Nocturnal (6 page)

“Ho.” I glare at her.

“Slut.” We drop our serious faces and laugh. Those words, supposed to be used as insults are teams of endearment. She gives me one last smile before she's out of the car and up the steps on her porch. She waves before she goes inside. I wave and honk as I pull out.

I turn on the radio, cranking it up. I don't even care what it is. Once again, I've chickened out of telling her. 

When my mother was first diagnosed, it took me a whole week to tell Tex and Jamie. I finally did it when we went out to get pizza after one of Jamie's track meets. We were discussing what the most unusual but delicious toppings are for pizza. Tex had just made the case for ranch dressing when I blurted it out. Just like that. They both stared at me, which made me cry. Tex had taken me out to Jamie's truck while Jamie paid and got to-go boxes. We'd ended up sitting in the parking lot while I told them everything. Once I started, I couldn't stop. That's how I am with secrets. Once I start to let it out, all this other stuff comes with it. Sometimes it's stuff I never even thought about, or knew I felt. 

After they'd hugged me and we'd had that moment the only thing I could feel was embarrassed. I didn't want to do that again.

***

My mother calls me in the middle of school the next day on my new phone, saying she wants to take me out shopping. I can't refuse, even though it means missing English. Part of me doesn't want to go with her, because I'm too tired to keep on my happy face. But on the other hand she's never called me out of school to go shopping before. It seems extravagant. 

“Where are you going?” Tex says when I meet her in the hall after geometry. 

“I have a doctor's appointment.” This lie comes easily. Some are harder than others.

“Lucky you.” 

“Oh yeah.” I use my finger to make a gun and pretend to shoot myself in the head. I tell her I'll see her later and shuffle off to the office. I come around the corner and see her waiting there. I have to put my shoulders back and put on my happy-Ava face.

She's got her everyday wig on, and she keeps putting her hands in it. I wish she wouldn't wear it when she came to school. She turns and sees me, her face breaking out into a smile, which makes my heart do this squeezy thing that makes it hard to breathe.

“Hi, ma fleur. Are you surprised?” She gives me a hug, right there in front of everyone passing by, planting a loud kiss on my cheek. I'm only slightly mortified. Her cheeks have too much blush on them, but it's not her fault she's lost so much color in her face that she has to paint it back on.

“Yeah,” I say, dying a little inside.

“I feel like a bad mother, but I figured we should have a little girl time, what do you think?” She takes my arm as we walk out together. 

“Sure.” I smile and she squeezes my arm with fingers bony and frail.

We go all the way to Portland, even though the Brunswick Mall is only a half-hour away. She cranks the radio, and rolls the windows down, even though it's chilly. I wish she'd stop putting her fingers in her wig, but maybe she's remembering what it was like to have her hair blowing in the wind. That makes me sad and I turn to look out the window, not wanting to think about it. Every moment we have now is tainted. With the specter of death looming in the background, his black fingers tugging on the corners of our moments. 

She takes me to every clothing store we usually avoid, pressing me to pick up anything that even remotely strikes my fancy, exclaiming about how good it looks on me. She forces me up to the counter, handing her card to the salesperson. I wish she'd believe me if I told her these things don't mean anything to me. The one thing I want neither of us can buy, unless someone's perfected a working time machine. Or a way to freeze moments and put them in jars. I'd have a shelf of them in my room.

She hugs me from behind and whispers how beautiful I am into my ear. I lean back into her, even though the closeness overwhelms me. When she buys me a huge cookie and then shares it with me, I'm as gooey as the chocolate chips and almost tell her all about the creepy cemetery guys. Thing One meeting Thing Two. But my mouth stays shut.

She's having a harder time the later it gets. Her steps slow and aren't as bouncy. I can tell she's tired.

“I don't know about you, but I'm exhausted. Do you mind if we go home?” She leans heavily on me, using my arm as a support. I have a bunch of bags to balance me out on the other side, which probably weigh more than she does.

“Sure, baby.” She pulls me in for a hug and I hold on tight. This is the third time she's hugged me today. Is that what I'm going to do now? Count the number of hugs I have left?

