It’s about six at night; I’ve been home from practice less than fifteen minutes, and I’m already at work trimming the hedges lining the east border of our yard. Anything to avoid being with my mother. Besides, this task—fall cleanup of our yard—has been on her list of chores I’m supposed to complete for about a week. It’s a big job, one that will take days to finish, and I want to get as much as possible done before next weekend, because next weekend, I’ve got a date for Homecoming.
I glance up at the living room windows, where Margaret and Caroline are knocking and waving every few minutes. Once I turn to acknowledge them, they hide. They crack me up with how easily they’re amused.
But this time, when they knock and I turn, I see something I don’t expect: my former stepfather is already halfway across the lawn and approaching the door. I don’t have time to reach for my phone to call the cops because I know he’s not going to ring the bell. Despite the fact that he’s never lived here, he somehow feels he owns the place, like he belongs here and has every right to walk in.
I start toward him, my clippers slipping out of my hand on the way. “Can I help you?”
He doesn’t even glance over his shoulder.
His hand is already on the doorknob.
He’s taller than me by a couple inches, and he’s all brawn, but I launch myself toward him and manage to get into the foyer alongside him.
“Look.” He closes the door. “I’m sorry about the other night.”
I want to look at my sisters to reassure them, but I don’t want to call attention to the fact that they’re up half a flight of stairs. I raise my chin toward the door. “Get out of here.”
“I’m sorry. I had too much to drink, and—”
“Story of your life, isn’t it?”
“I’m sober now. I’m working a program. I’m working on this disease—”
“Disease?”
His gaze drifts upward, and everything’s put on pause for a second. He smiles. “Hey, pretty.”
My mother must be at the top of the stairs now. I glance to confirm it. Caroline is at her hip, and Margaret is hiding behind her. “Josh.”
I ignore her. “This isn’t a disease. Cancer is a disease. Lymphoma. This is addiction. A decision he makes five, six times a week.”
“That’s all over now,” Damien says. “Last week, after your mother’s shift, we had a breakthrough. I’m working a program.”
“I’ll bet.”
“You’re too young to understand this, the love between a man and a woman. I love your mother, and she loves me. We have children together. I want to know my girls. I want a hand in raising them.”
“Your hand in raising them is supposed to arrive by mail on the tenth of each month,” I remind him.
He ignores my dig. “We’re going to give this another try, all right? Now, I’d like to do it with your blessing.”
“Over my dead body.”
“Don’t be dramatic,” Rosie says.
I don’t have to look at her to know she’s rolling her eyes, but I don’t know which of us she’s accusing of drama.
“Damien,” she says. “Another time, all right?”
Another time. I gauge her for a second. She’s not telling him to get lost. She’s telling him to come back later.
“I’m not staying.” Damien pulls a small box out of the pocket of his jacket, and again addresses me. “I just wanted to give this to your mother. Now, I’m asking you, man to man. Give me a chance to show you—to show your mother and my daughters—how I can change.”
He makes a move to walk around me, but I shove him by the shoulders.
He puts a hand up and appears to take a step back, but half a second later, he’s inching closer again, trying to get around me.
I step to the side, blocking his access. “We have an order of protection.”
“It expires in a few months.”
“You’re in violation right now. I could’ve blown your fucking head off the second you stepped inside this house, and no jury would convict me. Just turn around, Damien, and walk away. Leave us alone.”
“Josh,” my mother says again.
“Go!” I shove him again, knowing full well I’m provoking him, knowing the consequence could be a massive beating. But it’s nothing I haven’t survived before, and maybe my mother needs to see it. Maybe she needs to remember what kind of monster Damien can be.
He’s looking down at me now. His nostrils flare, and his cheeks are a shade or two redder than they were a minute ago. I can tell he’s about to lose it. He gives me a subtle nudge, but it’s not enough. Nothing blatant enough for Rosie to see.
I give him a forearm to the chest.
He grumbles a little, breathless, through his teeth. He’s about to snap.
So I give it to him again, and next I know, my back is flat against the wall, and he’s got my right wrist in his hand.
“I know you need this arm.” His spit sprays out at me when he hisses these words. “Big football star, huh? We’ll see about that.”
