's steady gaze.
            
              And all she says is,
              I understand.
            
            436

            
              She's In Over Her Head
            
            And she 100 percent knows it. Mom will kick her figurative butt if she chooses to disregard the overt
            **
            warning. Instead, play it smart, come out way, way
            ahead. Mom, of course, is truly the smart one.
            **
            Give Hannah a way out, but make it clear
            she'd better latch onto it. Run with it. Run.
            **
            Funny, because, wrapped up in my
            own little corner of the universe,
            **
            I always thought it was Daddy who carried the power here.
            **
            Now I see how wrong
            I was. Now I see why
            **
            he wields such a big
            stick when Mom
            **
            isn't around. It's the only way he
            **
            can feel like even half a
            **
            man.
            437

            
              Daddy Returns
            
            Offers her the glass of bubbly.
            I keep my back half to them, at a respectful distance, but close
            enough to successfully eavesdrop.
            **
            
              Daddy doesn't notice me at all.
              So what did she have
              to say?
              he asks.
              I assume
              she issued some sort of threat?

              **
            
            A glance over my shoulder
            
              reveals Hannah, sipping Dom and scanning the room.
              She

              said to take a hike. What else?

              **

              I see.
              Daddy clears his throat.

              And do you plan to take orders
              from my wife? Depending on
              what happens tonight, she'll
              --

              **

              You said the magic word, Ray
              --

              wife. I've always known this would

              be a temporary fling. This is
              probably a good time to end it.

              **
            
            She hands her glass to Daddy, kisses him softly on the cheek, starts out the door. He looks like he's going to follow her, but...
            438

            
              Just Then Someone Turns Up
            
            The volume on the television, where regular programming
            has been interrupted for an election update. The polls
            closed
            hours ago and returns trickle
            in. In the Twenty-fourth U.S. Congressional
            District, Kay Gardella currently
            leads with 52 percent of the vote.
            That comes as little surprise to me, of course. A cheer goes up in the room. Unless there's a major turnaround, Mom's
            got it in the bag. Looks very
            much like we've lost her for good.
            I look at Daddy, who is torn between running after Hannah and strutting beside his wife, the likely congresswoman.
            Guess who wins out. Hannah's
            gone, he's still here, where the votes
            are. I so despise politics. Pit
            them against family. Pit them against love. The Game conquers, always.
            439

        

              Raeanne

          
            
              By Midnight
            
            Mom is declared the official
            winner. Everyone toasts, a final round of good cheer before the bar is closed for the night. Oops. Make that
            morning. I decide to join them.
            One more before beddy-bye.
            Despite several champagnes, sleep will not come easily to me, not tonight. I might have to tap into my pill stash. I ignore the well-wishers and reporters, go to the window. Hannah's lights are out. Wonder if that's over for good, or if Daddy will coax her back.
            If I were the type to wager,
            I'd place my bet on Mom.
            Especially now, despite the fact
            that before we know it, she'll be
            gone, off to DC for the foreseeable
            (and perhaps unforeseeable) future.
            Who cares? She's not here, even
            when she is here, now and always.
            440

            
              Kaeleigh Has Withdrawn
            
            From the party, crawled away
            somewhere to sulk and cry.
            **
            Not me. Fuck it. The more
            Mom's gone, the less the stress.
            **
            Always plenty of that, nibbling
            away at us. Who needs more?
            **
            And hey, now that this election is over, no more good behavior.
            **
            Ha! Like I've behaved so well over the past eleven months.
            **
            And, really, with elections every two
            years, I've only got a year to be bad.
            **
            But incumbents generally have the upper hand, so no worries.
            **
            Shit, if I don't quit conversing with myself, they'll institutionalize me.
            **
            I'm not conversing with myself out loud, am I? Okay, where's the champagne?
            441

            
              I Finally Limp
            
            Off to bed around two.
            No school
            tomorrow,
            I figure.
            We'll still
            be celebrating.
            At least Mom
            definitely will.
            **
            I'm celebrating
            pretty good
            right now, on two Oxy and enough bubbly to give me
            hiccups for days.
            **
            Oh yeah, I'm
            floating, okay.
            But I don't like how it feels. I
            desperately want
            solid ground.
            **
            Like I've ever
            even once in my life stood on solid ground.
            442

            
              The Telephone Wakes Me
            
            It has rung incessantly, but not
            enough, it seems, to wake Mom and Daddy, who partied well
            **
            into the wee hours of morning.
            Their phones are likely unplugged.
            **
            I drag myself from beneath the covers, head pounding.
            **
            "Coming, damn it," I call.
            Fighting an amazing hangover,
            I reach the idiotic phone. "Hello?"
            **
            Avery long pause precedes,
            
              Hello. This is your grandmother.

              **
            
            Another very long pause.
            Long enough for anger to blossom inside my traitor head.
            **
            "Oh, really? Well, it's a little
            late now, don't you think?"
            Come on, you old bitch...
            **
            
              Excuse me? A little late for
              what, exactly? Who is this?
            
            443
            I can't believe I'm rising like this.
            Who cares, anyway? Loyalty
            **
            to my parents? Definitely not me.
            Still, I continue, "A little late to ask for money. The election's over."
            **
            
              Yes, I realize that. But why on
              earth would I ask for money?

              Who told you that, anyway?

              **
            
            "Your ex-husband. He told us
            you wanted hush money."
            **
            
              My ex-husband? Ted? But

              why...? W-well. young lady...

              **

              A voice, heavy and masculine, falls over my shoulder.
              Who
              is that? Daddy.
              Of course.

              **
            
            I turn to face him, and what I see in his eyes chills me to my core.
            Don't dare lie. "It's your mother."
            444

            
              Daddy Grabs the Phone
            
            Out of my hand, and his intensity
            makes me back quickly away.
            If he lashes out, I don't want to be standing in his path.
            **
            But no, he's relatively collected.
            
              This is Raymond. May I ask

              exactly why you've been
              bothering my family with calls?

              **
            
            I can't hear her response, but
            Daddy's posture goes from wood to pulp. It's like he shrunk sizes. Shrunk years.
            **
            
              He's a small boy, and he's found his mommy again, only he doesn't like the idea.
              Everyone is just fine.

              Thanks for your misplaced concern.

              **
            
            Whatever she's saying now hits like hammer blows. His breath
            comes in short, stuttered bursts, and his teeth crunch together.
            **
            
              "I
              couldn't care less about your

              "programs." I will never forgive

              you, and you will never be welcome
              in this house. Good-bye, Mother.
            
            445

            
              Unable to Guess
            
            What he'll do next, I start to retreat toward the kitchen.
            **
            Daddy pounces, fists clenched.
            
              Why did you answer that?

              **
            
            If he weren't so angry, I'd have a smart-ass comeback. But as it
            **
            is, I play humble. "It kept ringing, so I thought it might be important."
            **
            He draws right up against me.
            
              What did she say to you?

              **
            
            "Nothing. Only that she wasn't
            calling to ask for money."
            **
            
              His muscles relax, but only a little.
              Are you sure that's all?

              **
            
            "Yes, Daddy, that's all." I finally
            chance looking into his eyes,
            **
            and this time what I find isn't
            anger. It's--can this be right?
            **
            Yes, I'm right. It's fear.
            446

            
              The Bad Thing About Fear
            
            Is it requires a reaction. Some hide.
            Some cry. But, like a dog condemned to a walled yard with no hope of escape or affection, some learn to bite. Daddy is a fear biter.
            **
            
              Lucky for me. Mom seems to sense the approaching maul and comes to my rescue.
              Good morning.
              Much too

              cheerful. Her head rocks back and forth between us.
              What's going on?

              **

              Daddy snaps out of his fugue, into the moment.
              Seems my

              prodigal mother managed to get

              one of her calls answered this

              morning. I took care of it, though.

              **
            
            The congresswoman-elect
            searches my face for some
            
              kind of sign.
              Are you okay?
            
            At my nod, she detours Daddy.
            
              May I speak with you for a moment?

              **
            
            They withdraw to the bedroom and I hustle into the bathroom, determined to reach there before last night's champagne and this
            morning's turmoil escape my belly.
            447

            
              The Bad Thing About Puking Regularly
            
            [in the print book the words on this page are separated in such a way that they form the picture of a champagne flute. The words in each half of each couplet are spaced left to right to form the sides of the glass. The bottom part is the bottom of the glass and then the stem.]
            Is how you come to rely on it.
            **
            Hungover?
            Go puke.
            **
            Feel a bit fat?
            Go puke.
            **Confused?
            Go puke.
            **
            Frightened?
            Go puke.
            Entire world falling apart?
            **
            Hurry up and go puke.
            **
            All of the above?
            **
            Puke.
            **
            Puke.
            Puke.
            Puke.
            And puke some more.
            448

            
              Totally Puked Out
            
            Esophagus acid-etched,
            I'm ready to face the day.
            **
            Not.
            **
            Despite the insulation of two closed doors and
            **
            a hallway,
            **
            I can hear Mom and Daddy
            screaming insults at each
            **
            other.
            **
            I want her to leave now, leave us within the solace
            **
            of silence.
            **
            I so need to get high. But Mick,
            I'm guessing, is no longer
            **
            an option.
            **
            And that basically leaves one
            person I can ask for a buzz.
            **
            Ty.
            449

            
              I Dial His Number
            
            Get only his voice mail.
            Leave a subtle message.
            "Please call back as soon as you get this. I so need to hook up with you."
            **
            Sounded a bit desperate
            there. And guess what?
            I am. Downers are okay,
            I guess, but it's not like you really enjoy the buzz.
            Mostly, you sleep through it. What fun is that?
            **
            Besides, I need to feel
            desirable, not like a piece of furniture, something
            you can sit on. Something
            that belongs to my mom or my daddy. I need to feel like somebody wants me, even if he wants me for all the wrong reasons.
            **
            Mostly, I just need to feel.
            450

            
              But If Ty Wants Me
            
            He's playing hard to get.
            Hours pass without a word. I
            almost wish I would have
            gone to school. I wish Mom or Daddy would have asked
            why
            I didn't go, but apparently
            they're both so wrapped up in themselves (and wrapped around each other's throats), it was too much effort to even
            notice.
            **
            All I can think about are two
            things. One: Ty calling to say
            he's on his way to pick me up, take me home, and spend
            hours doing crazy things with me, insane things that will carry
            us all the way down into hell, and maybe, just maybe, back up again. And two: this morning's
            phone call. If not for money, why
            did my grandmother bother to call at all?
            451

        

              Kaeleigh

          
            
              Three Days
            
            Since the election and things
            have finally settled down.
            Mom left for DC this morning.
            She and I still have no clue
            why
            Grandma Gardella called the other
            day. We talked about it for a few
            minutes, which is about all the time she could spare for me. I swear
            I could run away and she wouldn't
            notice
            me gone. Daddy is a different tale.
            Sometimes I turn around suddenly, sure he's behind me. But he's not.
            Sometimes, even though I know
            he's miles away, I feel him watching
            me, monitoring every move I make, every twitch, every pee, every
            thought, even. Sometimes, rarely, that makes me feel safe, and that
            scares me through and through.
            Will I ever be able to leave Daddy at all?
            452

            
              School Was Crazy
            
            For a day or two, like Mom's
            celebrity had somehow worn off on me. Today is better.
            **
            No questions. No jokes.
            Everything back to normal, at least as normal as things get.
            **
            Thank God for Ian, always
            my reality check. And often, my voice of reason. I guess
            **
            it's good to have a conscience
            hanging around somewhere.
            The fact that he happens to be
            **
            a great kisser is a definite bonus.
            At least as long as those strange
            feelings about my father,
            **
            and how he can see beyond the miles, don't happen to prove
            true. Then, considering how much
            **
            kissing has gone on between Ian and me today, I'm toast. If so, the kissing was worth every crumb.
            453

            
              One Thing Kind of Weird, Though
            
            As hot as our kissing gets (and it gets pretty intense), Ian has not
            tried to take things further. Once or twice, his hands have strayed to certain places, places that made
            me want a lot more than kissing.
            **
            But he always pulls back, intuiting
            that, much as I might want more,
            I'm really not ready to give myself to him in that way. All the way.
            Not yet. Everything has to be right.
            In place. Hopeful. Fearless. Perfect.
            **
            He drives me home now and my
            heart beats against his back, promising
            "I do love you. I do love you. I do..."
            He stops around the corner from home, out of sight of our windows, of Hannah's windows (just in case).
            **
            We are well ahead of the school bus.
            We'll let it go by before I walk on home. Daddy took the week off.
            Who knows where he's at, or what
            he's doing? Even this is risky, and we both know it. Don't care.
            454

            
              At Last the Bus goes By
            
            I haven't much time, at least
            not if Daddy is home, aware.
            **
            I press myself into Ian, try to absorb enough of him to get
            **
            me through the long night without him. He doesn't need
            **
            the words, but I offer them
            anyway. "I love you so much.
            **
            More than life itself. I'd be a total wreck without you."
            **
            He looks into my eyes, smiles.
            
