Just Another Girl (16 page)

He sort of chuckles, then gets into his van and drives away.

“So then, am I giving you a lift home?” He nods toward a tanklike vehicle, some old gas hog from the seventies.

“I'd appreciate that. Sorry I'm being so mean.”

“Sounds like you've had a rough go.”

So then, for no particular reason, I dump the entire story on him about going to the party with my supposed boyfriend and saying what I did to the hostess and how she called me a buzzkill.

“Buzzkill?” he asks. We're sitting in his car now, but he hasn't turned on the engine yet.

“Like a killjoy, spoilsport, party pooper. Where are you from anyway, George? Australia?”

“Close. New Zealand. But I've lived in the States for a few years. Just can't seem to shake the accent.”

“It's actually rather charming,” I admit.

He laughs. “Well, you could've fooled me. I reckoned you were about to belt me out there in the parking lot.”

“I guess I did want to hit something. Sorry about that.”

“No worries.”

“Anyway, that's why I ended up here with no ride. The guy I was with was drinking, and I started worrying about him driving, and everything just felt all wrong.”

“So that's why you're so upset?”

“I guess that's not the whole reason.” I sigh loudly. “But the rest of my story is kind of long . . .”

“How about we get a soda or something? Then you can tell me the whole story, if you like. Unless it's too late.”

“No, it's not too late.” My guess is that Mom hasn't gotten Lily to bed yet. And, even though tonight's been a disaster, I'm still not ready to let go of my freedom fight.

“Do you like A&W?”

“Are you kidding? I love root beer.”

“All right, root beer it is.”

Soon we are sitting in the drive-in section of A&Dubs, and I am not only having root beer, I'm having a root beer float. This was George's suggestion, and in my opinion, a good one. What better way to drown one's sorrows than in root beer and ice cream?

By the time we finish, I've told him everything—about Lily and my mom and dad and even Rose.

“So, George,” I say as I pass him my empty mug, “what would Jesus do?”

He seems to consider this. “Well . . . I do recall that Jesus told us to love our neighbors as we love ourselves, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And it seems you've put a lot of energy into loving Lily, and even the rest of your family, by the way you care for her. But I reckon I'd question how well you've been loving yourself.”

I think about this. “I guess I thought that by going out with Owen . . . well, that was kind of like loving myself. I mean, I was doing something that I wanted to do. And before that stupid party, Owen made me feel good and even loved.”

“But you weren't feeling too good or too loved tonight.”

“No.”

He places both our mugs on the tray hooked over his window. “I don't claim to have answers, but it seems to me that you were a bit out of your element at that drinking party, right?”

“Absolutely. I still can't believe Owen was so callous. I mean, he had promised me that we'd leave if I was uncomfortable, but then he started drinking, and it's like he didn't even care. He probably hasn't even noticed I'm gone.”

“Alcohol changes people.”

“I know.” I turn in my seat to see him better.

“My dad has a serious drinking problem. That's the main reason my mom and I moved to the States. She was originally from here but hadn't been back in ages. Anyway, one night after a particularly bad rampage, my mom laid down the law. She told him she'd leave if he didn't quit.”

“And?”

“And . . . he made his choice, and we made ours. We left.”

“Sad.”

“Yeah. But also a relief to get away. He was an ugly drunk.”

“I don't think Owen is an ugly drunk,” I say. “But thoughtless.”

“My mom says that alcohol brings out the true nature of a person. I'm not trying to knock this Owen bloke, but maybe he was pretending to be nice, yet underneath it all, he's a bit selfish.”

I consider this. “Maybe.”

“Anyway, I think it was rude of him to break his promise to you.”

I nod. “Yeah. I do too.” Then I smile at George. “But it did allow me to get to know you a little better. I thought you were really shy.”

“It's just the way I am in new situations. I like to listen and observe people before I get too involved. Like you and your sister . . . I've been watching you two.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I have to admit I'm impressed with the way you are with Lily. It shows a lot of maturity. I really respect that.” “Wow . . . thanks.”

“In fact, seeing you and Lily convicted me of something.”

“Convicted you? What do you mean?”

“I mean, God used you to remind me of a bloke back in New Zealand that I hadn't been very nice to.”

“I can't imagine you not being nice.”

He laughs. “You thought the same thing about Owen too. Remember?”

“I guess. But what happened with that other, what did you call him—bloke?”

“Yeah. A bloke. He was on the soccer team, but really lousy. He had absolutely no skills, but he was the coach's nephew. I was captain of the team, and we were pretty good, and I couldn't see why the coach even played this bloke. What I didn't realize was that Jamie was . . . well, you know, mentally challenged. Oh, he could read and write a bit, but he wasn't in a normal school. Anyway, one time he blew it bad, and I called him some names, like ‘stupid,' ‘idiot,' ‘retard' . . . I can't even remember. We all did it. But it totally crushed him. He ran off and quit the team. I felt bad about it then, but seeing how patient you are with Lily . . . well, I went home and wrote a letter to Jamie and sent it via the coach, apologizing for my meanness.” George shrugs. “I don't know if it made him feel any better, but I know I needed to do it.”

“Good for you.”

He sighs sadly. “It's hard to undo ‘stupid.' ”

“And now you're making me feel guilty,” I say.

