Grace (27 page)
Authors: T. Greenwood
UVM seemed like some sort of paper-cutout place, like a picture in a child’s pop-up book. Not a real place anymore. Not a real school where she would study and stay up giggling with her roommate, Fiona. Someplace where she would become both Crystal and somebody new all at the same time. It seemed like a dream upon waking, one of those delicate dreams shattered into unrecognizable slivers as soon as she opened her eyes.
On Saturday morning, she pretended she was not feeling well, but her mother called her bluff.
“I rescheduled four meetings with clients for this,” her mother said, towering over her bed in some terribly bright yellow blouse, like the sun herself had come in to personally wake her. “I don’t care if you’ve got typhus,” she said, laughing. “Up and at ’em.”
Her mother was not a cheerleader in high school, but she should have been. She had the energy of one, the ability to rouse anyone, even Crystal, out of a slump. Her mother simply didn’t tolerate crabbiness.
Funk
was not a word in her vocabulary. She even affectionately referred to the McDonald family as “The Team.” “Come on, Team!” she’d say whenever she needed to rally them into action.
Funk
was not a word in her vocabulary. She even affectionately referred to the McDonald family as “The Team.” “Come on, Team!” she’d say whenever she needed to rally them into action.
Crystal tried again. “I really don’t feel well.”
“You can sleep it off in the car,” her mother said, smiling and reaching for Crystal’s hand. Crystal knew she had no choice and allowed her mother to pull her, like a fallen runner, up.
She tried to pretend like this was just another shopping trip with her mom, something she used to look forward to. Crystal tried to recapture that sense of propriety, of having her mom all to herself for a whole day. Her mom even made a big show of turning off her BlackBerry as they got in her car, stuffing it into the depths of her purse.
“You don’t have to do that, Mom,” Crystal said.
“Your father can handle anything that comes up,” she said.
But her mother’s attempts at normalcy were transparent. And something about all this effort seemed more sad than generous. Like watching some wounded runner limp his way across the finish line. Still, she was willing to give it one last shot. Take one for the team.
Crystal’s mother hadn’t driven her to Burlington in ages. The times she’d gone to visit the Stones when she was pregnant, her father had driven. He’d waited in the car while she toured their home (seen the nursery painted those candy colors), drank their herbal tea, listened to their lullaby voices speaking softly to the baby inside her. But now, as they pulled off the interstate, her mother was the one clutching the wheel. Not her father with his sad eyes staring straight ahead so he wouldn’t have to look at her. Not her father and his disappointment like another passenger squeezed in between them.
“You must be getting so excited!” her mother chirped as she got off the interstate at the Burlington exit.
Crystal shrugged. “I guess,” she said, trying hard to be cheery.
But as they drove past the street that would have taken her to the Stones’ house, she felt like someone had tripped her. The Stones lived near the university’s campus in a crooked old house that reminded her of Ty’s house. At the front was a wide porch, and a widow’s walk was perched on the top. Mrs. Stone had explained that the legend was that widow’s walks were built for the women whose husbands were away at sea. For the women whose husbands
died
at sea. From above they could look out into the immense emptiness, to grieve. She wondered if there was an architectural feature designed for girls forced to give up their babies. She was not a widow, but she grieved like one; she felt the same vast sorrow. But she was not a widow. There were no names for girls like her.
died
at sea. From above they could look out into the immense emptiness, to grieve. She wondered if there was an architectural feature designed for girls forced to give up their babies. She was not a widow, but she grieved like one; she felt the same vast sorrow. But she was not a widow. There were no names for girls like her.
For the first time since she had the baby, she allowed herself to think about what had happened to Grace
after
. She imagined the Stones driving back to Burlington with her strapped into the expensive car seat she’d seen on the kitchen table one time when she visited. It was green with a plaid canopy. Mrs. Stone had pointed out its safety features to her, the five-point harness, the way it virtually bolted into the backseat. Mrs. Stone had wanted Crystal to know this was proof that they would keep her safe. But it only made her feel carsick.
after
. She imagined the Stones driving back to Burlington with her strapped into the expensive car seat she’d seen on the kitchen table one time when she visited. It was green with a plaid canopy. Mrs. Stone had pointed out its safety features to her, the five-point harness, the way it virtually bolted into the backseat. Mrs. Stone had wanted Crystal to know this was proof that they would keep her safe. But it only made her feel carsick.
