Chapter 11 - May 26, 2011
Posted: Wed May 25, 2011 11:12 pm
Eve: Thank you! Yes, poor Kyle, always made fun of . . . You love Alex, huh? Me, too, he's just such a lovely person and I love to write about him.
There's no shame in being organized, lol.
Chapter Eleven – The Root of All Evil
The door squeaked softly on its hinges when Maria pushed it open. The first thing that struck her was the darkness inside. With all the windows covered by shades and curtains, the only light came from the small crack of the open door, and even that was mostly blocked by her own shadow. She took a hesitant step inside, letting more light fall into what she now recognized as the cluttered living room. The furniture was old; a worn out couch, its pattern so faded as to be almost unrecognizable, an armchair of similar state, an ancient TV and a broken dresser with most of the drawers hanging askew and one of them, the lowest, missing altogether. Everywhere she looked was garbage; empty bottles on the coffee table, full ash trays on the windowsills and on top of the TV, pizza cartons on the floor. Tiny dust particles merrily danced in the single band of weak light that invaded the depressing scene from behind her. The air had the stale smell of a room that hadn’t been aired out in a long time, but beneath that hung the pungent odor of something else. Maria knew the smell, but couldn’t quite put her finger on it.
The weather outside was getting worse by the minute, the light fading when dark clouds obscured the sky. Maria heard the rustling of the leaves outside increase as the storm approached, but was completely caught off guard when a sudden gust of wind slammed the door shut behind her with a deafening crash, leaving her frozen in utter darkness. Her heart fluttered madly in her chest like a little bird trying to escape its cage. Get a grip, Maria, this is Michael’s home, not a haunted house in a horror movie, she berated herself, forcing air into her lungs in slow, deep breaths.
“Mrs. Guerin?” she called again while her eyes slowly adjusted to the dim gloom. A faint noise could be heard from the doorway at the faraway wall, making her jump. It’s coming from the kitchen!
She slowly made her way through the room, careful not to step on any of the trash. Before she entered the windowless kitchen, she reached around the doorway and felt for the light switch, flipping it on after her probing fingers had finally found it.
“Mrs. Guerin!” she exclaimed, shocked at finding the woman half-sitting, half-lying on her knees amid a myriad of broken glass. Not a vase, then. A bottle. She hurried to crouch beside her, the shards crunching under her shoes, and reached for her shoulder. “What’s wrong? Can I help you?”
At first, the woman didn’t react at all, her head hung, her dark stringy hair obscuring her face almost completely. Then she raised her head and turned it into Maria’s direction, her eyes empty and unfocused. After a second, and seemingly with considerable effort, she focused her attention on the girl beside her. “Wha-?” she mumbled. “Who’re you?”
“We met at the hospital, Mrs. Guerin. Don’t you remember?” Maria tightened her hand on the woman’s shoulder. She tried hard not to make a face at the almost overwhelming smell in the tiny kitchen. She now noticed the puddle of brown liquid on the floor. With a start she realized what it was, and everything suddenly fell into place: Michael’s weird avoidance tactics, the sudden silences whenever she asked about his mother, his volatile moods and his exhaustion. Whiskey. She’s a drinker.
Sandra’s bleary look now cleared a little. “Righ’. You’re Sarah.”
“Maria,” she corrected.
“Wha’ever,” came the indifferent answer. Her gaze slowly wandered to the floor, taking in the broken bottle and its spilled contents. “I dropp’d m’ drink.” Her eyes zeroed in on Maria again. “Hel’ me pick i’ up!” she ordered and vaguely gestured on the floor.
“No, Mrs. Guerin,” Maria said helplessly, trying to steady the swaying woman by gripping her upper arm. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea. Let me help you up.” She tried to pull her into a more upright position, so she could sling her arm around the woman’s waist and heft her up, careful of the sharp edges of the glass shards. But it was like trying to heave a sack of potatoes; one with arms and legs. Sandra didn’t do anything to aid Maria’s efforts, reminding her uncomfortably of her ordeal with a drunk Isabel. With increasing desperation, she tried to pull her up. “Come on, Mrs. Guerin, we got to get you to the couch, okay? It’s not that far,” she puffed. What do I do? I can’t leave her like this!
Just as she was contemplating calling help – But who?! she thought in desperation, - Maria heard the front door slam, and Michael’s voice, calling, “Maria?”
He must have seen the Jetta parked out front. The brief flash of guilt for being caught practically invading his home was quickly replaced by relief. Thank God I don’t have to deal with this on my own. She felt bad for thinking it, but she honestly had no idea how to handle the unresponsive woman. “In the kitchen!” she called.
She heard his quick, sure footsteps cross the living room, then he appeared in the doorway behind her. “Maria, what-” He became aware of the huddled form on the ground and stopped short. “Mom!”
Sandra raised her head at his voice, and crowed, “Mickey!” like a child catching sight of its favorite toy.
“Mom, what did you do?” he hurried to her, kneeling down, completely disregarding the mess on the floor. He glanced at Maria, wearing a worried frown, but quickly returned his attention to his mother. “You promised not to do that anymore!”
“T’was just one little drink,” Sandra replied in a muffled voice.
He pressed his lips together into a white line. “Yeah, it’s always just one little drink. Come on,” he said and hefted her into his arms. “I’ll help you get to bed.”
“No!” Sandra struggled weakly to get out of his arms. “I wan’ another drink.” Her eyes fell on Maria standing in the corner, watching mutely. “Lucy! Lucy wants a drink, too!” she told Michael.
For a second he looked puzzled then he understood who she meant. “No, I don’t think so,” he muttered. Half-turning to Maria, he fixed his eyes on her face, wearing a pained expression, and pleaded, “Can you wait in the car for me?” Almost as an afterthought, he added, “Please.”
She just nodded, her throat too dry to answer. Then she abruptly turned and fled through the oppressive living room and out the front door into the now fully-fledged thunderstorm. Rain pelted her arms and face as soon as she stepped over the threshold, the drops cold and biting like ice. By the time she reached her car, she was almost completely drenched, shivering from cold and from the scene she had just witnessed.