I harden my gaze and silently dare him. Go ahead. Do it. That’s all I need, motherfucker. Break my wrist. I’ll drive myself to the emergency room. It isn’t up to Rosie this time.
Margaret whimpers. “Joshy.”
“It’s okay, Maggie Lee.” But I don’t take my eyes off Damien. I smile because I know it’ll crawl under his skin. “He’s not going to do a damn thing. He’s sober now.”
Damien lets out a yell, pulls back, and punches the wall, inches from my head.
“Joshy!”
“You missed!” I’m off the wall, in his face.
Rosie’s on us now, trying to get between us. “Josh. Stop.”
“I’ll teach your ass,” he says.
“Teach me.” I blow him a kiss.
Rosie: “Damien.”
“Contain this animal.” He whips the small box at her, but it flies up the stairs, and as he’s on his way out, he spits at me—deliberately this time.
But I dodge it. Nothing he does matters to me anyway.
He points at me. “Someday you’ll learn. A man can change. I’m trying to put my life back together.”
“Do it somewhere else,” I say.
He’s opening the door. “This isn’t over.”
“Oh, yes it is.”
Rosie gives me a scolding glance, then follows him out the door. “Damien, wait.”
Christ.
I’ve seen this sort of thing dozens of times—my mother begging her perpetrators to stay—and I’ve read enough to understand that it’s a survival skill I shouldn’t fault Rosie for, but it doesn’t make it any easier to watch.
“You’re right,” she says. “He’s out of control. I’m sorry. I’ll work with him, okay?”
I’ve already dialed the police by the time my mother reaches him in the yard.
She’s too far away now. I can’t hear what she’s saying, or how he’s responding, but I see him touch her under the chin, kiss her forehead. Quite a show. If I didn’t know him better, I might think a tiger just rearranged its stripes.
“Josh Michaels,” I say to the dispatcher. “Forty-four twenty-one Carpenter. We have an order of protection against my stepfather, and he was just inside our house.” I answer a few questions: yes, he shoved me; no, I’m not hurt; yes, he’s already gone.
Margaret and Caroline are sitting at the top of the stairs, so I go up there, too, and pick up the box when I pass it. I sit on the floor between my sisters while we wait for the police. My feet rest on the stairs.
“Is Daddy coming back?” Caroline lays her blonde head in my lap.
“No,” I say. “Your daddy’s going to jail.”
“Jail?”
“If I have anything to say about it, yes.”
“Love you, Joshy,” they say in unison.
“Love you, too, sisters.”
Margaret pets the box Damien chucked up the steps. “What’s in it?”
Caroline gives my arm a squeeze. “Daddies are supposed to be in jail.”
It breaks my heart when the girls say things like that. They don’t know any different. “Not really. Daddies are supposed to be good.” I open the box. It’s a ring. A dark stone, rather small, shaped like a teardrop, in a gold setting. I snap the box closed and shove it in the pocket of my sweatshirt. “He’s not a daddy, anyway.”
“He’s our dad, but not yours,” Margaret says.
“He’s not a real dad,” I say. “Daddies don’t do those things.”
“Then what do real daddies do?” Caroline asks.
God. What a complicated question. “Well . . . I don’t know because I don’t have one, but I’ll tell you what I read about in a book once.” Now Margaret’s cuddling in close, too. I put my arm around her. “Daddies are supposed to be here in the middle of the night when you’re scared. They wake up early and go to work, and make money so there’s always plenty of food and clothes. They read to you and take you to the beach, and play games with you. They drive you to school so you don’t have to walk. They’re happy for you when you win, and sad when you lose, but somehow, they make you feel like losing is okay, too.”
“That’s nice.”
I kiss the top of Margaret’s head. Yeah, it’s nice. Too bad it’s not real.
The door opens, and Rosie walks in. “Well, that went well.” She plants her hands on her hips, sighs, and stares up at me. “Why do you provoke him?”
“Don’t put this on me.” I pick up Caroline from my lap and stand her on her feet so I can get to mine. “The guy’s not supposed to be here. Don’t you remember going to court? To make sure he couldn’t drop in and disrupt everything and hurt people?”
“He’s sober, Josh.”
“Yeah? Give him a minute.”