              I
              know. I feel the same way.

              **
            
            My head shakes automatically.
            "You're so together. You don't
            **
            need me to keep you that way.
            But you are my glue. Without
            **
            you, I'd be nothing but broken
            pieces. Completely useless."
            **
            
              Never useless, Kaeleigh. And

              you're stronger than you know.
            
            455

            
              I Try to Keep That in Mind
            
            As I arrive home. With Mom gone, the house wears its usual aura of hushed nonwelcome. I focus on Ian as I tread quietly to my room.
            **
            Daddy is home, his bedroom
            door open a crack, and through it leaks his voice, thick already with his usual escapes.
            **
            
              C-c'mon, Hannah. Y-you don't

              mean it. She's gone and might

              not ever come back to me.

              I n-need to see you. N-need you.

              **
            
            Wow. Things went deeper than I thought. I almost
            feel sorry for Daddy. Almost.
            Not like he deserves anyone.
            **
            
              P-please. Hannah. D-don't

              leave me, just like everyone

              else. Please!
              Several silent
            
            seconds pass before a solid
            **
            
              clunk
              tells me the phone has
            
            fallen against the floor. And, sequestered in his dark, lonely
            cell, Daddy is sobbing.
            456

            
              I Close My Door
            
            Turn on my music, slip
            headphones over my ears. I don't
            want to hear him cry.
            **
            He's a sad, sick man, who deserves every tear, at least that's
            what I want to think.
            **
            I'm shredded, wrecked.
            Completely confused because as much as I hate him most
            **
            of the time, every now and then, a sliver of love for Daddy
            embeds itself in my heart.
            **
            Hard to tell who's more
            messed up. Daddy? Or me? And, much as it's the end result
            **
            that affects me every day,
            I really have to wonder who or what
            made Daddy become this way.
            **
            Babies aren't born cruel or filled with sick desire. Evil is not
            intrinsic. It's fashioned.
            457

            
              Soundless as a Shadow
            
            I stay in my room all evening.
            Drawing any sort of attention to myself would be an enormous
            mistake. Shh! Turn off the music.
            **
            Every now and again, Daddy
            leaves his own room, on a Turkey
            hunt. Staccato footsteps accompany his muttered threats and pleas.
            **
            
              You can't leave me. I won't

              let you. I'm not a little boy

              anymore. I'll go after you.

              Please. Don't leave me!

              **
            
            I keep the bedside lamp
            very low. It sheds a pale, wheat-colored light, barely
            enough to read by. Not
            **
            that I can concentrate on the words. Mostly what I'm
            doing is praying Daddy slips into substance-fed slumber.
            458

            
              Back and Forth
            
            He goes, bedroom to bar. Why
            doesn't he just take the bottle
            **
            with him? It comes to me with sudden clarity that his pacing
            **
            carries him by my room twice
            every round-trip. I extinguish
            **
            my light, hunker down in my
            bed, as if hiding there might
            **
            somehow influence him to keep on going. Going. Please go on by.
            **
            This trip is to the Turkey, and it seems to take a very long time.
            **
            Maybe he fell asleep in the living
            room. I start to relax, just a little.
            **
            And then I hear him, unsteady in the hall. One, two. Three, four...
            **
            He pauses outside my door.
            This time, the knob turns.
            **
            And I know why he's here. I'm the only one who doesn't dare run.
            459

            
              I Want to Shout
            
            Leave me alone!
            What's wrong with you?
            Don't you remember who I am? Who you are?
            This is not a father's love!
            I want to scream,
            Can't you see what
            you are doing to me?
            What you've done to me?
            What you've made of me?
            I want to cry out,
            I am your little girl.
            I am not your girlfriend.
            I am not your whore.
            I am not my fucking mother!
            But he is on top of me and my shout is silenced.
            He is inside of me and my scream stays
            there too. He is finished.
            And I don't cry out, but I do cry a bucket of silent tears. He slithers
            away and at last, I quietly sob
            no
            no.
            460

            
              He Says Not
              a Word

              Except a whispered
              I love you.
            
            And as he exits, an almost-silent something
            
              half-sounding like
              I'm sorry.

              **
            
            Is he? How can he do this despicable
            thing to me, expect
            me to believe he's the slightest bit sorry?
            **
            
              Once, after an extended "visit," he pushed himself up above me, dared to slur,
              Forgive me. Not my fault.

              **
            
            Whose fault, then? Mine? All I ever did was try and make
            him feel forgiven. Healed. Accepted. Loved.
            **
            Mom's fault? Maybe. But why, then, does he still want her? Still want to love her, with or without sex?
            **
            Hannah's fault? Someone else's? What
            unidentified ghost, wearing Daddy's face, might come to me?
            **
            Most of me doesn't care, just
            wants him to leave me the hell alone. A tiny
            part of me demands to know.
            461
            Are exhausted. Too little sleep.
            Much too much unsolicited attention.
            
              It
              is
              unsolicited, isn't it? I don't ask for it (maybe subconsciously), do I?
            
            Stop it! Can't think like that, even for a instant, or go completely insane.
            **
            My body aches. My brain aches more.
            But I have to get up and go to work.
            At least I won't have to share a table, share a couch, a room, a house, pretending last night didn't happen.
            I've done a lot of pretending.
            **
            I pry myself from between the covers, limp off to the shower, hoping fifteen minutes of hot steam and fragranced vapors can wash away the scum. Scrub away the disgust.
            **
            Cleansed but not refreshed, I dress in simple jeans and an unadorned T-shirt, apply no hint of makeup. I want no
            attention, no compliments, no come- on nor get-off smiles. I want to be
            Mother Teresa, helping the elderly.
            Okay, it's a ridiculous fantasy, but one I desperately need right now.
            462

            
              Enveloped by November Fog
            
            I walk to work. Slowly.
            I see now, more than ever.
            **
            that I belong to Daddy.
            My father is my keeper.
            **
            I can never escape to Ian.
            Ian was only a fantasy.
            **
            Beautiful make-believe.
            A movie poster to focus
            **
            on when I have to hide
            out inside my own head.
            **
            By the time I reach the old folks' home,
            **
            I realize I have to break
            things off with Ian,
            **
            Not fair to let him keep
            thinking we have a future.
            **
            Not fair to me to play
            this game any longer.
            **
            I go inside, drowning.
            Crying, inside and out
            463

            
              The First Face I See
            
            Belongs to William. He can't
            help but notice the state I'm in.
            
              Straightaway, he puts an arm around my shoulder.
              You okay?

              **
            
            I yank away from his touch, like he's fresh from the oven.
            My muscles twitch, quiver, begin to shake uncontrollably.
            **
            Greta, nearby, rushes to my
            side, latches onto my elbow.
            
              Come with me. No ifs, ands,
              or buts about it, young lady.

              **
            
            Next thing I know, I'm in Greta's
            room, on her bed, tissue in hand.
            
              I
              think it's time you told me

              this deep, dark secret of yours.

              **
            
            Oh, how wonderful it would be to break down. Confess. "I can't."
            
              This has to do with your family.

              yes? Perhaps with your father?

              **
            
            Any hint of composure vanishes in a tremendous hailstorm of tears,
            
              Greta sits beside me.
              I should

              have told you my story before..
            
            464

            
              Her Voice Softens
            
            Remember once, I told you I met evil
            when I was very small? My Satan was a butcher, tall, heavyset, and the face he wore looked exactly like mine. He was my father, and he believed he owned me.
            **
            A gasp escapes my best effort to hold it inside me.
            **
            
              Greta continues.
              He would come
            
            home from his butcher shop, rank with blood and fat. Often he stripped without washing, and he would call me into his bedroom, a calf to slaughter.
            **
            I was expected to bring a wash
            
              basin and soap. "Cleanse me,
              " he would say. "Take the stench
            
            away." Hands. Arms. Feet. Legs.
            And by the time I reached the place
            **
            between them, he would be stiff.
            And then he would tell me how to touch him before he laid
            me on the bed and did the thing
            no father should do to his child....
            465
            I cannot believe she's telling
            me this. Cannot believe this
            beautiful, strong woman ever
            suffered this thing.
            **
            When I met my Lars. I loved his gentle way, loved how he never demanded. I told you my
            father found us together, beat me because of it. and I was afraid he would beat Lars. too.
            **
            But Lars didn't care. He asked
            me to marry him, and I so wanted
            to, but could not imagine sharing a bed with any man. Pleasure from sex? Never! When I said no,
            Lars went off to soldier.
            **
            How I regretted that decision.
            Later, my father arranged a marriage to a man no better than he. But that is another story.
            And now. if you will, I think you
            should share your story with me.
            466

            
              Oh, How I Want To
            
            But Daddy would kill me, and get away with it. I can't
            ever tell, not even to someone
            else who has had
            sex
            forced on her by her father.
            What if I ask for it somehow, maybe subconsciously? Being
            brutally honest with myself, it feels good.
            How can that be? Not that
            there's any joy in it. Unlike Greta,
            I want to know joyous sex.
            It does exist outside of books, doesn't
            it? I want sex laced with love, and not warped parental
            love, but the honest kind.
            I want sex that makes me
            feel right, not like some freak, some inbred
            monstrosity. I'm not, am I?
            Damn it, I really don't know.
            Will it one day be revealed that Mom is actually my grandmother? OMG, could there be even deeper secrets
            that can't be unearthed, never
            ever?
            467

        

              Raeanne

          
            
              IMH(not)O
            
            In my not-so-humble opinion,
            Kaeleigh definitely asks for it.
            Feigned innocence invites
            sex
            more than a frank come-on does.
            Anyway, she tries to pretend she doesn't like it, but it feels good and she knows it. Feels good with Mick, although that particular
            chapter of my life is definitely over.
            Even if he has forgiven the whole
            truck episode, I prefer a guy who doesn't
            have another girlfriend spoiling for trouble. Someone like Ty, maybe.
            Sex feels great with him, too.
            I guess it might be nice for sex to feel right, like the person you're with might even love you. But hey,
            I'm not exactly sold on the idea
            that love is, in fact. real.
            Will it find me one day, overtake
            me, infiltrate my life like sunlight
            snakes through the cold of morning?
            Can love thaw me? Will it ever?
            468

