The Other Sister, page 15
There, at the bottom of the gully, I feel my father’s understanding wrap around me like his arms do. He wanted me to kill her, to free her, and the rest of us, from her suffering and addiction. I pull back from our embrace, so I can look into those eyes that have no limit. I want to see love in them. After everything that he has done and I have done. With the ghost of my mother already dissolving into the earth, I still want him to love me.
This is the thing I can never explain, not even to myself. This is why I couldn’t trust myself with Tyler. Because what kind of sick fuck could stand in such a place and need the love of such a man?
That’s not even the worst part. The worst part is knowing that if he’d given me even a hint of affection just then, I would have stayed. I would have become like Marie. And for exactly the same reason.
In the present, in the old house, I am saying, “You got everything wrong, Dad. And you didn’t even know it.”
“Geraldine.” Marie’s voice is light as silk. “You need to stop this.”
Dad and I both turn. My sister has drawn herself up and holds her purse neatly in front of her. Her expression is perfectly composed, patient, and just a little sad.
This is the Marie our father crafted. The one who will quietly bundle her whole life into a box and send it away because it does not suit his purposes. The one who could stand on the steps in the dark and lie about the woman who saved her life.
The sight of her hurts worse than any bruise.
“Geraldine, I came down here to ask you to see reason and come back to the Rose House,” Marie tells me. “I was going to tell you how worried Dad and Robbie are. I thought that if you didn’t care about my feelings, you might just care about theirs.”
I try to let this slide off me. She has to do this. It’s what the script calls for.
Now. It’s my turn.
“You always were on his side,” I sneer, and wipe my palms on my jeans again. “But let’s talk about the elephant in the room, shall we? Neither one of you has any idea how much Mom told me before she died, or how much I’m going to be able to prove. That’s why you really came down here, isn’t it, Marie? To try to keep crazy, junkie loser Geraldine from derailing the Monroe family gravy train.”
Our eyes lock. The silent waves of understanding surge between us—sister to sister, heart to heart, fear to fear.
“You’re scared that I’ve found out just how long Dad’s been playing with other people’s money. Starting with how he got that first mortgage on this place when his name wasn’t even on the title.”
Dad decides this has gone on long enough. “Your sister does not deserve this treatment, Geraldine.”
“No,” I admit. “But you do.”
Two white spots appear on his taut, tanned cheeks.
“You made me responsible for Mom,” I remind him, sliding the knife in as easy and slick as I can. “I was seven years old. Seven. And when she drank, when she passed out, I either got her hidden away or I got punished. I missed school. I ran that goddamned store so we could have enough to live on while you were busy swindling the entire fucking town.” I lean in. My father doesn’t move. He’s as still as a statue of himself, except for those eyes. Those eyes gleam and flicker back and forth, but they do not blink. Not once.
“You wanted to make me hate her.” My voice rasps against my throat. “Well, it worked. Congratulations. I’m one big ball of hate. But that doesn’t mean me and Mom didn’t talk. Maybe she even told me something the night she died. We were alone together for hours that day. Maybe that’s why I’m back. Maybe I can finally prove what you’ve done.”
“That’s it, Geraldine.” Marie’s words slice cleanly through the pause I’ve left. “I am not going to listen to this. The only reason you came home was to stir up trouble. You can…” She swallows. “You can just go right back to your college and leave us alone.”
She has to say this. She has to make sure Dad believes she’s on his side. But her words still press hard against me and the bones of my cruelty crumble.
I am thirteen and there is nothing inside me but a child’s burning hatred.
I am fifteen. I am blundering through the snow, dragging my sister with me, praying I am strong enough to get us to shelter, even if shelter is the witch’s house.
I am seventeen. I am at the family gravesites, in the lake, in the freshly abandoned house, leaving my confession behind. I finally know all that I am, and all I am not.
I am forty-two. I am here, now, in my empty home. I lift my gaze to my father, to show him a glimpse of the labyrinth he has helped to build inside his daughter’s soul.
But Dad doesn’t feel the need to look at me anymore. He walks to Marie and laces his fingers through hers.
“We should go, Marie.”
She presses the side of her free hand under her nose so she won’t sniffle. Oh, wicked Geraldine. You’re making your good sister cry.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “Really, Marie. I am.”
Marie shifts her feet, just a little, like she’s going to step toward me, but, of course, Dad doesn’t let her go.
“Robbie’s graduation is Sunday,” she reminds me.
