Shake Down the Stars (22 page)

“Will do.”

Mom is still on the porch when I return to the house. “Your timing couldn't have been worse. Of all the days for you to show up.”

“Carol says it was a miracle. Maybe she's right. I was able to apologize.”

“That might be so, but now the entire mess is going to come back up again. She's going to tell everybody she met you.”

“And so?”

“And so . . . it's embarrassing.”

Carol passes in her car, then, with a toot of the horn and a wave. Mom's face goes instantly from sour to happy, as does mine, and we both wave good-bye. As soon as her car is out of sight, Mom heads directly into the house. I'm half surprised she doesn't slam the door in my face when I follow.

“Mom. I'm sorry for what happened, okay? Can we talk?”

“I just wish you had called.”

“I was in the neighborhood. Is Charles here?”

“He's at the church.” Making no move to invite me into the kitchen or to sit down, she just stands before the living room window with her face pinched.

I take my cue from her silence and look out the window as well. Jupiter and Venus can be seen during daylight hours, and I wish momentarily that I was home on my rooftop.

“I'm sorry, okay? Margot told me you wanted to talk. That's why I came.”

“Margot told you I wanted to talk? Margot? And you believed her?”

I suck in a breath. Stupid, stupid me. Of course Margot was lying.

Mom says, “If I wanted to talk to you, I would have called you myself. You know that.”

“Fine. But I'm here now. I want to apologize. I can't imagine how awful it was for you to find me in that parking lot the way you did.”

Refusing to look at me, she raises a brow.

“It's not an excuse, but I had found out Spencer is having a baby and I freaked out.” I decide to leave out that I just ran into him.
What kind of day is this, anyway?

She finally turns to face me. “He was bound to meet someone, Piper. What did you think? Still gives you no excuse for the way you behaved.”

“I know. I know. I'm sorry.”

“Are you? Because I don't think you understand the position you put me in. I'm the pastor's wife. What does it say about me that my daughter is molesting a child in a parking lot? Do you even understand what you did?”

“
Molesting children?
That's a strong accusation.”

“If the accusation fits! You took advantage of a child—in front of a church! In front of my husband's church!” She remembers the flowers in her hands. “I'm going to put these in water.”

Something Curtis said while visiting the school comes to mind—“You like 'em young” or some such inane comment. I then remember Harry's bone-sized frame and that god-awful suit. I follow Mom into the kitchen.
“How old is he?”

“Barely twenty!” she snaps. She pours water into a vase, puts the flowers into it, and sets them on the counter.

I feel a strong sense of guilt. Twenty isn't much older than my students. “I'm sorry, Mom. I swear I had no idea.”

“He had to go to counseling.”

This revelation, actually, seems a bit much. “Counseling? We hardly did anything except kiss. And it's not like I attacked him either. Trust me, he was willing and able.”

She waves her hand vigorously in hopes of wiping out details she'd prefer not to hear. “Fact remains, you're a grown woman, a grown woman who should know better. I had to find you in a car. In the church parking lot of all places. Why you're so hell-bent on embarrassing me, I don't know.”

“Carol said you told everyone I was drinking.”

“How else to explain your behavior?”

My first reaction is to tell her I hadn't been drinking, but this useless fact is pointless by now. “I didn't mean to embarrass you. That night was my rock bottom, Mom. I swear. I've made so many changes since that night. I even joined AA.”

“AA?” she says, as if I said I've joined the Klan. “You mean to tell me you're that bad off?”

“Well, yeah. I'm an alcoholic. You and Margot were right—I have a problem. But I go to meetings, and I'm doing better.”

She shakes her head as if I've completely confounded her.

“Mom, I want us to get along. I do. I'm sorry. I've been learning a lot about myself. I think some of my behavior might come from things that happened to me during childhood.”

“I don't appreciate your talking about all of that. For the millionth time, Piper, let the past stay in the damn past. It wasn't like you were abused, for goodness' sake.”

