The Earth Painter (18 page)

I couldn’t say anything. My mouth hung open while I shook my head at her.

“You can stand on the side of the road while I run it into a tree. All you have to do is back up my story. Say you’re sore and stuff.”

“No! Look at your face. Brad needs to go to jail. Hugging another guy is no excuse. Why did he have to hit you? Why not attack the big Marine hugging his girl? No, Shelby, he’s got problems, and you need to get away from him. I’m not going to help you cover for him. I’m sorry.”

Shelby’s eyes were cold and hard. “Shut up! You don’t know anything about Brad. You’ve never even had a boyfriend. You’re like a little kid still living by black and white rules. In the real world, people make mistakes, but if you truly love them, then you accept them, flaws and all.”

“Beating you when he gets mad is more than a flaw. He’s dangerous. You need to tell your mom.”

Shelby reached across me and opened my door and shoved me. “Get out! I’ll take care of it myself. I guess you find out
who
your friends are, or in your case, are not, in times of need.”

I stepped out of the car still parked in the school parking lot. She leaned over to speak to me before I shut the door. “You better keep your mouth shut about this or I promise you will pay.” Then she peeled off into the night.

I thought about walking home. It wasn’t that far, but I called my dad instead. I wasn’t sure what to do about Shelby. Man I wished my parents
were
the type I could talk to about stuff.

Dad showed up a few minutes later. “Where’s Shelby? I thought you were with her?”

I stared into the darkness and shrugged. “She had some place to be, and I guess she couldn’t pick me up.”

We didn’t say anything else to each other until we got to the house. Then when I started to open my door, Dad stopped me.

“I need you to make things right with your mother. I haven’t seen her like this since…well since she lost her job all those years ago. She’s poured her heart and soul into raising you. You need to show some appreciation. Volunteer to help her repaint your room. Apologize. Do something to get her out of this funk.”

Oh. My. Gosh. How many different issues was I to handle in one night? “No, Dad. I’m not sorry I painted my room or that I took a job at the Bantam Chef. I’m not sorry, and I’m not going to pretend that I am. Why can’t Mom bend a little? Why does every inch of the house, my room included, have to belong to her? Why does my life, my friends, my job, my words, my classes, my clothes and makeup have to be hers, too? I’m my own person. I’m not her property—something for her to dress up to make her look good. I’m sorry she’s depressed, but I’m not sorry for what I’ve done.”

Dad sat in silence staring at me for a second before he spoke. “I guess I’ve never seen it like that.”

I was too ticked at the world to be polite or quiet. “You and Mom are always telling me to remember I represent you guys. And I’m sick of it. I’m not your car or your expensive watch here to show off to people. I’m your daughter—an altogether separate human being from you two.”

He blinked and looked out over the steering wheel before looking at me again.

Great, now my dad wasn’t speaking to me.

But then he pulled over in an empty church parking lot. “I’m sorry.”

I wasn’t expecting that at all.

We sat in silence for a long while before he spoke again. “Your mom has always felt the need to control everything—to have it all her way.” He got quiet again and then sighed. “I’ve never tried to stop her either. I’m a guy. I don’t honestly care how the house is decorated and…” He looked at me. “Frankly I’m a little scared of her. I mean when she’s happy, it’s great at home.
But things are tolerable only if they go her way, so that’s how I try to keep it. Before I lost my job, if she got too moody I always had a business trip ahead of me to get some space.”

“Well, I don’t have that option.”

Dad sighed. “Neither do
I
anymore.” Dad leaned his head back and had a look of remembrance. “When your mom and I met, she had so much drive and focus. I was a goof off. I made friends well but didn’t make good grades in school. I was pretty decent at sports and was popular. She’s the one who told me to try sales after college. She was right, so I never doubted her. It never occurred to me how her need to control affected you. I just let her have free reign and followed along.”

We were silent again. I thought it was time to share what it was like being under Mom.

“Dad, you know my headaches?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you know they stopped when I stopped worrying what you and Mom thought of me?”

He looked at me. I could see understanding sinking in before he looked out the windshield again. “Wow.”

Dad and I had never talked like this before. I wasn’t quite sure how this kind of thing went. But while I had his ear, I had to ask, “Tell me why Mom quit working. Was it just to raise me or was it something else?”

He chuckled just a little, but not like anything was genuinely funny. “You know your mom was an only child. And that she came unusually late in Grandma and Grandpa McKinney’s lives. They’d been married twenty years and didn’t think they could have kids. So when she came along, they doted on her. She could do no wrong in their eyes. When she got out in the real
world, others weren’t so easily impressed… or accommodating. A talented interior designer who has to have everything her way and won’t listen to the client’s ideas won’t work for long, no matter how gifted she is.”

“Ah.” I got it. You hire a decorator to design to your taste, not to hers.

“But she could never see where she was in the wrong and I was making good money. I let her complain about being let go and listened as she blamed them for being so stupid and having bad taste. She even started traveling with me. While we were on a business trip, she decided to start a family and be the best mom in the world—that, that was her true calling.”

“The best mom…meaning making me the best child—her ideal child.”

Dad sat and pondered my words. “Boy, I am slow. Yeah, I guess you’re right. That has been her way hasn’t it?”

Dad rested his head on the steering wheel, “Good grief, it was easier being ignorant.”

“Why’s that?”

He looked at me. “Because I love you and I’m your dad. It’s my job to protect you.
Even if it brings hell-on-earth to me.”
He paused. “I’m going to talk to her. Not sure how that will go, but…That’s a lie. I know how it will go, but I’m still going to do it.”