“Do you want me to stay away?”
She is careful to glance at Dad before she speaks. “I want…I’m sorry, Geraldine. I…Robbie is looking forward to you being there, but you can’t keep acting like this.”
“I’m sorry,” I say again.
“I wish I could believe that.”
Dad puts his arm around Marie’s shoulders and steers her toward the door. How disappointing this is for him. He hates to have to choose between his daughters, but I’ve forced this on us all.
The screenless door slams behind them. As soon as it does, I move. Ludicrously afraid of being heard, I run on my tiptoes into the room that used to be Dad’s office. The window is open in here, just a little, not enough so anyone would notice.
I press my ear to the frame, hold my breath and listen to the voices drift in from the old parking lot.
“Marie, what just happened in there?”
“Nothing, Dad, really. It was just Geraldine…”
“Don’t tell me that was just Geraldine being Geraldine. She’s been talking to you, hasn’t she? You’ve been listening to her lies.”
“I’m just trying to do what you asked, Dad. I came down to talk to her. To tell her she can’t make trouble at Robbie’s party.”
“But you never got around to disinviting her until I was there to see you do it.”
“Dad, we all love Geraldine despite everything. You didn’t have to come down, but you did. And you brought groceries.”
My sister is trying some gentle teasing, to remind Dad that we are all family. Of course he cares about me, and so does she. Blood’s thicker, isn’t it? Even when it’s spilled on the stairs and on the snow.
“Marie, what did Geraldine really say to you?”
“About what?”
“Those accusations of hers. Did she tell you anything? Did she try to convince you…? Oh, my poor baby girl. She did, didn’t she? What did she say?”
“Nothing, Dad. Really. We barely had time to exchange two words before you got there.”
“Marie, don’t you trust me? Please. You can’t tell me Geraldine’s finally going to get between us.”
Marie doesn’t answer him. Marie doesn’t answer for a long time.
Dad says something I can’t hear. So does Marie.
It’ll be all right, I tell myself. Marie’s got it handled. I mean, she told me to go ahead.
In my mind’s eye, I see her mouth moving again, shaping that one word. Fear stops my heart cold.
Now I can hear him. I can hear the shock, and the horror.
“You believe all this crap Geraldine has been spilling,” Dad says. “You believe I actually had my own daughter beaten up, that I killed…that I killed…”
Your brother. Your wife. Her sister.
But he’s not angry. Oh, no. He’s disappointed, and that’s so much worse.
“No, Dad,” says Marie. “I tried to get her to talk to me about what happened to her face. But she just said she fell in the woods and promised that she’d stick with that story no matter who else asked.”
“That’s what she said? Those words? That she’d stick with that story?”
My heart starts again, pounding so my face throbs in time.
“Yes, Dad. That’s exactly what she said.”
Maybe there’s more between them, but their voices are lost under the rush of the wind. Eventually, I hear the sound of one car door opening, and an engine, and tires on gravel. My strength drains away and I slump down until I’m kneeling on the floor underneath the window, listening to my sister, and then my father, drive away, back up to the Rose House, where I don’t know what he’ll say or what she’ll do.
Because I might have moved too fast, I might have said too much.
But Marie told me now. I was so sure she said now.
Unless she said no.
As has been noted, if you’re a heroine in a fairy tale, your life is going to be defined by some truly terrible parenting decisions. But it makes a difference whether those decisions are made by your mother figure or your father.
If you do what your father says, you end up with a happily ever after.
Even if he wants you to go live with the monster he robbed.
Even if he wants you to stand in the yard and wait for the devil to come take you away.
Even if he wants you to hold still while he cuts off your hands, because the devil told him to.
But you do what your mother wants—
Go with the huntsman, dear.
Go gather the strawberries, dear.
Cut off a piece of your foot so the shoe fits, dear.
—You just end up dead.
—Out of the Woods: Musings on Fairy Tales
in the Real World, Dr. Geraldine Monroe
GERALDINE, THIRTEEN YEARS OLD
STACEY B’S SANDWICHES AND STUFF
1.
Geraldine had a system.
She laid out the white bread in a double line down the counter. Groups of five. Egg salads first. Then salami and cheese. Then roast beef and mayonnaise. Then PB&J. Smear, slap, slice, wrap, done.
