My mother had been a chameleon and for seven years she’d worn one appearance: mother. She had fit the role so well it was hard for me to wrap my head around her being anything but perfect. Before I was seven, my memories of her were all good and happy—what they should have been. Maybe that's why it had blindsided me so much when one day she’d packed her bags and explained that she couldn't live with us any more. She didn't want to be married, she didn't want to be a mother—she wanted her freedom.
It was springtime when my mother had left us for the first time. I was seven. It was hard to know what was going on then—when my mother walked out that day, my dad gave me a G-rated version of the truth—but now that I'd had eleven years to study the memories and form them into coherent events, it all made sense.
Freedom.
At the time, I was confused about why she couldn’t have freedom with us, and then I realized that freedom was a euphemism, and a poor one at that. To her, freedom represented everything she had been forced to give up because of me—partying, and pills, and strange men.
I’d tried hard to get her to stay that day.
I ran out of the house after her, but my dad held me back. I screamed for her out on our porch stairs as she lugged two broken suitcases toward the old black Camaro waiting for her at the end of our driveway. The car rumbled so loudly that at first, I thought she couldn’t hear me crying. I screamed louder as she loaded the suitcases in the backseat and the guy sitting behind the wheel turned to stare at me. He dangled a cigarette between his fingers and I could see the dark tattoos snaked around his arm. He had a black baseball hat pulled low, covering his eyes, and after my mom slid into the passenger seat beside him, he drove that car away as fast as possible, squealing his tires on the pavement.
My mother had never turned back.
The memory of that day faded as I rounded the corner to see my house sitting empty and quiet. Nothing had changed. I could still picture the black Camaro in the driveway even though the tire marks had faded years ago.
I walked up the front path, ready to ascend the rickety stairs, when suddenly, I hesitated. There was nothing for me inside that house. My dad and Chase were both at baseball practice. I had no homework and no new secrets to revel in. I had nothing to distract myself from old memories. I reached for my phone and texted Trent out of impulse.
Lilah: Are you home?
After I hit send, I turned and sat down at the foot of the porch stairs, trying to get the image of my mother out of my mind. A second later, my phone buzzed.
Trent: About to be. Come over, my mom is working a double.
I knew I was running from my past as I pushed off the porch and started to head in the direction of Trent's house. I knew it, and yet I didn't care. I wanted a temporary salve and that's what he would be.
It was a short walk to the poor neighborhood across Main Street. Trent was waiting for me when I reached his old bungalow house. He kicked the screen door open and shot me a knowing glance as I walked up the gravel path. A stray tabby cat crossed in front of me, starring up at me with nervous eyes.
“Just couldn't stay away?” he asked with a charming smirk. I wanted to tell him how little he meant to me—to wipe that smirk right off his face—but I shrugged and moved past him through the doorway. The scent of mildew hit me right away.
“Want to smoke?” he asked, already heading to find his stash.
“I'm fine. Let's just go to your room. I have to be back before my dad gets home from practice. He wants to eat dinner as a family.”
My dad wouldn’t care if I was late, but the excuse would justify my quick departure.
I dropped my backpack in the front entry and followed him to his room, trying to ignore the sadness that emanated from his quiet house. I knew Trent's world was marred with memories just as terrible as mine. He never talked about his dad, but everyone gossips in a small town, and no one can resist the juicy details of a parent’s early departure. I knew that better than anyone.
We moved through his dark house until we reached his room. The stench of ancient smoke was impossible to miss. There were yellow stains across the carpet of indiscernible origins and posters covering every available surface of his walls. When I reached his bed, I kicked off my shoes and fell back onto the worn sheets. Trent followed me into his room and sat at his desk to light up.
If I held my breath, I could pretend his sheets smelled like the shower gel that had appeared in our upstairs bathroom upon Chase's arrival. I'd used it that morning on a whim, wanting to see if his scent could rub off on me.
