Driving With the Top Down (31 page)

Tamara nodded. The silence now between them, and the cacophony outside, made her want to be honest. To say what had happened. She said it fast, the way her confessions always came out. Like ripping off a Band-Aid.

“When I left home, I agreed to give my stupid, cheating boyfriend a blow job. And he recorded it. And I didn’t know at first. And now it’s all over the Internet.”

That was another slap in the face for them. Colleen looked immediately sick, while Bitty looked like she was trying not to look intrigued
as well as
concerned.

Tam nodded. “It’s eating away at me, and I feel like I needed to say it out loud. I
know
how bad it is. I
know
I was an idiot. I
know
there’s—”

Tamara had been talking into her hands, but was cut off by Colleen’s arms around her. At first she didn’t know what to do, but then as Colleen squeezed her, she felt an emotional catch in her throat. Was Tamara really going to cry again? What a lot of
that
she’d been doing for the last couple of weeks.

It was weird, but she had been happier in the last few weeks than in the past few years. And some of the worst stuff that could have happened had all happened
in
that two weeks. Especially the night in St. Augustine.

She always pictured Rock Bottom as a well. A cold, dark, slimy, wet well. So if she had been rappelling down into this well for however long now, being pushed down by Vince and anyone else—mostly herself—then on this trip, she had definitely landed on the bottom. But now, and maybe it was kind of lame or whatever, but it felt like she was reaching around on that grimy wet ground and had found a key. A key that might unlock some happiness for her. All she had to do was climb back out of that well, and not slip on the way up.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Colleen

“Gaaawd,” Colleen whispered to Bitty sotto voce when they stepped outside and left Tamara asleep in the trailer. “Can you believe what that poor kid has been through?” She was distinctly tipsy. Distinctly.

Bitty, however, was pretty sober. And she agreed. “It’s awful.”

“We need to save her.”

“How?”

“You.” Colleen jabbed a finger toward Bitty. “You should adopt her.”

Bitty gave a laugh. “I—I don’t think she’s up for adoption.”

“Just think how much fun you guys could have! Doing girl stuff together, shopping, mani-pedis, face masks, eating junk food while you watch
The Sound of Music
for the zillionth time—”

“Colleen.”

“Mmm?”

“It sounds like you’re thinking how much fun
you
could have with her.”

She was. She was she was she was. But would she and Tam always have some small vestige of resentment between them for Colleen’s telling on her? It had been on her own mind a lot, but she hadn’t wanted to bring it up. Then again, Tam’s revealing her story had been a big leap of faith. “I— Do you really think I could?”

“Are you kidding? Aunts and uncles take over for their lame siblings like that all the time. It’s whatever’s in the best interest of the child, right? Do you think Kevin’s brother would object?”

“I don’t know,” she said honestly. Colleen had no doubt Chris would be overjoyed to be able to unload this burden onto someone else. But she was not so sure his pride would let him admit his failure in that way. So he might hold on to her, damaging her more and more each day, all in the name of saving face.

What would it really be like, having Tamara at the house full-time? It wasn’t like this was the first time she’d met her or anything, but it was significant that this was the first time she’d
liked
her.

Then again, this was the first time she’d gotten to know Tamara at all. How could she have formed a real decision before this?

Now that she knew Tamara, and they’d talked as much as they had, and she’d really gotten to know her better, she was already thinking about weekend visits, maybe a trip to New York. And, yeah, maybe if Tam hadn’t seen
The Sound of Music,
they could have a movie and popcorn night.

Maybe everything in her life—every coincidence, every uncertainty, all the stuff with Kevin and her meeting with Julia—maybe all of it had been some grand design, proving that she and Kevin were a good and strong alliance and they had the love and strength together to help raise this troubled kid alongside their own. Maybe—though this might be a stretch—maybe that was why they’d never been able to have another child, the daughter Colleen had longed for so much, maybe that was because that girl was already out there, waiting for them to find her.

Her conviction was strong, but she wasn’t sure her argument would be right now. “How do I sound?” she asked Bitty. “Do you think I could have a conversation with Kevin that wouldn’t be totally invalidated by all that—” She gestured toward the trailer. “—whatever it was that I had?”