Geraldine Monroe, super sandwich spreader. She tried to make a joke out of it, but she never really could. She looked at the clock. The school bus was coming in ten minutes. Marie, of course, had driven with Dad. Marie was getting her learner’s permit and now she drove Dad every morning. Geraldine asked once to ride along, but Dad said he was afraid she’d be a distraction. Marie, he said, needed to concentrate. Now, if Geraldine missed the bus, she’d have to ride her bike, and then she’d miss first hour, which would be better than missing the whole day, again, and having to sit and listen to Stick-up-the-Butt Stucholtz go on about responsibility, but…
The screen door creaked. Geraldine jerked around so hard she almost fell off the footstool.
It was Mom. Her hair was damp and her T-shirt stuck to her. It was like she’d tried to take a shower but hadn’t been able to dry off all the way. She walked carefully, softly. Geraldine swallowed and turned back to the sandwiches. Ten done. Ten to go. Ten minutes for the bus. She could do this.
Mom came behind the counter, a whole cloud of tobacco and lavender soap coming with her.
“The store looks good, G,” she said.
“Thanks.” Geraldine dug the knife into the mayonnaise jar, smearing the bread, white on white.
“I mean it,” Mom said, a little more loudly, in case she hadn’t heard. “You’ve been doing a great job. I…don’t expect you’ve been getting a lot of help.”
Geraldine clenched her teeth. If she answered that, she was going to cry or scream, and she didn’t want to do either. She peeled slices of roast beef off the mound and laid them on the mayonnaised side of the bread and started slapping the lids on.
“You shouldn’t have to do that.”
“It’s okay.”
“Let me help you.”
“I said it’s okay.”
“I said I’m helping.” Mom started gathering up the bread slices and the jar of peanut butter.
“Leave it alone!”
Mom stared at her. Geraldine braced herself, her heart pounding, but she wasn’t sure what for.
Mom lifted up her hands, and everything fell. The bread bounced onto the counter and the giant industrial-sized jar of peanut butter hit the floor.
Geraldine stared at it all and then, without thinking, without wishing or wanting or even anger, she jumped off the stool and sprinted for the door, grabbing up her backpack as she ran past. She crossed the parking lot and made it to the shoulder of the road, but it was too late. The bus was already on the top of the hill, and then it was gone.
Just go, she told herself. Just get your bike and go.
But the sandwiches weren’t done and the register wasn’t open and Mom was in rough shape, and…and…and a thousand other ands. And she hated them all, and she was still turning around and slouching back into the store and flopping the sign from CLOSED to OPEN.
Mom was sitting on a stack of Coke cases with her head buried in her hands. She looked up as Geraldine came back around the counter. Tears streamed down her face and strands of white hair stuck to her cheeks.
“I’m sorry, G. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay, Mom,” said Geraldine. The words were automatic. Meaningless. She tried to tell herself she didn’t want to go to school anyway. What was one more day? Everybody there was lame. School was lame.
She picked up the peanut butter jar and found a towel to wipe off the lip. No hurry now.
Mom watched her, but didn’t try to help anymore. “What’s happened to me? I wanted…I thought once I got out of that house, it’d all get better. I didn’t even make it out of town…” She ground the heel of her hand into her eyes. “I’ve screwed up so bad.”
Geraldine knew she wanted reassurance. It’ll be okay. I love you. It’s not your fault.
Geraldine couldn’t sound out any of those words. Not now. Instead, she turned away and started picking up the scattered bread slices and tossing them back into the wrapper. She’d put them out for the birds, or just hide them in their room, because you never knew.
“I wanted to do better,” Mom said. “I’ve been trying.”
Geraldine couldn’t even look at her.
“Can you keep a secret?”
Geraldine’s hand stopped halfway to the last slice. “What do you mean?”
“I mean can you keep a secret, G?”
Don’t listen, Geraldine tried to tell herself. Finish up. Just let her talk.
But she wasn’t that strong. She turned and saw how Mom leaned forward, her elbows on her knees. Geraldine looked into her eyes for a long time. They were red-rimmed but clear. The real Mom had surfaced above the pills and the beer, at least for now.
“We’ve got a plan to get out of here.”
Geraldine had to play that over in her head a few times. It wasn’t easy. Her thoughts seemed to have gone sludgy. Which was stupid. After all, Geraldine had thought about running away, sometimes.
But that was in her own head. Mom saying it out loud somehow made it sound more nuts and less nuts at the same time.
“We’ve got a plan?” Geraldine said finally.
“Me,” Mom croaked, her hands rubbed together faster. “And Pete. And Trish.”