It wasn't the sex that kept me going back to guys like Trent; that part wasn’t even that great. It was afterward, when we lay in bed. For a few minutes I pretended that I was a girl that was loved and could love. I pretended that instead of another sad kid—a nameless guy—they were my soulmate, a boy I'd known my whole life.
I tried to push the sadness away. I didn't know why it was hitting me there of all places. I was supposed to be there to run from my memories, but even when I closed my eyes and fisted Trent's sheets between my fingers, I had the sudden urge to scream.
Shit.
I had to get out.
I pushed off his bed and went to grab my shoes.
“Where are you going?” he asked, spinning in his desk chair, not bothering to pause rolling his joint.
“Sorry, I totally spaced. My dad is getting home early today. I'll see you at school,” I stammered before leaving his room. I retrieved my backpack from the entry, forced my Converse on, and pushed through the screen door.
The smell of spring hit me again and I squeezed my eyes closed. In late January, the air was crisp and clean. None of the humid heat that swept in during the summer had made an appearance yet. I longed for that humidity. I longed for the stifling heat. It meant I had three whole seasons to prepare myself before spring came again.
…
When I got home, I leaned back on the dead grass in my backyard, crossed my legs, and stared out at the remnants of the garden positioned behind our small cottage house. My dad had already fixed up the flowerbeds. The wood was mismatched, new and old, fresh and worn. There were eight beds in total and if I planned them out right, I could fill every last inch of them with seeds.
I scribbled down combinations in my journal, each one specifically chosen for companion growing. Tansy and roses grow well together because tansy attracts ladybugs and ladybugs eat aphids before they can harm the roses. Onions grown near carrots usually keep away the rust flies and broccoli paired with cucumbers helps to repel beetles. There were more combinations, hundreds and hundreds, but my mom had only taught me a few before she’d left.
Harvey lay sprawled in the grass beside me, content to bask in the late evening sun as I patted his belly. I was still trying to recall more planting combinations when a shadow fell over my notebook. I glanced up to find Chase standing there, his blond hair damp with sweat. Unless I could find planting techniques tattooed across his arms, there was no reason to keep staring at him, but I hadn’t seen his body up close in years. He hardly looked like the boy I’d grown up with. That kid had been scrawny and tall. The Chase standing beside me was suddenly a man.
“What are you two doing?” he asked, jarring me out of my intense staring contest with his biceps. When I scanned up to his face, he was wearing a playful smile and the glint in his hazel eyes told me he knew exactly what I'd been doing.
“Planning out my beds,” I answered simply before staring back down at my notebook.
He bent to greet Harvey and the dog went crazy, licking and wagging his tail now that his best friend was home.
“I’m pretty good with a shovel if you need any help.”
I bit down on my lip, wondering if I'd have to take him up on his offer.
“Harvey’s pretty good at digging holes too,” he added.
I laughed and the sound surprised me. For a moment, I forgot the balance of the universe, but it didn’t last. Chase and I were no longer friends
and it had to stay that way.
I pushed off the ground and closed my notebook with a slap.
“I'm going to go start dinner,” I said before walking away.
I wanted everything to be simple, but every time I gave Chase a little bit more, a laugh or a smile, I felt guilt wrap around my neck like a vine, choking me inch by inch.
I texted Trent when I got to the kitchen.
Lilah: Sorry I left early today.
Trent: No problem. Are you going to Sasha's party this weekend?
Lilah: I hadn’t heard anything about it…
Trent: Well now you have. I’ll pick you and Ashley up on my way there.
Balance restored.
Chapter Eighteen
November 1997
Deer Valley, Texas
The first six months of Hannah’s pregnancy had been a lonely endeavor. There was only one OB/GYN in Blackwater and he had a heart for gossip, so Hannah had researched and found a doctor two towns away in Deer Valley. Her best friend always accompanied her to and from the doctor’s office, and it was on the return journey of her six-month checkup that Elaine had announced her news.
“I think I’m pregnant.”
Hannah’s jaw dropped. “What!? Seriously? With Chris?”