After dropping her keys and purse by the door, she gives me a tired smile and says she's going to rest. Dad's still at work, and the house is quiet. I haul all the things she's bought me up to my room where I have to cram them in corners in my closet. If she's going to be doing this a lot, I'm going to need a bigger bedroom.

I go downstairs and knock on her door. She's out like a light, breathing softly.

My feet don't make a sound on the carpet as I walk into the room. Soft peach light greets me; it's her favorite color. The curtains move as a soft breeze breathes into the room, making it the perfect lazy afternoon. I walk around the bed and look at her face. It's relaxed, peaceful. She mutters a little. I take one finger and run it over her head. I twist one of the brown wisps that passes for her hair around my finger. She moves a little and I let go.

Her eyes open and she starts, seeing me standing next to her.

“Is something wrong?” Her eyes are wide with alarm. Mother's instinct, to assume the worst.

“No. I just came in to check on you.”

“You don't have to do that. I'm fine.” She yawns.

“I know.”

The words that I need to say hang between us, invisible as a spider's web until you walk into it.

“I love you, my Ava-Claire.” Her arms reach for me as she props herself up her elbows.

“I know. I love you too.” I sit down on the edge of her bed.

“You're going to be okay. You're my strong one. My miracle.” Doctors told her she couldn't get pregnant, but she did. And then she almost lost me a few months in. But I'd survived.

Without Dad to monitor us, we finally venture into the minefield. I think about changing the subject, but don't. 

“I don't think I can do it,” I say, my voice trembling. The tears I've been trying so hard to keep deep down in my reservoir bubble up my throat.

“You can. We're never given more than we can carry.” I take her hand. I can't look at her.

“It isn't fair.” My voice hurts.

“I know, baby.” She sits up and pulls me toward her. “I know.” Her soft words release something in me and I can feel the tears release. In this soft peach room with her arms around me, it's nearly impossible to push them back. But I have to.

“You and Dad will take care of each other.” I don't say anything and I don't let go. “Nothing in this life is ever truly lost.” It's a quote from a poem or something. They'd always irritated me, those little proverbs and bits of wisdom. Now I want to collect them, to write them down so I have them with me when she goes. My mother is going to die.

“I would never leave you. If I had the choice. I want you to know that.”

“I do.” She pulls back and looks at my face. There are tears in her eyes, but they haven't spilled over yet.

“I tried. It just wasn't enough.”

“I know.” I feel like I'm saying the same things over and over. I hope they matter. 

She changes the subject.

“What are you doing this weekend? Anything?” There's always some sort of party, if I wanted to go. Which I don't, unless Tex is going to drag me.

“I don't know. Probably nothing.”

“I don't want you not doing things because of me. You're a teenager and I want you to act like it.”

I open my mouth to protest, but she puts her hand over it.

“Go out. Have fun. Bring back good stories. Meet a cute guy. Dance. I want you to have a good time.” She wiggles her eyebrows at me. If I didn't know better, I'd say my mother was trying to get me laid.

“Okay.” She pulls me in for hug number four.

Tex is finally un-grounded, so it's her first chance to get out and go to a party. I'm glad she waits until lunch to accost me, even though everyone is talking about it the minute I walk into school, but I hadn't bothered to eavesdrop on the details. I want to talk her out of it, since a party was what had gotten her grounded in the first place, but she's insistent. With my mother's blessing, I have to go. But I make Tex sweat a little.

“Come on, it's going to be fun.” She says this every single time, and it's not always true.

“Where is it?” Location, location, location.

“Sam Weston's. His parents are going to New York for their anniversary.”

“Don't his parents go away every weekend?” I take a bite of my salad. I'm not hungry, but I don't want to start eating disorder rumors.

“But he doesn't have a party every weekend,” she points out.

“Who else is going?” This is also a determining factor. Certain people, like Joe Silar make for a better party. He always had too much to drink and ended up with a video online that got thousands of hits. He had his own YouTube channel for his exploits, entitled “Joez Show.” Super classy.

“So pretty much anyone who isn't a total loser.” Not that many people had exclusive parties. More people show up, usually the more alcohol did.

“Come on, please?” She bats her eyelashes at me. Like it's going to make a difference.