Geraldine’s heart was hammering. She had to turn away, and fumble with the stupid plastic tab that held the bread wrapper shut. So she could breathe, so she could calm down. She was not going to cry. This was stupid.
“Where are you going?”
“Indianapolis. Pete’s working on patching things up with Florence. They’ve got a house. As soon as she says okay, we can stay with them while we sort things out.”
“Oh.”
There was noise behind her. Rustling. The squeak of damp sneakers on the tile. The smell—Ivory soap and tobacco and beer. Mom’s cool hands on her shoulders. “You’re coming with us, G.”
I can’t handle this. I can’t. I have to…I need to…
What? She didn’t even know. Her ideas broke to bits before she could even think them. Geraldine turned and looked up into her mother’s exhausted eyes.
Mom nodded. She meant it.
“What about Marie?” Geraldine asked.
“She’ll be fine. She’s got her dad.”
“What do you mean her dad?”
Mom started itching the back of her right hand, hard. “Well, he hasn’t exactly been a real dad to you, has he? It’s you and me, G. And we are getting out of here. I promise.” Her head drooped. “Jesus. I’m sorry. I gotta…I gotta go lie down.”
She stumbled as she turned, and slapped one hand against the counter to steady herself. Geraldine watched her, uncertain what to do, or what to feel.
Don’t do this, she begged silently. Don’t tell me we’re running away and then fall down. Please, please don’t.
Mom levered herself upright but did not turn around. “You can trust them, okay?”
“I don’t get it.”
“Trish, and Pete, G! Trish and Pete.” She bit her lip and her voice wobbled as she tried to get it under control. “If anything…bad happens. If I can’t…If I don’t…you can trust them, okay?”
“Yeah, okay.” But it wasn’t.
“Come find me when you’re finished, okay?” said Mom. “I’ll drive you to school.”
“Sure.”
Geraldine turned back to the counter and the unfinished sandwiches.
Don’t think about it, she told herself. It’s not real. It can’t be real. Mom just says stuff she wants to be true. That’s all.
But Mom’s words wouldn’t leave her.
Her Dad. Geraldine’s hands shook as she dug the knife into peanut butter.
She’d always looked different from the rest of the family. They were all skinny and blond, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. At thirteen years old, Geraldine was round enough that the kids at school called her the Pillsbury Dough Girl, and the Monroe cousins liked to show off their fake concern by giving her magazines with the diet plans bookmarked.
This is the thing I can never explain, not even to myself. This is why I couldn’t trust myself with Tyler. Because what kind of sick fuck could stand in such a place and need the love of such a man?
That’s not even the worst part. The worst part is knowing that if he’d given me even a hint of affection just then, I would have stayed. I would have become like Marie. And for exactly the same reason.
In the present, in the old house, I am saying, “You got everything wrong, Dad. And you didn’t even know it.”
“Geraldine.” Marie’s voice is light as silk. “You need to stop this.”
Dad and I both turn. My sister has drawn herself up and holds her purse neatly in front of her. Her expression is perfectly composed, patient, and just a little sad.
This is the Marie our father crafted. The one who will quietly bundle her whole life into a box and send it away because it does not suit his purposes. The one who could stand on the steps in the dark and lie about the woman who saved her life.
The sight of her hurts worse than any bruise.
“Geraldine, I came down here to ask you to see reason and come back to the Rose House,” Marie tells me. “I was going to tell you how worried Dad and Robbie are. I thought that if you didn’t care about my feelings, you might just care about theirs.”
I try to let this slide off me. She has to do this. It’s what the script calls for.
Now. It’s my turn.
“You always were on his side,” I sneer, and wipe my palms on my jeans again. “But let’s talk about the elephant in the room, shall we? Neither one of you has any idea how much Mom told me before she died, or how much I’m going to be able to prove. That’s why you really came down here, isn’t it, Marie? To try to keep crazy, junkie loser Geraldine from derailing the Monroe family gravy train.”
Our eyes lock. The silent waves of understanding surge between us—sister to sister, heart to heart, fear to fear.
“You’re scared that I’ve found out just how long Dad’s been playing with other people’s money. Starting with how he got that first mortgage on this place when his name wasn’t even on the title.”
Dad decides this has gone on long enough. “Your sister does not deserve this treatment, Geraldine.”
“No,” I admit. “But you do.”
Two white spots appear on his taut, tanned cheeks.
