The Belief in Angels (43 page)

I’m ashamed, but I’m not clear about the source. My tears? Howard? My rule-breaking behavior? My inability to communicate how trustworthy I am to my own father?

I’m ashamed and experiencing it physically as an almost vise-like constriction in my gut and around my heart, which pumps against it painfully and insistently, as though it’s rejecting the emotion.

Leigh leads me to the bed as my tears begin to morph into convulsive sobs.

I try to calm myself.

“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t want to pull you guys into this. I shouldn’t have come.”

“It’s not your fault, Jules. His rules are ridiculous,” Leigh says.

Timothy adds, “You shouldn’t have to deal with this stuff, Jules. You’re right, he’s a jerk. He comes down crazy hard. It could have been anything. Maybe you shouldn’t even go back until your mom comes home. You should call her and tell her to come back. Tell her what’s going on and what he said to you.”

Leigh glances over at Timothy first. I can tell she’s debating whether to educate him as to Wendy’s equally “non-parental” personality. Leigh has known me
and my family a long time, and in the last two years of my friendship with Timothy I’ve done a good job at soft-pedaling the stuff that goes on

“Wendy is … she’s not the kind of mother who would be motivated enough by Howard’s behavior to come back. She lived it for years before she decided she was done. I think she thinks I’m old enough to handle it myself.”

I remember that Wendy met Howard when she was fifteen. I’m sixteen.

I realize the truth of my statement.

It’s stifling living with him, but instead of trying to talk to him, to get to know him and allow him to know me, I’ve let him bully me into behaving like a child. I’ve done every ridiculous thing he’s asked me to. I’ve been a spineless wimp instead of standing up to him.

Maybe if I tried to talk to him like an adult, he would realize he can’t push me around, that I
am
old enough to make my own decisions. Instead, I’ve played into whatever fantasy he has about me being a “good girl” and let him control me like a robot.

I’ve known all along I would eventually have to break it to him that I’m not who he wants me to be. I know if it isn’t this showdown, a bad scene will come sooner or later. The realization that I’ve set myself up makes me break down into a new round of tears. “I did this to myself. I should have stood up to him the minute he showed up. At least he wouldn’t have been shocked by it now.”

“But you didn’t. You didn’t stand up to him,” Timothy says before he realizes his words might be insulting. I’m sure my expression registers my hurt feelings. He softens his tone. “I mean, you were nice to him. Even though he talked to you so mean …”—he pauses—”so roughly … you were still polite and respectful. And he still acted like … that. Has he always been this way? I mean, from when you were young?”

I imagine how difficult it will be for him to understand my parents’ behavior toward me. Timothy’s world tilts differently. His father and his grandmother love him and his brother and treat them kindly. Their home is a clean, orderly, and harmonious haven, a place where you can relax and laugh. A place where you have dinners around a table every night with everyone. His family sits around a tiny television set in the living room and passes the popcorn bowl around until the last person to eat a kernel gets up, without a complaint, and makes another bowl to share. There’s always more popcorn and space for another person. The love in that family feels expansive, generous. It makes you want to be included and invited. It makes me want to be one of them.

There’s no way he can ever understand what my parents are like. They exist outside of his experience of family life. I’ve never even read about families like
mine except in a Dickens story. I’ve never seen television shows with characters like Wendy and Howard unless they’re criminals.

“There’s no way you can understand what it’s like,” is all I say.

“I guess not.”

I realize I have somehow insulted him. Before I have a chance to explain it to him he makes a call to his own family. While he’s talking to them, Ms. Westerfield knocks on the door. Leigh lets her in. She seems upset, but her words come out calmly.

“Jules, you were on target about your father. He had a hard time believing who I was and an even harder time listening to me.
Listening”
She repeats the word with emphasis. I can tell she’s really pissed, but she’s trying not to sound angry.

“When I drive you back tomorrow I’m going to go inside with you, and if you don’t feel”—here she corrects her statement carefully—“if
I
don’t feel like it’s safe to leave you there, I’m going to take you back to our place, where you’re going to stay until your mother comes back. Okay?”

Ms. Westerfield is probably shocked at what Howard had to say. He probably laid a number on her. I think until now she may have thought Leigh exaggerated the truth about how rude and mean he was. It seems she has the total picture now. I wonder what that means. I worry she might be getting herself into deep water with my messed-up family dynamics, like she has to be responsible for me or something. I can’t stand the idea of my family’s psycho behavior bleeding onto anyone else. I know I have to handle the situation quickly by myself.

“I know it seems bad right now, but he’s probably been drinking and he says stupid things when he drinks. He’s gonna be fine tomorrow, despite how he sounds right now. I know … you don’t believe it. But it’s the truth. I do need to start back early, though … so he doesn’t get worked up again.”

I add this because I don’t want to have to explain what I know. If we can catch Howard after he wakes up—after his coffee and before his first drink—he’ll probably have enough sense to keep it together in front of Ms. Westerfield.

“We can leave early,” she says.

After a little light conversation with Leigh and Timothy, who’s now off the phone, about dinner, she leaves.

We watch movie after movie on the hotel TV and eat the food from room service. We are actually having fun, even though I know that whatever happens tomorrow might erase the nice memory of this moment.

Stevie Nicks sings “Rhiannon” on a rerun of
The Midnight Special
and spins around in a lacy black dress. Her dress reminds me of a spider costume.

I drift into sleep while both of them stay glued to the set. The last thing I remember hearing is Timothy’s voice to Leigh.

“Do you think she’s asleep?”

“Yeah. I think so.”

Silence.

Then Timothy’s soft voice. “Jesus.”

I want to open my eyes and say, “Leave him out of it,” to make them laugh about it, but I can’t stop myself from falling asleep.

It’s morning.