It was raining buckets now, and the water quickly formed large puddles on the dirt path while she watched the front door for any movement. Her mind reeled with what she had seen inside. The neglect and oppressing atmosphere she had experienced left her feeling heavy-hearted and sad, making her chest tighten when she realized that Michael had to live in this loveless home every day, and she had to force herself to take slow, even breaths in hopes of calming herself. Why on earth didn’t he tell me?
After ten minutes of waiting, the door opened at last. Michael stepped out, shoulders hunched against the weather. He cast a quick, assessing glance at the sky, then jumped over a large puddle and hurried to climb into the passenger seat of the Jetta.
For a moment, they just sat there, not speaking, not looking at each other.
Finally she spoke, unable to take the silence any longer. “Did you get your mom to lie down?”
“Yeah. Took a while, but she’s sleeping now.” He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye then returned to staring out the windshield, clearing his throat. “I didn’t mean for you to find out like this.”
“How did you want me to find out?” The question came out more biting than she had intended, and she regretted it instantly when she saw him flinch. He was the last person that could be blamed for this mess, and she knew that. So she reached over the center console and threaded her fingers through his, squeezing lightly in apology. It was easier to talk when they were touching, she realized.
He squeezed back and made a small gesture of acknowledgement. “I. . .” He hesitated. “Hell, I don’t know, Maria. It’s not something you talk about on the first date. Not that we actually had one of those,” he added with a brief, unhappy smile. Then he extended his hand and moved it up and down in front of him in a parody of a handshake. “Hi, my name is Michael,” he said in a mockingly chipper voice. “Oh, and by the way, my mother is best friends with Jim Beam and Johnnie Walker.”
She snorted softly. No, that wouldn’t work. “I understand.” Haltingly, she kept going. “But. . . we’ve known each other for several weeks now, and I know that that’s not actually a really long time. . . but we’ve spent so much time together, and I. . .” She exhaled in frustration, and continued in a quieter voice, “I don’t know. . . I trust you, you know? So much. And I guess I just wish you would’ve trusted me enough to tell me.”
“This has got nothing to do with trust, Maria!” he emphasized, his brown eyes boring into hers, willing her to believe him. “I trust you, too! With my life, if it came down to that.” He tightened his hold on her hand before going on. “When I’m with you, I’m happy. We laugh and joke around, and we bicker and fight, and you make me forget all about my problems.” He made an all-encompassing gesture in the direction of the shabby bungalow, then sighed. “I just didn’t want any of this to touch us.”
He looked so lonely and miserable that she had to bite back the sudden tears that were stinging her eyes. With a decision, she then withdrew her hand, startling him, opened her door and sprinted around the car through the rain to climb into his side of the Jetta and folded herself onto his lap, hugging him hard. Sometimes holding hands just isn’t enough.
He returned the gesture after a moment of surprise, shifting around to get more comfortable in the narrow space. Their wet clothes were clinging together unpleasantly, but neither of them cared. The rain still pouring down outside in combination with the approaching twilight made it impossible to see farther than a yard or two, transforming the crammed insides of the car into a warm cocoon of solace and protection for both of them.
After a moment of taking comfort from each other, she asked quietly, “How long has your mom been an. . . alcoholic?”
He sighed deeply, rubbing his cheek into her wet hair. “Since I was a born, I think. Maybe even before that. I don’t really remember a time when she was. . . like other moms.” After a moment, he amended, “But it’s not always as bad as today.”
“It isn’t?”
“No. Sometimes she tries to quit, and there are long periods of time when she’s sober, going to AA and even tries to work a regular job. But it never lasts.”
“Is this the reason you’ve been so tired lately?” She absently traced the pattern of his shirt with her pinky finger, feeling his chest rise and fall with his breathing.
He gave a faint, one-sided shrug, not answering directly. “It’s been bad since she met that douche-bag, Hank. I told you he’s not good for her. He’s lazy and aggressive and he encourages her addiction. Together they’re a living hell, drinking and yelling and fighting every night.”
One word caught her attention, and she raised her head to look at him in alarm. “Aggressive? Does he hurt her?”
“Not yet,” he answered, his hesitation apparent. “But I think that may only be due to the fact that I’m always around. I’m afraid of what happens when I leave her alone with him,” he admitted, and added apologetically, “That’s why I can’t go camping right now. I gotta stay here and think of a way to convince my mom to get rid of him.”
“She didn’t forbid you to come, then?”
“No, that was a lie. I’m sorry.”
Tenderly, she stroked his cheek then kissed him. “’S okay. We’re gonna think of a solution together. The others will just have to go camping without us.”
The last sentence made his expression turn into an irritated scowl. “No, Maria, I don’t want you to stay! Your mom’s gonna go to that convention and you’d be all alone in the house all week.” Gentler, he added, “I won’t be able to spend that much time with you, anyway.”
“Yes, but. . .” She chewed on her bottom lip, frowning. “I don’t want to leave you alone with this,” she insisted stubbornly. “I want to help you.”
“You can help me,” he agreed. “And you will. By not giving me another reason to worry.”
Her brief moment of hope collapsed like a tower of bricks, and she was surprised not to hear the accompanying crash. “No, that’s so unfair! You said it yourself: Hank’s dangerous. What if he hurts you, hm? Have you even considered that?”
“And what would you do about it if he did?” He circled her wrist with his thumb and forefinger, smiling wryly. In direct contrast with his big hand, hers looked delicate and fragile. “Beat him up?”
“Damn right I would!” she answered fiercely and gripped his chin, completely disregarding his attempted joke. “I would do anything to stop anyone from hurting you!”
“Brave Maria.” He smiled slightly, but his eyes were serious. She shivered under his gaze, and he pulled her close again in response. Clearing his throat, he returned to the topic at hand. “But I really don’t think it’ll come to that. I just exaggerated when I said I thought he’d beat her, you know? Seriously, I’m sure that he wouldn’t really get violent with her.”
Leaning against him, her head on his shoulder once again, she was wondering if he was trying to convince her, or himself. “But I don’t wanna go without you.” She was fully aware of the whining tone in her voice, but didn’t care. “I want to be here for you.”