            
              I'm Not Even Sure
            
            [the words on this page are arranged in such a way that they form two hearts that are cut off at the top, i.e., they are the bottom thirds of hearts.]
            What love is, or just what it's supposed to be. They say you learn by example. But no one has
            set one for me. I only love one person on this entire
            planet. And he only loves Kaeleigh. My daddy loves
            Kaeleigh. Ian loves Kaeleigh. And she's incapable of loving either of them back. What a waste.
            She only loves Mom. What in the hell is wrong with her, anyway?
            **
            Then again, I know something about our mother that Kaeleigh can't quite recall, and if she did, she'd probably dive off a very tall bridge, into shallow water. Stop! Can't think about that
            now, or I'll have to join Kaeleigh, jump into ultimate freedom. I must admit I have
            considered that leap from time to time. But I'm afraid to die loveless.
            469

            
              Afraid to Die Loveless
            
            Because
            I think if
            you die
            without
            knowing
            **
            love in this life, that's how
            you'll
            spend
            eternity.
            **
            Alone.
            Frozen.
            **
            Do you
            think hell is fiery?
            **
            I don't.
            I think
            hell is frozen.
            470

            
              Before the Other Night
            
            It was a while since Daddy went to Kaeleigh, saturated with misguided
            love and the overwhelming need to own her completely. To prove he owns her completely. Prove it to her. Prove it to himself.
            **
            He can never own me. Maybe
            that's why he doesn't bother me.
            I can give myself to whomever
            I please, in anyway I damn
            well choose. Key word: choose.
            If I say okay, well then it is.
            **
            I wonder what will happen to Daddy when we turn eighteen and Kaeleigh can move away.
            I wonder, codependent as she seems to be on their sick
            relationship, if she ever will.
            **
            No one will even notice when
            I go. I'd leave now, but if I did,
            Kaeleigh would have no one but Ian. And sorry, but the odds are long that he'll hang around.
            Too many easier scores.
            471

            
              Being Easier
            
            Isn't really such a bad thing.
            It can get you what you want.
            **
            Yeah, yeah, I know what
            they call someone who barters
            **
            her body in exchange for something she wants, A wife!
            **
            Get it? Okay, never mind.
            But it doesn't bother me to use
            **
            the one thing I've got that's
            mine, all mine, to get what
            **
            I want. Drugs. Liquor. Fun.
            Not like there's a whole lot
            **
            of that where I live. More
            drugs. Better drugs. Maybe
            **
            it's time to graduate from pot, hash, and pills to something
            **
            stronger. That opiated stuff was great. Wonder what heroin
            **
            is like. I hear it drops you way
            down, where pain can't find you.
            472

            
              Any Drugs
            
            Would be good right this moment.
            Heroin. Cocaine. Maybe ecstasy.
            Not too sure about psychedelics.
            **
            They say acid and 'shrooms
            make you look inside your own head, help you learn about yourself.
            **
            Sorry, not interested. I'm afraid
            if I looked inside my head, I'd
            find something really scary.
            **
            Maybe if I walk into town I'll run into some way to score. Ty never
            called back. He's probably pissed
            **
            'cause I took so long to call him.
            Or maybe he found someone else, although I doubt he fell in love and
            **
            changed his bachelor ways. Way too into himself, not the type to move in a habitual keeper, love or no love.
            **
            No love to us, I'd still like to see
            Ty. It's been a long week with nothing to smoke. I'll call him again.
            473

            
              The Biggest Surprise
            
            Of the week was not hearing a word from or about Mick.
            **
            I expected a call, at the very least, telling me what a bitch I am.
            **
            What I really expected was a knock on the door from a tan uniform,
            **
            a trip to juvie, and major dishonor to Judge Raymond Gardella, not to
            **
            mention his wife, the incoming
            freshman congresswoman. Phew!
            **
            But no. Nada. Nothing. Not a hint of a problem. Maybe I should call
            **
            Mick, apologize. Would he forgive
            me? Pick me up? Share a doob?
            **
            
              I mean, really, it
              was
              his fault. Maybe
            
            that's why he didn't make trouble.
            **
            Okay, I'm treading a fantasy--Mick, in my control, A shitload of bud. And me.
            474

            
              But It Isn't Mick
            
            Who comes idling up beside me at the midtown park where
            I spent the afternoon spying on tourists for sheer amusement value.
            **
            No, it isn't a big 4x4 that stops.
            In fact, it only has two wheels.
            Tuned and well-fed, Ian's Yamaha
            
              hums contentedly.
              Ride?

              **
            
            I know he can't have confused me with Kaeleigh, who would not
            
              be happy to know Ian gave
              me
              a ride
            
            home. Like I care. "Sure."
            **
            He hands me his spare helmet, slides forward to make room, and as
            I slide my arms around him, I wonder
            if he might think I'm Kaeleigh after all
            **
            Nah. He knows her too well.
            Doesn't he? One way to find out.
            I make my voice all sweet.
            "Take me for a cruise?"
            **
            He pauses, tenses. Definitely
            
              confused. Then he shakes his head. Relaxes a level, but not completely.
              Where to?
            
            475

            
              Highway 154
            
            [the lines on this page, in groups, in the print book zig zag]
            Takes you all the way to Santa Barbara. It winds past cattle ranches and Lake
            Cachuma before cresting
            The San Marcos Pass and snaking down over the mountain. Just as you
            drop, you can turn off on the potholed road to Cold
            Spring Tavern. That's where
            I asked to go. I love it there, where history looms large in the oak-decked beauty of old California. It's late
            afternoon, and I find myself
            wishing I had a heavier jacket.
            I bury my face into Ian, inhale
            warmth and perfume of leather.
            Something very much like contentment threatens my
            equilibrium. Does Kaeleigh
            have a clue what she has here?
            476

            
              Longing Lunges
            
            With sudden ferocity.
            What is wrong with me?
            I can't. Can't. Won't. Will I?
            **
            Ian pulls into a narrow
            parking space beside the road.
            
              Walk with me?
              He reaches

              **

              for my hand and it dawns on me. He
              does
              think I'm
            
            Kaeleigh. How I want to be.
            **
            I should tell him. Have to tell
            him, but my hand, tucked
            neatly into his, is so warm.
            **
            I let it stay there as we work
            our way along a narrow trail.
            So much love, in the palm
            **
            of his hand, folded around mine.
            Oh, Kaeleigh. Don't you get it?
            Oh, Kaeleigh. To be his!
            **
            I'm not even drunk, not stoned, not buzzed on pills. Perfectly
            straight, still I'm reeling.
            477
            I should tell him. Have to tell
            him. But, hidden by forest, far from prying eyes,
            **
            he pulls me against him. My
            head falls into his chest and I
            listen to the rhythm of his heart.
            **
            I look up into his eyes, find the kind of love there
            I hunger for. Love, not meant
            **
            for me. I vow to absorb it anyway, hold on to it as long as I can, even if for only a few
            **
            seconds. I want to kiss him.
            Am going to kiss him, though
            I know if I do, he'll realize
            **
            he's not kissing Kaeleigh.
            Hey, maybe he'll fall out of love with her, and into
            **
            love with me. So I stand on my tiptoes, reach up for his lips with my own.
            478

            
              Yes, Every Kiss
              Is
              Different
            
            And this is a kiss like none before, a kiss
            that could overcome the dark of deep space night. It's a falling
            star, flame, ice. It's pure as water from a snow-fed mountain
            spring. This is what you dream a kiss to be. To have a kiss just like this each and every day! How satisfying life would be.
            Oh, Kaeleigh. Never let.......this man.......get away.
            Ian is.......the key.......to your.......salvation.
            479

            
              Ian Moans
            
            And that ignites a flame just below my belly button. This is so wrong, but I don't care.
            **
            Ian is also on fire. But when
            I reach down to touch him the way every guy wants,
            **
            
              he draws back.
              Wait.

              **
            
            "Please, Ian? I want you."
            **
            He shakes his head.
            
              What's wrong with you?

              **
            
            Wrong? Everything's right.
            I try to kiss him again.
            **
            He pulls away, eyes betraying
            
              confusion.
              You're not Kaeleigh.

              **
            
            He knows, of course he does.
            I'll make him want me. I fall to my knees in front of him. "Just let me..."
            **
            
              No! I can't. This isn't right.
            
            He turns, stalks off, down the trail.
            **
            I can do is follow.
            480

            
              Ian's Sense
            
            Of right and wrong
            overwhelms me. Not a single other person
            I know
            possesses such an unshakable
            sense of morality. It's more than unbelievable.
            It's frightening.
            To offer without strings
            something all men crave, and be rejected by him is incomprehensible.
            Think I'll have to kick
            Kaeleigh's ass. Does she have
            any idea what it means to be so treasured? He has built a pedestal for her so tall
            that she is afraid to be
            lifted
            atop it, because to fall
            would mean certain death.
            But oh, she would rise far, far beyond fear and be held by arms so strong, and love so pure, that
            falling would not be an option.
            481

        

              Kaeleigh

          
            
              Falling
            
            Is such an unpleasant sensation.
            I'm falling now, down through a dark blue opiate sea, and
            I know
            it's all up to me. Sink or swim?
            I know how to swim, have practiced the dead man's float for years, but it's frightening
            how much I just want to drown in this undertow of booze and pills.
            I drank a lot tonight, ingested an incomprehensible
            amount of painkillers, some
            borrowed from Daddy, the rest
            pilfered from old Sam, who seems to be
            suffering a lot from his arthritis.
            His nightstand is a pharmacy.
            I doubt he even noticed I
            lifted a handful of Percodans. Lucky me,
            Daddy had to work this weekend.
            By the time he gets home, I'll be beyond fear and well past saving.
            I'm falling now, down, down through indigo....
            482

            
              Tick-Tock
            
            Through the thickening
            vespers the clock on my wall
            whispers.
            **
            
              Tick-tick. Tock-tock.
            
            Intones the passage of time.
            Drones.
            **
            Inhale. Everything
            slows.
            Exhale. The exchange
            shallows.
            **
            
              Heartbeats mimic,
              tick-tick.

              Become erratic, stutter,
              t-t-tock.

              **
            
            Through the indigo.
            Down.
            Gradual motion.
            I drown.
            483

            
              A Voice
            
            Echoes inside my brain.
            A little girl's voice.
            **
            
              Get up. When you fall

              down, you gotta get up.
            
            It's Raeanne, and I am with her on the playground.
            **
            I am lying beside the merry-
            go-round, head spinning.
            **
            
              I hate when you be a baby.

              Oooh. Lookie. You're bleeding.
            
            **
            Scarlet oozes from a slice on one skinned knee.
            
              Stop crying! I hate

              when you cry. Mommy! Mom...
            
            Now her voice changes, hardens, sedimentary stone.
            
              Stop whining, Kaeleigh, or I'll

              have to kick your ass.
            
            **
            She sounds like me. Looks like me. Identical.
            **
            
              Goddammit. I'm going for help.

              I'll kick your ass later.
            
            484

            
              Another Voice
            
            Trails the slam of a door. Door?
            Down here? How can a door slam in so much water? So much deep,
            **
            
              dark ocean?
              Hello? Anyone home?
            
            Obnoxious. Intrusive. A lifeline.
            **
            Footsteps. Twenty to his bed. Twelve to mine. I don't want to count them.
            Can't help it. One, two. Doesn't matter.
            **
            Three, four. Can't get me here.
            Five, six. Quick! Hide! Seven, eight.
            **
            To hide I have to swim. Nine, ten. No
            way to swim but up. Eleven, twelve.
            The feet stop moving, and even this far
            **
            underwater, I hear a door snitch open.
            
