“Are you sure you want to do this?” asked Dylan. “You’re ready?”
Ellie sat on Dylan’s bed. Both his roommates were out with their girlfriends, and the apartment was theirs for at least another couple of hours. The timing was right.
“Yeah,” she said. “I want to.”
“I’m here,” he said, and his eyes stayed on hers. Clear. Dylan was so clear in everything. Sometimes Ellie felt like everything her mother did or said had layers of meaning Ellie couldn’t hope to identify, stratifications that were probably important but impossible to read. Dylan was sweet. Uncomplicated. He liked Ellie, his guitar, the city of Oakland, and his job at the pizza place three blocks away from the apartment. He didn’t like reality TV, women who pretended to be stupid just to get attention, and tarantulas. It felt like a rest to be with him. A mini-vacation complicated only by sexual tension.
But now she had to call her dad. Dylan nodded reassuringly as she held her phone to her ear.
Ellie’s dad answered on the first ring. Bad sign. He never answered her calls, always calling her back when he was in the car. He said it was so that he could fully concentrate on their conversation, but Ellie knew he did it because in the car he was away from Bettina and the kids, none of whom liked sharing their time with him.
“Kiddo! How’s it going over there?”
His tone was way too cheerful. “So you know,” she said.
“About what?”
He was so fake. Ellie looked at Dylan. He nodded. “About Mom.”
“Oh, yeah! She called me.”
Oh, yeah. That old thing. That old life-threatening nightmarishly horrible thing. “When?”
A pause. “Not that long ago.”
“What does that mean?” Had he known for a day? A month? He should have called her; wasn’t that what fathers were supposed to do? He should have driven to her side the moment he heard—he should have wrapped her up in his arms, lending her fatherly strength and wisdom and hope.
“I don’t know. Not that long.” His voice changed, like he was looking over his shoulder. Probably changing lanes. “How you doin’ with it?”
“Me? Not good.” Ellie spoke briskly. “Mom’s losing her mind. She waters the house, but the houseplants inside are all dying. She’s not driving much because she can’t be sure she’ll remember where to go. She writes the date on her wrist. She gets stuck in one place and doesn’t move forever, not unless someone touches her or speaks to her. I do see her writing but—” Some of the rigidity left her voice. “I’m not sure . . .”
“Well, I know if anyone can handle a rough situation, it’s you. You’ve always been a strong kid.”
Rough situation. This was a catastrophe of nuclear holocaust proportions. Ellie’s mother, whom she loved, was losing her fucking mind. All her brain cells just running out of her like radiator fluid had run from their old Civic. And her father thought it was rough?
Dylan put his hand on her knee and left it there. Ellie’s whole body was frozen except for that one warm spot. She leaned into him, hoping to steal more of his body heat. “Shit, Dad. I don’t know what I’m going to do.” When she’s gone. No, if, if she’s gone.
“I know, Ellie-belly, I know. When your stepmom lost her mother last year, it wasn’t easy for anyone. Look. I’m happy to help out.”
A bright yellow hope rose in Ellie’s chest and she tilted her head so she could flash a quick smile at Dylan. “Yeah?”
“Sure. You need some money?”
The hope popped with a soft hiss. “No.”
“Does your mother need money?”
She had no idea. “No.”
“I mean, she’s got good insurance, right?”
Ellie hadn’t even thought about the insurance. She added it to her list of things to worry about—how could she have gone five months without thinking of it? Would her mother have to stop working? As far as Ellie knew, her mother’s columns were still being turned in on time, but how long could that last? What would happen if her mother lost her job? Was there something her father would have left her . . . ? No, they’d been divorced too long. Mom didn’t even get alimony anymore, just the auto-deposit child support. Holy shit.
“I don’t know anything about her insurance.” And that wasn’t why she’d called him. Jesus Christ.
“What else can I do to help? I’m going to be out that way in October.”
It was late August. “You live ninety minutes away.” The flatness in Ellie’s voice matched the stark expanse of nothingness she saw in her mind—the drive to Modesto was unimpressive in every way unless you really had a thing for cows and dust. It wasn’t a difficult trip, though. Her father drove a BMW. It would eat up the miles just fine. He could be with her before Dylan’s roommates even came home.
“I know. I’m sorry it’s so far, babe.”
It wasn’t far. It was hardly any distance at all. He could . . . He should say . . .
Then he said it. “You can stay with us—you know that, right?”
She didn’t trust him this time. “Yeah?”
“I mean, I have to run it past Bettina, of course, but yeah, if that’s what needs to happen, then that’s what we’ll do. I’ll have her call you. Or e-mail you.”
Ellie’s father sold roofing. He didn’t put it on the house or even handle the material himself. He bought and sold parts that turned into roofs, built by other men. She’d heard this tone of voice from him before, when she was his occasional passenger while they were on their way for a quick ice cream sundae. Yeah, Jones has got it. I’ll have him call you. Wait—e-mail’s better for you, right? Great, we’ll do that. Take care, buddy. His car phone would beep off and he’d quarter turn toward her. “That guy thinks we’re gonna go with him. I guess someone should have thought about that before he took the Hill subcontract, huh, Ellie-belly?”
Ellie had always thought it was funny, the way her dad said what people wanted to hear and then did his own thing. In a strange way, she almost admired him for it. He’d made a family, wasn’t happy with it, so he’d made another one that he liked better. She’d always thought, though, that dads would come to the rescue.
She’d never needed rescuing before. Mom hit me, she could say. Right across the face. I said I understood, but I don’t. I don’t.
But her dad wasn’t the rescuing type, apparently. “So anyway. Talk soon?”
“Yeah, I gotta go, too, Dad. Love you.”
There could have been more words after those from her father, maybe better ones, but Ellie hung up before she could find out. Her fingers were so cold the phone slipped out of her hand, landing on the bed. She didn’t want to hold it anymore anyway. She wanted to lose herself: in a kiss with Dylan that made her eyelashes melt, in writing a story line about Queen Ulra that would somehow save her, in getting drunk, in smoking weed, in doing anything that took her mind off the solid lump of fear in her heart that felt like physical pain. Was it possible for a sixteen-year-old to have a heart attack? Her breathing came faster and the pain in her chest heated. Her dad wasn’t going to help. He couldn’t help. She, Ellie, would have to save them all. She didn’t even have her driver’s license yet. She didn’t know what she wanted to do with her life. But she would have to save them all.