What She Wanted Page 12

  He’d lived thirty minutes away for two years and had never sent one card or made a single phone call to ask how I was. There was no excuse for that. Mark’s landline number hadn’t changed since the original technician had installed the wall-mounted unit and scribbled the number on a now-yellowed slip of paper beneath the clear dial.

  I wanted to confront him every time I saw him in town, but I hadn’t inherited any of Mom’s bravery. She’d tackled teen pregnancy and cancer simultaneously. According to her journal, she’d only stopped cheering when she started showing and the principal insisted. He’d threatened to make her be homeschooled until I was born so as not to glorify teen pregnancy. Mom had been someone other kids admired. Wouldn’t want them to all run out and get knocked up when she made it look cool. Mom had gone to battle with the administration for her right to attend high school, not homeschool, and won. No small feat in small town Ohio.

  I couldn’t bring myself to approach a man who’d told me he wanted to talk to me.

  I swiped gloss on my lips and secured my hair into a tight bun high on my head. Mark was right. I was late.

  I darted through my bedroom door and slowed on the stairs. “Son of a…” I dashed through the house, pulled by the steady drone of a lawn mower. What was his insane obsession with our grass? He’d literally rather kill himself than let the grass grow above two inches.

  I scooted across the kitchen and plowed through the back door, ready to strangle him. “Mark!” The door whipped open and slammed against the house before whacking itself back into place on a rusty spring. “Mark!”

  He looked over his shoulder from behind the helm of our outdated push mower.

  I tromped through the grass, mad enough to burst, and stopped in front of his mower.

  The engine petered out. Mark managed to look agitated. With me. “What are you doing? You’re late for work.”

  “What is it with you and this lawn? It’s an obsession. It’s nuts.”

  He lowered bushy eyebrows over narrow blue eyes. “It’s all I have to do besides watch talk shows and take naps.”

  “No. This is not something you’re allowed to do. It’s exerting. It’s not okay.” I shook my head slowly and repeated the most important part. “Not. Okay.”

  He pushed the mower towards my feet. “Move. It’s going to rain.”

  I waved my hands at the sky. “It’s ninety degrees out here and humid. Go inside. You’re supposed to stay cool and rest. Did you even put on sunblock?”

  He glared. “I’m not a damn child.”

  “Neither am I. I should’ve moved out weeks ago, but I’m here to make sure you don’t kill yourself, so quit making my job so damn hard.”

  He gripped the mower tighter. His knuckles turned white. “It’s going to rain.”

  “I’ve heard.”

  “I can’t mow the lawn when it’s wet.”

  I dropped my head back in exasperation. Maybe he’d been so quiet all my life because he didn’t speak English. I righted my head and put on my calmest tone. “You aren’t supposed to mow the lawn. You’re supposed to relax, take your meds, eat well, and attend your appointments. Nothing else until you’re released.”

  “That’s no life. Who’s going to mow the lawn?”

  I bit back a retort with too many eff words. “Dean will mow the lawn.” I swiped a thumb across my phone screen, ready to text the cavalry.

  Mark’s face glowed red. “That’s not his job. It’s not his lawn. It’s my lawn. My job. I don’t want him coming around all the time.”

  I squared my shoulders and set my jaw. I had two friends and both were leaving me in a month. I wasn’t shoving either one out the door a minute sooner. “Move.” The word vibrated off my tongue. I stepped over the mower to Mark’s side.

  He jumped back. Something in his expression bordered alarm. “What are you doing?”

  I yanked the mower to life. “I’m mowing your beloved lawn. Get the hell out of my way.”

  * * * *

  I was an hour late to work and arrived with shards of Kentucky Bluegrass clinging to my shoes and sweaty limbs. When I got home, the house smelled like hamburgers. I dropped my bag onto the couch in defeat. “You’re not supposed to eat hamburgers,” I moaned into the air. I dragged my tired body through the house, prepared to knock red meat from Mark’s lips if need be.