              Kaeleigh? Kaeleigh! What have you done?

              **

              Up through the indigo, I am lifted.
              Wake

              up, Kaeleigh. Come back to me right now!
            
            Sharp strikes against my cheeks.
            **
            Sudden tears. My eyes want to float open.
            But I won't let them. Won't see him.
            485

            
              I Fall Again
            
            This time, I land in a soft swirl of lavender, like the ocean at sunset
            just after downpour. Beautiful.
            **
            Can I stay here? Forever? Lapping against the beach, playing with the sand. Frothing against the shore.
            **
            Footsteps again. They slap tile.
            Running away from me.
            Good-bye feet. Good-bye.
            **
            I am sinking. I can end it here.
            But if I'm going to drown, I have to go fast. Before the feet come back.
            486

            
              I Let Out All My Breath
            
            Concentrate on sinking
            deeper and deeper and...
            oh, but what's poised below?
            What monsters of the deep
            might decide to chew on me?
            Will it hurt, the final release?
            Is there pain when the spirit
            pries itself free of the flesh?
            Why worry about that now?
            I can feel the excavation, and it's painless so far. My lungs
            fill with water. Silt. Mud.
            Now it hurts to breathe. So I won't.
            I'll settle deep into darkness.
            And I won't say good-bye.
            487

            
              Damn Footsteps
            
            Won't let me sleep. And voices.
            One belongs to Daddy.
            **
            
              Oh my God. Her face is blue.

              **
            
            The other belongs to a woman. Mom?
            No, not Mom. Softer. Younger.
            **
            
              Kaeleigh, wake up now.

              **
            
            Melodic. Angelic. Angel?
            That means I'm ...
            **
            A sudden burst of air floods my
            lungs. Pressure on my chest. Air.
            **
            Pressure. Air. Pressure. Air.
            I'm breathing. Not drowning.
            **
            
              Atta girl. She's coming around.

              **
            
            My stomach roils, like I gulped
            lavender seawater. I lean over
            **
            the side of my bed, jet a big stream of opiate-laced Wild Turkey.
            **
            
              Good girl. Get it all out.
            
            488
            And now I'm in Daddy's arms.
            I squirm, but he won't let me go.
            **
            Limp. Fall limp. My eyes wander past his face, to the face of my angel.
            **
            Hannah. Of course. Who else?
            Her hand is cool against my face.
            **
            
              What did you take, Kaeleigh?

              **
            
            Tell? Don't tell? Who cares?
            "Percodan." No need to mention
            **
            Daddy's OxyContin. The Wild
            Turkey, they can smell. Hannah sighs.
            **
            
              How many?

              **
            
            Her voice, sugared, irritates
            me now. If heaven's host sounds
            **
            like her multiplied, I'll stay
            home. "N-not sure. A dozen?"
            **
            Hannah points to the gross
            disgustingness next to the bed.
            **
            
              She should be okay, but...
            
            489

            
              Oops, Too Late
            
            She said the magic word: okay.
            Daddy gulps in air like it might
            disappear any second. Like I might.
            **
            
              He gushes,
              Are you sure?

              **
            
            Hannah has been fussing over me. as any good nurse would.
            **
            
              Her vitals are good, considering...

              **
            
            Good enough for Daddy.
            
              Thank you so much, Hannah.

              **
            
            But Hannah's not quite finished.
            
              She needs to go in for monitoring.

              **
            
            I won't be monitored, won't answer
            questions. I just want to be left alone.
            **
            
              Daddy's got that covered. I
              don't

              think that's necessary. And I know

              you know how important it is to keep

              this right here in this room.

              **
            
            If she doesn't know, she definitely
            understands Daddy's directive.
            But she dares question him.
            
              May I speak to you for a minute?
            
            490

            
              They Move into the Hallway
            
            But I'm not really sure why.
            I can hear every word, despite their lowered voices.
            Hannah is worried about me.
            **
            
              A dozen painkillers, washed
              down with whiskey. That

              wasn't an accidental overdose,

              Ray. Your daughter needs help.

              **
            
            Duh. Serious help. But Daddy
            
              won't admit it.
              I think we

              can handle this in-house.

              I'll make some calls.

              **
            
            But Hannah isn't satisfied.
            
              Look, I know this isn't something

              you want spread in the tabloids.

              But I'm just not sure...

              **
            
            Daddy can be very persuasive.
            
              I
              appreciate your concern.

              You wouldn't be a good nurse

              otherwise. But leave this to me.

              **
            
            She has to give it one last shot.
            
              Please think seriously about
              getting some help for her.

              Your daughter is disturbed.
            
            491
            Yep. Disturbed semiregularly, by her pervert father, a part of the story she'll never know.
            And even if she should find out,
            **
            Daddy apparently holds a trump
            
              card. I
              promise to think about it.

              Oh, and your problem with your

              ex? Consider it solved.

              **
            
            I have no idea what the problem
            could be, but Daddy's reach is long. Almost as long as the silent pause right before
            **
            
              Hannah acquiesces.
              Okay,

              I'll back off. But please keep
              an eye on her. If she follows

              through, I'll never forgive myself.
            
            492

            
              Following Through
            
            Isn't something I can think about right now. I'll put it on my back burner checklist of things to think about later.
            My head hurts, far beyond the dizzy left inside it. It hurts, like my heart does. When I do
            let myself think about tonight,
            I'll remember a whiteout of emotions.
            A rush of anger, at my mom, my dad, my screwed-up life.
            A blush of love for Ian. Oh, how
            I wish that I could give him
            what Daddy takes so easily from me. But it would be a tainted gift.
            Sadness now, and I wonder how it feels to live without a constant fog of sorrow, a breeze of loneliness.
            Complacent, I wait for my daddy to come and punish me for trying to die.
            493

        

              Raeanne

          
            
              I Can't Believe
            
            Kaeleigh had enough ambition to down those pills, take dead
            aim at whatever might come after.
            If Daddy had found her much
            later
            he'd have discovered an empty
            shell. Seeing her slip down that long, dark tunnel toward permanent peace is something
            I'll remember the rest of my life. It didn't look so difficult. Still, I'm not quite
            ready to let her go. Needy, shaky, I lie in bed with her.
            How
            long it's been since I've felt
            this close to her. Her breaths are shallow, raspy with exhaustion.
            "Stupid shit," I whisper, and it feels like not enough. "If you're strong
            enough to look death in the eye, you're strong enough to fight
            him. Please. I don't want you to die."
            494

            
              Don't Know
            
            If she heard any of that.
            She's so weighted into oblivion,
            **
            she looks as if she did die.
            The weirdest thing is,
            **
            Daddy has not come to check on her. You'd think
            **
            he'd want to know if she is still breathing. I'm guessing
            **
            he went straight for the Wild
            Turkey. Hopefully Kaeleigh
            **
            left enough for him to drown his guilt. Does he feel guilt?
            **
            Does he feel
            **
            anything
            **
            at all?
            495

            
              I Think
            
            Maybe that's what he's looking for.
            **
            A way to feel.
            Something.
            Anything.
            **
            Even if that something is pain.
            **
            Remorse.
            Humiliation.
            Self-loathing.
            **
            What has brought him to this place?
            **
            Loneliness?
            Greed?
            Genetics?
            **
            What redemption can there be for him?
            **
            Penance?
            Prison?
            Demise?
            496

            
              It's Morning Before He Comes
            
            To check on her. Kaeleigh feigns
            sleep, but Daddy's determined.
            He shakes her until she opens her eyes, stares silently past him.
            **
            
              Good to see you're still with us.

              His voice is about as warm as day-old oatmeal.
              Don't you ever,
              ever do anything like that again.
            
            **
            Anger fills her eyes. Anger, and knife-edged hatred. So
            much to say, no way to say
            it. "I ...I...I won't, Daddy.
            **
            
              "I
              think it's best no one outside
              this room hears about this incident.

              Your mother would be very hurt.
            
            He straightens, waits for an answer.
            **
            The tears in Kaeleigh's eyes
            reflect denial, but she doesn't
            dare let it spill. "Whatever you
            say." She turns her head away.
            **
            
              You need to get up now and
              clean up this mess.
              He gestures toward last night's vomit.
              And I

              will be waiting for your apology.
            
            497

            
              Almost a Week
            
            Since Kaeleigh tried to off herself, and believe it or not, she did apologize to Daddy. She stood, head tilted toward
            **
            the floor, shoulders stooped like an old
            woman. "Sorry, Daddy. I was stupid."
            **
            She cleaned up the floor, washed herself, her clothes, her sheets. But she couldn't
            wash away the indelible stench of Daddy.
            **
            She wore it to school. To play rehearsal.
            To stolen moments with Ian. I watched
            **
            as she tried to put "the incident" behind her. But anyone who ever noticed her has to have noticed a change inside her.
            **
            She's no longer afraid to die. What she's
            afraid of is living, accepting the status quo.
            498

            
              Daddy Acts
            
            Like it never happened. It's how he deals with any trauma in his life.
            The accident. The incident.
            Mom's winning the election.
            Daddy simply moves forward. One
            day, one night at a time.
            **
            Hannah has stopped by several times to check up on Kaeleigh.
            She always says the same thing:
            
              Your daughter needs help, Ray.

              The reasons behind the attempt are still

              there. It could happen again.

              **
            
            Daddy's answer is the same:
            
              It was just the stress of the election.

              Now it's over, she'll be fine.

              **
            
            Then he'll change the subject, to one he finds much more appealing.
            
              You've had sometime to
              think things over. I hope

              you've reconsidered. Kay and I
              are married in name only.

              **
            
            Hannah remains steadfast.
            
              You're still married. It was a mistake
              to get involved. I'm sorry, Ray.
            
            499

            
              The Last Time
            
            She dropped by, Daddy wasn't
            home yet. But Kaeleigh was.
            I listened in best I could.
            **
            
              Hannah pounced.
              Kaeleigh, I don't

              know what's going on in your life
              to make you decide it isn't worth

              living. But I'm pretty sure it has

              **

              nothing to do with the election. If
              it had something to do with your

              father and me, that's all over, and

              I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt
              --

              **
            
            "No. It wasn't that, so quit blaming
            yourself, if that's what you're doing."
            **
            Then she made up a half lie. "There's
            this boy who I like, but I know it won't
            work out, no matter how much I want it to. But I'm over that now. I'm okay."
            **
            Just then Daddy arrived. I vanished as he stormed into Kaeleigh's room.
            But I could hear every word.
            **
            
              Hello again, Hannah. As you can see,
              my daughter is doing well. I'd appreciate
              it if you wouldn't drop by unannounced.

              Kaeleigh, please go start dinner.
            