Elaine rolled her eyes. “Of course with Chris. Who else would—”
Hannah cut her off. “Have you done a test yet?”
Elaine glanced out the window and shook her head. “No.”
Hannah didn’t hesitate before booking Elaine an appointment at the OB/GYN in Deer Valley. They sat together in a dark exam room, the only light coming from the thin window on the door and the ancient ultrasound machine whirring beside the exam chair. Hannah stood to the side, clutching her friend’s hand. Elaine stared up at the ceiling, only catching bits and pieces of the appointment: the cold petroleum jelly slipping down her thigh, the scratchy paper covering the exam chair, the doctor’s quiet cadence as he explained that she was listening to her baby’s heartbeat for the first time.
“Elaine, did you hear the doctor? That’s the sound of her heart.”
“Her?” the doctor questioned, eyeing Hannah with an incredulous glare.
Hannah smiled and reached for her growing belly out of instinct. “Oh, it’s just that I’m having a baby boy, so we think—”
The doctor hit print on the ultrasound machine, interrupting her explanation. “She won’t know the gender for a few weeks.”
Hannah backpedaled. “Yes. Of course.”
The doctor flicked on the light in the exam room and Elaine blinked, trying to force her eyes to adjust to the brightness. He held out a photo for her to take and she realized she was seeing her baby for the first time—well, what she assumed was a baby. It could have been anything to her untrained eye. The doctor gave her orders to get dressed and meet him in his office, but Elaine sat immobile, mesmerized by the residual echoes of her baby’s heartbeat paired with the image in front of her. The fact that she was pregnant finally sank in; she was going to be a mom. She pressed her hand over her stomach and tried to keep from crying.
“I can’t believe we’re both going to be moms!” Hannah was elated with the news, bouncing around the room on a cloud that Elaine couldn’t see. It made perfect sense to her. They were soulmates, friends, sisters. They were supposed to walk through life arm in arm and that included experiencing motherhood together. “We’re young, but that’s okay. Our kids will grow up together and they’ll even be in the same grade. I think they’ll be—”
“Hannah,” Elaine cut in. “Do you think some women aren’t meant to be mothers?”
Hannah turned and shot her friend a skeptical glare. “What do you mean?”
Elaine furrowed her brows, choosing to stare at a spot on the ceiling rather than meeting her friend’s eyes. “Do you think someone with my past should really be responsible for a little life? I have no clue what I’m doing and my family wasn’t the best example to learn from.”
Hannah tossed Elaine’s clothes onto the exam table and threw her hands up in the air. “I don’t know what I’m doing either! I’m six months pregnant and I’m just as confused as you are.” She crossed the room and reached down to grip her friend’s hand. “We can do this together. We’ll have each other for support.”
Elaine wanted to believe her. Out of the two of them, Hannah was the eternal optimist, a purveyor of hope and possibility. In a perfect world, Hannah and Elaine would both be great mothers and just this once, Elaine wanted to believe in a perfect world.
She’d keep the baby.
Chapter Nineteen
Chase
By the time I finished hanging out with Brian after the second day back at school, the porch lights were on at the Calloways’ house. I let myself in and kicked off my dirty shoes, listening for any sound of life. The TV was on in the living room, but no one was watching it. I'd already eaten dinner at Brian's house, so I bypassed the kitchen and made my way for the stairs, hearing the faint sounds of music as soon as I reached the top.
Lilah was in her room with the door cracked and when I caught sight of her, I stopped dead in my tracks. She was sitting in the center of her queen bed with her homework sprawled out in front of her. Her hair was damp and combed away from her face. She was wearing one of her dad’s giant Blackwater Baseball t-shirts, and laying directly beside her—and looking pretty happy about it—was Harvey.
I knocked gently on the door and pushed it open another few inches. She paused flipping through her textbook and glanced up.
“Hi,” I offered, lamely.
Connor thought she looked like a sexy vampire, but this was always the best version of Lilah. Just her.
