Big Fat Disaster (7 page)

Rachel switches off the TV and buries her head in the pillow.

The next morning, I wake to Mom and Rachel arguing. I step to my door and press my ear against it.

Rachel yells, “No, I’m not! I’m not going now!”

“Yes, you are! You’re not giving up everything you’ve worked for, and that is my final word on the matter!”

Rachel wails, “I don’t want to go to Oregon now; don’t you understand? I’m not going to leave you! I’ve already made up my mind that I’ll call the scholarship office. Maybe they’ll give me a leave of absence or something; I—”

“Rachel, you’re not doing that. I
want
you to go to school. You have a place waiting for you, and that’s the one thing I can count on right now. At least I know you’ll have a roof over your head. I may not be able to afford a big enough place for the four of us.”

There’s silence; then Rachel chokes, “…What do you mean?…Aren’t you going to stay here?”

Mom snaps, “The F.B.I. has frozen our assets, Rachel. That means that we can’t get to any of our money, because your dad stole—I mean—they
think
that your dad stole from his investors and campaign backers.”

“But this isn’t your fault! You’re not the one who—who—” I can’t make out what Rachel is saying through her sobs, or what Mom is murmuring.

I flop back onto my bed and stare at the plastic stars above me. They’ve been stuck to the ceiling ever since I can remember, and now they’re so old that they don’t glow in the dark anymore. When I was younger, Dad would read me a story before bed; then we’d turn off the lights and play “Ask Me Anything.” I could ask him any question, and he’d give me an answer. I can’t think of even one time that he said, “I don’t know,” and I never questioned whether his answers were correct—
or true
. I believed everything he said.

I hear a car door slam. I spring off my bed and peek through the blinds. Brenda’s car is in the driveway, and the News Ten van just pulled in behind it.

I throw open my bedroom door and sprint to the entryway in time to see my mom with her hand on the doorknob.

“Mom! The reporter’s ba—”

She steps out onto the front porch, leaving the door wide open. Drew nearly knocks her over, wrapping herself around Mom’s body like a spider monkey. Drew’s face is all splotchy like she’s been crying, but she isn’t now.

Brenda squishes Drew when she hugs Mom. “I’m so sorry, Sonya. The girls were watching DVDs last night, so I hadn’t heard about this. If I’d had any idea, I wouldn’t have turned on the news this morning.”

Susie Harlan and her cameraman are jogging across the yard toward us, and I’m frozen in place on the porch in my Winnie-the-Pooh pajamas. Mom, Brenda, and Drew rush past me into the house.

Rachel digs her claws into my upper arm and pulls me backward. “Don’t just stand there, Colby!”

“We want your side of the story!” Susie calls. “What do you want to say about your father’s imminent arrest?”

Her cameraman trips on the edge of the sidewalk and knocks over the flowerpot that I painted for my Mom’s birthday when I was in fifth grade. It shatters. I yank my arm free of Rachel’s grasp and stomp toward Susie.

“Go away! Leave! We don’t
have
a side! We don’t
know
anything!” I fall to my knees and begin gathering up the flowerpot shards, trying to put them back together. I wail and scoop up the plants. I’m crying so hard, I don’t even notice my mom step around me.

Her voice is cold. “Stop filming my daughter. She is a minor child, and you do
not
have my permission to do it.” I fall back on my bottom and cover my face with my dirty hands. Snot’s running down my lips and off my chin, and I don’t even care. I’m sitting on the sidewalk in my Pooh-Bear pajamas, boohooing like a two-year-old.

“Stop tape, Bob,” Susie tells the cameraman. She speaks gently to Mom. “Mrs. Denton, the comments on News Ten’s Facebook page indicate absolute support for you—and
outrage
that your husband would commit adultery and steal from those who trusted him. This is your chance to be a voice for wronged women everywhere. Won’t you speak out on their behalf?”

Mom bends down and grasps my arm. I’m much too heavy to be lifted. Her voice is quiet and cold. “You’re making a spectacle of yourself. Get up and go in the house.
Now
.”

I want to—I really do—but I just shake my head and bawl harder. Mom tries in vain to pull me up; she even grips me under my arms, but I’m not budging. She sighs loudly, lets go of me, and steps away. Susie and the cameraman follow her toward their van.

Rachel’s narrow feet appear in front of mine, which are as wide as beaver tails. Her voice is flat. “Do you have any idea how stupid you look right now? It’s not bad enough that Dad did this; now you have to make us look like a freak show. If you don’t get your fat ass off this sidewalk right now, I’m going to turn the water hose on you.”

I wail, “Shut up, Rachel!”

Brenda’s soothing voice behind me: “Come on, sweetie. I’ll help you.” She steps around me and extends her hands.

I sob, “I’m…too big…you c-can’t lift me.” I roll onto my knees and accept Brenda’s help to find my balance. She puts her arm around me, and we start toward the house. “Wait!” I run back to the broken flowerpot and retrieve the pieces that would still form a heart with the word
LOVE
on it, if I hadn’t spilled that coffee on Dad’s calendar.

An F.B.I. agent shows up at our house first thing Tuesday morning. He tells us that their investigation has revealed that our house was paid off with money that Dad stole from his investors, and we have two weeks to find somewhere else to live because they’re seizing our home.