            500

            
              He Is a Cold-Hearted Bastard
            
            That's for sure. And suddenly
            I desperately need to know why.
            Did he not see Kaeleigh, screaming for help, the only way she could--
            wordlessly, helplessly, no one to hear?
            **
            I don't know how to get hold of my
            grandmother, and considering the reception she got from me
            last time, I sincerely doubt she'll
            call back anytime soon.
            **
            But somewhere, buried deep in
            Kaeleigh's journal, is an address for Theodore Gardella. Grandpa
            Teddy. (Pu-lease!) He lives less than two hours south, in Calabasas.
            **
            I think it's time his granddaughter
            paid him a visit. But first she has to find a ride. I easily think of exactly one person and pick up the phone. "Hello? Is Brittany there?"
            501

            
              Operative Word: Easy
            
            Brittany is quite simply the most
            easy-to-manipulate person ever.
            **
            She had planned to see a movie with Joel, but when I told her my
            **
            grandpa was really sick, she softened.
            And when I threw in the part about
            **
            filling her gas tank and buying lunch,
            I almost had her right there.
            **
            
              Okay, but only if Joel can come

              too. We're a thing now, you know

              **.
            
            Yeah, and if she isn't careful, there will
            be a little thing growing inside her.
            **
            If I can persuade her this easily, her steady
            "thing" should have no trouble talking
            **
            her into whatever. But hey, that's not
            my problem. And now I've got my ride.
            **
            I MapQuest directions, extract eighty
            bucks from my private stash, pop
            **
            a single Oxy to steady my nerves, go to meet Brittany and Joel.
            502

            
              Between Brittany's Driving
            
            And a traffic accident jam, the hundred-
            mile trip takes us over two hours.
            Two plus hours of hip-hop, Brittany
            giggling, and Joel's immature, totally
            not sexy innuendos. Aaagh!
            **
            I'm mostly silent, filling with dread.
            What if he won't see me, let alone
            tell me the things I need to know?
            Not like we've ever done anything but exchange a letter or two.
            **
            
              So what kind of sick is your grandpa?
              asks

              Joel.
              We won't catch something, will we?

              **
            
            "Well, I don't think you want to come
            inside. You can drop me off, go have
            lunch--on me, remember?--and come
            pick me up. I don't have to stay that long, just make sure he's got his medicine."
            **
            
              Hey, I know what I want for lunch,
              sneers Joel.
              Tuna! Got any, Britt?

              **
            
            OMG! What a disgusting loser.
            I can't believe Brittany actually
            shrieks with laughter. This is why
            I don't maintain friendships. Friends
            tell friends what they really think.
            503

            
              We Find the House
            
            Arrange a meeting time, and I give
            Brittany forty dollars. "But don't
            leave until he answers the door."
            Last thing I need is to sit here o
            n his doorstep for two hours.
            **
            Brittany waits patiently while
            I idle slowly up the walk, noting his yard is neat but not pretty.
            I swallow one more pill for good
            measure, steel up my courage.
            Reach for the doorbell. Push.
            **
            I hear footsteps immediately.
            The door cracks, leaking warm air.
            **
            
              Yes? Who is it?
              The voice

              crackles.
              What do you want?

              **
            
            "Um. Sorry to disturb you. But
            I'm your...your granddaughter."
            The door opens wider and Brittany
            starts her car. I want to shout, "Wait."
            **
            But I don't. For the first time,
            I look my grandfather in the eye.
            "I think it's time we talked."
            **
            
              Long past time, young lady.

              But come on inside.
            
            504

            
              The House Is Small
            
            Gloomy, and like his yard, tidy but not pretty. No adornments
            anywhere. Serviceable furniture, lacking comfort. Still, I accept his offer to perch on the hard sofa.
            **
            Almost to himself, he says,
            
              I
              wondered if you'd ever come.

              **
            
            In lieu of small talk, we sit and stare at each other for several skeptical minutes.
            My grandfather is shorter than
            Daddy, and much darker,
            **
            with weathered California skin and gunmetal eyes. Oh, Daddy
            got his eyes from his father, whose own searching eyes slice into me now. I swear, it hurts,
            **
            like he's dissecting me without benefit of anesthesia. Someone
            has to break the awful silence.
            But I can't think of a single
            icebreaker. Luckily, he does.
            **
            
              So what can I do for you after all

              these years? You have questions.
            
            505
            It's a statement, as well it should
            be. I could tiptoe around the real
            reason I'm here. But why waste
            time? "I want to know why Daddy
            won't have anything to do with you."
            **
            
              Well, that's very direct, isn't it?

              Why is it important now?

              **
            
            I could lie, tell him I want to know him, learn all about my
            roots. But I suspect he'd know it was a fabrication. "I need to know
            why Daddy is like he is. Why I am...
            **
            
              Who you are,
              he finishes. Hesitates.

              I'm not sure where to begin.

              **
            
            Oh, I can help him there.
            "I don't need to hear any
            happy stuff, if there is any to tell. I need to hear about when everything went to shit."
            506

            
              He Winces Slightly

              But agrees. I
              don't know you from
            
            Adam, but someone should hear this
            story. Your father would carry it to his grave. How much do you know about Charlotte, your grandmother?
            **
            "Only that she walked out when
            Daddy was a boy. Something about your messing around?"
            **
            A nice way to put it. Yes, I cheated.
            I was lonely. Charlotte shared most of her time with a whiskey bottle, and so devoted little to your father or me. When she left, it was a relief,
            **
            or would have been, except I had to work long hours. Your father was still
            young, so I placed him in the care of a neighbor, a woman I had known, or thought I did, for many years.
            **
            Turned out I didn't know her at all.
            One day I came home early and went to pick up Raymond. I knocked but no one answered, so I
            went around back, where I heard voices....
            507
            He pauses, clearly unsure
            whether to tell me the rest.
            "Please. Don't stop now."
            **
            
              I
              found your father, on a swing
              with a young girl, about his age.

              They were naked, playing with each

              other. Miranda was directing them,
              and her boyfriend was taking pictures.

              **
            
            His voice breaks a little, and his eyes--Daddy's eyes--spill the tears of this horrible truth.
            **
            
              Your father gained his manhood,
              if you could call it that, at the age
              of ten. His photographs appeared
              in magazines, for the pleasure of
              pedophiles. And he blames me.
            
            508

            
              Bam, Sledgehammer
            
            His words don't so much sink in as they are pounded in, down through my skull, into my brain.
            **
            So much explained. So much
            insight gained, in the space of ten
            minutes of ugly monologue.
            **
            My grandfather's voice quivers.
            
              He wasn't hurt, not physically.

              But emotionally, he was scarred.

              **

              I tried to tell him how sorry I was,
              but he wouldn't listen. Wouldn't

              forgive me. For eight years, we

              **

              barely spoke. And after he left
              for college, I never heard another

              word from him. I followed his career

              **

              as best I could. Was happy that he
              did well for himself. I kept thinking
              with time, he'd come around....

              **
            
            Oh, no. Not Daddy. Once you're on his shit list, forget it. But one
            burning question remains.
            509
            "Why did you call about your
            ex-wife coming back? Did you
            really think she wanted money?"
            **
            He crumples like a candy wrapper.
            
              I
              didn't know what she wanted.

              She'd been gone so long, I wasn't

              **

              even sure she was still alive
              until she knocked on my door,
              wanting to know about you.

              **

              I thought
              --
              hoped
              --
              it might be
              a way back into Raymond's

              life. Your life. I'm...all alone.
            
            510

            
              A Half-Assed Honk
            
            Signals my ride home is curbside.
            Better not leave them waiting
            too long, or I might get stuck
            watching Joel fish for tuna.
            
              Did
              I
              just think that? Fuck!
            
            **
            "I have to go. My ride is waiting."
            I consider what else to say.
            I'll start with a hug. Grandpa
            ...um ...weird ...stiffens a bit at my touch. "Thank you."
            **
            
              No, thank you. For giving me
              the chance to maybe get to know

              you. I don't want to die without
              family knowing or caring I'm gone.

              Please stay in touch. Please?

              **
            
            "I'll do my best. But Daddy
            won't like it if he finds out."
            We exchange phone numbers, and he walks me to the door.
            I turn. "Can I call you Grandpa?"
            **
            His smile is weak, weary.
            
              I'd be grateful if you did. Tell

              your ride to drive carefully.

              I'd hate to lose you now.
            
            The door closes behind me.
            511

            
              Ugly Little Movies
            
            Replay themselves over and over in my head on the ride home.
            **
            Thankfully the return trip is faster than the outbound was. If I hear
            **
            one more frigging giggle, I'm
            going to blow it completely.
            **
            I down yet another painkiller, chase it with a swig of the Turkey stashed in my bag
            **
            We drop over the top of the mountain, where the hills bump and grind toward
            **
            the valley. I've admired this view
            hundreds of times, but today it's different.
            **
            Today the hills are haunting, vague as spirits fooled into being
            **
            each blurring into the next in cool
            bronze succession. Indistinct.
            **
            Yet somehow not quite meaningless.
            Like information gleaned, but not
            **
            completely absorbed. Like ugly
            little movies, in semiconstant replay.
            512

            
              I Should Go Home
            
            My cell has four voice mails, three from Daddy:
            
              Where are you?
            
            **
            
              Where the hell are you?

              Why did you leave without
              telling me where you were
              going?

              **

              Where the fuck are you?

              When will you be home?

              Are you okay? Do I have
              to come looking for you?
            
            I have to call him, but first
            I pick up the fourth message.
            Can't believe it, but it's Ty:
            **
            
              Hey. Sorry I took so long
              to return your call. Been

              away at a seminar. When

              can I see you? Call me.
            
            513

            
              Major Dilemma
            
            If I call Daddy, he'll want me to come home, and who knows
            what kind of mood he'll be in? (
            I've got a pretty good idea.)
            **
            But seeing Ty--and getting
            wasted--is way up on my
            priority list. If I get high
            enough, I can deal with Daddy,
            **
            as long as he doesn't actually
            come looking and find me.
            He wouldn't come looking, would he? And if he did,
            **
            could he find me way out in the boonies at Ty's place?
            Nope. No way. First I call
            Ty. He answers, second ring.
            **
            "Hey. I'm in town. Can you
            pick me up?" He agrees, so I have Brittany drop me at the park. "Thanks for
            **
            the ride. See you." Off they go.
            I chance a one-sided call to Daddy.
            "Hi. I'm fine. I'm with friends.
            
              Be home in a while."
              Click.
            
            514

            
              I'm Living Dangerously
            
            And I def know it. I power down the phone. I'll have to deal with whatever consequences Daddy
            **
            decides to deal me. But meanwhile,
            I won't have my evening disturbed by the incessant interruption of a cell.
            **
            It takes Ty forty minutes to get to me, too much time with nothing to do but think about today.
            **
            And that means thinking about Daddy.
            No wonder he didn't want Kaeleigh and me to have a childhood. He didn't.
            **
            I have no idea how I'll feel when he's
            punishing me, but right this moment,
            I can't help but feel sorry for him.
            **
            Finally the BMW cruises into view.
            I wave and Ty pulls against the curb.
            I give him my hottest smile. "Hey."
            **
            
              Hey. Great to see you again. Get

              in.
              He opens the door for me, not

              quite a gentleman.
              My place okay?
            
            515

            
              His Place
            
            Is exactly what I have in mind.
            The top is down on the Beamer, the sun low in the sky, and it's
            cold outside. So why am I hot?
            **
            Feverish? Maybe. But I'm not
            going to tell him that and maybe, just maybe, the fever is hunger, not sickness. I'm starving.
            **
            Starving for a high, a place to hang out inside my own head.
            Starving for touch. Pain, even.
            A way to feel. I need to feel.
            **
            Funny how when your life is mostly bullshit, you turn off feeling. Sometimes it's hard to turn it back on again.
            **
            Last time I let myself feel was up on the mountain with Ian.
            When he turned away, I flipped the feeling off switch.
            **
            But now, just imagining what
            Ty has in mind for me, for us,
            I flip it back on again. Good or bad, I'm ready to feel.
            516

            
              Ty's House
            
            Is the perfect place to hang out inside my own head. The first
            thing he does is disappear
            **
            up the hall, toward his bedroom.
            He comes back with a party in a box.
            
              You want to get buzzed, right?