“I know, but if we could have an honest dialogue for once, we might stand a chance of having a better relationship.”

She sighs and says nothing.

“Can we sit down and talk? That's all I want. I want you in my life, you know?”

I watch her move about the kitchen. She puts the empanadas away and sets aside the flowers in the vase that's too small. She then opens a cabinet and takes down a glass, then goes to the refrigerator for ice. “Mom?” Still ignoring me, she puts her glass down and rests her hand against the counter while placing the other on her hip.

“Piper, you have me in your life. You're the one who tries to ruin everything. Even now you're doing your best to break up my marriage.”

This strikes me as an outrageous statement. “Break up your marriage? What are you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I'm talking about. Charles was nothing but good to us, and even back then you tried to ruin things. You never tried to get along with him. You want to talk about the past? Let's talk about the past. All the man wanted for us was to pray together, and you wouldn't pray, you wouldn't go to church, and whenever you did go, you acted up. Just like you did in that car with that boy! Charles is the pastor of the church, and he had to find out about you in that car!”

“I know, Mom, but—”

“Even after I married him you wouldn't let up. You had a decent stepfather, yet there you were, always going on about David and putting him in Charles's face. Like David was better. David this, David that. How was that supposed to make Charles feel?”

At the mention of Mr. Hoffman, I toss aside any idea of humility or contrition. It's obvious that my mom and I have completely different versions of the past, and she's on the side of nuts.

“This is exactly my point, Mom.
His
feelings. What about
my
feelings? You always put other men's feelings over your own daughter's. You always put Mr. Hoffman down, but you dated him for three years, and you didn't have a problem leaving me with him half the time either. Luckily he was an upstanding individual, or who knows what could have happened.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Think about it. You let your boyfriends
babysit
your child? What kind of mother were you?”

“I knew I could trust David. Why do you think I let him look after you?”

“Mr. Hoffman was great, but what about all those other men?”

“You act like I was never around.”

“You weren't.”

“I was working!”

“Bull. Not all the time. Half the time you were going out.”

“Goddamn it, Piper. All you know how to do is whine and complain. No wonder Spencer is with someone else. I'd be, too, if I were in his shoes.”

Her retort leaves me feeling as winded as if I'd been punched. She narrows her eyes as if she just might hit me but then goes to the cabinet above the refrigerator and takes down a bottle of bourbon. If we're competing for who can hurt the other more, she's just won. A part of me hopes she simply doesn't believe I've quit and that's why she can do something so heartless as to have a drink.

“Mom, I said I'm in AA; I'm trying to quit.”

“I'm not offering you any.”

“Can't you have a drink after I'm gone?”

“Charles will be back soon, and I don't like to drink in front of him.” She swishes the alcohol in her glass before tossing it back.

“Unbelievable.”

“I wasn't thinking about drinking before you got here. Now I'm tense and I want a drink.
And
it's my house.”

I watch her pour another, knowing all the while that if I stay a second longer, I'll end up downing the bottle and hitting her upside the head. “I didn't try to destroy your marriage, Mom. I was young, and you were suddenly acting like a different person. Whore to Christian. I didn't know who you were anymore. I wanted the mother I knew to come back.”

“Did you just call me a
whore
?”

“No! Well, yes, but I was trying to make a point.”

We hear the front door close and both turn as if caught arguing by a parent.
“Margaret?”

Mom quickly puts the bourbon away and her glass in the sink. The Reverend looks at me curiously before going to the table and setting down his briefcase. He then goes to Mom who raises her cheek while keeping her arms crossed tightly as he gives her a kiss. “What's going on?” he asks.

“Piper just called me a whore. In my own home.”

“She misunderstood,” I say.

The Reverend gives Mom a hug and asks if she's okay. She nods briskly.

“I think you should leave, Piper. Your mother is obviously upset.”

“Mom, I didn't call you a whore. I was trying to say—”

She flashes a look.
Close your mouth right this instant.

I do as I'm told.