“Please, Maria. I’ll be much happier if I know you’re having fun battling against squirrels and bunnies than having you all alone in your house on the other side of town, worrying about me.”
She swallowed hard against the thickness in her throat, and begged in a small voice, “Don’t make me leave you, Michael. Please.”
“Maria. . .” He sighed. “You can borrow all of my camping gear, alright? And I’ll call you every day,” he tried to bribe her.
Suddenly, a thought struck her. “Maybe I can convince the others of a change of plans. Just a tiny one,” she added when she felt him get ready to argue. “We don’t actually have to camp out at Frazier Woods, you know? The garden behind our house is pretty big, there would be enough space for a few tents,” she rambled. “Think about it: We’d have a real bathroom just in our reach, and TV, and blankets if it gets too cold. And a kitchen! A kitchen is important, I’m sure the girls would agree with me on that, and. . .” She trailed off when she heard his disbelieving snort and raised her head to stare at him, bright-eyed and pleading. The expression on his face lay somewhere between amusement and exasperation. Knowing full well she had lost the argument already, she finished anyway. “And I could be here in no time if you needed me.”
Laughing faintly, he bent to kiss he cheek. “That would turn the whole camping endeavor into one giant sleepover, with the seven of you hiding out there, jammed together in your garden like a SWAT team, waiting to come to the rescue. That wouldn’t be much fun for anybody, would it?”
“I don’t care,” she grumbled. “I won’t have any fun in Frazier Woods, either.”
Naturally, he picked up on her choice of words, smelling easy victory. “So, you’re going?”
“Do I have a choice?” She sighed angrily, giving in at last. “But I want you to call me every day. Really,” she demanded. “And if I try to call you and you don’t pick up your phone, I’ll have Kyle or Alex drive me back to Roswell in no time flat.” The way she said it, it actually came out more as a threat than a promise.
Relieved, he chuckled. “Agreed. But I think I have to warn you: Reception is horrible out there. We’ll be lucky if we can get a connection at all.”
“We’ll manage,” she promised, and didn’t only mean the phone connection. She clung to his neck, asking in a small voice, “Can you kiss me now?” Make me forget. Just for a while.
He obediently lowered his lips to hers with a small smile, and did just that. He smelled like warm male and rain and he tasted like coffee and chocolate and she never, never wanted to let go of him again. One of his hands lay warm on her thigh, the other held her securely on his lap.
Loathe to end the kiss, she drew back nonetheless after a while, taking deep breaths. Though she was reluctant to ask, she had to know regardless, “Were you ever gonna tell me? About your mom?”
“Of course! Well, eventually,” he amended. “Hell, Maria, it took me over a year to tell Kyle and Tess!”
“Do the others know as well? Max and Isabel?”
He nodded slowly. “Yeah, they know. I wasn’t very good at hiding it when I was a little kid, so they found out pretty fast. I made them swear not to tell anyone, though. Max may have told Liz, but that’s okay, I guess. She can keep things to herself. I don’t really know if anyone told Alex, but I’m pretty sure he knows, anyway. Most of the time, he picks up on more than you would think.”
“Have you. . . have you ever considered getting help?”
“Not really,” he said, brows pulled together in a troubled frown. “I mean, I can’t force her to go to a rehab center or anything, can I?”
“No, I guess not. But I wasn’t really talking about your mother, Michael.” She reached out to sweep a wet strand of hair from his temple, watching his face. “I meant help for you.”
“What, you mean going to the authorities and telling them she’s an alcoholic?” He looked appalled. “They would’ve taken me away from her in a heartbeat! They still might, I’m not yet eighteen.”
She nodded, feeling bad for even suggesting it.
“I couldn’t do that, Maria.”
“Yeah, I know. . .” She bit her bottom lip. “But why not?”
“Because. . .” he hesitated, “because she’s my mom. And she needs me, even if she doesn’t want to admit it most of the time.”
The rain was still running down the windshield in wet streaks, crying the tears of sorrow and regret she had to fight so hard to hold in for his sake.
He looked at his house, sighing deeply. “I guess I should go in again and check on her.”
“Okay,” she mumbled, but made no move to leave her position on his lap. The wet clothes clung to her skin, cold and sticky, but she didn’t care. Burrowing her face in his neck, she asked, “Just. . . hold me for a few minutes longer, will you?”
He gently caressed her back and leaned his head against hers, inhaling deeply. “Alright,” he whispered.
As they sat there in silence, the rain continued to fall, weeping for them. For the girl who held another so close to her heart, and was still unable to protect him from pain; and for the boy who was, to her, so easy to love, and yet had never known the affection and care of his own mother.
*****
The tears began to fall when she was almost back at her house, spilling into her lap, hot and hard like bullets. Unable to contain the sobbing any longer, she pulled the car to a stop on the side of the road. There, she locked her arms around her torso, holding herself together while she slowly went to pieces inside. She cried freely. For him, for herself, and for people like Sandra Guerin who threw away the most precious thing given to them without knowing that some things, once lost, can never be restored.
By the time she was able to drive home, the rain had stopped.
*****
Saturday morning greeted the citizens of Roswell with blindingly bright sunshine, and an unusually warm breeze. White, fluffy clouds tracked lazily across the pale blue spring sky, and the first thrushes struck up their tentative songs from their perch on the branches. It seemed almost as if the weather wanted to make up for the all the rain of the last night.
Alex was puttering around in the driveway of his parent’s house, trying to fit the last bag of luggage into the trunk of his Toyota, happily whistling a tune under his breath. He had his shirt sleeves rolled up over his forearms, and a baseball cap on his head to shield his eyes from the bright blaze of the sun. A short glance at his wristwatch assured him that he was just in time to pick up his friends. Isabel had charged him and Max with buying the groceries for the trip, and they had dutifully done just that on Friday afternoon. Unfortunately, Max had lost the shopping list his sister had given him, so the two boys had ended buying much more junk food and snacks than fresh fruit and vegetables. Alex chuckled under his breath when he envisioned the girls’ reaction upon discovering they were supposed to live off of candy bars and marshmallows for a whole week. The roar of an approaching engine made him look up from his task.