“I don't know,” I say, trying to make my face look indecisive. Deep down, I couldn't give a crap about it, but my mother wants me to go, for whatever reason. I don't want to disappoint her. 

“What don't you know about?” Jamie sidles up to our lunch table and plunks himself down. We rarely see him at lunch; he usually had a meeting or went out with his sports buddies. He plucks a chip out of Tex's bag and chomps down on it. Jamie ate enough for five people, but he burned it all off doing sports. Loser.

“Sam Weston's. You in?”

“Might as well. Have you recovered from the last time yet, Ave?” I roll my eyes and punch him in the arm. At the last Weston party I'd tripped over the keg and causing it to roll down the hill and into a pond. It had been a few months ago, but I was still known as the girl who killed the keg. It's a wonder they don't bar me from coming to another party.

“I'll stay away from the keg this time.” I give him a wink. He returns it.

“Does that mean you're coming?” Tex is practically jumping up and down, flapping her hands like a bird.

“Yeah, I'm in.” She squeals and hugs me. I am so not into it.

“Want me to pick you up?” Jamie asks.

“What about me?” Tex punches him on the arm. He winces and rubs it.

“Fine. I'll pick you up too, Tex.” Jamie doesn't drink ever, so he's usually our DD. He's also really good at driving a minivan full of drunk people without getting distracted. A valuable skill.

“Sweet.”

There's not much to do in Maine for teenagers except to hang out at Seagull Stop, our equivalent of a 7-Eleven, or build a fire and get drunk. The only other alternative involves Family Game Nights and movies at the library. Or hanging out in cemeteries, my activity of choice. I needed to stop thinking about him. The one I'd gone back to see. I'm able to shove the other less-pleasant memories far down into my subconscious where they will no doubt cost me years and thousands of dollars in therapy. Not him. I wake up in the middle of the night and I swear I can hear his voice.

In Vino Veritas

“You look great, baby.” Mom waits for me at the bottom of the stairs with a  camera. Like it's prom. Dad got her a digital camera and she's been taking picture after picture. Things like me sneezing or eating or doing something awesome like sitting on the couch. I'd see the flash out of the corner of my eye and I'd try to stay still and not do anything weird with my face. I pretend like I don't notice when she does it. I have no idea why she's taking a picture of me doing nothing, but I don't ask.

I smile and pose on the stairs, and give my best Miss America wave. Dad's right behind her, arms around her waist, laughing. I make some funny faces and she takes so many pictures I'm blinded by the flashes.

Jamie's truck sounds in the driveway like a hurricane hit a chainsaw factory. He loves that truck, even though he could never use it in a getaway.

“That's my ride.”

“Have fun, Ava-Claire. Be safe. Don't be home too late.” She hugs me tight. I wish she'd hug me like this forever and never let me go. I don't want to go to the party, but I let her go and walk out the door. She takes one last picture as I look back at her. The flash makes my eyes burn for a moment.

“I will, I won't.” Dad looks like he wants to add something, but he gives me a look that says it all. I smile and wave as I grab my jacket.

“Ready to roll?” I say as I launch myself to get into the truck. Jamie reaches out and hauls me in. Even though he'd never had a cigarette in his life, his truck still smelled like moldy cigarettes. It was a hand-me-down from his dad. 

“Always.” I ride bitch, since I have the shortest legs. We get Tex a few minutes later, and her skirt rides up so much she has to haul it down after she gets in. 

“Classy.”

“I have great legs, what can I say? It would be a crime to cover them up.” I sigh. She does have great legs. I've got stubs. 

My knees are crunched up under the dashboard and Tex keeps brushing crumbs off her seat. Jamie also has to reach between my feet to get his coffee cup. But that's part of the charm of riding around with Jamie.

Sam Weston lived at the end of a dirt road, like a lot of people in Sussex. Secluded in the summer, hell to drive on in the winter. His house was closer to the water than mine, and even had a little cliff so you could watch the waves. The neighbors were all rich summer folks that  hibernated in Florida and hadn't made it up for the summer yet, so the location was ideal. Cars are haphazardly parked in the ditches on either side of the driveway, and some have made their way onto the lawn. The cold air bites at my legs and exposed arms. I should have brought a sweater to cover the blue t-shirt I'd worn.