“This order of protection is up at the end of February.” Rosie tucks her hair behind her ear and starts up the stairs. “Let’s just ride this out, and see how he does until then. If he can stay sober until February—”
“Are you kidding me?”
“He’s changing.”
“Do you know the girls are terrified of him? Do you want your little girls to grow up in fear like that?”
“I can’t do this alone, Josh.” She maneuvers around me. “I’m seeing real changes in him. He loves me.”
“Yeah?” I grab her elbow. “Did you think he was loving you when he beat you with a branch when you were six months pregnant? How about the day he had you by the throat and threatened to squeeze the life out of you?”
She closes her eyes for a second, then pierces me with an angry glare. “That’s all over now. And thank you for trying to make me feel as if I’m not worthy of love, as if no one could possibly love me. Just like your bastard father. Boy, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
“He’s not capable of love, Rosie.”
“Mom. You call me Mom.”
“You know it’s true. It’s not you. It’s him.”
“He’s changed! You want to know how I know? Because you shoved him, you practically dared him, and he walked away. He walked away! No cops had to come, and things are already settled. This is what happens in normal families. We make mistakes, and we get mad at each other, but then it’s over.”
The doorbell rings.
I look to my sisters. “Just tell the truth, okay? Tell the officers what happened.”
“God, you didn’t.” Rosie drops her head into her hands. “Josh.”
I’m already down the stairs and opening the door.
I let the officers in. Give them the gist of what happened. Show them the dent in the wall, where Damien punched it.
“Your mother’s home?” they ask.
“She’s right up there.” I point up the half-flight of stairs, where I expect my mother to be standing, but she’s gone. Only Margaret and Caroline occupy the space.
“Ms. Wick?” The officers walk up the stairs.
“Yes?” Rosie appears in the hallway, with a basket of clothes, as if she’s in the midst of doing laundry. She glances at me, then glances at the police.
I hold my breath. Tell them it’s true.
But Rosie drops the basket onto the kitchen table. “God, what did he do now?”
I release my breath. “Great. Lie to them. They won’t be able to help next time he’s got you on the floor, with a knee to your chest.”
Rosie looks like confusion personified. What a great actress she’s turning out to be. “I don’t know . . . Officers, I’m sorry. My son has been acting out the past few weeks. If you look at his record, you’ll see: he has a history of mishandling his anger. He’s under a lot of pressure. He actually punched the wall last night.” She points to the foyer.
Great. “Look at my hands.” I hold them out for the officers to see. “No bruises, no scrapes, nothing dislocated. If I’d punched the wall—”
“He didn’t!” Margaret interjects.
“Maggie!” Rosie says.
“Josh is telling the truth,” Margaret says.
“Can you tell me what happened?” An officer crouches to my sisters’ level.
Caroline reaches for Margaret’s hand. Their fingers entwine.
“Joshy’s right,” Margaret says.
My mother lifts Caroline to her hip. “Caroline, tell Mommy. Did Josh tell you what to say?”
My sister looks at me, and nods.
“I told them to tell the truth!” I say. “Girls, what exactly did I—”
“Really, Josh,” Rosie says. “To put your sisters in this position.”
“You’re a fucking liar,” I say to Rosie.
“Hey!” An officer is between us instantly. “That’s no language to use with your mother.”
“I could walk you through this house,” Rosie says, “and show you every dent he’s put in these walls. I’m going to have to repair them all if I want my security deposit back.”
“Are you moving, ma’am?”
“Oh, no. Josh is a typical teenage boy. He’s angry, he wants his freedom . . . he has to understand that while there are good choices in this world, he doesn’t make all of them.”
“I’m telling you,” I say. “That man was in this house. He’s not supposed to be anywhere near us, and he was in this house. Again. She’s lying to you because he’s got her brainwashed again.”
“I’m not—”
“They’re counting down the months for the order of protection to expire. They’re going to move in together again, and it’s all going to repeat. He’s going to spend all the money on booze and drugs and other women. He’ll beat her, he might even beat the girls—”
“He’s never touched the kids.”
“Never? Want to swear to that in court?” I harden my stare on her. He’s hurt me plenty. “And somehow, he’s going to convince her it’s all her fault.”