Michael pulled his motorcycle up beside the grey car, killed the engine and pulled off his black helmet. When he dismounted, his foot caught on the seat of the bike, making him almost fall down on the sidewalk, only narrowly winning the fight against the combined pull of gravity and the bulging duffel bag he wore slung across his back.
Alex laughed at the spectacle, but reached out to steady his friend. “Hi, Michael,” he chortled. “Have you ever considered a career in comedy? ‘Cause that there looked really funny.”
“Ha ha,” Michael retorted dryly, hefting his burden into a more secure position on his back.
Alex curiously regarded the enormous, brown bag, eyebrows lifted. “What is all this?”
“My camping stuff.” Michael lifted the shoulder strap over his head and let is slide to the ground in front of his feet, releasing a relieved sigh while stretching his shoulders. “For Maria. I wanted to leave it with Kyle first, but with that tiny trunk of his convertible and Tess’ pack rat tendencies I thought I’d better try with you.”
“Well. . .” Alex doubtfully eyed the huge bag. “You can try your luck.” He took a step aside, revealing the open trunk of the Toyota together with its contents.
Michael’s eyes widened at the sight. “Holy. . .” He whistled through his teeth, leaning forward to peer into the bags that took up nearly all of the space in the car’s trunk. “Is that all yours?”
Alex snorted ironically. “Of course not. Iz came by last night and dropped it off. Seems that what you see here are the bare essentials a true beauty queen needs to survive in the wilderness.”
“Is that. . .” Michael’s eyes narrowed at the piece of metal that was sticking out from the open flap of one of the bags in the very bag. “Is that a curling iron?!”
Alex just shrugged helplessly. “She also packed a portable TV, a blow dryer and an epilator. At least I think that’s what I saw when I took a glimpse into one of the bags,” he added, frowning uncertainly.
“She does know that there aren’t actually sockets strewn around the ground where she can plug all this in, doesn’t she?”
Alex made a face, squinting at the sunlight. “I didn’t dare tell her. You know how she can be; she has it in her to cancel the whole trip.”
Michael critically eyed the bags in the trunk, noticing how little room was left in there. He glanced at his own bag, asking, “Can we tie my stuff to the roof, then?”
“We’re gonna have to.” Alex said. Thankfully, his Toyota’s roof was already equipped with a luggage rack. “Just out of curiosity, Michael, what is in here?” He groaned when they lifted the heavy bag up. “God, this weighs a ton!”
Michael just shrugged casually, beginning to secure the bag with the fastening straps. “Just my tent, sleeping bag, air mattress with a foot-operated pump, ground pad, extra pillows and blankets, bug spray, high-performance flashlight, battery powered radio with spare batteries, chocolate, cookies, potato chips, books, magazines, CDs. . .” He trailed off upon seeing Alex’ expression. “What? What is it?”
“Nothing.” Alex cleared his throat. “Um, Michael, you do know that this is just a simple camping trip in Frazier Woods, do you? Not a three-month expedition to the north pole or anything.”
“I just want her to be as comfortable as possible out there,” he said defiantly, scowling at his friend. “Even more so, because I can’t be there, too.”
Alex lightly squeezed his shoulder, quietly saying, “We’ll keep an eye on her for you.”
Smiling wryly, Michael remarked, “Like you did the last time?”
Alex exhaled on a ghost of a laugh. “No, nothing like that. I promised I’d take better care of her next time, and I will,” he promised.
“Okay.” Michael turned to leave, but stopped himself once again. “Alex?” he asked. “Can you try to make her have a little fun out there?”
Alex looked at him earnestly. “I will,” he said again, adding, “Michael?” When his friend looked at him questioningly, he said emphatically, “Take care of yourself while we’re gone, will you?”
“I will.”
*****
“Promise me again!” Maria urged, standing with Michael on the front porch of her house half an hour later, arms locked around his waist.
He sighed theatrically, a small smile tugging at his mouth, but obeyed. “I promise to call you every day, every night, at dusk, at dawn, before you eat, after you eat, before I eat- Ouch!” He laughed when she hit him on the arm.
“Don’t make fun of me.” She scowled at him. She was not in the mood for jokes, even though he did his best to lighten the mood.
From the corner of her eye she could see Kyle and Tess patiently sitting in the red convertible, its top down to allow the balmy breeze to tug at their hair and shirts. They had said goodbye to Michael earlier and were now waiting for her to tear herself away from him and get in the car. Amy had left earlier that morning, wishing her daughter fun on her trip.
“Sorry,” Michael chuckled with a mischievous glint in his eyes. He leaned in close, and his breath ghosted warmly over the skin of her neck when he whispered into her ear, “I really do promise to call, Maria. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”
“Well, I certainly hope so,” she murmured, smiling against her will. She gripped his ears when he tried to pull away, bringing his mouth down to hers in a deep kiss full of longing and passion. Her tongue swept over his bottom lip before demanding entrance. He parted his lips and touched his tongue to hers, silky soft and hot. She clung to him, pressing her body flush against his while holding his face between her hands. I’ll make sure he won’t forget me while I’m gone.
When he drew back, he was panting for air, wearing a dazed expression. “Wow,” he breathed.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay with you?” she joked, her own breath coming in gasps.
He smiled regretfully. “No. I want you to go hunt down the wild animals of New Mexico. Bring me the head of your first prey as a trophy,” he added with a brief grin.
She sighed deeply in defeat. “Okay.” Hugging him hard, she laid her head on his shoulder, breathing in his scent. “I’ll miss you,” she mumbled.
His arms came around her waist, holding her while he pressed a gentle kiss against her forehead. “I’ll miss you, too.”
Reluctantly, she pulled out of the embrace at last, kissing him goodbye one last time. Then she gave him a sad, quivering smile and turned to sprint across the lawn to join Tess and Kyle.
Tess threw her a sympathetic smile when Maria fastened her seatbelt, while Kyle pulled out onto the road, honking in farewell. Maria sat stiffly in her seat, stoically staring ahead in her resolve not to look back at Michael. She feared that if she did that, she’d have to cry, and she didn’t want to do that in front of the couple in the front seat.