  Mark sat at the table on our back porch in cotton lounge pants with West Virginia Mountaineer logos on them. His hair was damp from a shower and his expression was somber.

  I slid onto the seat across from him. “What’s going on?”

  The little wicker table was set for two, complete with paper plates and napkins. A pitcher of iced water acted as centerpiece beside a pile of burger buns and a bowl of mixed greens.

  “Bernadette Baxter brought me dinner.” He pointed to the salad. “I thought I’d make you something and we could eat together.”

  “You made me dinner.”

  “Yep.” He levered himself off the chair and went to the grill. “She said you talked to her the day I got sick.”

  He never said “had a massive heart attack” or “went into a coma.” He said, “got sick” like he’d caught a cold or ate bad salami.

  “She invited me for lunch on my birthday.” I cringed. “I need to call her. I completely forgot.” Not very kind of me. “I hope she’s not upset. I didn’t mean to be rude. Life just got so complicated.” I pursed my lips. Mark didn’t care about this. He was probably up to something again.

  He slid a line of sizzling patties onto a tray and lowered it to the table between us. Cheese dripped over the sides of each burger, and my mouth watered. “There are tomatoes and onions in there.” He pushed a plastic container in my direction.

  “Thanks.” I piled a bun with a burger, veggies, and a few lettuce leaves from his salad. I sank my teeth into the hot meaty heaven and sighed. “It’s delicious.” I’d had plans to make cereal and fresh fruit for dinner if none of the locals had shown up tonight with a meal. They’d rarely missed a day since his heart attack, but I tried to be prepared with a plan just in case.

  Mark speared a pile of lettuce and looked across the freshly mowed lawn. “Bernadette’s a nice lady.”

  “Yeah.”

  He shoved the lettuce around his bowl without looking my way. “You should give her a call and have that lunch.”

  “I will.”

  He nodded, and we ate in strangely comfortable silence, enjoying the food and weather.

  * * * *

  I cleared the table, which was to say, I stuffed our dirty plates into the trash and put the pitcher back in the fridge. On my second pass out the back door, Mark cleared his throat.

  “My garden looks good.”

  I followed his gaze to a line of aluminum pie plates bouncing on string around the perimeter of a six by ten foot patch of plants. The plates served as a warning to local wildlife. No free meals here. I’d tended the tiny crops in his absence and kept it up after his return. “Thanks.”

  “Thank you.” The unmistakable sound of pride quivered in his voice. I’d heard it in other adults over the years but never from him.

  “Lawn looks good, too.”

  I checked the sky to see about that looking glass I might’ve fallen through last month.

  An evening breeze blew scents of honeysuckle and fresh cut grass into the warm night air, already thick with the latent aromas of two juicy hamburgers wearing salty, melted-cheese cloaks.

  He wiggled his empty glass, jiggling ice cubes against the sides. “Made any progress on your list?”

  I placed a steadying palm on the table. “My list?” I’d half-wondered if he’d forgotten about it, or if I’d imagined him agreeing to help.

  He nodded, dragging his gaze slowly to mine. “Making progress?”

  “A little.” Was this because I’d cut the grass and tended his garden? I’d been kind, and he was speaking to me voluntarily. He’d made me dinner
. A tear stung my eyes. I yawned to cover for its sudden appearance then swiped the traitor away.

  “Do you still want my help?”

  I fell onto my seat and pressed both palms against my thighs. “Yes. Some of her requests are simple and direct. Others are vague and I’m not sure how to handle them.” Two were too intimidating to think about. Fall in love? Let the world know me? I’d tackle those last.

  He chuckled. “She was like that, artsy, complicated, like you. Obsessed with words and feelings the way you are with that camera.” His hard expression softened. A tender smile curled his thin lips, and he released a small breathy chuckle. His droopy eyes glistened and blinked, lost in a memory I longed to climb inside and share. “She loved life.”

  I held my breath as he watched ghosts of another time dance across our lawn. My limbs were rigid with fear, terrified to move and break the spell, desperate to hear more about my mother from the man who loved her more than life.

