House Broken (8 page)

Geneva helped her mother get ready for bed, then joined Tom in the living room. He put down the sports section of the paper and patted the seat next to him.

“See?” he said. “Helen's no trouble at all.”

She sat heavily onto the couch. “No, not today.”

“The kids seem to like her. Especially Charlie.”

“That's true. I could overlook a lot if my mother made an effort with them.” Write off our relationship, she thought, and concentrate on the next generation. There were worse outcomes.

“Do you want me to get up with her tonight?”

“That might be awkward for her. Maybe we should dehydrate her every afternoon.”

He laughed.

“By the way,” she said, “did you approve Charlie's new video game?”

“I didn't know he had one.”

“When I went into the den to check on him just now, he was
playing one I hadn't seen before. He said he borrowed it from a friend.”

“I'm sure it's fine, but I'll look at it when he's in school tomorrow, okay?”

“There goes your morning.”

“Ha-ha.”

They sat in silence for a few moments. Then Geneva sat up and shuffled through the newspaper on the coffee table.

“Something on your mind—aside from your son's innocence and your mother's bladder?”

She straightened the newspaper and turned to him. “I'm thinking of talking to Juliana about her dog.”

“I'm not sure she'd listen. She thinks he's great. And he is, most of the time.”

“But not when Jon is around.”

“You don't know that.”

“Well, she and I could talk about it.”

“She'd see it as interfering. If she asks you, it'd be different.”

“You mean if I were a full-fledged Novak, it'd be different.”

“That's not fair.”

“If you remember, I offered to help her select a puppy. She turned me down and went with Theo instead. I love your brother, but he doesn't know dogs.”

“So now Aldo is Theo's fault?”

“No. But we all know Juliana is a free spirit. Given that, I would have guided her toward a smaller dog with a very even temperament.”

“Okay, but Aldo's her dog now.”

“Do you know if he still sleeps with her?”

“Jon?”

“Very funny. No, the dog.”

Tom leaned back and put his feet on the coffee table. “I make a habit of not asking who's in bed with my sister. That's thin ice. But I heard from my mother, who has no such reservations, that Juliana tried to wean Aldo off sleeping on the bed—unsuccessfully. Which is why Juliana stays at Jon's and not the other way around.”

“I'm sure you can see that's not healthy, Tom. That's why I want to talk to her. And to Jon. Before things escalate.”

“We're all hoping this relationship works out. We think Jon's great for her.”

“Then I would assume that ‘we' would prefer him with all his limbs?”

Tom scoffed. “We don't even know what went on at the barbecue. For all we know Jon might have dropped the sausages, then panicked when Aldo went after them.” He rose. “Time for bed. Give that brain of yours a rest for a few hours.”

She tried, but her brain would not rest. While her husband lay beside her, heavy in sleep, her thoughts refused to unwind. Watchful as a child, watchful as an adult. Over the years, her mother, her husband, and several well-meaning others had entreated her to relax her vigil on the world. But once she noticed something, she found it impossible to look away until she understood what she observed. And now the list of things she did not understand grew longer by the day. Her mother was a lifelong source of confusion, as was her sister Paris. Ella's behavior—of late, highly variable and generally sullen—presented another mystery. She also felt disconnected from Tom. They didn't agree on how to handle the kids, his family, or her mother. She knew he loved her, but did he get her? Some time ago, she couldn't say exactly when,
she had been certain he did. But now doubt had emerged, like a weed pushing out of a crack in the pavement. Even Charlie, always the easiest person in the family, was making her uneasy. She couldn't put her finger on anything, but something wasn't right.

Such a long list. Logic told her the problem was therefore not them, but her. But even this deduction failed to withstand her scrutiny. What, exactly, was wrong with her, then? How could she rest when she understood so little?