“Hi,” she said, eyeing Harvey and then glancing up to me.
The dog didn’t even make a move to greet me. He was all too happy to stay right where he was. Traitor.
I patted my thigh. “Harvey, c’mon, you need dinner.”
He didn’t budge.
Lilah put a tentative hand on him. “Oh, um, I didn't know when you'd be home so I fed him. It was the same amount I saw you feed him this morning.”
I relaxed back against the doorframe.
“Sorry if that was wrong. I just didn't want him to be hungry,” she continued.
Four sentences. Practically a paragraph of text. She hadn't said that much to me since she’d moved away. She could feed my dog every day if it meant she'd start to let me in again.
“Thanks,” I said, offering her a smile so she'd know that I meant it.
Her brown eyes held my stare for another moment before she tapped her pencil's eraser on the page of her book.
“I better get back to work,” she said.
“Need help?” I asked, eyeing the calculus set she was working through.
“Oh.” She paused, as if confused by my question, and then her eyes met mine. “No, actually, I’m working ahead.”
I smiled. Of course she was working ahead. She wanted out of this town as soon as possible.
I tapped my hand on the door, then headed to my room to work on the cameras. The box beneath my bed was practically overflowing with them. I’d had plans to repair a bunch of them over winter break, but the move had gotten in the way.
I rifled through them, trying my best to create an organized system of triage. A few of them only needed minor work: replacement lenses or rangefinder adjustments. I unwrapped those cameras and lined them up on the small desk in the corner of the room.
Mrs. Calloway’s boxes were still stacked beside the desk, but I ignored them and pulled my toolbox from beneath the bed as well. It wasn’t the ideal storage space, but the room was too small to store them anywhere else. I’d learned that the first night when I’d left them at the foot of my bed and stubbed my toe on the heavy metal toolbox in the middle of the night.
Once my tools were organized in neat rows, I took a seat and started working. I’d tried to get Connor and Brian into repairing cameras with me. The payout had them interested, but n
either one of them loved it the way I did. I think it was the randomness of it that got to them. Each camera was different and there was no simple formula to follow.
I finished up cleaning out an old Canon and then picked up my phone to call my dad. It wasn’t one of the numbers called often, so I scrolled through the contacts and hovered over the Ds. He hadn’t been home when I’d packed up my truck and left the house on Saturday. I’d figured he would have called by now, seeing as I hadn’t been home for the last four days, but there’d been nothing but radio silence.
I hit call, held my phone between my shoulder and ear, and kept working on the Canon. It rang a dozen or so times and then a generic voicemail kicked on. I hung up and tried the repair shop. No one answered there either, and when the answering machine picked up, it was too full to accept any new messages.
I threw my phone on my bed behind me and went back to work on the Canon. Five minutes later, it was too broken to fix. I’d lost control of the screwdriver and shattered the lens. I ripped out the wires and tore open the heart of the thing, stabbing away at it until it was nearly unrecognizable.
Chapter Twenty
Lilah
For the first two days back at school, Chase had insisted on walking alongside me to school. I could speed up, slow down, turn left when I should have turned right, yet there he’d be. He talked the whole time, even as I blared my music, and I couldn’t stand another day of it. I set my alarm for 4 AM on Wednesday morning and shoved my phone beneath my pillow so Chase wouldn’t hear the blaring music jar me awake. The last thing I needed was more time with him before school.
I had three hours until first bell, and the coffee shop in the town square didn’t open until 7 AM. I wiped sleep from my eyes and circled around the town square, trying to find a distraction. The square mimicked the template found in most small Texas towns: shops and restaurants rimmed the perimeter, and smack dab in the middle on a half-acre of green grass stood a town hall made of interlocking limestone blocks. Years ago, the statuesque building had housed city government, but not any more. It cost too much to maintain, so the town had began leasing the first and second floors to a law office and a real estate holding company. The businesses jumped at the prime office space, and Blackwater didn’t have to board up its town hall.