The Reverend pulls himself up as if behind the podium at his church. “I'm sure our tempers have gotten the best of us. We can talk about whatever happened when we're all clearheaded.”

“I came to apologize,” I try to explain.

“I'm sure your mother appreciates your apology, as do I. Now, however, I think you should leave.”

I glare at them, standing shoulder to shoulder like a team holding their ground against Satan, or whoever they think I am. Fuck 'em. To hell with both of them.

“I was leaving anyway.”

I get as far as the aptly named 24-Hour Liquor. I can taste the scotch already.

To hell with family, to hell with AA. I deserve a drink after a day like this. I mean, Spencer? Followed by Mom? It's too much. One tiny sip and I'll throw the bottle away and never drink again.

As if in reverie, I go inside and stand in front of the liquor selection. I search for a scotch I like but have to settle for a cheaper brand. I buy a pack of cigarettes, too, and cradle the bottle of scotch in my arms as I carry it back to my car.

I climb into the front seat and stare at the sky as I press the bottle into my chest and blow smoke rings. As much as I want a drink, I also fear losing the little ground I've reclaimed over the past four months.

I catch a glimmer of the half crescent moon and tell myself to call Sherry. But I'm also feeling whiny and pissy, and I'm sick of having to call a stupid sponsor every time I feel weak. Hell, even Sherry's name makes me think of alcohol. How crazy is it that my sponsor is named after a fortified wine? She may as well be named Vodka, or Ripple.

I take a deep breath and stare at the bottle I'm still holding. I'm only a twist cap away from a drink. I tell myself that if I want a drink after I talk to Sherry I'm allowed, but first, I need to call.

I'm so relieved to hear her voice I burst into tears. She waits patiently until I pull myself together. I tell her everything as I smoke, every detail about my argument with Mom.

“I just feel like I'm better now and I can handle a drink. Just one.”

“Hold on now. Sometimes it's one second at a time. Listen. Listen, sweetheart. Can you tell me what would happen if you have that one drink? Be honest, now. What would happen if you opened that bottle?”

I look down at the bottle stuck between my legs, then lean back in my seat and gaze out the window. “I'd have a drink and then three or four. Knowing my luck, I'd get pulled over on my way home and thrown in jail for drinking and driving. Or I'd get home and drink through the weekend, and I'd show up late to work on Monday. Or I'd wake up in a stranger's room. That would make me want to drink more. I wouldn't be able to stop.”

“And tell me, sweetheart, what would happen if you don't take that drink?”

I think for a second. I don't see myself making up with my mom any time soon. I'm still all alone. “I don't know.”

“Sure you do. Let's say you don't take that drink. What would you do tonight?”

“I guess I'd go to a meeting and maybe talk about what happened. I have papers to grade, and I'm watching the twins tomorrow. Coco and Clem and I are going bowling next Friday night. Graduation is coming up. It would be nice to see my seniors graduate. I haven't gone to the ceremony in at least three years. I always find a reason to skip it.”

“See there. You have a lot going on. What do you say you start by going to your meeting tonight? See how you feel after that.”

I stare down at the bottle.

“Piper?”

“Yes.”

“Is the bottle still in your lap?”

“You read minds now?”

“Put it away.”

I sigh loudly and toss it in the backseat.

“Are you there?”

“It's in the backseat.”

“That's good. Is there a place where we can meet other than a liquor store parking lot?”

“There's a Thai restaurant at the corner.”

“Okay, we'll meet there.”

“You don't have to meet me, Sherry. It's the middle of the day. You must have things to do. Talking on the phone is more than enough.”

“Piper, you're sitting in a liquor store parking lot and thinking about having a drink. I'm coming. Now the only thing is . . . where did I put my keys?” I listen as she moves around her house in search of her keys. She lives alone near Piedmont, roughly ten minutes away, but when I called, I didn't expect for her to leave her house. Knowing Sherry, she's been out volunteering or doing any number of things that don't involve relaxation.