“You okay?” her mother asked. Her mother didn’t know anything about her visits with the Stones. She never asked on those days when she came home after crying silently the whole way, her stomach muscles aching from the effort. And Crystal never offered. She hadn’t talked to anyone about them. No one even asked who they were beyond the portraits they painted in the agency’s application. No one wanted to think past that moment in the hospital when she let her go. But now she gripped her seat tightly and imagined their trip home from the hospital, the way Mrs. Stone would have sat in the backseat with the baby, her heart racing, her happiness and fear mixing together in some terrific emotional cocktail. Intoxicating. And she thought about the way the tires would crush the gravel in the driveway, the way the porch light might have made shadows across their faces. She considered the trellis thick with leaves and blooming morning glories; she dreamed the heady scent of spring.
“I’m okay,” she said, nodding and nodding, but missing the burning flash that had now stopped coming to her breasts each time she thought about the baby. She traced the calligraphy with her fingers.
And for a little while, her mother’s enthusiasm was infectious. As her mother helped her pick out fluffy towels and soft sheets and a matching brand-new comforter freckled with daisies, she almost felt like any one of the other girls she saw walking with their mothers up and down the street, arms loaded down with bags. Her mother was trying so hard, it nearly broke Crystal’s heart. “You’re going to need a new alarm clock,” she said, looking at a display of kitschy oversized alarm clocks at Homeport.
“I’ve got an alarm on my phone,” she said.
“As a backup, then,” her mother said.
And she tried to imagine herself sleeping on those daisy sheets, her head resting on the ergonomic pillow, waking to the sound of that turquoise clock, but just couldn’t. It was like trying to imagine waking up in someone else’s life. And while that had seemed like exactly what she needed even a few weeks ago, she knew what she really wanted was something else entirely.
She wanted something impossible. She wanted the life she had failed to choose. She wanted to go back to that moment at the hospital when she lifted the baby and passed her like she was not a baby at all but a baton in some horrific race, trusting that the Stones would get her to the finish line.
They were sitting outside at Leunig’s, in a sea of other mothers and other daughters, waiting for their food when she caught sight of a woman in the distance. She was nearly a block up the street, but she was blond, her hair in a high ponytail, and she was pushing a stroller. Crystal felt a tug in her chest as the woman came closer, as if they were connected somehow, sewn together at the chest, as if she were somehow reeling her in, pulling her closer with this invisible thread. She was filled with both a terrific sense of dread and excitement. Waiting for the moment to come, the moment when she would be able to make out the woman’s face, to confirm that it was Mrs. Stone, and that inside that stroller was her baby. That it was Grace. Crystal felt like she might faint. She clutched the table, but couldn’t take her eyes away. And then the woman’s face came into focus. It wasn’t her. And the baby in the stroller wasn’t a baby but a toddler. A little boy with a crusty nose and overalls. Crystal felt like she might vomit.
“I’m not going, Mom.”
“Not going where, sweetheart?” she asked, distracted. She was checking her phone for messages; Crystal had told her to go ahead. That she didn’t mind.
“To school.”
Her mother looked up, her bright face suddenly drained of color, making her peach-colored lipstick look alone on her face.
“Of course you are,” she said. “Don’t be silly.”
“I can’t,” Crystal said. “I’m not ready.”
“No one is ever
ready,
sweetie,” she said. “You were like this before you went off to camp for the first time too, remember? I had to practically carry you onto the bus.”
ready,
sweetie,” she said. “You were like this before you went off to camp for the first time too, remember? I had to practically carry you onto the bus.”
“This is not camp!” Crystal said, her voice quivery and high.