I check out the hotel windows and see the snow still pounding down thick like pillow batting and no cars moving on the city streets below. I dread the day ahead.

After a while the snowplows come and clear the streets around the hotel. Ms. Westerfield calls Leigh’s sister to make sure the roads in Withensea have been plowed again as well. She says it’s still snowing but it’s lightened up. We have a slow drive through the messy freeways on the way out to Withensea.

I’m sure Ms. Westerfield wanted to avoid driving in this weather but she also wants to keep her word to Howard about delivering me back.

We make it back at about four thirty, as the sky turns into a deep charcoal smudge.

Howard’s car sits parked in front. I realize he probably got it when I left for Boston, which was when the avenue opened up. The trunk of the car, its lid tied down with rope, holds the wood he’s stacked high inside it. He’s done a lot of chopping, and the memory of him swinging the ax makes me shudder.

The lights inside are on. Ms. Westerfield pulls her car up in the driveway next to the Daemler Hearse. She’s seen it before, many times, but in the snow the psychedelic colors pop out and we all stare at it for a second.

“I’m going in,” Ms. Westerfield says.

I try to talk her into staying in the car, but she’s stubborn about it. She makes her voice all friendly and calm. I wonder if she’s practicing for Howard, but I can also see how tired she is from the long drive through the snow. We sit in the car for a few more minutes before I step out and she turns off the car. As soon as she does, she turns it back on again. “I’ll leave it running,” she says to Leigh and Timothy. “You guys stay warm.”

“I’m coming,” Timothy says

“Me too,” Leigh says.

“No,” Ms. Westerfield practically shouts, which surprises us all. “I want you to stay in the car.” She turns to me now, “Actually, Jules, I’d like you to stay here while I talk to your father.”

Jules, 16 years | February, 1978

AS FAR AWAY AS POSSIBLE

“I DON’T THINK it’s a good idea. I mean, I better go with you so he knows I’m really here.”

She thinks about it and lets me go with her.

We knock.

When Howard answers, he doesn’t seem surprised to see Ms. Westerfield standing there with me. I notice he’s wearing Jack’s leather coat.

“Hello,” he says calmly to Ms. Westerfield as he gestures for us to step inside. He acts like we’re guests in his house.

“Hello,” she answers hesitantly as she steps around him.

He places himself with his back to the door now. Threatening.

“Thank you for bringing Julianne back. I appreciate your driving through this weather. I’m sure it was a difficult drive.”

“Yes, well …” Ms. Westerfield seems as surprised as I am to experience his manner. Almost charming. Almost.

But Ms. Westerfield is smarter than most of the women he pulls this stuff on. She straightens up, and I can tell she feels nervous as she speaks. Her voice develops the warning tone teachers use in front of kids when we start to goof off in class.

“I’d like your assurance that Jules won’t be punished for something that was
clearly not her fault. She came with us innocently. I felt certain I would have her back early yesterday. I accept full responsibility for the situation.”

“I see. Well, I understand. But Jules knows the rules, and she knows she’s not supposed to go anywhere without my permission. She broke the rules, and she knows it.”

Howard actually smiles when he says this to Ms. Westerfield, but when he finishes he stares at me and I can see his pupils adjust with a miniscule shift, his anger simmering beneath his façade of control.

“I understand you’re angry because she didn’t discuss it with you, but she tried. I was present when she tried to call you. When you didn’t answer she made the decision to come with us with an assurance that we’d be back shortly. As I’ve said, I didn’t realize we were due for another big snowstorm. Not even the weather forecasters saw this one coming.”

It’s the simple truth. All the newscasters said it surprised everyone.

Howard nods. “Well it’s moot anyway, isn’t it? The damage is done. She’s safe and sound at home now.” He smiles his fake charming smile at Ms. Westerfield, who doesn’t seem impressed with it.

I scan back and forth between them and wonder what might happen next.

“As a matter of fact, I’m pretty sure she can do an excellent job taking care of herself until her mother returns. If she needs anything, she can reach me where I’m staying, in town.” He glances at me and the same glimmer of menace flicks in his eyes despite his small polite smile. “At your Aunt Doreen’s.”

He opens the door. “I’ll be leaving now. Call me if you need me, Jules.”

He leaves before I can even respond. I practically fall backwards as the door closes.

Ms. Westerfield and I stare at each other. “Wow. That’s … that’s … mystifying,” I say.

Ms. Westerfield stares at the door now, looking as stunned as I am. I wonder what she said to him last night on the phone to make him leave. I can’t believe he’s come to the decision on his own. Without saying a word, we pull the curtains away from the sidelight window and watch him back his car out and drive away.

Then Ms. Westerfield says something I think I’m going to remember always. “Jules, I know your life hasn’t been wonderful so far. Your parents have been … less than perfect parents to you. But I promise you, when you go to college, when you grow into your adulthood—it will never be this hard for you again. You’ll be able to make your own choices. You’ll be able to walk away from people who don’t treat you well. You’ll be able to create your life the way you imagine it will be.”

I don’t know what to say. I know she’s telling me something important. She’s
telling me exactly the thing I need to hear. It’s like radiant sunshine and I’m standing there basking in it.

“Thank you. I hope … I hope what you’re telling me is true.”

“It’s true,” she says and smiles.

Leigh and Timothy come inside. Leigh ends up spending the night with me. I think they’re all a bit skeptical about Howard’s change of heart and Ms. Westerfield doesn’t want me to spend the night alone, even though I’m certain Howard won’t show up again.

They don’t know Howard like I do. The food supply has run low. He’s got all the wood he needs for Aunt Doreen’s fireplace, even if the power doesn’t come back on for the rest of the month, and I’m sure he thinks Wendy will be back in a few days and the jig will be up anyway.