Bitty considered, then, after a moment, said, “I think you have something important to say, and you have a lot of conviction right now. And, yes, you’re tipsy. But you don’t sound hammered or anything. So, yeah, give him a call. See what he says.”

“I’m going to.”

Bitty nodded. “I’ll go back in the trailer.”

“Bitty.”

She stopped and turned back. “Yeah?”

“Is there more of that stuff in there?”

Bitty took a look. “Several cans.”

“Good.” Colleen heaved a sigh of relief. “I’m gonna need it.”

Two minutes later, she was pitching the idea to Kevin. No intro to the idea, no laying of groundwork; she felt strongly about this, and all she needed to do was communicate that to him.

“Hon,” he said, “a week and a half ago, when you were leaving, you were absolutely dreading having to take her with you.”

“I know. But I didn’t really know her then. Obviously. She was a reputation more than a person. Now that I’ve gotten to know her, Kevin, she’s so vulnerable. She has so many needs. I’ve got to tell you I’m scared of what will happen if she stays with Chris.”

There was a long exhalation on the other line. “It’s true, I never would have pegged Chris as Father of the Year.”

“Think about Jay,” she said. “Think about how many times we’ve had to walk on eggshells to preserve his self-esteem and confidence. No one has
ever
done that for this girl. But it’s not too late.” She thought of the story of the video and what Tamara potentially had to go back to if she couldn’t come and live with Colleen. It was horrible to imagine that all her progress—and her opening up and talking about her feelings—might be for nothing if she had to go back to that sand trap.

“Sixteen isn’t quite so old as you might think,” Kevin pointed out, and she knew he was scratching his head the way he did when he was seriously considering the pros and cons of an idea. “There’s a lot ahead on that road. If we did this, we couldn’t just give up if the going got tough.”

“Going has gotten tough before, and I haven’t given up,” she said. “Don’t forget Jay’s shoplifting phase.”

“A gag golf tee from Sports Authority. I hardly think that constitutes a ‘shoplifting phase.’”

“So you condone it.”

“No!”

“Not even a little?”

“Of course not.”

“You’re not okay with golf tee theft but uncool with, for example, smoking weed.”

Kevin sighed. “I wouldn’t put it in those words, no.”

“There you go.” She shrugged, even though he couldn’t see her. “One may be aruguably more damaging than the other, but right is right and wrong is wrong, and we encourage right and don’t put up with wrong. Right?”

“You lost me a little.”

“We wouldn’t condone either activity.”

“Correct.”

“We’d have ramifications for both.”

“Yes.”

“So … there. I’m not saying it will be easy or anything. But I’m saying I just really don’t see how we can do anything
but
take her in. She’s in trouble. We can save her.”

“Will she be a bad influence on Jay?”

Colleen had thought about that. It was her primary concern. The last thing she wanted was to upset her neat little applecart by exposing her child to any sort of danger. But she really and truly thought that Tamara was acting out of boredom and loneliness, not inherent delinquency. With a little—no, a lot—of love and care and attention, that behavior could surely be gotten under control.

And Colleen would make it absolutely clear to Tamara that one toe over
that
particular line would carry a
very
stiff penalty.

“I think she’ll be a good influence on Jay,” Colleen said. “And vice versa. Neither one of them ever had a sibling before. It might be kind of nice for them to see what that feels like, to have a peer in the house when the adults go batshit.”

“I’ve never gone batshit.”

She smiled to herself. “Do you remember why I had to take over the argument with the cable company?”

He hesitated. “They’re idiots.”

“So you’re in?”

There was a long pause. This was a lot to ask him. Then again, Tamara was his blood. There should have been less for him to think about than for Colleen. “Are you sure about this?” he asked.

“I’m sure.”

“This isn’t just the wine talking?”

“What wine?”

He laughed, but kindly. “The wine you obviously had before you called me.”

“Kevin, I swear, I didn’t have one drop of wine. And yes, I’m really really sure about this. What do you think?”