Her mother glanced around, smiling apologetically to all the other mothers, all the other daughters. “Of course not, sweetie. I’m just saying that it’s natural to be nervous. To be anxious.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I can’t do it. And if you make me go, I won’t go to classes. I’ll fail out. And I’ll come home again anyway. Why not skip right to that part? Just fast-forward four months. Because that is exactly what is going to happen.” Crystal felt manic, trapped at the table, trapped by the bags that were hanging off her seat, surrounding her feet. “I am so tired of pretending that none of this happened. I am sick and tired of pretending like I’m just some normal girl. I’m not. I made a mistake.”
“I know,” her mother said, still acting as though she were talking to a defiant child. “And you
took care
of that mistake.” Her mother was smiling maniacally, as if she smiled hard enough she could make what was happening not happen.
took care
of that mistake.” Her mother was smiling maniacally, as if she smiled hard enough she could make what was happening not happen.
“You don’t get it, do you?” Crystal said, her chest about to explode. “The mistake wasn’t getting pregnant. The mistake was letting you talk me into giving my baby up.”
Her mother had gone from looking apologetic to looking mortified. “You need to stop, young lady,” she said, as if Crystal were eight instead of eighteen. “You’re making a spectacle of yourself.” Her voice was hushed and furious.
The waitress came to their table, setting down their plates. “I can’t,” Crystal said, shaking her head, feeling the tears coming hot and hard. She practically knocked over her water glass as she stood up. She rushed toward the restaurant door and went inside, grateful that she was able to locate the restroom quickly. Inside the tiny room, which was decorated to look like some sort of Parisian
toilette,
she sat down on the toilet seat and waited for the heat in her head to dissipate, to somehow disperse through the rest of her body. She wondered if it was possible to bring on a fever by simple, sheer will. Finally, someone knocked on the door, and she gathered herself.
toilette,
she sat down on the toilet seat and waited for the heat in her head to dissipate, to somehow disperse through the rest of her body. She wondered if it was possible to bring on a fever by simple, sheer will. Finally, someone knocked on the door, and she gathered herself.
She found her mother outside, paying the waitress, both plates of food untouched. Her mother had gathered their bags together.
“I think it’s time to go home,” she said, without looking at Crystal.
Crystal nodded, suddenly compliant. And she did feel like a child. Like a child who had just had the biggest tantrum ever and somehow gotten her way. She followed behind her mother, scolded, all the way to the parking garage.
L
AST
F
ALL
AST
F
ALL
T
he call came just as Kurt was getting ready to clock out at the 76 station. It was Labor Day, and he’d been there since dawn. It had been busier than usual, lots and lots of folks gassing up after a weekend on the road. Grumpy families who’d been stuck inside SUVs and RVs and station wagons for several days staggered in for energy drinks and Cheetos, road weary and miserable. He kept thinking about Elsbeth’s suggestion that they drive to Florida. From the looks of these people, he was not convinced that loading his family,
any
family, into a car for three days was such a good idea. He was exhausted and just wanted to go home, have some supper, and go to bed, though he knew between Pop and Elsbeth and the kids this would be nearly impossible. School was starting tomorrow. There would be lunches to pack, school supplies to organize, Trevor to contend with. He knew that the end of summer meant the beginning of trouble.
he call came just as Kurt was getting ready to clock out at the 76 station. It was Labor Day, and he’d been there since dawn. It had been busier than usual, lots and lots of folks gassing up after a weekend on the road. Grumpy families who’d been stuck inside SUVs and RVs and station wagons for several days staggered in for energy drinks and Cheetos, road weary and miserable. He kept thinking about Elsbeth’s suggestion that they drive to Florida. From the looks of these people, he was not convinced that loading his family,
any
family, into a car for three days was such a good idea. He was exhausted and just wanted to go home, have some supper, and go to bed, though he knew between Pop and Elsbeth and the kids this would be nearly impossible. School was starting tomorrow. There would be lunches to pack, school supplies to organize, Trevor to contend with. He knew that the end of summer meant the beginning of trouble.
