The Deepest Blue (18 page)

She gives me an embarrassed smile. “Sorry.” She stuffs the keys back into her bag. “I won't be far behind.”

Jayden, Rachel, and I get up and head for the other end of the room and a set of wooden doors that lead to escape. I go first, hitting the crash bars a little harder than I mean to. Jayden and Rachel follow. We wind up at the far end of the parking lot.

“So what's up, Captain Mystery?” Jayd asks.

“My mom's here.”

“Your who?” Jayd stops in the middle of the asphalt lot filled with cars.

“Julia, the wicked witch of the west. Chuck says she's here, and she's looking for me. I've gotta get out of here.” I take a deep breath of the sweltering, humid air. I can't breathe. I yank off the tie and the jacket and drape them over one arm.

“What's she doing here?” Rachel asks.

I start walking, scanning the lot for the white Sable.
“Looking for me. She thinks she's taking me back to Seattle or wherever the hell it is she lives.” My footsteps feel heavy on the pavement. I can't see the car anywhere.

“She can't just take you,” Jayd says, trying to be the voice of reason. “She can't just pluck you out of your life like a weed.”

“She thinks she can,” I say. “We've got lawyers and judges and shit like that involved to try and prevent it, but she thinks she can just waltz in and yank me out of my home and haul me off like I'm some freaking bowling trophy or something.” I can feel the anger rising in my chest. It bangs on my ribs like a gorilla in a cage, slamming around inside, looking for a way out.

Rachel scurries up behind me, her high heels clicking like an overwound clock. “Wait,” she calls.

I stop, spin, and glare at them both for taking so damned much time. “We gotta go,” I say, my voice low and loud.

“When are you going to court?” Jayd asks, calm and logical.

“Tomorrow.” I turn and resume my stomp through the rows of cars.

“What time?”

“I don't remember right now.” My head is pounding; I just want to get away from here as fast as I can.

Jayd jogs up beside me, raises a key ring level, points it at a white car, and presses a button that beeps. The tail-lights flash, and I head for the passenger door. Cars are still pulling into the lot, though other cars are already
leaving. People wander to and fro, getting in and out of vehicles in the parking lot.

I grab the handle and yank the door open. Rachel clicks up behind me. “I left my purse,” she says, her voice high pitched and apologetic.

“We'll wait,” Jayd says.

I dive into the car, the heat pressing on me like a weight. I leave the door open, hoping for a rogue breeze to blow through. Jayden climbs into the driver's seat. “This is surreal,” he says.

“Tell me about it.” I drop my head in my hand, my eyes slamming shut.

“What are you going to do?”

“Fight like hell to stay with Maggie.”

“How can I help?”

“I don't know. Just get me the hell out of here.”

I hear the key slide into the ignition and the engine turn over. Hot air blasts from the dashboard vents, but gradually it grows cooler in the car. Air hits the top of my head and sifts through my hair. I lower my head and let it hit my neck.

Footsteps approach, high heels on pavement. “It took you long enough,” I say.

“Ten years too long,” comes a woman's voice.

My eyes fly open. I see beige shoes and white legs. I look up. A woman with jet black hair and wearing a pale pink dress stares down at me.

“We need to talk, Michael.”

chapter 15

Late one night when I was five years old, my dad picked me up out of my bed and sat me on his knee. I was half asleep and had to struggle against my heavy eyelids to focus on him.

“If you could pick your three favorite toys, what would they be?”

“Choo-choo train,” I said, yawning the last word. “Teddy bear, and . . .” I thought for a moment in the dark room. A slash of light leaked beneath my bedroom door. I could hear heavy footsteps down the hall. A door slammed and I jumped, my eyes wide and trying to adjust to the limited light.

“It's okay,” Dad said in a comforting voice. “What's number three?”

“Legos.”

Dad hugged me close, and I could hear him sniff. He was crying, rocking me softly. Suddenly I became very scared.

“You okay, Daddy?” I asked. I remember putting my hand on his damp cheek, wiping his tears on my pajama top, then wrapping my arms around his neck.

“Little man, this is a tough thing I'm about to tell you. I need your help.” His voice cracked slightly at the last word, and in my five-year-old heart, I knew this was serious.

“Okay,” I said, trying to sound strong and serious, too.

“Can you get those three favorite toys together and put them in your backpack?”

“But it's nighttime, Daddy.” I felt confused and scared, but I wanted to help.

“I know, Mikey, but this is important. Can you do that for me?”

I nodded my head. “Yes.”

“I'll turn on your lamp so you can see, okay?” The lamp with the miniature train circling its base switched on. The soft yellow glow hurt my eyes, and I squinted and covered them with my arm. Another door slammed, and I could hear my mom yelling something, her voice climbing higher with each word. I looked at my dad, my eyes still squinting against the light. His eyes were rimmed in red; his face was pale and damp.

“You get your toys in your pack, and I'll be back here in just a second, okay?”

“Don't leave, Daddy.” My voice sounded more scared than I wanted it to.

“I'll be right back, little man, I promise.” He smiled reassuringly, and I turned to my closet to find my favorite things.

My Legos were in a plastic tub with the lid sealed. I tried to wedge it into the pack, but it was too large for the small opening. I pried at the lid until it finally popped open and dumped the plastic squares and rectangles into the bottom of my pack. I heard something crash, something glass breaking into pieces and scattering. It sounded like it was in the kitchen, so I decided to put on my sneakers so I wouldn't step on a piece of glass if I walked in there. My mom yelled again: loud words, mean words, bad words that I would get my mouth washed out with soap if I said. I didn't completely understand what she said, but I knew she was telling my dad that she was unhappy, that she didn't want to be there, that he made her mad.