“Why's that?”

I reach into my bag and pull out my phone, turning it on to see that, as I suspected, Mom has called a couple of times. Of course, Owen hasn't called once. “Because I let Lily down tonight,” I confess.

“Do you want to go home now?”

“Yes.”

As he drives me home, I get worried about Lily. Really,
what if she did something really crazy? “It's so confusing,” I admit.

“What?”

“How to deal with Lily. I mean, I've read some books and gone to classes, but the things I learned seemed more like the things a parent should do.”

“So you're kind of like Lily's mother?”

“That's how it feels.”

“Well, that seems like a pretty heavy load for someone your age, Aster.”

“Yeah. But as caught as I am in this thing, Lily's caught even more.”

“Like I said, I don't really have answers, but I believe that God does.”

“I just wish he'd talk a little louder,” I say.

George chuckles. “Yeah, don't we all.”

“It's the next street,” I tell him. And then we're there. “Thanks so much for, well, everything.”

“Glad to be of service. And if there's anything I can do to help out, feel free to call me.” He grabs his notebook, which is next to what looks like a much-used Bible, then tears out a piece of paper and scribbles down a phone number. “I mean it. Call me if I can help. God doesn't expect us to go it alone.”

“Thanks.” I take the paper. “I appreciate it.” After I'm out of the funky old car and going into the house, I wish I'd thought to give him my number.

The lights are on in the house, but it appears that everyone
has gone to bed. It also appears to have been a difficult evening for Mom and Lily. The house is a total mess. I can tell that Lily must've had a horrible tantrum, because things are thrown all over the place.

Suddenly I'm worried. What if something horrible happened? What if Mom or Lily totally lost it and—

I race to Lily's bedroom, but she isn't there. And it is a mess, as if she threw a fit. Then I bolt to the other end of the house to find that Mom is in bed and sleeping soundly. Now I'm freaked.
Where is Lily?

I look in the bedroom I share with Rose. No Lily. In fact, Rose hasn't come home either. Not that that's so unusual.

I go to the bathroom, but the door seems to be stuck, and then I realize Lily's body is blocking it. I lean my shoulder into the door and give it a shove until it's open enough for me to slip in. Lily doesn't even move. She's curled up in front of the door in the fetal position. I get down on my knees and peer into her pale face. My heart is pounding so hard, I can hear thumping in my ears. I get close enough to see if she's breathing, then sigh in relief. Thank God, she is just fine! Then, just to make sure she's really okay, I run my fingers through her messy hair, checking her head for any lumps or bumps. She might've fallen and knocked herself out. But she seems to be in one piece. Then she makes her familiar grunting snore, and I can tell that she's simply asleep.

Still, I can only imagine why she's barricaded herself in the bathroom like this. I notice she's clutching a screwdriver in
her hand. Was she planning to use it as a weapon, or was she trying to fix something? Her face is dirty and streaked with tears. Her hands are dirty too. She has on pajama bottoms, but still the same shirt that she wore today. Then I notice that her favorite pair of Capri pants, the ones she sometimes refuses to surrender to the laundry, are in the bathtub. That means she must've wet herself, because that's where I always used to put her pants so I could rinse them out before putting them in the washer. Poor Lily. She hasn't wet herself for quite some time. She must've been really upset.

Naturally, this makes me mad at Mom.
Why can't she handle Lily?
Did she make a mess of everything tonight on purpose— just to show me? Because I know I'll be stuck cleaning everything up tomorrow. And, although Mom doesn't usually go to work on Sundays, I'll bet she plans to go in tomorrow. Just to teach me a lesson. She wants to remind me that I cannot control her—that she is Mom and I am not.

“Wake up,” I say to Lily, giving her a gentle shove. But she's a hard sleeper. Especially after a stressful episode. Sometimes it seems like she's in a coma. I wet a washcloth, put a little soap on it, and wash her face, which doesn't disturb her in the least. I pry the screwdriver from her hand, then wash her hands. Still, she's not moving. So I go to her bedroom, retrieve her Little Mermaid quilt, and drape it over her.

“Sleep well, Princess Lily,” I say as I turn out the light.

15

“Aster? Aster?
Aster!
” Once again I wake to Lily's face just inches from mine. “Wake up, sleepyhead.”

“I'm awake,” I mumble as I sit up.

“Where's Rose?”

I glance over to Rose's bed, unmade as usual. It also looks unslept in. I'm pretty sure those are the same things I tossed on it when I cleaned my side of the room yesterday. “I don't know, Lily.”

“I slept in the bathtub, Aster.”

“No, you slept on the floor, Lily. I saw you.”

She nods. “Yeah. I slept on the floor.” Then she looks at me with her pale green eyes. “Mom's mean.”

“Were you naughty?”

She pauses to think. “I was mad.”

I almost say, “Because I went somewhere without you,” but then decide that's a can of worms I don't need to open. Better to start fresh today, and Lily actually seems in pretty good spirits. “Is Mom up yet?”

“Mom's gone.”

“To work?”

“I dunno.”

Great. Mom has taken off without even talking to me. She must be really ticked. Well, that's her problem. And her troubles are not over yet. Although I think I'm going to have to be careful. It's unfair to make Lily suffer too much.