  He rubbed his face with heavy hands and shook his head. “I guess it’s time for the game.” He creaked to a stand and edged toward the door.

  “Wait.” I grabbed his wrist. I had to act before he shut me out again. This was my chance. “Is there something I don’t know and should about my dad?” Not that Mark didn’t have reasons to be upset with Joshua, but if there was more, if there was something that would change my mind about talking with him, I needed that information.

  Mark turned to stone under my touch. “Your dad?” he seethed. “Where is he? Because I haven’t seen a dad in your life.” Anger warred with guilt in his eyes.

  I knew those emotions intimately. “I know Mom loved Joshua, and he’s back in town, so I have to decide how to handle that.” I pleaded silently with Mark. “How am I supposed to handle that?”

  He pulled free of my grip, all hints of a gentler man erased. “They weren’t in love. They were in high school. How serious can a high school boyfriend be?”

  I waved my hands up and down my body. “Apparently pretty serious.” Here I was. Living proof.

  He snarled. “Nonsense.”

  “I read the journal. I know what he meant to her. Please, tell me what you know, so I can figure out if I need to forgive him or ignore him until he moves again. Forgiveness is on Mom’s list. She wanted me to forgive whenever I can. I’m not sure I can.”

  Mark blanched. Blood rushed from his ruddy cheeks.

  I counted breaths until he spoke again, unsure if he was having a stroke or ready to overturn the table.

  “Joshua came around for a while after you were born, but eventually Amy was too sick for visitors, and we didn’t need anyone outside the family butting in. We’ve never needed anyone but family, and we’ve done just fine on our own.”

  Was he kidding? This was what he called “just fine?” A life of isolation and hostility? Secrets and solitude? What family? Us? Two people who only spoke now, after eighteen years, because one of us had nearly died and needed the other to mow his grass?

  I yanked the tie from my hair and scrubbed angry fingers through the sweaty mess. “Am I the reason his family split and moved away?”

  “Those people weren’t a family.”

  “Joshua was my family.” Tears choked my words. Why didn’t I get a family? If it wasn’t for Mrs. B and her crew of small town Mary Poppinses, I’d never have been hugged or praised or encouraged about anything after Grandma died. I’d have lived alone in my room anytime the law didn’t require my presence in school.

  Mark shifted from foot to foot. “His parents divorced because they were toxic. That had nothing to do with us. I stopped letting him see Amy at the end because he’d caused enough trouble, and I didn’t need any more.”

  “What about me? He’s my dad.”

  His angry eyes darkened further. “Prove it.”

  I wiped falling tears of frustration. “What?”

  “He showed up for your birth but refused to sign the birth certificate. What kind of person does that? His parents split and moved when Amy was dying. He went with them. He left her, and he left you. Here I was dealing with the aftermath of his careless actions, and he was living a carefree life full of health and happiness, utterly devoid of responsibilities. I watched my daughter die.” His voice ratcheted into lunacy on the final word. He spun for the door and wobbled for balance.

  I sprang to my feet, pressing palms under his elbows for support.

  “I don’t need your help,” he snapped, flinging the door open and plowing inside. “Josh never came back. That’s all you need to know.”

  The screen door banged into place between us. Mark inside. Me out.

  I clawed at the soft cotton covering my heart, daggered by his razor-sharp words. “Josh caused enough trouble….Here I was dealing with the aftermath….”

  I was the trouble Joshua caused. I was the aftermath of his actions. I was the burden neither of them wanted.

  Chapter 14

  I retreated to my room and fell onto my bed, gathering pillows and clutching Mr. Cuddle-ups to my chest. All I’d wanted was a peek into Mom’s life. I hadn’t asked for all this. I didn’t need more reminders Mark hated me. I wasn’t even supposed to be here. I was supposed to have moved out. I had a plan.