His phone rang, and Jessica, the second-shift cashier, scootched in behind the counter, shooing him away as a customer came up with a six-pack of beer. “I got it.”
He flipped open his phone and headed to the stockroom.
“Hello, Mr. Kennedy? This is Gladys Rivers over at Plum’s Retirement Community. I’m just calling to let you know that a room will be opening up here soon, and your father is at the top of our list.”
“That’s great!” he said, his whole mood lifting. He had begun to think that Pop might live in the backyard forever. “That’s terrific. When can he move in?”
“Well, the resident is actually moving to another facility, so it won’t be until December first, but if you get the paperwork in now, we’ll have everything ready.”
Kurt punched his card in the stockroom and grabbed a PayDay from the rack by the register, fishing into his pocket for some change. Jessica scooped the change into her hand and smacked her gum. “Have a good one,” she said.
Kurt felt light, happy. Even his legs felt free. He couldn’t wait to tell Elsbeth that Pop would be leaving. That he could get the trailer and all of Pop’s stuff cleared out in a matter of hours. That she could have her house back. Her life back. December first. Just another couple of months. They could do this.
Once Pop was finally out, they’d have their home back. They’d be a family again. Pop’s Medicare would cover the expenses of the home, and if they could convince Pop to rent out his house, or maybe even sell it, that would mean some income. He could quit the station. Focus on the yard. Get Beal to come back full-time. Get it all together again. Maybe even take El on that vacation she wanted. He knew all of this had been temporary. It was just a matter of sucking it up and weathering the storm, which now finally seemed to be receding.
As he was walked toward the 76’s doors, the bright fluorescent lights yielding to the darkening sky outside, he stopped at the rack of flowers wrapped in bright green cellophane. They were $6.95 a bunch. Way overpriced, like just about everything in the store, but he grabbed the best-looking bouquet and went back to the register.
At home, there were dirty plates on the kitchen table; they’d eaten without him. There was a frying pan white with congealed grease on the stove top, and the air smelled like burgers. All he’d eaten all day was a frozen burrito and the PayDay he had devoured in the car. The smells of dinner made his stomach rumble. He could hear the TV in the living room and the sound of a bath running. He set the flowers down and went to the bathroom door, leaning quietly against the jamb.
Elsbeth was kneeling next to the tub, her hands massaging shampoo into Gracy’s hair. Gracy was giggling and splashing, her body brown from an entire summer at the pool. A Little Mermaid doll floated on her back next to her, and their hair tangled together, floating like seaweed in the water. From the doorway, Kurt studied Elsbeth as she leaned over Gracy. God, her body still just about did him in. He ached, his whole body ached, with desire for her. It was almost painful, this wanting. Excruciating.
And suddenly, he understood her longing. Her pleas to get away, to take a trip, came from the same place as this almost mournful desire he was feeling as he watched her. As he longed for her, he suddenly appreciated her own simple yearning. She’d been telling him what she needed, and he’d been denying her. How could he expect anything other than rejection from her in return? Why were her wants any less real than his? No wonder she was slipping away. It wasn’t her fault; it was
his
.
his
.
“El,” he said.
“Daddy!” Gracy squealed. “Look, I have rabbit ears!” She pulled her own hair up into two pointed soapy bunny ears at the top of her head.
Without looking up at him, El reached for a little purple plastic bowl that was teetering at the edge of the tub and dipped it into the water. “Time to rinse,” she said. “Close your eyes tight.”
“I got a call from Plum’s today. There’s a spot at the home.”
Elsbeth turned around, her eyes wide and hopeful. “Really?”
Kurt nodded. “And if we can get his house rented out, I’m going to quit the 76.”
“Are you sure?”
Kurt nodded. “Well, it doesn’t open up until December first, but right after Thanksgiving everything should be back to normal.”
Elsbeth stood up and came to him, her hands wet and soapy. She wrapped her arms around him and pressed her cheek against his chest. He could feel the bath water seeping into the fabric of his shirt. “Promise, things will get better,” she whispered into his ear.
Kurt nodded.