That familiar exhale. He was in. “I’ll talk to Chris.”

“Just make sure that when you do, you’re careful to make it clear we’re not saying he’s doing a shitty job.”

“But he is.”

“I
know,
but if he thinks we’re trying to just take over because he’s so bad at it, he’ll keep her just to prove something. But he won’t prove anything except that he’s the world’s worst dad.”

She could picture Kevin nodding before he said, “Gotcha. And agreed.”

“Okay, and Kevin?”

Pause. “Yes?”

“One more thing.”

Even longer pause. “I’m afraid to ask.”

“No, this is a
good
thing.”

“Okay.” He chuckled. “Hit me.”

“I love you,” she said, and felt tears forming in her eyes. “I really, really love you. I am so grateful to have you in my life, I can’t even tell you.”

“Aw, babe. I feel the same way about you. Double back.”

She smiled and put her head down. “Really? You never wish you’d married … someone else?”

“Never,” he said firmly. “Never ever.”

“Thanks.”

“You come on home, now, okay? I miss you. I want to show you just how glad I am to have married you.”

*   *   *

THE NEXT MORNING
was bright in that way that it seems to get only after a lot of rain. Everything was crisp and clear and brightly colored. Optimism surged in Colleen, even though she was feeling like the business side of the trip had been sort of a bust.

So when she saw a thrift store in a strip mall when they’d stopped at Piggly Wiggly for food and drinks, it didn’t really inspire much hope, but she had taught herself a long time ago never to give up an opportunity like this, because there were weird stories of outrageous fortune all the time. Maybe there was a painting of kittens in here, or that “Hang In There” poster with a copy of the Declaration of Independence behind it. You never knew.

Of course, the minute she walked in, she felt like she knew. Nothing would be here. It smelled like every thrift shop everywhere, and the front displays—usually indicators of what they were most proud of—were of tired Madame Alexander dolls and American Girl–compatible accessories (versus American Girl–authentic accessories, which had taken on a lot of value in the past few years).

The elderly female clerk, with tall white hair and shabby chic clothes, could have been at the counter of any thrift store anywhere in America. Colleen felt like she’d seen her a million times. The woman didn’t even raise her eyes when Colleen walked in, and barely registered her vague, “Just looking.”

She poked around a little bit, passing the old paperbacks and a section of saggy furniture and frayed wicker rocking chairs. But one section, right in the midst of it all, had a load of smaller junk. An old gas can for five dollars that she knew was worth forty-five but not worth stinking up the trailer, and an ornate old screen door that would make a really cool mirror. The price on it was eleven dollars. Sold. She’d mirror it for about seventy bucks and sell it for maybe two hundred. If she could part with it, that was. It was really gorgeous.

She went and lifted the door and started to take it to the register—imagining Tamara and Bitty’s faces when she came out with a door—when the bottom snagged on a lace tablecloth and pulled everything from the table onto the floor.

“Sorry!” she called to the clerk. “I’m picking it up.” She started to pick up the things—brass candlestick holders, broken costume jewelry, a Fiesta ware bowl that, miraculously, hadn’t broken—but when she got to a dirty ziplock bag of utensils, she paused. Every once in a while, a piece of real silver made it into a bag like this and would be well worth the four-dollar price tag.

She unzipped the bag and started looking through the pieces. Every one of them was the same pattern. Carved roses, front and back, intricate but filthy. She took one out. Tarnish. So they were silver-plated or—please, God—silver. She turned one over, looking, hoping, for a hallmark, and there it was.

She took out her phone and Googled a couple variations of description until she found it:
Baltimore Rose by Schofield. Sterling. 1905.
An entire set, or close to it.

She’d hit pay dirt.

All but forgetting the door—she’d wanted to take her find and get away with it as soon as possible—she went to the clerk and tried to remain calm and casual despite a thumping heart, while it took seemingly forever to ring up the purchase and take out a calculator to figure out the twenty-four-cent sales tax. Colleen would have told her, but she probably wouldn’t have believed it, and it would only have delayed the transaction further.