I sat there letting his words sink in. It felt nice being there with Dad like that. To know he cared enough to go to battle for me, even when he didn’t want to. I reached over and hugged Dad. “Thanks.”

Dad hugged me back. “I love you, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, I know.” And I did.

Mom was already in bed when we got there. I was relieved that I didn’t have to see her and have the talk with her yet. I’d had enough for one day.

I loved waking up in my room—waking up in Charleston. I sat up and looked around and took in a deep breath and let it out and smiled. This was my room at last…not hers.

It was the only thing right in my world at the moment and then it occurred to me that it would be gone soon too.

I got up and started dressing and thinking as I looked at my walls. Mom wouldn’t let them stay. She’d take them back. She always did. She’d probably paint over it that very day while I was at school. Then my dream with the earth painter would be over just like it never happened. The thought made my heart heavy in my chest, like it might sink to the ground and take me with it.

I stumbled out to the kitchen to find Dad trying to figure out how to make coffee.

“Hey, Sweetheart.
Do you know if Mom makes our coffee light, medium, or bold? The coffee maker has all these settings. It’s not the simple kind like at work.”

“I’ve got instant in the back of the cabinet.”

“That’ll do ‘till I get to the lot.”

I looked around to see that Mom wasn’t up being Martha Stewart. No breakfast, no set table, no coffee.

“So you talked to her.” It wasn’t a question.

“I tried last
night,
she was reading when I went to bed. As soon as I suggested she was being unreasonable, the conversation was over, and the silence started. This is why I never say anything.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, she’ll get over it. Usually this is when I’d go off on a trip. By the time I got back, it would be over.”

The house phone rang while we waited for the water to boil. Dad answered it.
“Hello, oh hi Maggie.
Heather’s still in bed. She’s not feeling well…Oh my! So that’s why she didn’t pick Holly up last night?”

I could only hear Dad on my end, but I knew what it was about it. My shoulders sagged as I remembered the burden of Shelby’s secret. This bag was way too heavy for me.

Dad got off the phone looking concerned. “Shelby was in a car accident last night. She’s OK, but beat up pretty badly. She’s staying home today so you’ll be riding with me.”

I nodded but said nothing. If I said anything, Shelby would hate me forever.
But, if I didn’t tell someone…?
I was too scared to follow that thought through to the end.

Dad drove me to school. I sat silent, but the pressure building inside me was about to explode. I had to say something even if she hated me. I had to try to save Shelby’s life. Yes, her life. I realized it was that serious.

Dad pulled up to the school, but I didn’t get out. “Dad, I need to tell you something about Shelby.” I looked at him. I thought about how much easier it would be to drop it and get out and go to class. But I couldn’t. Just like Dad couldn’t let things go with Mom, even though that
would be easier. “Shelby didn’t get hurt in the car accident. Her boyfriend beat her up, and she wrecked her car to cover for him.”

Dad looked at me like he didn’t understand at first. That’s when I started telling him the whole story. Then it sunk in, and horror gripped his face. Instead of me getting out, he ended up taking me to the car lot with him. On the way, he said he had to tell Shelby’s mom. When we got there, we looked up Maggie’s number but couldn’t find it. But he did find her mom’s number—our neighbor. He called her and got Maggie’s cell number. Then Dad called Maggie. He told her what I’d told him. I ended up staying with Dad at the lot that day. We even went to lunch together. It was nice hanging out with him and watching him
schmooze
customers into used cars.

That night, it was the parent teacher conference.
The one where I was to perform my monologue to show off the drama club and try to pick up support.
Mom came, of course. She couldn’t look like a parent who didn’t care. On the way to school Mom still wouldn’t speak to me, but she did speak to Dad so I could hear, “I just hope she doesn’t embarrass me too much. Why in the world did Ms. Jones want her performing alone? I mean I know it’s the in thing to give everyone a chance and what not.”

“Mom, you might be surprised. I might actually be good at drama.”

Mom looked at Dad, “Did you hear something?”

When we got there, I went to the auditorium to sign in and practice. I hadn’t seen Theo since the card game. I put it out of my mind to concentrate on becoming Tillie. Knowing the play and knowing my mom made it easy.

I was on stage, behind the curtain waiting for the principal and the PTA president to finish. When it opened I would start my monologue. The curtain finally opened, and the spotlight hit me. I looked at my hand and was about to say my first line when suddenly I couldn’t.

Instead of the lines, other words were playing in my head. You can’t do this. Who do you think you are? You’re no star. Your mom knows it and you know it too. You know she’s right about you.

I looked out at the audience. I couldn’t see faces. It was too dark, and the spotlight was right in my eyes—blinding me. But I could feel them looking at me. I imagined my mom looking around, sliding down in her seat—ashamed. Ms. Jones was behind the curtain with the script trying to feed me lines. But I couldn’t repeat them. I tried, but only a choking sound came out.

Run off stage, you ugly speckled thing. You blew it. You wanted to show your mom and you blew it. Cut your losses and give up now. Go hide you worthless piece of…

I
turned,
ready to bolt when I heard a voice beside me. “Don’t listen to him. You can do this. You’ve had the water. You know. You know this is your thing—what you were made to do.”

It was Theo on stage with me. Who was he telling me not to listen to? I looked beside me, where he was staring. Fritz was right beside me too—smiling the ugliest snarling grin.

“Holly, don’t look at him. Look at me.”

I looked over at Theo. It was like on TV when the angel and the devil are on opposite shoulders.

“Say your lines. You can do it.”

I looked at Theo. The way he looked at me sunk in, and I felt warm. The audience had started whispering, waiting to see what I would do.

I looked at my hand again and said my line. I said it with meaning. I said the next and the next. By the end, there was applause.