Sporadically, Geneva watched, not to understand, but because she sensed something was about to occur. This first happened as a child in Aliceville, during her regular visits to the woods. Weekend and summer mornings, she would jump on her bike and head to the far side of town. Her mother would not have approved, not because the woods were dangerous but because well-brought-up girls shouldn't muddy their knees. Careful to stay clean, she'd thread her way as deep into the woods as she dared. She would sit against a tree and wait for the world she had ruffled to return to itself. Once the forest ignored her, she became part of it. With the aid of her binoculars and natural patience, she studied whatever appeared: squirrels, quail, deer—even beetles. Time passed unnoticed. When the shadows knitted together and the forest floor grew dark, she ran back to her bike, holding the binoculars against her chest with one hand. Sweat clung to her like another skin.

One summer morning she had been sitting on a log for half an hour when she detected a change in her surroundings. A moment passed; then a Cooper's hawk swooped down to snatch a warbler from the air. A month later, she was leaning against a tree and felt the forest tremble. She turned slowly to see a black bear lumber into a clearing not twenty yards away. The bear sniffed the air
with sharp upward nods, then returned to become a shadow in the underbrush. At the time, she concluded that the gravity of certain events ran slightly ahead in time. If she paid close attention, she could sense the subliminal shudder preceding something dangerous, or spectacular.

Rare as the feeling had been when she was a child, it was rarer still as an adult. And her explanation for it had changed. She had given the matter a great deal of thought and concluded it was a trick of memory. The feeling of imminence seemed to precede the event but, in fact, did not. As her unconscious mind raced to make sense of the sudden fate of a warbler or the appearance of a bear, it yanked a veil across her understanding, which she experienced as an indeterminate signal to take heed. Quick as her mind was, her perception was quicker. In the grip of astonishment, the instant between seeing and knowing flooded her with portent.

On a rainy night last winter she sensed a quavering from the car in front of her. An instant later, its brake lights came on. Her foot came down hard on the brake, and she averted a collision. Geneva wondered if other people shared in this feeling but never admitted to it for fear of appearing strange. It didn't matter in the end whether she was alone. The important thing was to pay attention because warnings never came twice.

ELLA

A
fter school on Tuesday, Ella drove into town to run a bunch of errands for her mom. She didn't mind because she'd just gotten her license; she only hoped no one saw her driving way below the speed limit. Being taught by her mom was bad enough. She reminded her about every little thing in this super calm voice, but Ella could tell from the way her feet kept pushing into the floor it was an act. But driving alone was worse. She knew if she made a mistake, she could kill someone. Herself, for instance.

Her mom told her to use a parking lot miles from the stores because the spaces were bigger. Ella grumbled about it, out of principle, but the truth was, parking really freaked her out. She would have picked that lot anyway. Or an enormous playing field. Or the moon.

She inched into the parking spot, got out, and checked to see how she'd done. It looked like a drunken moron had parked the car, so she got in and straightened it out. Twenty minutes later, she was good to go. On her way to the post office, she glanced down a side street lined with a bunch of old shops nobody ever went into, plus an ancient gas station and liquor store. A homeless guy sat in the middle of all his stuff next to a Dumpster near the liquor store. A tall, skinny kid walked up super casual and struck up a conversation with him. Ella literally did a double take. The kid was Prince Charles. He pulled something out of his pocket and kept looking over his shoulder like a secret agent. She scooted across the road and hid in the doorway of an abandoned dry cleaner.

What the hell was he doing? One thing for sure: No way was he helping the homeless. More likely he was getting the homeless to help him. Buying booze was an obvious conclusion, except there were easier ways. Every kid who wanted booze and looked older than Justin Bieber had a fake ID. And everyone else knew someone with access to their parents' stash. So if it wasn't booze, she figured it connected somehow to the Prince's wad of cash.

A line of cars went by and blocked her view for a second. Afterward, she caught a peek of the homeless guy coming out of the store. He sat down like he was coming home from work and plopping into his favorite chair. The Prince squatted next to him, just buddies having a chat. The homeless guy might have handed something to the Prince, but she couldn't be sure because the Prince was in the way. She stepped onto the sidewalk to get a better look, but then he wheeled around and headed straight toward her. Shit! She ducked down behind this garbage can like a total idiot. When a truck rolled by, giving her cover, she sprinted
around the corner, then strolled toward the post office as if she had never seen a thing.