Shortly before their car rounded the corner at the end of the street, she threw her resolve over board. To hell with it! She hastily turned around in her seat, just in time to catch a last glimpse of his lonely shape standing in the street, one hand raised in goodbye.
~TBC
There's no shame in being organized, lol.
Chapter Eleven – The Root of All Evil
The door squeaked softly on its hinges when Maria pushed it open. The first thing that struck her was the darkness inside. With all the windows covered by shades and curtains, the only light came from the small crack of the open door, and even that was mostly blocked by her own shadow. She took a hesitant step inside, letting more light fall into what she now recognized as the cluttered living room. The furniture was old; a worn out couch, its pattern so faded as to be almost unrecognizable, an armchair of similar state, an ancient TV and a broken dresser with most of the drawers hanging askew and one of them, the lowest, missing altogether. Everywhere she looked was garbage; empty bottles on the coffee table, full ash trays on the windowsills and on top of the TV, pizza cartons on the floor. Tiny dust particles merrily danced in the single band of weak light that invaded the depressing scene from behind her. The air had the stale smell of a room that hadn’t been aired out in a long time, but beneath that hung the pungent odor of something else. Maria knew the smell, but couldn’t quite put her finger on it.
The weather outside was getting worse by the minute, the light fading when dark clouds obscured the sky. Maria heard the rustling of the leaves outside increase as the storm approached, but was completely caught off guard when a sudden gust of wind slammed the door shut behind her with a deafening crash, leaving her frozen in utter darkness. Her heart fluttered madly in her chest like a little bird trying to escape its cage. Get a grip, Maria, this is Michael’s home, not a haunted house in a horror movie, she berated herself, forcing air into her lungs in slow, deep breaths.
“Mrs. Guerin?” she called again while her eyes slowly adjusted to the dim gloom. A faint noise could be heard from the doorway at the faraway wall, making her jump. It’s coming from the kitchen!
She slowly made her way through the room, careful not to step on any of the trash. Before she entered the windowless kitchen, she reached around the doorway and felt for the light switch, flipping it on after her probing fingers had finally found it.
“Mrs. Guerin!” she exclaimed, shocked at finding the woman half-sitting, half-lying on her knees amid a myriad of broken glass. Not a vase, then. A bottle. She hurried to crouch beside her, the shards crunching under her shoes, and reached for her shoulder. “What’s wrong? Can I help you?”
At first, the woman didn’t react at all, her head hung, her dark stringy hair obscuring her face almost completely. Then she raised her head and turned it into Maria’s direction, her eyes empty and unfocused. After a second, and seemingly with considerable effort, she focused her attention on the girl beside her. “Wha-?” she mumbled. “Who’re you?”
“We met at the hospital, Mrs. Guerin. Don’t you remember?” Maria tightened her hand on the woman’s shoulder. She tried hard not to make a face at the almost overwhelming smell in the tiny kitchen. She now noticed the puddle of brown liquid on the floor. With a start she realized what it was, and everything suddenly fell into place: Michael’s weird avoidance tactics, the sudden silences whenever she asked about his mother, his volatile moods and his exhaustion. Whiskey. She’s a drinker.
Sandra’s bleary look now cleared a little. “Righ’. You’re Sarah.”
“Maria,” she corrected.
“Wha’ever,” came the indifferent answer. Her gaze slowly wandered to the floor, taking in the broken bottle and its spilled contents. “I dropp’d m’ drink.” Her eyes zeroed in on Maria again. “Hel’ me pick i’ up!” she ordered and vaguely gestured on the floor.
“No, Mrs. Guerin,” Maria said helplessly, trying to steady the swaying woman by gripping her upper arm. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea. Let me help you up.” She tried to pull her into a more upright position, so she could sling her arm around the woman’s waist and heft her up, careful of the sharp edges of the glass shards. But it was like trying to heave a sack of potatoes; one with arms and legs. Sandra didn’t do anything to aid Maria’s efforts, reminding her uncomfortably of her ordeal with a drunk Isabel. With increasing desperation, she tried to pull her up. “Come on, Mrs. Guerin, we got to get you to the couch, okay? It’s not that far,” she puffed. What do I do? I can’t leave her like this!
Just as she was contemplating calling help – But who?! she thought in desperation, - Maria heard the front door slam, and Michael’s voice, calling, “Maria?”
He must have seen the Jetta parked out front. The brief flash of guilt for being caught practically invading his home was quickly replaced by relief. Thank God I don’t have to deal with this on my own. She felt bad for thinking it, but she honestly had no idea how to handle the unresponsive woman. “In the kitchen!” she called.
She heard his quick, sure footsteps cross the living room, then he appeared in the doorway behind her. “Maria, what-” He became aware of the huddled form on the ground and stopped short. “Mom!”
Sandra raised her head at his voice, and crowed, “Mickey!” like a child catching sight of its favorite toy.
“Mom, what did you do?” he hurried to her, kneeling down, completely disregarding the mess on the floor. He glanced at Maria, wearing a worried frown, but quickly returned his attention to his mother. “You promised not to do that anymore!”
“T’was just one little drink,” Sandra replied in a muffled voice.
He pressed his lips together into a white line. “Yeah, it’s always just one little drink. Come on,” he said and hefted her into his arms. “I’ll help you get to bed.”
“No!” Sandra struggled weakly to get out of his arms. “I wan’ another drink.” Her eyes fell on Maria standing in the corner, watching mutely. “Lucy! Lucy wants a drink, too!” she told Michael.
For a second he looked puzzled then he understood who she meant. “No, I don’t think so,” he muttered. Half-turning to Maria, he fixed his eyes on her face, wearing a pained expression, and pleaded, “Can you wait in the car for me?” Almost as an afterthought, he added, “Please.”
She just nodded, her throat too dry to answer. Then she abruptly turned and fled through the oppressive living room and out the front door into the now fully-fledged thunderstorm. Rain pelted her arms and face as soon as she stepped over the threshold, the drops cold and biting like ice. By the time she reached her car, she was almost completely drenched, shivering from cold and from the scene she had just witnessed.