She pulled back. “I’m serious, Kurt. Cross your heart.”
Kurt felt his fingers making the motion across his chest, but even as his fingertips grazed the place where Elsbeth’s cheek had just been, he felt the familiar buzzing in his legs. The reminding thrum of so many broken promises.
T
he first day of school, Trevor woke up in a cold sweat, his entire body protesting as he pulled back the covers and sat up in bed. Gracy was awake already, getting dressed in her new first-day-of-school outfit.
he first day of school, Trevor woke up in a cold sweat, his entire body protesting as he pulled back the covers and sat up in bed. Gracy was awake already, getting dressed in her new first-day-of-school outfit.
“Can you help me?” she asked, struggling to pull the plaid dress over her head.
“Come here,” he said and undid the button at the neck so that her head could slip through. Her hair was electrified with static, sticking out all over. He patted her hair down and smiled at her. He wondered what it must be like to be Gracy, to be so happy.
“Are you excited for school?” she asked.
“Not really,” he said.
“How come? You don’t like your new teacher?”
Trevor shrugged. He’d gotten the envelope with the information about his classes, about his teachers, about his homeroom, but none of it mattered. What mattered was if Mike and Ethan were in any of those classes with him. What mattered was whether or not their paths would cross during the day, whether or not they’d be breathing down his neck during math, English, social studies. What mattered was, with Mrs. D. gone, where he would go during recess and lunch.
“I love my new teacher. She has curly hair. I know ’cause I’ve seen her before. And we can eat lunch together now that I’m not in kindergarten.”
Trevor took a deep breath. The kindergartners were in a separate building, but first graders were in the same building with the older kids. Their classrooms were on the opposite side of the building, but they shared the same cafeteria, the same playground. He was worried about what this might mean. For one thing, he didn’t want Mike and Ethan to have one more thing to bother him about, and having a little sister tagging along would give them plenty of ammunition. He was also afraid that being his sister might somehow make her fair game to their abuse. But his worst fear was that Gracy would see how they treated him, that she would hear the names they called him, see the hatred in their eyes. That she would grow to be ashamed of him.
“I usually go to the art room for lunch,” he said. “And you’ll probably have friends you want to eat with too,” he said.
“No way.” She smiled. “I want to be with you.”
Their mother drove them to school, and Trevor leaned his head against the window, trying to cool the heat that seemed to be burning like a furnace in his stomach. It was September, but the air was hot and humid still.
Indian
summer, everyone said. And he tried to imagine himself a warrior, dignified and brave. But as they got out of the car and his mom insisted on walking them into the building, he could feel his resolve dissolving. The building with its windows like glowering eyes, the big front doors like a puckered mouth, made him feel like the school itself was scowling at him.
Indian
summer, everyone said. And he tried to imagine himself a warrior, dignified and brave. But as they got out of the car and his mom insisted on walking them into the building, he could feel his resolve dissolving. The building with its windows like glowering eyes, the big front doors like a puckered mouth, made him feel like the school itself was scowling at him.
Mrs. Cross was standing in the doorway in a bright blue dress, smiling and saying
hello
to each of the children as they entered the building. The security camera’s red eye winked at each of them as they passed.
hello
to each of the children as they entered the building. The security camera’s red eye winked at each of them as they passed.
“Well, good morning, Gracy!” she said, bending down to Gracy and touching the top of her head. “I think you’ve grown about six inches since I saw you last. And did you lose a tooth?”
Gracy smiled, shoving her tongue through the new space.
“Oh,
two
teeth!”
two
teeth!”
Mrs. Cross stood back upright and reached out for Trevor’s hand. “Welcome back, Trevor. I trust we’re going to have a good year this year?” Her face pinched together as though she had a mouthful of staples.
Trevor ignored her hand, looked to the ground and nodded. Thankfully, his mother let him head off to find his locker while she took Gracy to her classroom. “No fighting,” she said softly. “Please.”
