Buried (8 page)

5

LIZ CAME LATE TO LUNCH. Her eye makeup was smeared. Her face was splotchy, and her nostrils were red-rimmed. She sat covering her face, cell phone clutched in one hand. She would've cried longer if I hadn't taken the phone and set it down. She let out a squeal.

“Hey, talk to me,” I said.

She began to sob. “Mom just called,” she said, grabbing the phone. “Dad's gone. He took off last night.”

“He hasn't come home?”

“No. Poor Mom. She never said anything this morning, but now she wants me to come home as soon as I can.”

I hugged her and let her cry awhile. It felt good to be able to help. “Don't freak out. He'll probably be home by the time school's out.”

She nodded and wiped her nose. “Mom sounds calm. Too calm. You know?”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Maybe I should go home now. What if he gets in a car accident—what if he hits someone?”

The cafeteria sounds were building as more kids arrived. I leaned in toward her. “Let's think this through. Is there anything you can possibly do to change it?” She shook her head and tore at her tissue. “Your mom said there's no news, right?” She nodded. “Will it help your dad if you miss your classes?” She smiled a little and shook her head. “Let's finish the day and then give your mom another call.”

“But Mom said—”

“But nothing. You need to take care of you.”

She nodded. “Thanks, Claude.”

We walked side by side down the hall. “I'm sorry about your dad, Liz.” Something about her made me want to protect her.

As soon as the dismissal bell rang at the end of the day, I went to my locker. Liz waved her cell phone at me from across the hall and motioned to the door. I was anxious to get home and work on the list of chores. I had a wash to do and cupboards to rearrange. There would be no more crap in the house, only healthy food. Instead of chips, there'd be bread and cheese, vegetables and fruit. Instead of soda, there'd be juice, tea, and maybe coffee. I had to think about that one. The health food brainstorm had come in gym class when the teacher talked about the effect that nutrition had on our thinking. Sugar gives extreme energy but sends you crashing. I thought a nutrition overhaul might help me with the shaky feeling I was having.

When I came out the front doors, Liz was sitting on the steps waiting for me. I sat next to her. “How'd it go?”

She smiled big and said, “He's back, and he wants to talk to Mom and me.” She covered her face and screamed into her hands.

“Are you okay?”

She was fine. She was grinning all over. “Sorry. That was a happy scream. I'm glad he's not dead, I guess.”

I scratched at the mica flecks in the steps. She nudged me.

“What?” I said, nudging her back.

“It hasn't been easy for you either,” she said.

“No . . .”

“Have you heard from your Mom?”

I closed my eyes. “Just that message.”

“You ought to send her a letter.”

I thought of the letters in the back of the notebook. “She's not ready for those quite yet,” I said.

“No, don't send her any of those. A regular letter, you know.”

I nodded and picked more mica chips.

“You coming?” She stood up and grabbed both my backpack and hers.

“To group? We can't ditch it?”

“No. Not today.”

 
Lydia was putting the folding chairs in a circle when we arrived. Blake was following behind setting a clipboard down on each one. Matt and Deb laughed about something at the other end of the room, and Cindy and Hanna sat quietly side by side, each in her own world.

“Okay, time.” Lydia set her coffee on an empty chair beside her. “If you need me, I'm here. Otherwise the floor is yours. Who wants to start us?”

Liz raised her hand. “Me, I'd like to share.”

“Okay, Liz,” Lydia said.

“My name's Liz, and I'm the daughter of an alcoholic.” She bit her lip.

“Hi, Liz,” we said.

“My father hit bottom. Last night he took off when he was drunk. He didn't come back until this afternoon.” She looked at me. “Claudine helped me get through a hard day. I couldn't have done it without you, Claude.”

“It's okay,” I said. I was shocked at her honesty, the way she easily spilled her guts to them.

“Dad wants to talk to Mom and me when I get home. I'm not sure what to do or say.”

“Just take it one day at a time, Liz,” Deb said.

“Right. You can't cure him; you can only take care of yourself,” Hanna said.

Liz nodded. “Well, he's definitely out of the Pleasure Zone now. I can't trust him anymore.”

“Pleasure Zone?” Lydia said.

“Yeah, the P.Z. Dad used to handle it okay. You know, not too drunk and not too sober. His Pleasure Zone. But now he can't control it. He's crashing.” Liz started to tear up. “It was bad last night; he acted just like a
real
drunk.” The room grew silent. Except for an occasional sniff from Liz, nobody spoke.

Mom always acted like a real drunk, but Liz's dad could be smashed and function at the same time. I was always jealous of that. I tried to catch her eye, but she wasn't looking anywhere but at her clipboard, where a pool of tears had collected.

“You knew it was a myth that alcoholics could control their drinking,” Hanna said. “You knew it, right?”

“Yeah, but like I said, I didn't think he was a real drunk. I guess—” She blew her nose. “I guess I thought he was different. Better.”