It was raining buckets now, and the water quickly formed large puddles on the dirt path while she watched the front door for any movement. Her mind reeled with what she had seen inside. The neglect and oppressing atmosphere she had experienced left her feeling heavy-hearted and sad, making her chest tighten when she realized that Michael had to live in this loveless home every day, and she had to force herself to take slow, even breaths in hopes of calming herself. Why on earth didn’t he tell me?
After ten minutes of waiting, the door opened at last. Michael stepped out, shoulders hunched against the weather. He cast a quick, assessing glance at the sky, then jumped over a large puddle and hurried to climb into the passenger seat of the Jetta.
For a moment, they just sat there, not speaking, not looking at each other.
Finally she spoke, unable to take the silence any longer. “Did you get your mom to lie down?”
“Yeah. Took a while, but she’s sleeping now.” He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye then returned to staring out the windshield, clearing his throat. “I didn’t mean for you to find out like this.”
“How did you want me to find out?” The question came out more biting than she had intended, and she regretted it instantly when she saw him flinch. He was the last person that could be blamed for this mess, and she knew that. So she reached over the center console and threaded her fingers through his, squeezing lightly in apology. It was easier to talk when they were touching, she realized.
He squeezed back and made a small gesture of acknowledgement. “I. . .” He hesitated. “Hell, I don’t know, Maria. It’s not something you talk about on the first date. Not that we actually had one of those,” he added with a brief, unhappy smile. Then he extended his hand and moved it up and down in front of him in a parody of a handshake. “Hi, my name is Michael,” he said in a mockingly chipper voice. “Oh, and by the way, my mother is best friends with Jim Beam and Johnnie Walker.”
She snorted softly. No, that wouldn’t work. “I understand.” Haltingly, she kept going. “But. . . we’ve known each other for several weeks now, and I know that that’s not actually a really long time. . . but we’ve spent so much time together, and I. . .” She exhaled in frustration, and continued in a quieter voice, “I don’t know. . . I trust you, you know? So much. And I guess I just wish you would’ve trusted me enough to tell me.”
“This has got nothing to do with trust, Maria!” he emphasized, his brown eyes boring into hers, willing her to believe him. “I trust you, too! With my life, if it came down to that.” He tightened his hold on her hand before going on. “When I’m with you, I’m happy. We laugh and joke around, and we bicker and fight, and you make me forget all about my problems.” He made an all-encompassing gesture in the direction of the shabby bungalow, then sighed. “I just didn’t want any of this to touch us.”
He looked so lonely and miserable that she had to bite back the sudden tears that were stinging her eyes. With a decision, she then withdrew her hand, startling him, opened her door and sprinted around the car through the rain to climb into his side of the Jetta and folded herself onto his lap, hugging him hard. Sometimes holding hands just isn’t enough.
He returned the gesture after a moment of surprise, shifting around to get more comfortable in the narrow space. Their wet clothes were clinging together unpleasantly, but neither of them cared. The rain still pouring down outside in combination with the approaching twilight made it impossible to see farther than a yard or two, transforming the crammed insides of the car into a warm cocoon of solace and protection for both of them.
After a moment of taking comfort from each other, she asked quietly, “How long has your mom been an. . . alcoholic?”
He sighed deeply, rubbing his cheek into her wet hair. “Since I was a born, I think. Maybe even before that. I don’t really remember a time when she was. . . like other moms.” After a moment, he amended, “But it’s not always as bad as today.”
“It isn’t?”
“No. Sometimes she tries to quit, and there are long periods of time when she’s sober, going to AA and even tries to work a regular job. But it never lasts.”
“Is this the reason you’ve been so tired lately?” She absently traced the pattern of his shirt with her pinky finger, feeling his chest rise and fall with his breathing.
He gave a faint, one-sided shrug, not answering directly. “It’s been bad since she met that douche-bag, Hank. I told you he’s not good for her. He’s lazy and aggressive and he encourages her addiction. Together they’re a living hell, drinking and yelling and fighting every night.”
One word caught her attention, and she raised her head to look at him in alarm. “Aggressive? Does he hurt her?”
“Not yet,” he answered, his hesitation apparent. “But I think that may only be due to the fact that I’m always around. I’m afraid of what happens when I leave her alone with him,” he admitted, and added apologetically, “That’s why I can’t go camping right now. I gotta stay here and think of a way to convince my mom to get rid of him.”
“She didn’t forbid you to come, then?”
“No, that was a lie. I’m sorry.”
Tenderly, she stroked his cheek then kissed him. “’S okay. We’re gonna think of a solution together. The others will just have to go camping without us.”
The last sentence made his expression turn into an irritated scowl. “No, Maria, I don’t want you to stay! Your mom’s gonna go to that convention and you’d be all alone in the house all week.” Gentler, he added, “I won’t be able to spend that much time with you, anyway.”
“Yes, but. . .” She chewed on her bottom lip, frowning. “I don’t want to leave you alone with this,” she insisted stubbornly. “I want to help you.”
“You can help me,” he agreed. “And you will. By not giving me another reason to worry.”
Her brief moment of hope collapsed like a tower of bricks, and she was surprised not to hear the accompanying crash. “No, that’s so unfair! You said it yourself: Hank’s dangerous. What if he hurts you, hm? Have you even considered that?”
“And what would you do about it if he did?” He circled her wrist with his thumb and forefinger, smiling wryly. In direct contrast with his big hand, hers looked delicate and fragile. “Beat him up?”
“Damn right I would!” she answered fiercely and gripped his chin, completely disregarding his attempted joke. “I would do anything to stop anyone from hurting you!”
“Brave Maria.” He smiled slightly, but his eyes were serious. She shivered under his gaze, and he pulled her close again in response. Clearing his throat, he returned to the topic at hand. “But I really don’t think it’ll come to that. I just exaggerated when I said I thought he’d beat her, you know? Seriously, I’m sure that he wouldn’t really get violent with her.”
Leaning against him, her head on his shoulder once again, she was wondering if he was trying to convince her, or himself. “But I don’t wanna go without you.” She was fully aware of the whining tone in her voice, but didn’t care. “I want to be here for you.”
“Please, Maria. I’ll be much happier if I know you’re having fun battling against squirrels and bunnies than having you all alone in your house on the other side of town, worrying about me.”