Trevor pretended he was surrounded by a bubble, a thick bubble made of something impenetrable. Something that rendered him invisible. If he concentrated hard enough, he knew he could make himself simply disappear. He would mind his own business. He would speak to no one. He would not react to anything. He would become blind, deaf, and dumb. He would cease to exist.
“Hey, Ethan, it’s your
girlfriend!
” Mike said, punching Ethan in the shoulder. They were standing next to his locker. Blocking it. He blinked long and hard, invisible,
invincible,
and then reached between them to open the latch. He had a padlock in his backpack, but for now, it was unlocked.
girlfriend!
” Mike said, punching Ethan in the shoulder. They were standing next to his locker. Blocking it. He blinked long and hard, invisible,
invincible,
and then reached between them to open the latch. He had a padlock in his backpack, but for now, it was unlocked.
“We missed you at the pool. What happened, did your mama have to spend the rest of the summer potty training you?”
The latch came loose in his fingers, and he opened it. Ethan pressed his fist against the locker door.“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked.
Trevor focused on his own hand, studied his knuckles, the architecture of bone and tendons. He willed it to stay relaxed, palm splayed rather than knotting into the fist it wanted to become.
“Aw, go ahead and let him open it,” Mike said. And then Ethan lifted his hand, the metal door swinging open and crashing against the neighboring locker.
Trevor peered into the darkness and recoiled. A pile of dog shit sat inside. Wet and loose, smeared across the bottom of the locker. Trevor started to gag.
“Welcome back, fudge packer!” Ethan hissed, and then they were gone, running down the hallway.
Trevor looked down the hallway and Mrs. Cross looked back at him, her eyes like slits. He closed the locker, shifting his backpack onto his left shoulder, and as the bell rang, he rushed down the hallway to his homeroom.
When the last bell rang at the end of the day, he waited for the halls to empty out and he quickly cleaned out the locker, dumping mountains of soiled paper towels into the trash cans. He scrubbed the locker with the powdery soap from the restroom until it was clean. He watched carefully to make sure no one saw what he was doing. No one needed to know about this. He wouldn’t tattle. He wouldn’t start school off this way.
After school, he went to the woods, trudging through the heat and thick foliage, aware of the heft of his breath, the heaviness of his body, the way the earth yielded to him. Inside the caboose, he lay on his back in the darkness. With the sheet metal now secured in the windows, there was absolute darkness. Not a single ray of sunlight could find him in here. He could not see out, and no one could see in. Blind. Deaf. Dumb. Alone. This was his dominion, his kingdom. His own private tomb. He knew what he needed to do, but he wasn’t sure where to begin. He would need things, things he didn’t have access to at home. He would need chemicals. Equipment. He would need privacy. He would need to be left alone.
E
lsbeth would try. She would give it one last shot. Kurt had promised he would make things right again. Pop would move out, Kurt would quit his night job, they’d rent Pop’s house out and everything would be back to normal. They’d get Trevor some help at school. Maybe they’d even finally be able to get away. Maybe this winter.
lsbeth would try. She would give it one last shot. Kurt had promised he would make things right again. Pop would move out, Kurt would quit his night job, they’d rent Pop’s house out and everything would be back to normal. They’d get Trevor some help at school. Maybe they’d even finally be able to get away. Maybe this winter.
Winter would be here soon; despite the heat of an Indian summer, the leaves were starting to turn. Just a sugar maple here and there. A bright bloom of red amidst all that green. Within a few weeks, the color would have bled through, the color spreading through the trees like something contagious. The air would chill. The sky would first brighten and then grow dark. Snow would come. The dark, cold chill of winter would be here.
She tried to remember back to those autumn days years ago, when she and Kurt were young. She tried to recollect the good feeling of his scratchy sweater against her cheek at football games. The cold bleacher seats beneath them, the hot cocoa warming her hands. The feeling that her life was just about to begin. She tried to recollect the anxious feeling she got in her stomach when she waited for him to call. The nausea that came when she knew it might be hours, a day, before she could see him again. She tried to recall the way she held her breath then. The way she thought she might explode with the need for him to touch her.
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