Matt let out a dramatic sigh and stretched his legs. “You mean better dressed.”

Deb laughed and kicked Matt's boot.

“Matt, that was so low,” Cindy said. She clucked her tongue and shook her head. “Low.”

“Well, yeah, sorry. I'm just so sick of people not saying what they think. When my old man gets smashed, I just tell him off and leave. When he sobers up, I come back. Simple. You can't do nothin' about it,” Matt said. “Why's everyone so friggin' polite all the time?”

“I've never told him what I think about his drinking,” Liz said. “It wasn't a big deal until this year.”

“I didn't talk with my parents at first either,” Cindy said. “But you'll find out it can be rewarding to share your feelings. I did with my parents, and we all cried and now we share all the time.”

I stayed as still as possible. I didn't want to be in this conversation.

Matt said, “That's a crock. You think that's how it works for everybody? We all cry and then have a group hug?” He threw up his hands. “You realize that you sound excruciatingly superior?”

Cindy looked pale.

He sat on the edge of his seat. “People, listen to me. The reality is that you can't trust a drunk with your feelings.”

Lydia cleared her throat.
Here it comes,
I thought,
she'll take over.
But it was just that: throat clearing.

Matt was right about the trust thing, but I wasn't in the sharing mood. I wanted to disappear.

 
Friday night was mall night, but Liz announced that she was going to spend it with her family, since her dad was going through a bad time. That was good—I wanted to spend some time rearranging the kitchen. After stocking up on groceries at High Tide Health Foods, I dove into a cleaning frenzy. In the kitchen I reorganized the fridge and threw away anything that was opened and anything that could be thought of as junk food. I wiped down the counters and cupboards and restocked them with oats, wheat berries, whole-wheat pastry flour, dried fruits, and pastas.

I consulted my list on the fridge door. It said:
Clean the toilet and sink
. I scrubbed away at the rust stains, but nothing helped. I poured bleach into the toilet bowl and washed my hands in the sink. Goose bumps rose on my forearms as hot water pounded my hands. I felt someone near me, but it couldn't be true—I'd locked the door. I looked in the mirror. Nobody. Just me, a pale, thin stranger with a halo of something white behind my head. Was it someone's clothing, hair, scarf? I had to look. I counted
one, two, three, four, five,
and turned. Of course, a towel. It hung on the door, used and unfolded. That should teach me to be neater.

Even though it had only been a towel, I was still jumpy when the phone rang. Before I picked it up, I turned on the TV so I'd have some background noise after I hung up.

“Claude, you were awesome today.”

“Thanks, Liz. But, awesome?”

“You were there when I needed you.”

“Thanks. How's it going with your dad?”

“He's sorry, and he says he's got a drinking problem.”

“Really? He's brilliant.”

“Yep. He even cried. It was hard to see him like that.”

“Big, tough Tom MacPhee?”

“And he's going to go to meetings and maybe to Jackson Heights.”

My throat closed up and I couldn't breathe.

“Claude?”

I forced myself to breathe through my nose while I held the phone to my pounding heart. I was dizzy with the effort and tried to swallow, which made me cough. I gasped and took a breath.

“Claude! Are you okay?”

“Right here,” I said, panting.

“Maybe you ought to take a day off. You haven't been looking so hot lately.”

“I just had something in my throat. I'm fine.”

 
That night I couldn't sleep. I puffed up my bed with extra pillows and blankets, thinking I needed to be more comfortable. Something was nagging away at me. I felt the way an oyster from the cove feels when a grain of sand gets between its soft body and its shell home. After so much irritation, it creates a little pearl. I went over and over the meeting at the Community Center. What was irritating me? Maybe I was just creating a pearl.

I finally fell asleep half sitting, half lying down with Moonpie on my shoulder.

I jerked awake with a heavy feeling of dread. Something was wrong. I looked around, touching my cheek where I'd felt a whisper of something. Had someone called my name? Nobody was there. Moonpie was gone. The night was bright enough to make shadows of sunflowers and cosmos on my floor. Out my window, the moon hung over the workshop like an overripe melon.

I picked up the cat, who was waiting by the door, and went down the steps to the garden path in my underwear and T-shirt. The shells were sharp, and I tiptoed as I made my way to the center raised bed. I heard the whoosh of a car on Sea Road and then the pounding of the surf. Moonpie squirmed out of my arms and into the catnip patch. He rubbed up against the long stems and rolled to the ground.

A twig broke, and I stiffened. “Is someone here?” My voice sounded thin and raspy. “Don't hide.”

Moonpie had rolled again and broken off a stem of catnip. “Goddamned cat! You scared the hell out of me.” He flattened his ears and ran off. I threw a shell after him and went back inside.

I stayed up and rearranged the cupboards so that the cereal goods would be right next to the fridge. While I wiped down the counter, I thought of something else I had never let Mom know.