“You made me responsible for Mom,” I remind him, sliding the knife in as easy and slick as I can. “I was seven years old. Seven. And when she drank, when she passed out, I either got her hidden away or I got punished. I missed school. I ran that goddamned store so we could have enough to live on while you were busy swindling the entire fucking town.” I lean in. My father doesn’t move. He’s as still as a statue of himself, except for those eyes. Those eyes gleam and flicker back and forth, but they do not blink. Not once.
“You wanted to make me hate her.” My voice rasps against my throat. “Well, it worked. Congratulations. I’m one big ball of hate. But that doesn’t mean me and Mom didn’t talk. Maybe she even told me something the night she died. We were alone together for hours that day. Maybe that’s why I’m back. Maybe I can finally prove what you’ve done.”
“That’s it, Geraldine.” Marie’s words slice cleanly through the pause I’ve left. “I am not going to listen to this. The only reason you came home was to stir up trouble. You can…” She swallows. “You can just go right back to your college and leave us alone.”
She has to say this. She has to make sure Dad believes she’s on his side. But her words still press hard against me and the bones of my cruelty crumble.
I am thirteen and there is nothing inside me but a child’s burning hatred.
I am fifteen. I am blundering through the snow, dragging my sister with me, praying I am strong enough to get us to shelter, even if shelter is the witch’s house.
I am seventeen. I am at the family gravesites, in the lake, in the freshly abandoned house, leaving my confession behind. I finally know all that I am, and all I am not.
I am forty-two. I am here, now, in my empty home. I lift my gaze to my father, to show him a glimpse of the labyrinth he has helped to build inside his daughter’s soul.
But Dad doesn’t feel the need to look at me anymore. He walks to Marie and laces his fingers through hers.
“We should go, Marie.”
She presses the side of her free hand under her nose so she won’t sniffle. Oh, wicked Geraldine. You’re making your good sister cry.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “Really, Marie. I am.”
Marie shifts her feet, just a little, like she’s going to step toward me, but, of course, Dad doesn’t let her go.
“Robbie’s graduation is Sunday,” she reminds me.
“Do you want me to stay away?”
She is careful to glance at Dad before she speaks. “I want…I’m sorry, Geraldine. I…Robbie is looking forward to you being there, but you can’t keep acting like this.”
“I’m sorry,” I say again.
“I wish I could believe that.”
Dad puts his arm around Marie’s shoulders and steers her toward the door. How disappointing this is for him. He hates to have to choose between his daughters, but I’ve forced this on us all.
The screenless door slams behind them. As soon as it does, I move. Ludicrously afraid of being heard, I run on my tiptoes into the room that used to be Dad’s office. The window is open in here, just a little, not enough so anyone would notice.
I press my ear to the frame, hold my breath and listen to the voices drift in from the old parking lot.
“Marie, what just happened in there?”
“Nothing, Dad, really. It was just Geraldine…”
“Don’t tell me that was just Geraldine being Geraldine. She’s been talking to you, hasn’t she? You’ve been listening to her lies.”
“I’m just trying to do what you asked, Dad. I came down to talk to her. To tell her she can’t make trouble at Robbie’s party.”
“But you never got around to disinviting her until I was there to see you do it.”
“Dad, we all love Geraldine despite everything. You didn’t have to come down, but you did. And you brought groceries.”
My sister is trying some gentle teasing, to remind Dad that we are all family. Of course he cares about me, and so does she. Blood’s thicker, isn’t it? Even when it’s spilled on the stairs and on the snow.
“Marie, what did Geraldine really say to you?”
“About what?”
“Those accusations of hers. Did she tell you anything? Did she try to convince you…? Oh, my poor baby girl. She did, didn’t she? What did she say?”
“Nothing, Dad. Really. We barely had time to exchange two words before you got there.”
“Marie, don’t you trust me? Please. You can’t tell me Geraldine’s finally going to get between us.”
Marie doesn’t answer him. Marie doesn’t answer for a long time.
Dad says something I can’t hear. So does Marie.
It’ll be all right, I tell myself. Marie’s got it handled. I mean, she told me to go ahead.
In my mind’s eye, I see her mouth moving again, shaping that one word. Fear stops my heart cold.
Now I can hear him. I can hear the shock, and the horror.
“You believe all this crap Geraldine has been spilling,” Dad says. “You believe I actually had my own daughter beaten up, that I killed…that I killed…”
Your brother. Your wife. Her sister.
But he’s not angry. Oh, no. He’s disappointed, and that’s so much worse.