              **
            
            I nod and next thing I know, we're smoking black African
            bud. It's not really black, but
            **
            it's definitely purple, the buds
            big around as my fist. And it tastes like absolute heaven.
            **
            Almost immediately, my eyes
            grow heavy and my tongue thick.
            "Incredible," I manage, sounding
            **
            more like "increthible." We both
            laugh, and I slide into a comfort
            zone. Part of me keeps shouting
            **
            a warning. The other part tells the first to shut up, quit trying to fuck up my high. I realize
            517
            Ty is a dangerous man. But I so want to walk that razor's edge, take feeling to a whole new level.
            **
            He senses my eagerness.
            His breath warms my ear and my heart double-times.
            **
            
              How far will you go with me?
            
            He kisses my mouth. My throat.
            
              Will you let me draw blood?

              **
            
            He bites my neck, and a moan
            escapes my mouth, unbidden.
            
              How high will you let me take you?

              **
            
            For once, I want to relinquish
            control. For once, I want to completely let go. "You decide."
            **
            
              His grin is pure evil.
              That's my

              girl.
              He yanks my blouse over my head, spills me from my bra.
            
            **
            He kisses, bites. I'm already lost, but hungry for more. He pulls
            me to my feet, hands all over me....
            518

            
              And the Doorbell Rings
            
            Not just once, but three times, in quick succession. Fuck!
            Did Daddy find me after all?
            **
            
              Who the fuck is it? Ty
              yells.

              **
            
            No answer, but another ring.
            And another. I try to tug on my shirt, and am halfway there
            **
            when Ty opens the door. I stare at the face framed there, eyes
            wide with anger and hurt. Ian.
            **
            
              He pushes past Ty.
              Kaeleigh.

              What are you doing here, with
              him? You promised me...

              **
            
            Promised? What did I promise?
            I shake my head. Kaeleigh promised, not me, "N-not Kaeleigh."
            **
            
              Ty takes Ian's arm.
              Get the fuck

              out of here.
              He tries to muscle him toward the door,
            
            **
            
              but Ian yanks away, comes over, puts his hands on my shoulders, looks into my eyes.
              Who are you, then?
            
            519
            I'm...I look at him, so full of love for me. Me. Am I Kaeleigh?
            No. Goddammit. I'm, "Raeanne."
            **
            
              No, no, no!
              His head twists from side to side, until I'm sure it will spin off his neck.
              Raeanne

              **

              is dead, Kaeleigh. She died
              in the accident, remember?

              Listen to me, Kaeleigh.

              **
            
            What is he talking about?
            I'm not dead. I'm right here, and I'm...too fucking stoned
            **
            to deal with this now. "What are you talking about, Ian?
            Can't you see I'm not Kaeleigh?"
            **
            Ian's eyes are wild. Scared.
            
              Confused, like an animal in a trap.
              Please, Kaeleigh.

              **
            
            Why does he keep calling
            me that? I'm not Kaeleigh, I'm.. .
            Wait...What did he say
            **
            
              about an accident? Yes, yes, there
              was an
              accident. Daddy was driving and they took...
            
            520

            
              Mom and Raeanne Away
            
            Not me. Didn't
            take me away.
            Raeanne. My sister.
            My identical twin.
            I called out to her.
            She didn't answer.
            Mom came back.
            Raeanne didn't.
            Ty turns vicious.
            Ty? Who's he?
            
              Look, she said she'
              s
              not

              this Kaeleigh person, so...

              **

              But I
              am
              Kaeleigh.
            
            Wait. Who am I?
            Who am I? The room
            begins to spin.
            Goddammit. Too much
            fucking good bud.
            Is that the problem?
            Don't think so. Afraid
            that's not the problem.
            **
            Ian turns toward Ty, and his look stops the bigger man's approach.
            521
            
              Something's wrong
              with her, but she
              is

              Kaeleigh, and her twin,

              Raeanne. was killed in
              an accident years ago....

              **
            
            "Stop saying that!
            I'm not dead...."
            **
            Yes, you are.
            **
            "...can't be dead.
            I'm standing right here."
            **
            Someone is, but not you.
            **
            "I don't want to be dead...
            522

            
              I Think I'm Dead
            
            Voices. Arms around me.
            hands, familiar. Ian's hands?
            They don't belong to me.
            They belong to Kaeleigh.
            Kaeleigh isn't
            dead.
            I am. Lights. Floating.
            
              Motion. Noise. Ian, beside me.
              Come on, Kaeleigh.

              Everything's okay. I'm here
              for you always.
              He says
            
            I'm not dead, but he still thinks I'm her.
            Am I her? If I'm her, where is me? I can't go away, not
            all the way away. Kaeleigh is weak, no match for Daddy.
            If I die, she'll die too. I'll always
            be right here. Ian doesn't
            have to know. Daddy
            doesn't have to know. Even she won't
            know I'm still here. I'll
            have to hide better, always
            be Kaeleigh. It's a new game, but necessary for me to survive.
            523

        

              Kaeleigh

          
            
              I Wish I Were Dead
            
            I'm sick. Confused. Hot.
            My muscles ache, twitch.
            They tell me it's withdrawal from OxyContin. I smell
            dead, sweating death from my pores.
            Three days now, and nothing
            feels better. I keep puking...
            did I once puke on purpose?
            Is that part of me dead if
            I'm not dead, and if it is, am I half-dead?
            I don't understand. I don't
            understand. Big blocks of my life are lost to me.
            Big blocks of time, spent...
            If I die
            will I remember them then?
            Will I be condemned for them?
            Was it really me doing them?
            Or is Raeanne living inside me?
            She won't
            talk to me, though I've tried.
            Searched for her. Screamed for her. She was the better part of me. Without her, how can I
            survive?
            524
            
              Fragments
              .............................................................
              Shards
            
            That's what I am now.
            Incomplete.
            They keep asking for truths.
            I'm afraid to give them
            answers.
            I keep hiding behind dreams.
            Except maybe they're
            realities.
            They keep asking for reasons.
            I give them lame
            excuses.
            I want to live in my
            fantasies.
            Except maybe they're
            nightmares.
            They keep asking for explanations.
            I keep telling them
            I don't have them.
            525

            
              At First
            
            They don't allow visitors.
            Only nurses. Doctors. One is a shrink. Dr. Carol Shore.
            **
            
              Call me Carol. I'm
              a psychotherapist.

              And I'm here to help.
            
            **
            "Help what?" I ask, pretending like I don't
            need help. Never have.
            **
            
              Help you face whatever
              it is that you keep trying
              to escape from.
            
            **
            "Why would I want to do that?" My stomach
            heaves, but it's empty.
            **
            
              Because only by confronting

              your demons can you ever

              hope to conquer them.
            
            What she doesn't seem to understand is, I have to go home to my demon.
            526

            
              I Tell Her I'll Think About It
            
            Anything to get her off my back.
            They give me something to calm the withdrawal, help me sleep.
            As I slip toward lovely nothingness,
            **
            I hear a voice behind the door.
            
              She's my daughter, goddammit.

              I have every right to see her.

              **
            
            No. Don't want to see him. Ever.
            Then snippets. Ugly movies.
            Please! Go away. Let me sleep!
            Relax...can't...he's here.
            **
            The door opens, but I refuse to open my eyes. Maybe the drug
            will kick in, push me all the way down into unconsciousness.
            **
            Footsteps. His. One, two. Stop!
            
              Kaeleigh, girl. Wake up. It's Daddy.

              I'm right here beside you.

              **
            
            His hand, cold, strokes my cheek.
            His head tilts against my chest.
            
              I
              wish I could take it all back....
            
            527

            
              When I Wake Up
            
            I'm alone. In the dark.
            Where am I again?
            Who am I again?
            I'm hot. So hot.
            I was hot in a car.
            A BMW? With...
            More ugly movies.
            Only Daddy's not in them. I am.
            Oh my God. What
            have I done? Who
            have I been with?
            A collage of faces.
            Ty. Ty? Who is he?
            There as a party....
            I went there with
            Mick. Mick? And
            Madison was there.
            Madison. She was at Lawler's house.
            Lawler? Mr. Lawler?
            I told him I like older men. Older, like...Daddy. Daddy?
            No...No...No!
            
              But he said,
              I wish

              I could take it all back.
            
            528

            
              Take It All Back
            
            Okay, maybe I do need help.
            I can't even remember what "all"
            is. Only bits and pieces. And why
            would I want to remember more?
            **
            
              Only by confronting your demons...

              **
            
            Confront him? How could I ever?
            And how could I ever let anyone
            know what my father has done to me? Who would understand?
            **
            
              You've got some powerful demons....

              **
            
            Greta! Oh, maybe I could tell Greta.
            I need to see her, need to know
            if she ever confronted her demon.
            Can't believe it happened to her, too.
            **
            
              I
              met evil when I was very young....

              **
            
            But you wouldn't know it to look at her now. She's strong. Strong
            enough to fight Nazis. Strong enough to invite Lars back into her life.
            **
            
              Could not imagine sharing a bed.
            
            529
            Sharing a bed with a man she loved. A man she trusted.
            Instead she sent him away.
            Out of her life. Such loneliness!
            **
            
              Please trust me enough to tell....

              **
            
            Ian. My amazing Ian. My best and only true friend. If I told
            you, you'd turn your back on filthy me. If you haven't already.
            530
            
              I Stare at the Night Sky
            
            Outside the window.
            The stars shine, as they always do. Same
            stars. Same sky. Only I am different. Am I different? Will
            **
            my life change now? Better or worse? Will Mom come back, save me? She can't. She has work to do, far away from home, Will she take me with her?
            Do I want to go? And a bigger
            **
            question. Will she listen now?
            Memory jabs. I accidentally
            **
            told once. Didn't mean to make her jealous. I was taking a shower. The soap stung and when I said "Ow," Mom asked what hurt. I told her,
            "Where Daddy touched me." She looked and her face grew red.
            **
            
              But she said, I
              don't see a thing.
            
            I guessed Daddy was right.
            She got mad, closed her eyes. Like I
            need to do
            now.
            531

            
              I'm Still Tired
            
            When sunlight wakes me.
            I feel a little better, though, and that's bad. They'll make
            me go home soon. Unless I tell.
            **
            A voice inside me whispers,
            "Can't tell. They'll be jealous."
            **
            Shut up. You're dead.
            **
            "Am I? Guess you'll just
            have to wait and see."
            **
            When they finally bring breakfast,
            I ask the nurse, "Am I allowed
            visitors yet? Has anyone tried to see me?" Anyone being Ian.
            **
            The nurse shakes her head, and the voice agrees, "He ran like the wind. You're crazy, you know."
            **
            I wait for the nurse to leave, so she doesn't think I'm crazy.
            Then I tell the voice again,
            Shut up. You're fucking dead.
            **
            "If you say so.
            532

            
              When Carol Comes
            
            I'm ready to talk. "Is there such a thing as a split personality?"
            **
            Her eyes measure me up and down.
            
              Dissociative identity disorder
              is extremely rare, but yes, it's real.

              **
            
            "Do the different identities
            know about each other?"
            **
            
              Sometimes. Usually not. Sometimes

              one does, but the others don't.

              There are no definites with DID.

              **
            
            "Could you split into someone
            you know--or used to know?"
            **
            
              The jury's still out on how the alters

              develop. But I suppose you could take
              on aspects of someone familiar.

              **
            
            "Will one--what did you call it?
            Alter?--do stuff another one won't?"
            **
            
              My questions have definitely piqued her interest.
              Often that's the case, yes.

              Why? Do you know someone like that?
            
            533
            Well, duh. Why would I ask?
            "I think so. What causes it?"
            **
            
              Usually a childhood trauma. An illness,
              or an accident. Most often it's related
              to sexual abuse in the formative years.