My mother’s glare could carve glass, but she doesn’t take the bait. She doesn’t insist he’s changed. “I can appreciate that there was a time our lives were pretty chaotic, but I’ve got it together now, officers. I’m a good mother, I make good decisions, and I’m not afraid of my ex-husband. I haven’t seen him in weeks, and he wouldn’t dare come here.”
“Are you kidding me?” I say.
“Let’s go outside a minute, son.” One of the officers heads toward the back door.
Son.
I’m not anyone’s son.
I follow him out and lean against the porch railing. I shove my hands in the front pouch pocket of my sweatshirt and meet with the ring box. “I’m not lying. Talk to my sisters. They’ll—”
“I’m inclined to believe that if this man was at your house, considering his history with your mother, considering the violence you imply, there’d be evidence of it. And we don’t have any.”
I’m tempted to give him the ring. I tighten my grip around it in the pocket of my hoodie. But considering the way this is going, my mother will only spin things to use it against me.
“I understand you’ve been through some tough times with this man, and I understand you hold your mother responsible. But she’s trying to put her life back together. I suggest you let her move forward. Dredging up the past isn’t going to help any of you do that.”
I press my lips together, keep my mouth shut. Nothing I can say will help me now anyway.
He hands me a business card. “This is a county social worker. Most of the time, insurance covers the cost. If you need someone to talk to . . .”
I take the card because it’s the only way to end the conversation.
“Call us if you need us,” the officer says.
A few minutes later, when the cops are gone, I head down to my room and grab my school bag.
I wonder if this is how Savannah felt the moment she decided to leave home. Had she done all she could to make Loretta see the truth of who and what Wayne is? Had she left when she knew nothing she said mattered? When the abuses continued to stack up and year after year nothing changed?
And Chatham . . . she said Savannah wanted her to leave home with her, and she refused. Maybe if I understood more about why Chatham opted to stay, I’d consider staying here with my mother now.
I pause for a minute when I think about what my leaving might do to my sisters. Will they be missing me the way Chatham misses Savannah?
This is different. I’m leaving responsibly. I’ll be back to take care of them.
Rosie appears in the doorway. “I know you don’t understand this, Josh, but if the cops nab him—”
“Yeah, yeah. You won’t get child support ’cause he’ll be in jail.” I shove a change of clothes into my bag.
“And I’ll be in violation of the order of protection, too. I could be prosecuted.”
I shoulder around her and head to the bathroom. “You’ve got things covered for the night? With the girls?” I grab my toothbrush and paste from the ledge near my sink.
“Well, yes. But—”
“See you.”
“Josh, I want to talk to you.”
“I don’t want to talk to you.” I make my way around her, despite her trying to keep me in the bathroom.
“Why can’t you understand I have to do these things to . . . listen to me! You’re grounded! Where do you think you’re going?”
I’d like to pick up Chatham and spend the day with her, but she’s working at the Tiny Elvis. So I go with option two: “Aiden’s.”
“You can’t go to Aiden’s.”
“Watch me.”
“And you wonder why you’re in trouble all the time, why you can’t have your freedom. You walk out that door, and you’re done for two months.”
“I need some space from you right now.”
“I’m serious, Josh.”
“I’ll be able to get the girls from daycare tomorrow after practice. I’ll be here to watch them when they need me, and in exchange, I’d like lodging and an occasional meal. Once football’s over, I’ll get a job, and I’ll pay rent and live here.”
“Oh, you think you’re in charge? You think you get to tell me how it is?”
“For the sake of the girls, I think you’d want me here. You think he’s going to suddenly play daddy? Be a good person? You need me here for the great possibility he’s feeding you a line of bullshit right now.”
She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. She knows I’m right.
“So I’ll be here for my sisters. But as far as you and me? We’re done.”
“You’re never done with me.” She’s got me by the arm now. “I’m your mother. I’m the only mother you’ll ever have.”
I think about Chatham, and the mother who’d left her to die in a hot car, only to reject her years later. In leaving today, I’m escaping a sweltering situation, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Rosie disowned me for daring to move on. But I have to go. I have to save myself.
“One day you’ll realize that mothers—”
“Mother? Is that the term you use? Because I call it the world’s cruelest curse, being born to you.”
I think I hear her crying when I walk out the door.