“No, Dad,” says Marie. “I tried to get her to talk to me about what happened to her face. But she just said she fell in the woods and promised that she’d stick with that story no matter who else asked.”
“That’s what she said? Those words? That she’d stick with that story?”
My heart starts again, pounding so my face throbs in time.
“Yes, Dad. That’s exactly what she said.”
Maybe there’s more between them, but their voices are lost under the rush of the wind. Eventually, I hear the sound of one car door opening, and an engine, and tires on gravel. My strength drains away and I slump down until I’m kneeling on the floor underneath the window, listening to my sister, and then my father, drive away, back up to the Rose House, where I don’t know what he’ll say or what she’ll do.
Because I might have moved too fast, I might have said too much.
But Marie told me now. I was so sure she said now.
Unless she said no.
As has been noted, if you’re a heroine in a fairy tale, your life is going to be defined by some truly terrible parenting decisions. But it makes a difference whether those decisions are made by your mother figure or your father.
If you do what your father says, you end up with a happily ever after.
Even if he wants you to go live with the monster he robbed.
Even if he wants you to stand in the yard and wait for the devil to come take you away.
Even if he wants you to hold still while he cuts off your hands, because the devil told him to.
But you do what your mother wants—
Go with the huntsman, dear.
Go gather the strawberries, dear.
Cut off a piece of your foot so the shoe fits, dear.
—You just end up dead.
—Out of the Woods: Musings on Fairy Tales
in the Real World, Dr. Geraldine Monroe
GERALDINE, THIRTEEN YEARS OLD
STACEY B’S SANDWICHES AND STUFF
1.
Geraldine had a system.
She laid out the white bread in a double line down the counter. Groups of five. Egg salads first. Then salami and cheese. Then roast beef and mayonnaise. Then PB&J. Smear, slap, slice, wrap, done.
Geraldine Monroe, super sandwich spreader. She tried to make a joke out of it, but she never really could. She looked at the clock. The school bus was coming in ten minutes. Marie, of course, had driven with Dad. Marie was getting her learner’s permit and now she drove Dad every morning. Geraldine asked once to ride along, but Dad said he was afraid she’d be a distraction. Marie, he said, needed to concentrate. Now, if Geraldine missed the bus, she’d have to ride her bike, and then she’d miss first hour, which would be better than missing the whole day, again, and having to sit and listen to Stick-up-the-Butt Stucholtz go on about responsibility, but…
The screen door creaked. Geraldine jerked around so hard she almost fell off the footstool.
It was Mom. Her hair was damp and her T-shirt stuck to her. It was like she’d tried to take a shower but hadn’t been able to dry off all the way. She walked carefully, softly. Geraldine swallowed and turned back to the sandwiches. Ten done. Ten to go. Ten minutes for the bus. She could do this.
Mom came behind the counter, a whole cloud of tobacco and lavender soap coming with her.
“The store looks good, G,” she said.
“Thanks.” Geraldine dug the knife into the mayonnaise jar, smearing the bread, white on white.
“I mean it,” Mom said, a little more loudly, in case she hadn’t heard. “You’ve been doing a great job. I…don’t expect you’ve been getting a lot of help.”
Geraldine clenched her teeth. If she answered that, she was going to cry or scream, and she didn’t want to do either. She peeled slices of roast beef off the mound and laid them on the mayonnaised side of the bread and started slapping the lids on.
“You shouldn’t have to do that.”
“It’s okay.”
“Let me help you.”
“I said it’s okay.”
“I said I’m helping.” Mom started gathering up the bread slices and the jar of peanut butter.
“Leave it alone!”
Mom stared at her. Geraldine braced herself, her heart pounding, but she wasn’t sure what for.
Mom lifted up her hands, and everything fell. The bread bounced onto the counter and the giant industrial-sized jar of peanut butter hit the floor.
Geraldine stared at it all and then, without thinking, without wishing or wanting or even anger, she jumped off the stool and sprinted for the door, grabbing up her backpack as she ran past. She crossed the parking lot and made it to the shoulder of the road, but it was too late. The bus was already on the top of the hill, and then it was gone.
Just go, she told herself. Just get your bike and go.
But the sandwiches weren’t done and the register wasn’t open and Mom was in rough shape, and…and…and a thousand other ands. And she hated them all, and she was still turning around and slouching back into the store and flopping the sign from CLOSED to OPEN.