              **
            
            "Does it mean the person is crazy? Can you fix it?"
            **
            
              "Crazy" is hardly a clinical term.

              It's a form of mental illness, and yes,
              it can be cured, or at least regulated.

              **

              It doesn't happen overnight, though.

              It takes years of treatment, and the guts
              to dig down and extract the truth.

              **
            
            Guts? Do I have the guts? I smile.
            "Guts? Is that a clinical term?"
            534

            
              That's All I'm Ready to
              Give Today
            
            She provided a lot of answers, though, and I'm more grounded.
            So I get a jolt when she says,
            **
            
              Kaeleigh, if we've been talking
              about you, I want to get you
              the help you need. The nearest

              residential treatment center
              is in Ventura....

              **
            
            Residential treatment center?
            "No. I don't want to go there.
            I mean I... why can't I stay here?
            Why can't you be my therapist?"
            **
            
              This is a regular hospital. There
              are no beds available for psychiatric

              patients. I could treat you, but only
              on an outpatient basis. You'll have
              to go home, and all things considered...

              **
            
            "When? When are they going to release me?" How long do
            I have to make up my mind?
            **
            
              Your withdrawal symptoms have

              mostly subsided and your vitals
              are good. Probably tomorrow.
            
            535

            
              Tomorrow Isn't Far Enough Away
            
            "Have you talked to my mother?
            Does she know what happened?"
            Why haven't I heard from her?
            **
            
              Your father said he'd take care
              of it. Hasn't she called you?

              **
            
            Well, of course he'd say that.
            "My father is a liar." Whoa.
            "I'll call her. Where's my cell?"
            **
            
              She goes to the closet, digs through my things.
              Um, it
              doesn't seem to be here.

              You can use mine if you want.

              **
            
            It was in my pocket when all this
            shit went down. Where is it?
            One answer: Daddy. No wonder
            I haven't heard from anyone.
            **
            Carol brings me her cell. I start to dial and suddenly remember
            
              Mom's
              I don't see a thing.
            
            "Will you talk to her? Please?"
            **
            
              Of course.
              Carol waits, and when Mom answers, the good
            
            doctor pulls no punches.
            536

            
              Mom Promises
            
            To get on a plane as soon as she can. I don't know whether to feel
            relieved or not. Totally weird to think this, but I've never been so fucking scared in my life.
            **
            I've always believed, of the two of my parents, she was the one I could
            count on. But I had completely
            forgotten that bath scene. Who is my
            mother? Who the fuck am I?
            **
            Am I one person? Two?
            Maybe even more? Oh, great. Maybe
            there are a dozen of me, doing drugs and sleeping around all up and down the state.
            **
            Speaking of drugs, I could
            use a big fatty right about now.
            How will I ever score after
            I get out of here? And which one of me is the loadie, anyway?
            **
            I'm sure getting high
            isn't good for my "condition," but how can I not, if I have to go home? I can't imagine living
            there any other way.
            537

            
              I Suppose I Got the Addictive Gene
            
            From my wonderful father. Something
            else to thank him for. Bastard.
            **
            "Thank him for giving you life."
            **
            Fuck that. All he did was have sex with Mom. Probably just one time.
            **
            "Have you noticed you're cussing?"
            **
            Now that you mention it, yeah.
            That, I'm pretty sure, I got from you.
            **
            "That, and a great sex education."
            **
            Sex is disgusting. And I really, really wish you'd quit talking to me.
            **
            "No can do. You need to hear me."
            **
            Well, if you're so smart, what do
            I do about Daddy? I need to tell.
            **
            "He'll go to prison for a long time."
            **
            So what? He deserves it. Daddies
            shouldn't touch their daughters.
            **
            "Not totally his fault. Remember...
            538
            Yeah, yeah. So what, am I supposed to just say okay, it's not your fault?
            **
            "You could have a little sympathy."
            **
            So I just go on home, wait for him to go on a bender, drop in for a little?
            **
            "Maybe you should confront him.
            **
            Confront him? You mean like tell
            him to his face that he's a sick man?
            **
            "The direct approach might work."
            **
            No damn way. He'd deny. He'd
            blow up. He'd blame me.
            **
            "Face it. You're a chickenshit."
            Damn straight. But I can't take this
            any longer. And I can't rely on you.
            **
            "You always have before."
            **
            Sorry. I don't want to be pieces of me
            anymore. I have to take care of myself.
            **
            "Seeing, my dear, is believing."
            539

            
              I'm Deep into Conversation
            
            With one of me when Daddy walks through the door. He looks around.
            **
            
              Who are you talking to?

              **
            
            "Uh. No one. Myself, I guess."
            My belly starts cartwheeling.
            **
            
              People will think you're crazy.

              **

              Fuck, Daddy. I
              am
              crazy.
            
            "I know. I'm sorry, Daddy."
            **
            
              I just got a call from your mother.

              **
            
            I'm going to throw up.
            "I thought she should know."
            **
            
              I
              told her we can handle this.
            
            **
            No! No! No! "I want her here,
            Daddy. I need her."
            **
            
              You're not three, Kaeleigh.

              **
            
            "No. I'll never be a little girl again.
            You took that away from me."
            **
            
              I'm sure I don't know what you mean.
            
            540

            
              Wow, Ballsy
            
            I can't believe I found the nerve to say that much. But I can't
            believe he told Mom not to come.
            **
            
              They're releasing you tomorrow.

              I'll take the day off to bring you home.

              Then we'll have to discuss our options.

              **
            
            "Options?" What options? Back to school, back to work, back to...
            Oh my God. How can I go back?
            **
            
              I
              can't have you getting stoned
              and running around like a tramp. Your

              reputation may be trashed, but...

              **

              "My reputation?
              That's
              what you're
            
            worried about? What the fuck is wrong with you, Daddy? You need help."
            **
            
              Don't you dare talk to me like that.
            
            He stalks over to the bed, raises his arm, and just as it starts to fall...
            **
            
              I
              wouldn't do that if I were you,
              sir.
              Carol.
              I'm afraid I'd have
              to report you for child abuse.
            
            541
            Daddy spins to face her, anger
            leaking from his pores like sweat.
            
              I
              know the law. Don t recite it to me.

              **
            
            Artfully, Carol maneuvers between
            
              Daddy and me.
              I'm afraid your blood

              work indicated a problem, Kaeleigh.

              **

              We'll need to keep you an extra day
              or two, to run a few tests. Sorry.

              I know you wanted to go home.

              **
            
            Daddy backs up a few steps.
            
              Problem? What kind of problem?

              She isn't pregnant, is she?

              **

              Carol's grin is sardonic.
              Funny

              place for you to go first. No, we've

              found an electrolyte imbalance.

              **

              It's probably from all the vomiting

              she's been doing, but we want to
              test her for kidney disease.

              **
            
            Phew. Saved by possible kidney
            disease. At least for a couple of days.
            Hey, wait. Kidney disease?
            542

            
              Turns Out
            
            The electrolyte imbalance is real, the result of not only puking from Oxy withdrawal, but also
            **
            the binge-and-purge cycle
            that my alter and I seem to have shared.
            Speaking of bingeing, I'm starving.
            **
            "You eat. I'll throw it up. You'd be a regular oinker if not for me."
            **
            They weren't really worried about kidney disease. Carol just used
            that as an excuse to keep me here.
            **
            "She's a real pal. What she's really after is dissecting our psyche."
            **
            If I let her into my head, maybe she can make you frigging disappear.
            I'm sick of listening to you.
            **
            "Well, then, you go away and let me out.
            I want to play. And I need to get high."
            **
            I want so much to talk to Carol.
            But I'm not even sure where to begin.
            Drug abuse. Alcohol, Bulimia...
            543
            "Don't forget that lovely bit about shaving until you slice yourself open."
            **
            And that's the easy stuff. Promiscuity.
            Dissociative identity disorder. And the granddaddy of all--fucking Daddy.
            **
            "More accurately, letting Daddy
            fuck you and keeping it to yourself."
            **
            Even if I tell her every bit of it, there's no guarantee she can fix me.
            Suicide sounds better and better.
            **
            "Yeah, but you'd have to get it right.
            Or maybe, just leave that to me."
            544

            
              What Do I Have to Live For?
            
            Can't think of a single thing.
            **
            Mom? A long-distance mother
            focused completely on herself.
            **
            Friends? Not a single one I've
            allowed myself to get close to.
            **
            School? Can't stomach the thought of seeing Old Man Lawler again.
            **
            Drama? Oh well, that's what
            understudies are for, right?
            **
            Boyfriend? Don't make me
            laugh. I'd much rather cry.
            **
            "Hey, you can't really blame him;
            545

            
              I Cant Blame Ian at All
            
            He's solid.
            "You're fractured."
            **
            He's hopeful.
            "You're hopeless."
            **
            He's always there.
            "You're half there."
            **
            He's faithful.
            "You're so not."
            **
            He's giving.
            "You're afraid to give."
            **
            He's honest.
            "You lie all the time."
            **
            He's loving.
            "You don't know how to love."
            546

            
              But I Do Know What Love Is
            
            And all because of Ian.
            I'm still not sure how to give it, but I've tasted
            it. Maybe that's enough.
            **
            Maybe that's more than some people ever get.
            Maybe I really need to taste it right now.
            **
            I haven't let myself break down and weep in a very
            long time. Could never see
            much use in it, really.
            **
            Tears impress no one. But, oh yeah, there's no one
            here to impress. So I go
            ahead and let tears fall.
            **
            Rain. Storm. Flood. My
            pillow soaks with the salt of regret, and I rest my
            head against it, until...
            547

            
              Someone's in My Room
            
            I wake, certain of it. It's early
            evening, and the room is pale and the soft perfume of roses
            drifts from the nightstand.
            **
            
              Hey. How are you feeling?

              **
            
            I think it can't be, but when
            I turn my head, it's Ian's face
            I see. The tears start up again
            immediately. "Better now."
            **
            
              I
              should have come sooner, but...
            
            **
            He stands, comes over, sits on the bed, gently brushes the moisture from my cheeks.
            "It's okay." He's here now.
            
              **

              No. I should have been here for you.

              **
            
            He opens his arms and I drop into their circle. "Oh God,
            Ian, I'm so sorry. I don't know
            what to tell you, where to begin....
            **
            
              Don't. Not now. Just let me hold you.
            
            548

            
              Must Be a Dream
            
            But if it is, I need to stay
            locked inside it forever.
            I can't believe he's here.
            I can't believe he still loves
            me, but my heart says he does.
            **
            "Oh, Ian. I love you so much.
            I'm so sorry I ever hurt you.
            If you give me time, help me
            get well and strong, I promise to make everything up to you."
            **
            He's quiet for a long time.
            
              Finally he says,
              I don't know

              exactly what's wrong with you,
              or with your life. It would be

              easier to walk away, put you

              **

              and your pain behind me. I've had

              days to think it over, and at first

              that's what I decided to do.

              But I love you so much, the idea
              of life without you in it is scarier

              **

              than trying to deal with this. I've

              talked with Dr. Shore, who tells me

              you've got a long road to recovery.

              I don't know if we can get
              through this, but I want to try.
            
            549

            
              Okay, One Thing to Live For
            
            And right now, one thing is enough.
            I have to believe we can make it.
            Without that, I have nothing at all.
            One thing to live for. One day at a time.
            It will not be easy to let him all the way in.
            But if I can open up to anyone, it's Ian.
            Okay, maybe to Carol--Dr. Shore--first.
            Then she can show me how to let him in.
            One thing to live for. One day at a time.
            Daddy will try to stand in the way.
            So I have to push Daddy out of my way.
            To do that, I need Ian's strength behind me.
            One thing to live for. One day at a time.
            550

            
              Daddy Comes to Pick Me Up
            
            And all the courage I gathered overnight
            dissipates like smoke in winter wind.
            **
            
              He hands me a paper bag.
              Clean clothes.