Mom doesn’t flinch. In the past two days, she’s gone from being a curled-up, sobbing mess on the living room floor to having ramrod straight posture and tightly controlled emotions. And she’s completely put together—dramatic makeup and beauty pageant hair—from the time she comes out of her room in the morning until bedtime. Usually she doesn’t wear her poufy hairstyles when it’s just us. But who
are
we anymore, anyway?

That night, Dad’s on the news again. He’s been booked on charges of embezzlement and theft with intent to defraud, but they don’t keep him locked up. He walks out of jail holding hands with the brown-haired lady—Marcy—from the kissing photo. I guess that stealing from other people is okay with her, since she lets Dad “be who he is.”

Drew bursts into tears and runs from the room. Rachel starts texting. I think about the tub of chocolate chip cookie dough in the freezer and how I can get to it without anyone seeing me.

Mom unplugs the antenna cable so that the only thing the TV’s good for is watching DVDs. “I don’t want you watching the news. Period.” Then she goes to their bedroom and throws Dad’s stuff in trash bags. She doesn’t ask Rachel and me, but we get up and help her carry them to the garage. She tops the awkward pyramid of sacks with a mounted mallard duck that Dad shot a few years ago, and tucks his tube of athlete’s foot cream under one of its wings.

Wednesday morning, we go to the U-Haul store, buy a shitload of cardboard boxes and strapping tape, and all of us start packing our things. It feels good to be busy, even though we don’t know where we’re going. I select my “Fuck You” songs playlist and listen to my iPod while I clean out my closet.

Drew squeals with delight when she opens the door Thursday afternoon to find our grandmother—my dad’s mom—standing on our porch in what I’ve come to think of as her “uniform”: long, dangly cross earrings; short, spiky red hair; perfectly applied makeup; chunky rhinestone cross necklace; oversized satiny blouse; black polyester slacks; and smelling of White Diamonds perfume. My sisters and I give her White Diamonds body powder every year for Christmas. I’ll bet that when she dies, she’ll be buried in that outfit, and they’ll embalm her in White Diamonds.

Mom looks stunned. “Carol? What are you doing here?”

Grandma holds her arms open, and Mom walks into them. For the first time since Sunday, she breaks down and weeps.

“Aw, honey, I wouldn’t be anywhere else.” Grandma’s deep Southern drawl, the way she stretches out each word, sounds like warm honey to my ears. She pulls back and picks a piece of lint off Mom’s shirt. “Sam wanted to come, too, but he’s just been elected president of the Chattahoochee chapter of
Take Back Our Country!
—and he’s knee-deep in planning a community prayer breakfast. Dale will be here tomorrow to help move Rachel to school.”

Rachel’s jaw drops. “Uncle Dale’s coming all the way here? You mean Dad’s not even going to move me out?” Her voice cracks. “Seriously?” She pulls her phone from her pocket. “That’s got to be wrong. I’m texting him.”

Mom pulls out of Grandma’s embrace. “Let me know if he answers you, Rachel, because he sure won’t respond to me.”

“Now, Sonya, you don’t want to criticize the children’s father,” Grandma chides. “…Rachel, a condition of your father’s release was that he not leave the state.”

“You’ve been in touch with Reese, Carol?” Mom crosses her arms over her chest.

“Well, of course we have, sweetheart. He called us when this whole misunderstanding occurred, and we bonded him out. As soon as it’s settled, we’ll get our money back.”

Rachel, Mom, and I exchange looks. Drew’s still so excited that my grandmother’s here from Georgia that she doesn’t seem to realize they’re talking about Dad’s arrest.

Grandma flutters her hand in front of her face. “Whew! It’s hot! Could I get a glass of water, please?” Rivulets of sweat look like little rivers through her thick makeup.

“Sure you can. I haven’t packed the glasses yet.” Mom gestures to the stacks of boxes and rolls of strapping tape. “As you can see, the house is in a state of chaos…”

Grandma furrows her brow. “Why
on earth
are you packing?”

Mom gives her a sideways look. “I guess you don’t know that our bank accounts are frozen and the government is seizing the house as evidence of Reese’s”—Mom swallows hard—“business practices. We’re supposed to be out within two weeks. He hasn’t been here since Sunday.”

Grandma plops down on a kitchen chair and drops her purse to the floor. She shakes her head slowly. “I think you’re acting hastily, Sonya. Reese assured Sam and me that the campaign auditor made a mistake, as did the credit card company. They’ll have it all settled within a week.”

Mom pulls a glass out of the cabinet and turns on the faucet.

I blurt, “He
left
us, Grandma. He cheated on Mom!”

“Don’t say it like that!” Drew wails.

Rachel heads for the back door. “I’m going to Stephanie’s house. Her family pretends they don’t know about any of this.”

Grandma looks shocked. “Sonya, I cannot believe that you would involve the children in your marital difficulties.”

Mom’s eyes get huge and she nearly drops Grandma’s glass of water. Her hand shakes when she holds it out to her. “Would you excuse us, girls?”

As usual, Drew follows orders like a little robot. She goes to her room, closes the door, and blasts her boy band CD.

I, on the other hand, stand just out of sight in the hallway and listen as my grandmother lectures my mother on what a lousy wife she is.