Mom was sitting on a stack of Coke cases with her head buried in her hands. She looked up as Geraldine came back around the counter. Tears streamed down her face and strands of white hair stuck to her cheeks.
“I’m sorry, G. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay, Mom,” said Geraldine. The words were automatic. Meaningless. She tried to tell herself she didn’t want to go to school anyway. What was one more day? Everybody there was lame. School was lame.
She picked up the peanut butter jar and found a towel to wipe off the lip. No hurry now.
Mom watched her, but didn’t try to help anymore. “What’s happened to me? I wanted…I thought once I got out of that house, it’d all get better. I didn’t even make it out of town…” She ground the heel of her hand into her eyes. “I’ve screwed up so bad.”
Geraldine knew she wanted reassurance. It’ll be okay. I love you. It’s not your fault.
Geraldine couldn’t sound out any of those words. Not now. Instead, she turned away and started picking up the scattered bread slices and tossing them back into the wrapper. She’d put them out for the birds, or just hide them in their room, because you never knew.
“I wanted to do better,” Mom said. “I’ve been trying.”
Geraldine couldn’t even look at her.
“Can you keep a secret?”
Geraldine’s hand stopped halfway to the last slice. “What do you mean?”
“I mean can you keep a secret, G?”
Don’t listen, Geraldine tried to tell herself. Finish up. Just let her talk.
But she wasn’t that strong. She turned and saw how Mom leaned forward, her elbows on her knees. Geraldine looked into her eyes for a long time. They were red-rimmed but clear. The real Mom had surfaced above the pills and the beer, at least for now.
“We’ve got a plan to get out of here.”
Geraldine had to play that over in her head a few times. It wasn’t easy. Her thoughts seemed to have gone sludgy. Which was stupid. After all, Geraldine had thought about running away, sometimes.
But that was in her own head. Mom saying it out loud somehow made it sound more nuts and less nuts at the same time.
“We’ve got a plan?” Geraldine said finally.
“Me,” Mom croaked, her hands rubbed together faster. “And Pete. And Trish.”
Geraldine’s heart was hammering. She had to turn away, and fumble with the stupid plastic tab that held the bread wrapper shut. So she could breathe, so she could calm down. She was not going to cry. This was stupid.
“Where are you going?”
“Indianapolis. Pete’s working on patching things up with Florence. They’ve got a house. As soon as she says okay, we can stay with them while we sort things out.”
“Oh.”
There was noise behind her. Rustling. The squeak of damp sneakers on the tile. The smell—Ivory soap and tobacco and beer. Mom’s cool hands on her shoulders. “You’re coming with us, G.”
I can’t handle this. I can’t. I have to…I need to…
What? She didn’t even know. Her ideas broke to bits before she could even think them. Geraldine turned and looked up into her mother’s exhausted eyes.
Mom nodded. She meant it.
“What about Marie?” Geraldine asked.
“She’ll be fine. She’s got her dad.”
“What do you mean her dad?”
Mom started itching the back of her right hand, hard. “Well, he hasn’t exactly been a real dad to you, has he? It’s you and me, G. And we are getting out of here. I promise.” Her head drooped. “Jesus. I’m sorry. I gotta…I gotta go lie down.”
She stumbled as she turned, and slapped one hand against the counter to steady herself. Geraldine watched her, uncertain what to do, or what to feel.
Don’t do this, she begged silently. Don’t tell me we’re running away and then fall down. Please, please don’t.
Mom levered herself upright but did not turn around. “You can trust them, okay?”
“I don’t get it.”
“Trish, and Pete, G! Trish and Pete.” She bit her lip and her voice wobbled as she tried to get it under control. “If anything…bad happens. If I can’t…If I don’t…you can trust them, okay?”
“Yeah, okay.” But it wasn’t.
“Come find me when you’re finished, okay?” said Mom. “I’ll drive you to school.”
“Sure.”
Geraldine turned back to the counter and the unfinished sandwiches.
Don’t think about it, she told herself. It’s not real. It can’t be real. Mom just says stuff she wants to be true. That’s all.
But Mom’s words wouldn’t leave her.
Her Dad. Geraldine’s hands shook as she dug the knife into peanut butter.
She’d always looked different from the rest of the family. They were all skinny and blond, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. At thirteen years old, Geraldine was round enough that the kids at school called her the Pillsbury Dough Girl, and the Monroe cousins liked to show off their fake concern by giving her magazines with the diet plans bookmarked.