  I wiped furious tears, trying desperately not to stomp my feet against the bedspread. Why did I let him get to me? What could I do about it? Would I go back if I could? Would I leave Mom’s box on the shelf if it meant staying on course for the apartment over Ray’s and saving money for college next year, instead of working to cover the cost of Mark’s new prescriptions? I craned my neck for a look at the old cigar box, where I’d once saved for my future. Now it was pill money, and the prescriptions weren’t even mine.

  No. List or no list, I would’ve stayed after the heart attack. I’d have still added my money to pay for his prescriptions even if he fully ignored me. I wouldn’t have done it because Mom wanted me to be kind. I was kind. I always had been. I liked being a nice person. It reminded me I could make a difference and gave me power when I was powerless. When I made someone smile, it meant I mattered, at least a little.

  My heavy lids dragged shut while I tried to imagine a world where Mark had signed my FAFSA and hadn’t had a heart attack.

  Something snapped against my window, and I rolled onto my side, waiting for the noise to come again. The room had grown dark. I squinted at the clock on my nightstand. It was after midnight. I’d slept for hours, and I hadn’t meant to fall asleep at all. Light from a full moon shone through my sheer curtains, casting shadows over the floorboards. The sound came again, louder this time, and I roused. If something was on the roof, it could get into my open window with minimal effort. The screen separating me from the outside was easily older than Mark and probably penetrable by mildly motivated butterflies.

  I swung my feet over the bed’s edge and crept toward the window, hoping to jerk it shut and jump back into bed before something sinister murdered me for stupidly getting out of bed. I knelt on my desk chair and pulled my feet off the ground. In movies, people dumb enough to check out strange sounds got dragged to hell by their ankles.

  An onslaught of pebbles and fallen acorns crashed against the roof outside my window as my fingers touched the pane. I squealed and pressed a palm to my mouth. Heidi’s car sat at the curb, illuminated by the giant moon. On the sidewalk below, she scooped up another round of ammo and took aim.

  “Stop!” I hissed through the open window and waved my arms wildly.

  She threw the crap anyway.

  Jeez! I hopped off the chair and searched the room for my phone. It lay, recharging, on my dresser. I’d missed a half-dozen texts. All from Heidi.

  I texted her before she reloaded. “STAHHHP!”

  I scrolled through my missed messages to see why she was out there. The first four messages had come two hours ago.

  “Bonfire at the lake!”

  “Let’s go!”

  “Pick you up at midnight!”r />
  “This could be our last Woodsfield bonfire. I think I’m sad.”

  The most recent texts were warnings. My room was about to be filled with rocks.

  “I’m here. Where are you?”

  And the less patient, “Get your ass up!”

  Nuts and rocks had stopped flying, so I assumed she’d got my text.

  I sent one more. “Give me three minutes.”

  I whipped a brush through my hair and traded my sleep-wrinkled button-down for a soft fitted T-shirt with a scoop neck and cap sleeves. I stuffed bare feet into black Chucks I’d found at a yard sale last spring and pushed a lip gloss into the pocket of my jean shorts. My first official bonfire.

  Time to go make friends.

  * * * *

  The bonfire scene was more intimidating than I’d imagined. Dozens of kids from school peppered the field in clusters. I recognized most of them from my class and a few from the junior class behind me. Some faces were brand new. Bottom line, there were too many people, and I had no idea how to make friends with strangers.

  I took up residence under an enormous oak tree and watched while Heidi went in search of refreshments. I pressed my camera to one cheek and looked at the world through a lens I understood. Country music pounded from the back of a pickup truck loaded with speakers. Branches leaned against one another in a teepee large enough to burn Salem witches. Flames, embers, and gnarled smoke fingers stretched into the sky. This was a fresh rendition of the parties Mom had attended nearly two decades ago. The picture of her at a bonfire senior year looked exactly like what was in front of me. Not even the clothes had changed. Tank tops, T-shirts, cutoffs. Same moon. Same lake. Same townie teens trying to decide if they’d see the world or get a job at the Ormet plant on the river and repeat the lives of their parents and grandparents before them.

  They didn’t know how lucky they were to have parents, or a choice.