• • •

The next day in school she started up a conversation with Trevor, the A-plus douche who had the locker under hers. Full of himself for absolutely zero reason. She had said maybe three words to him all year and one of them was “Ow!” when he hit her ankle with his locker door. Didn't even apologize. Like she said, total douche. But today Trevor would serve a purpose.

She shut her locker. Trevor knelt and stuffed books in his backpack.

“Hey, Trevor.” Her cunning opening.

He didn't even look up. Douche.

“I was wondering. You know everything that's going on, right?”

“Everything worth knowing. Why?” He zipped his backpack and stood up. He had on a gangsta wannabe T-shirt with the logo of some band she'd never heard of. The skull and blood spatter said it all. His mouth twisted in a nasty sneer. She expected little snakes to wriggle out.

“Do you think my brother Charlie's in over his head? He's only a freshman, and I know it's just for fun, but . . .” Fishing expedition with zero bait. Good luck.

“Charlie's okay. Charlie's always okay.”

“That's what I figured.”

“Then why are you asking?”

“He's my brother. Don't worry, though. I'm not ratting on anyone.”

He frowned in thought. “His prices are kinda steep.”

“I agree.”

“But he's got great stuff.”

“I've seen it. It's the best.” She had no idea what they were talking about. Bizarrely fun.

Trevor gave her a half smile. “It's kinda creepy.”

“What's creepy?”
Other than you?

“You talking to me about this.” He kicked his locker shut and gave her a lascivious grin. “But if you're the kinda ho that's into porno mags, maybe we should talk again.”

• • •

Once she didn't feel like puking anymore, she knew just whom to ask for the deets: cousin Spencer. In fact, she wished she'd gone to him first instead of getting drooled on by Trevor. She caught up to Spencer after history class.

Not only did he know all about the Princely enterprise—he was too trusting to question why she wanted to know. Turned out the Prince didn't sell the magazines or even charge for peeks. He rented them overnight. Gross, right? Most parents installed porno-preventers on their computers, so for a twenty-dollar deposit, a guy could have his very own handheld experience.

“If the pages come back stuck together,” Spencer told her, his gaze downcast, “Charlie keeps the twenty. Otherwise it's ten.”

No wonder he was loaded.

• • •

It didn't take the Prince long to start working on Nana. She got here on Sunday and by Wednesday evening they were besties. Ella was making cupcakes for her friend's birthday, basically stalling on doing her math homework. Nana and the Prince sat at the
kitchen table with a deck of cards, some poker chips, and a giant bag of M&M's. Nana the card shark. Ella always thought old ladies played bridge, but Nana was showing him how to play blackjack and weird versions of poker. They played open hands first, so the Prince could see her strategy. Then he was on his own; Nana chuckled as she raked in her winnings. An hour after they started, her pile of M&M's dwarfed the Prince's.

Ella filled the last paper liner with batter. She licked the spoon just as her mom came into the kitchen. Her mom had some sort of radar that detected salmonella exposure. But she ignored Ella's flirtation with death and creeped on the card game instead. She leaned against the counter and crossed her arms over her chest. Her face seemed half happy about the Prince and Nana bonding, and half suspicious.

“Watch out, Charlie,” her mom said. “She'll take you for everything you're worth.”

Nana lifted her eyebrows, but she didn't look up.

The Prince might have been working on Nana, but who's to say the old lady didn't have a plan of her own? Maybe it called for getting in good with Charlie. After all, the liquor store sold more than dirty magazines. She toyed with the idea of telling her mom what Charlie was up to, but she didn't have any cold, hard evidence. What had she seen anyway? And none of the boys involved would spill the beans. Plus, with Nana there, and the Battle of the Bands approaching, it might be more entertaining just to see how it all played out.