She swallowed hard against the thickness in her throat, and begged in a small voice, “Don’t make me leave you, Michael. Please.”
“Maria. . .” He sighed. “You can borrow all of my camping gear, alright? And I’ll call you every day,” he tried to bribe her.
Suddenly, a thought struck her. “Maybe I can convince the others of a change of plans. Just a tiny one,” she added when she felt him get ready to argue. “We don’t actually have to camp out at Frazier Woods, you know? The garden behind our house is pretty big, there would be enough space for a few tents,” she rambled. “Think about it: We’d have a real bathroom just in our reach, and TV, and blankets if it gets too cold. And a kitchen! A kitchen is important, I’m sure the girls would agree with me on that, and. . .” She trailed off when she heard his disbelieving snort and raised her head to stare at him, bright-eyed and pleading. The expression on his face lay somewhere between amusement and exasperation. Knowing full well she had lost the argument already, she finished anyway. “And I could be here in no time if you needed me.”
Laughing faintly, he bent to kiss he cheek. “That would turn the whole camping endeavor into one giant sleepover, with the seven of you hiding out there, jammed together in your garden like a SWAT team, waiting to come to the rescue. That wouldn’t be much fun for anybody, would it?”
“I don’t care,” she grumbled. “I won’t have any fun in Frazier Woods, either.”
Naturally, he picked up on her choice of words, smelling easy victory. “So, you’re going?”
“Do I have a choice?” She sighed angrily, giving in at last. “But I want you to call me every day. Really,” she demanded. “And if I try to call you and you don’t pick up your phone, I’ll have Kyle or Alex drive me back to Roswell in no time flat.” The way she said it, it actually came out more as a threat than a promise.
Relieved, he chuckled. “Agreed. But I think I have to warn you: Reception is horrible out there. We’ll be lucky if we can get a connection at all.”
“We’ll manage,” she promised, and didn’t only mean the phone connection. She clung to his neck, asking in a small voice, “Can you kiss me now?” Make me forget. Just for a while.
He obediently lowered his lips to hers with a small smile, and did just that. He smelled like warm male and rain and he tasted like coffee and chocolate and she never, never wanted to let go of him again. One of his hands lay warm on her thigh, the other held her securely on his lap.
Loathe to end the kiss, she drew back nonetheless after a while, taking deep breaths. Though she was reluctant to ask, she had to know regardless, “Were you ever gonna tell me? About your mom?”
“Of course! Well, eventually,” he amended. “Hell, Maria, it took me over a year to tell Kyle and Tess!”
“Do the others know as well? Max and Isabel?”
He nodded slowly. “Yeah, they know. I wasn’t very good at hiding it when I was a little kid, so they found out pretty fast. I made them swear not to tell anyone, though. Max may have told Liz, but that’s okay, I guess. She can keep things to herself. I don’t really know if anyone told Alex, but I’m pretty sure he knows, anyway. Most of the time, he picks up on more than you would think.”
“Have you. . . have you ever considered getting help?”
“Not really,” he said, brows pulled together in a troubled frown. “I mean, I can’t force her to go to a rehab center or anything, can I?”
“No, I guess not. But I wasn’t really talking about your mother, Michael.” She reached out to sweep a wet strand of hair from his temple, watching his face. “I meant help for you.”
“What, you mean going to the authorities and telling them she’s an alcoholic?” He looked appalled. “They would’ve taken me away from her in a heartbeat! They still might, I’m not yet eighteen.”
She nodded, feeling bad for even suggesting it.
“I couldn’t do that, Maria.”
“Yeah, I know. . .” She bit her bottom lip. “But why not?”
“Because. . .” he hesitated, “because she’s my mom. And she needs me, even if she doesn’t want to admit it most of the time.”
The rain was still running down the windshield in wet streaks, crying the tears of sorrow and regret she had to fight so hard to hold in for his sake.
He looked at his house, sighing deeply. “I guess I should go in again and check on her.”
“Okay,” she mumbled, but made no move to leave her position on his lap. The wet clothes clung to her skin, cold and sticky, but she didn’t care. Burrowing her face in his neck, she asked, “Just. . . hold me for a few minutes longer, will you?”
He gently caressed her back and leaned his head against hers, inhaling deeply. “Alright,” he whispered.
As they sat there in silence, the rain continued to fall, weeping for them. For the girl who held another so close to her heart, and was still unable to protect him from pain; and for the boy who was, to her, so easy to love, and yet had never known the affection and care of his own mother.
*****
The tears began to fall when she was almost back at her house, spilling into her lap, hot and hard like bullets. Unable to contain the sobbing any longer, she pulled the car to a stop on the side of the road. There, she locked her arms around her torso, holding herself together while she slowly went to pieces inside. She cried freely. For him, for herself, and for people like Sandra Guerin who threw away the most precious thing given to them without knowing that some things, once lost, can never be restored.
By the time she was able to drive home, the rain had stopped.
*****
Saturday morning greeted the citizens of Roswell with blindingly bright sunshine, and an unusually warm breeze. White, fluffy clouds tracked lazily across the pale blue spring sky, and the first thrushes struck up their tentative songs from their perch on the branches. It seemed almost as if the weather wanted to make up for the all the rain of the last night.
Alex was puttering around in the driveway of his parent’s house, trying to fit the last bag of luggage into the trunk of his Toyota, happily whistling a tune under his breath. He had his shirt sleeves rolled up over his forearms, and a baseball cap on his head to shield his eyes from the bright blaze of the sun. A short glance at his wristwatch assured him that he was just in time to pick up his friends. Isabel had charged him and Max with buying the groceries for the trip, and they had dutifully done just that on Friday afternoon. Unfortunately, Max had lost the shopping list his sister had given him, so the two boys had ended buying much more junk food and snacks than fresh fruit and vegetables. Alex chuckled under his breath when he envisioned the girls’ reaction upon discovering they were supposed to live off of candy bars and marshmallows for a whole week. The roar of an approaching engine made him look up from his task.
Michael pulled his motorcycle up beside the grey car, killed the engine and pulled off his black helmet. When he dismounted, his foot caught on the seat of the bike, making him almost fall down on the sidewalk, only narrowly winning the fight against the combined pull of gravity and the bulging duffel bag he wore slung across his back.