              The ones you have here stink to high heaven.

              **
            
            Dutifully I go into the bathroom, slip into soft
            blue velour. It should feel comforting. But...
            **
            When I emerge, Daddy is looking at Ian's roses.
            
              I
              hope he has enough sense to stay away.

              **
            
            Wrong! "Ian is the only good thing in my life.
            Don't you dare try to keep him away from me!"
            **
            
              Daddy's stare is iron.
              I guess we're lucky

              you
              aren't
              pregnant, aren't we?

              **
            
            "Shut up! Ian and I never...Don't you get
            that love doesn't have to be about sex?"
            **
            He stays in control, in case Carol is near.
            
              Don't you ever tell me to shut up again.

              **
            
            "Or what, Daddy? I won't let you hurt me
            anymore. I swear to God I'll tell everything."
            **
            
              He comes closer, lowers his voice.
              Go ahead.

              Your word against mine. No one will believe you.
            
            551
            
              I
              will.
              The voice precedes a woman--
            
            not quite familiar--through the door.
            **
            
              Daddy's jaw drops.
              Mother! Dear God.

              How did...what are you doing here?

              **
            
            Grandma Charlotte. Yes, I can almost
            remember her face. Only it's thinner,
            **
            her gray eyes clearer. And she smells of expensive perfume. Not whiskey.
            **
            
              She draws near, reaches out one hand, but doesn't touch me.
              Kaeleigh. How pretty you

              **

              are. So like your mother. Forgive my long

              absence. And, please, forgive my silence.
            
            552

            
              Six Months
            
            Since my grandmother re-entered
            my life. Six months of relative
            safety. Ha-ha. Forgive the pun.
            **
            I live with her now, in my parents'
            postcard-pretty dwelling, coiffed and manicured from curb to chimney.
            **
            Like me, it's perfect on the outside.
            But behind the Norman Rockwell facade,
            I'm slowly coming to terms with our secrets.
            **
            That day in the hospital, Grandma
            
              Charlotte confessed hers: I
              was too

              young to be a mother, only sixteen.

              **

              Ted was not a bad man. When I got

              pregnant, he did the right thing
              and married me. But we came from

              **

              different places. I was a child of privilege,
              he a sweet blue-collar man. He was my

              rebellion. And when he couldn't give

              **

              me the life I was used to, I fell into
              addictions. Whiskey. Cigarettes. And,
              to fight my depression. Prozac.
            
            553
            He cheated, yes, but that's not why
            I left. I left from utter boredom.
            And I left your poor father behind.
            **
            Daddy winced, but continued to listen. I wanted to know more.
            I wanted to know everything.
            **
            Alcoholism is not a pretty thing, and I was an ugly alcoholic.
            I moved in with a string of men.
            **
            None wanted to deal with a drunk, and eventually all of them showed
            me the door. One time, I decided
            **
            I needed to find Ray, see how he was doing. I tracked him to Santa
            Barbara, a couple of years before
            **
            the accident. Your mother and he seemed
            happy enough. Happy to have two beautiful daughters.
            **
            I wanted to be part of your family, even managed to clean up my act so they'd let me spend time with you.
            554
            
              "So it
              was
              you who used to babysit
            
            us. I remember we used to play
            Monopoly and checkers, didn't we?"
            **
            
              She nodded. It
              was a wonderful

              time of my life. But then...

              then the accident happened.

              **

              When Raeanne died, I only knew

              one way to cope. I'm sorry,

              Kaeleigh. You needed me.

              **

              But I needed Dewar's to get me
              through the funeral. Once I started

              drinking again, I couldn't stop.

              **
            
            I noticed Daddy's fingers, drumming the arm of his chair.
            "But why did you go away?"
            **
            Grandma Charlotte glanced at
            Daddy, whose drumming quickened.
            
              We can talk about that later.
            
            555

            
              Turned Out
            
            That part of the story helped
            me make some major decisions.
            That part of the story went like this:
            **
            
              I
              wanted to stay in your life, knew

              you might need me. Your mother
              was broken, your father cold as
              the death of his daughter
              --
              the death
              he most certainly caused. The death

              none of us could really accept.

              **

              One day I came over and walked
              in unannounced. I heard noise
              in the bathroom, so stumbled back
              to investigate, about three sheets
              in the wind. I was drunk but not too

              drunk to take in what was going on.

              **

              Your mother was gone, and your

              father was washing you. Only the way
              he was washing you was all wrong.

              He was touching you in a sexual

              way, Kaeleigh. I confronted him,
              but he just laughed in my face.

              **

              "I'm a respected judge and you are
              nothing more than a disgusting

              drunk. Who would people believe?
            
            556
            
              I
              could take you down, Mother.

              Will
              take you down. You made me
            
            what I am. You and my father."
            **
            He ordered me to leave, and I did.
            In fact, I ran. Forgive me, Kaeleigh.
            I should have kept you safe.
            Instead I drank even more to forget.
            I drank until one day I looked in the mirror and saw death.
            **
            Getting sober once and for all
            wasn't easy. But I didn't want to die until I knew you were okay.
            And I didn't want to come back into your life, needing Dewar's to cope with what I found.
            557

            
              I Forgave Her
            
            She got sober for me. Besides,
            Daddy played the same card with me, and I believed him, too.
            **
            Anyway, Carol says the only way to get past all this is to forgive who I can. Confront, and forgive.
            Easier said than done. I want to forgive Mom. But how can I when she won't say she's sorry, or even
            **
            admit her role in this melodrama?
            I did confront her. I asked how she could have closed her eyes,
            **
            pretended nothing was wrong. She
            
              turned it back on me.
              Why didn't

              you tell? Why didn't you get help?

              **
            
            I hated her for a while. Now
            I kind of feel sorry for her. When
            Raeanne died, it emptied
            **
            every ounce of love from Mom's
            heart. Why couldn't she save just a spoonful--for me?
            558

            
              Drained Dry
            
            Of love, she's surviving fine in DC. Comes home once in a while,
            **
            more because it's expected of her than to spend time with me.
            **
            I think I scare her. I mean, how
            can she be certain which one
            **
            of me she's spending time with?
            Dissociative identity disorder
            **
            wasn't even in her dictionary, let alone on her radar.
            **
            Now that it's on mine, I suppose
            I'll always do a double take
            **
            whenever I happen to pass by a mirror.
            559

            
              Except for Ian
            
            No one at school knows about the two sides of me.
            Ian swore himself to secrecy.
            **
            Everyone else thinks I had a mild case of viral meningitis.
            Well, DID is a brain thing, after all.
            **
            I missed some school, but not
            much, made it up quickly, so
            I'm not really behind. At Carol's
            **
            urging, I apologized to Mr. Lawler, who gave me an A for the semester.
            In fact, I managed a 3.5 GPA. All As.
            **
            Except PE. Can't have everything.
            Drama? The play went perfectly.
            We brought 'em to their feet.
            **
            I still hate Madison, avoid her when I can. But I don't get in her face. The game has lost its appeal.
            560

            
              I Cringe
            
            If I see Ty or Mick, who I guess
            walked until he found his truck and never said a word to anyone,
            **
            Ty is the only other person who might suspect DID. But there are lots of reasons for him to keep quiet.
            **
            Carol has helped me understand
            why I pushed myself into such explicit
            sexual behavior. It was programmed
            **
            into me when I was very small.
            Part of me hated it. Part of me
            couldn't help but enjoy it. Part.
            **
            I'm taking driver's training.
            When I'm ready, Grandma
            Charlotte will sign for my license.
            **
            One cool thing. She and Grandpa
            Ted are talking again. Not like they're
            dating, but at least they're cordial.
            **
            I still work at the old folks' home, but only one day a week, mostly
            just to stay in touch with Greta.
            561

            
              She Is My Real Angel
            
            And the only one who understands the depth of Daddy's deceptions.
            Not even Carol knows firsthand
            how it feels to be hurt in such a way by someone who's supposed to protect you.
            **
            Greta is the one who convinced me
            I had to confront Daddy with every
            ugly truth, had to force him out of my
            
              life.
              If you don't, you will never

              begin to heal. And you can heal.

              **
            
            I didn't want him to go to prison.
            He probably would have pulled
            strings to avoid it, anyway. I didn't
            want to see him locked up. But
            more, I didn't want to testify
            **
            Didn't want the world to hear all the dirty details. Daddy checked
            himself into a pricey rehab, promised to get his head fixed.
            Not sure that's possible.
            **
            When he gets out, he'll move into an apartment in Santa Barbara.
            Thirty miles away. Not far enough.
            But it is what it is. I have not
            forgiven him. Not sure I ever will.
            562

            
              Ian Still Doesn't Know
            
            About Daddy. I just can't bring
            myself to tell him. He thinks
            **
            the stuff that happened is because of the accident. Childhood trauma.
            **
            Oh yes, one of many. But he doesn't
            need to know the worst of them.
            **
            Maybe one day I'll be able to let
            him that far in. But not yet.
            **
            For now, it's enough to have him in my life, to see him every day.
            **
            Grandma lets him come over, is good with us dating. Maybe
            **
            she knows we still don't have sex.
            Not ready yet. And he knows it.
            **
            We've come close. Lots of times.
            Can't help but get turned on by him.
            **
            I'm not a frigging saint. But when
            we do, I want it to be for all the right
            **
            reasons, and I won't know it's right until I get beyond all the wrongs.
            563

            
              I'd Like to Say
            
            I'm over my addictions.
            Not sure I ever will be completely.
            It's good that Grandma
            **
            is in the twelve-step program.
            She doesn't keep alcohol in the house.
            And, of course, the Oxy is gone.
            **
            I'll never do that stuff again.
            The withdrawal is killer. Never again.
            But I have to admit, I've smoked
            **
            a little bud. Not that much.
            I'd probably do more, but it's expensive.
            And now it's cash-and-carry.
            **
            I still use food for comfort.
            I still purge when I get too comfortable.
            And once in a while, when
            **
            memory intrudes, I still
            enjoy a good, deep shave. Oh, come on.
            I never said I was perfect.
            564

            
              When I Do Those Things
            
            When I use or purge or cut,
            I'm still not myself. Maybe
            I just use her as an excuse to do them, but I feel as if
            she
            takes over then. The only
            difference is, I'm aware of her. I never used to be.
            I'm not sure if I
            will
            remember everything I did as Raeanne. I'm not sure
            I want to, though Carol thinks
            I need to try. And hey, I could
            always
            blame Daddy. He's my forever
            scapegoat, really. Okay, that's not so healthy. But totally healthy is something I might not ever
            be.
            One thing for sure. I will break the abuse cycle. It stops with me.
            My children will not live in fear.
            I will create a home of nurture and love, and raise them safely
            there.
            565

            
              And I'll Be Watching

              Watching her. Watching out
              for
              her. And if the time comes she needs complete escape,
            
            I
            will walk for her. Talk for her.
            Take punishment in her place.
            Some things don't need to be
            remembered. And I
            will
            hold on to those things for her.
            Carol believes she can make
            me go away, and I'll pretend to let her do her job. But I will
            always
            be the strongest part of Kaeleigh, so I can't let her dispose of me.
            I'll stay quiet, no more than a dark
            shadow inside. That's what I'll
            be.
            A silhouette, rarely seen, and yet believed in. Kaeleigh wants to believe in me. I am her twin, forever alive inside her. And
            when she needs me, I am always
            here.