I found my bear and my train under my bed and put them in the pack. I had to fold the bear in half to stuff it in and make it fit. Then I sat on the edge of my bed and waited. I listened to my mom yelling. I felt tears welling in my eyes. I was scared, confused, and didn't know what was happening—I just knew that it wasn't good.

Time slowed to a crawl as I waited. Then Dad came in. He had a black bag with woven strap handles. He unzipped it and started taking socks and pajamas out of the top drawer of my dresser. He took T-shirts, underwear, and shorts out of the next drawer, and long pants and jackets from the bottom drawer. He took my other pair of sneakers out of my closet and put them with my clothes. He carefully put them all in the black bag and zipped it closed.

“Where am I going?” I asked, worried. “What did I do?”

“You didn't do anything, little man. You're a great kid, and none of this is because of you.” My dad patted my knee, then sat on the bed next to me. “The thing is,” Dad said, and his voice sounded so sad it made me start to cry, “the thing is your mom doesn't want me around anymore. She doesn't want to be married to me anymore.”

I didn't fully understand, I just knew my dad was unhappy, and I would have given anything to make him happy. I reached over and hugged him, wrapped my arms around his neck tightly. “I still want you to be my daddy.”

He rubbed my back and held me close. “I will always be your dad, no matter what.” His voice sounded fierce but not scary. Behind me I could hear Julia slamming something into a wall—a chair maybe or a table. I was growing more and more frightened that she would try to hurt my dad.

“So it's time for us to go.”

“Go where?” I asked.

Dad pried me off his neck and sat me on his knee. “I think tonight we'll stay in a motel. I'll figure out the rest tomorrow.”

“Should I pack my swim trunks?” I asked. Motels always meant swimming pools, and I cheered up a bit thinking we might be headed on a vacation of some sort.

Dad gave me a weak smile. “Yeah, little man, grab your trunks.”

I dashed to the dresser and pulled out my swim
trunks. I handed them to my dad, and he stuffed them into the bag. He looked at me with a soft gaze. His eyes looked tired, and his beard was coming back in scratchy stubs on his chin. “Is there anything else you really have to have if we leave?”

Suddenly I got really scared. “You mean, we might not come back?” The thought of leaving my home, my room, my toys, and my friends washed over me like a tidal wave, and fear froze my feet in place. I sucked in deep breaths of air, like I was drowning, and my heart pounded like a drum in my ears.

Dad pulled me close again, rubbing and patting my arms. “It's all going to be okay,” he said. “I'm not going to let anything happen to you. I'll get you new toys, I promise.”

My heart rate slowed a little, and again Julia smashed something on the floor. I jumped. I heard her screaming, her voice so out of control it sounded like a cartoon. The only words I clearly understood were “. . . ruined my life” and “. . . you wanted him, not me.” They struck straight into my heart. A door slammed, and then I couldn't hear her anymore. I looked at Dad, tears spilling down my cheeks.

“Let's go find a nice hotel with a big swimming pool,” Dad said, his words cheerful but his voice full of concern and sadness. He wiped the tears from my face with his thumbs. “Would you like that?”

I nodded.

Dad hefted the black bag onto his shoulder. I hoisted my backpack onto mine. Dad stood from the bed and
grasped my hand in his. I looked up at him, wanting him to carry me, but he stepped toward the door, so I followed.

He pulled the door open slowly, looking down the bright hallway. I followed him through the door and into the hall, down the stairs to the family room, then into the kitchen. Shards of glass glinted on the floor, a chair was overturned by the table. I held Dad's hand even tighter. He opened the door to the garage. The July heat was trapped in there, and I moved quickly to the car, where I knew it would be cooler soon. Dad closed the door behind us with a soft click. I struggled to open the car door as Dad opened the garage. He pushed the big door slowly above his head. We were sneaking away like burglars in the night.

After he buckled me into my booster seat, Dad climbed into the driver's seat. Then he started the car and began backing into the driveway. He didn't stop the car to close the garage. He just kept backing down the long, cement drive leading away from our house.

As the rear of the car dipped and we pulled onto the street, Julia emerged from the kitchen, arms flailing, yelling loud enough that we could hear her with all the windows closed. The car lurched forward, but Julia dashed to the side of the car and began tugging on the handle. Dad had already clicked the locks shut, but she banged on the window and screamed for him to stop. He hit the brakes, and we jerked to an abrupt stop.

Julia pounded her fists on the window. “Don't you walk out on me,” she said in a voice that was almost a
growl. “Don't you run away from me.”

Dad stepped out of the car, leaning over the top and yelling back. “You said you didn't want me. You said I ruined your life, remember?”

“But what am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to pay bills or take care of the house without you?”

Dad's fist hit the top of the car. I jumped. “Damn it, Jules, I don't know. I can only do so much, and if I have to be mother and father to Mike, then I can't take care of you, too. Get a job. Move back in with your mother, or your sister, or one of the ten guys you're always telling me would die to have you. But leave us alone. Let Mike be happy. Let me be happy.”

He got back in the car, slammed the door, and sped away, leaving Julia standing on the lawn in her bare feet and a T-shirt with Donald Duck on the front.

I leaned against the car window and eventually fell asleep. I woke in the morning on a bed in a small hotel room. It didn't feel like Seattle, and it smelled different, too. There were no gulls calling out, no damp air that smelled like the ocean.

Dad was sitting in a chair, his head resting on one hand, his other hand frantically writing something on a piece of paper.

“Where are we?” I asked. He jumped.

“Hey, champ, how'd you sleep?”

I sat up and swung my feet to the edge of the bed. “Okay.”

There were dark circles under his eyes, and he still
had on the same jeans and T-shirt from the night before. “Come on over here.”