Alex laughed at the spectacle, but reached out to steady his friend. “Hi, Michael,” he chortled. “Have you ever considered a career in comedy? ‘Cause that there looked really funny.”
“Ha ha,” Michael retorted dryly, hefting his burden into a more secure position on his back.
Alex curiously regarded the enormous, brown bag, eyebrows lifted. “What is all this?”
“My camping stuff.” Michael lifted the shoulder strap over his head and let is slide to the ground in front of his feet, releasing a relieved sigh while stretching his shoulders. “For Maria. I wanted to leave it with Kyle first, but with that tiny trunk of his convertible and Tess’ pack rat tendencies I thought I’d better try with you.”
“Well. . .” Alex doubtfully eyed the huge bag. “You can try your luck.” He took a step aside, revealing the open trunk of the Toyota together with its contents.
Michael’s eyes widened at the sight. “Holy. . .” He whistled through his teeth, leaning forward to peer into the bags that took up nearly all of the space in the car’s trunk. “Is that all yours?”
Alex snorted ironically. “Of course not. Iz came by last night and dropped it off. Seems that what you see here are the bare essentials a true beauty queen needs to survive in the wilderness.”
“Is that. . .” Michael’s eyes narrowed at the piece of metal that was sticking out from the open flap of one of the bags in the very bag. “Is that a curling iron?!”
Alex just shrugged helplessly. “She also packed a portable TV, a blow dryer and an epilator. At least I think that’s what I saw when I took a glimpse into one of the bags,” he added, frowning uncertainly.
“She does know that there aren’t actually sockets strewn around the ground where she can plug all this in, doesn’t she?”
Alex made a face, squinting at the sunlight. “I didn’t dare tell her. You know how she can be; she has it in her to cancel the whole trip.”
Michael critically eyed the bags in the trunk, noticing how little room was left in there. He glanced at his own bag, asking, “Can we tie my stuff to the roof, then?”
“We’re gonna have to.” Alex said. Thankfully, his Toyota’s roof was already equipped with a luggage rack. “Just out of curiosity, Michael, what is in here?” He groaned when they lifted the heavy bag up. “God, this weighs a ton!”
Michael just shrugged casually, beginning to secure the bag with the fastening straps. “Just my tent, sleeping bag, air mattress with a foot-operated pump, ground pad, extra pillows and blankets, bug spray, high-performance flashlight, battery powered radio with spare batteries, chocolate, cookies, potato chips, books, magazines, CDs. . .” He trailed off upon seeing Alex’ expression. “What? What is it?”
“Nothing.” Alex cleared his throat. “Um, Michael, you do know that this is just a simple camping trip in Frazier Woods, do you? Not a three-month expedition to the north pole or anything.”
“I just want her to be as comfortable as possible out there,” he said defiantly, scowling at his friend. “Even more so, because I can’t be there, too.”
Alex lightly squeezed his shoulder, quietly saying, “We’ll keep an eye on her for you.”
Smiling wryly, Michael remarked, “Like you did the last time?”
Alex exhaled on a ghost of a laugh. “No, nothing like that. I promised I’d take better care of her next time, and I will,” he promised.
“Okay.” Michael turned to leave, but stopped himself once again. “Alex?” he asked. “Can you try to make her have a little fun out there?”
Alex looked at him earnestly. “I will,” he said again, adding, “Michael?” When his friend looked at him questioningly, he said emphatically, “Take care of yourself while we’re gone, will you?”
“I will.”
*****
“Promise me again!” Maria urged, standing with Michael on the front porch of her house half an hour later, arms locked around his waist.
He sighed theatrically, a small smile tugging at his mouth, but obeyed. “I promise to call you every day, every night, at dusk, at dawn, before you eat, after you eat, before I eat- Ouch!” He laughed when she hit him on the arm.
“Don’t make fun of me.” She scowled at him. She was not in the mood for jokes, even though he did his best to lighten the mood.
From the corner of her eye she could see Kyle and Tess patiently sitting in the red convertible, its top down to allow the balmy breeze to tug at their hair and shirts. They had said goodbye to Michael earlier and were now waiting for her to tear herself away from him and get in the car. Amy had left earlier that morning, wishing her daughter fun on her trip.
“Sorry,” Michael chuckled with a mischievous glint in his eyes. He leaned in close, and his breath ghosted warmly over the skin of her neck when he whispered into her ear, “I really do promise to call, Maria. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”
“Well, I certainly hope so,” she murmured, smiling against her will. She gripped his ears when he tried to pull away, bringing his mouth down to hers in a deep kiss full of longing and passion. Her tongue swept over his bottom lip before demanding entrance. He parted his lips and touched his tongue to hers, silky soft and hot. She clung to him, pressing her body flush against his while holding his face between her hands. I’ll make sure he won’t forget me while I’m gone.
When he drew back, he was panting for air, wearing a dazed expression. “Wow,” he breathed.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay with you?” she joked, her own breath coming in gasps.
He smiled regretfully. “No. I want you to go hunt down the wild animals of New Mexico. Bring me the head of your first prey as a trophy,” he added with a brief grin.
She sighed deeply in defeat. “Okay.” Hugging him hard, she laid her head on his shoulder, breathing in his scent. “I’ll miss you,” she mumbled.
His arms came around her waist, holding her while he pressed a gentle kiss against her forehead. “I’ll miss you, too.”
Reluctantly, she pulled out of the embrace at last, kissing him goodbye one last time. Then she gave him a sad, quivering smile and turned to sprint across the lawn to join Tess and Kyle.
Tess threw her a sympathetic smile when Maria fastened her seatbelt, while Kyle pulled out onto the road, honking in farewell. Maria sat stiffly in her seat, stoically staring ahead in her resolve not to look back at Michael. She feared that if she did that, she’d have to cry, and she didn’t want to do that in front of the couple in the front seat.
Shortly before their car rounded the corner at the end of the street, she threw her resolve over board. To hell with it! She hastily turned around in her seat, just in time to catch a last glimpse of his lonely shape standing in the street, one hand raised in goodbye.
~TBC