Buried (6 page)

“How'd you get so smart, Liz?” I said.

“I have smart friends. Also, Dad and I were talking last night. He's not so bad sometimes.”

One, two, eat one, one left.
I loved the last carrot. It was sweeter, tastier, special.

The warning bell rang, and Liz stood, grabbed her wrappers, and popped my carrot into her mouth.

I looked at the place where the carrot had been and then at her. Heat tingled under my cheeks.

“What?” she said, jaw grinding up and down. “Did you want that? It took you so long to eat them. Sorry. I figured you weren't so into them.”

I couldn't speak. I waved her off and headed for the line out of the cafeteria.

“Claude, it was just a carrot.” She leaned on me. “I'll buy you a new bag, an economy-size bag, a whole farm!” She squeezed me tightly.

I shook my head and looked up at the lights. “Don't worry about it,” I said, picking the skin at my fingertips. But I couldn't stop thinking about it. She took the last one. My last carrot. I had to have more.

On the way to group, Liz stopped so I could get a bag of baby carrots.

“You, my friend, are a nut. You need to eat more puff pastry and less vegetables!” She opened a raspberry cream pie and offered me the first bite.

I shook my head. “You don't know where that's been, Liz.”

She pulled onto the road. “It's been in a nice clean machine, Claude. Take a bite.”

“No, thanks,” I said. I held out a handful of carrots to her before she could stick her hand in the bag. “You never know who might have sneezed into the cream filling.”

She held up her hand in stop sign fashion. “No, I've had my limit. And robots don't sneeze.”

 
Liz started off the group by saying she wanted to hear what people thought about the letter-writing thing.

Stupid,
I said to myself.

Matt said, “Why write it down and burn it or whatever? Why not just say it?” He kicked out his legs and crossed them.

I had to agree. It seemed like a wasted step, but then Mom wasn't around to talk about this stuff. And even if she were around, she wouldn't listen—not when she was drunk.

“I like it,” Hanna said. “I need the space to think. On the paper, you know? It helped me to figure out that I'm not as upset with Dad as I thought.”

Lydia was watching, but I couldn't tell how she felt. She was such a stone face. Blake was another one, but he always looked a little sad. But it could just be the extra folds of fat in his face.

“Well, I like it, too,” Liz said. “I wrote a ton of letters and threw out each one. They started angry and didn't make any sense at all. Just a bunch of screams on paper, I guess.” She laughed and a few others did, too. “Then I started talking to myself. It was so cool. I think I get what I'm upset about now.” She sat back and grinned.

“So, what about you?” Matt asked.

Liz poked me with her elbow.

“What?”

“Matt asked you about your letters.”

“Oh. Well, before Mom left for rehab, I forgot to tell her how proud I was that she was making such a big commitment. So I used the letter as a way to write it all down. Maybe I'll send it to her at Jackson Heights.”

“Wow, Claude, you're lucky to have a parent who gets it,” Deb said.

“Well, it's been a few years of back and forth. So I guess it's finally time. She's doing well. I heard from her last night. She left a message on the machine.” I shifted in my seat and looked at the group.

“You didn't tell me that!” Liz said. “That's great!”

There were nods, and even Blake managed to curve the edges of his mouth into a grin. Everyone was smiling at me. Except for Matt.

 
After group we took the long way around the beach, around Deep Cove and Mother's Beach, with the windows rolled down and the music turned up, feeling the last bit of summer in the air. Already the wind had shifted, and we were getting hints of fall storms, but the lightness of the sky still said summertime.

“Last year was so easy,” Liz said. She turned down the radio.

“Yeah,” I said.

“What changed?”

“I don't know.” I looked away.

“Claude, you've known my dad a long time. Why do you think he won't stop drinking?”

“Actually he doesn't drink that much, only till he reaches his Pleasure Zone, right?”

She downshifted and turned onto Beach Avenue. “He used to do that, but now it's more and more.”

“You want to borrow that book with the exercises in it?”

“Maybe.” She closed the window. “I guess.”

“Remind me when we get inside.”

“Maybe I just need to talk to him. Like you and your mom did.”

An unexpected lump filled my throat, and I swallowed hard as we turned the corner of Sea Spray Acres, pulled over, and parked in front of the trailer.

“Thanks for helping me with this report. I'd be dead without you.”

I stared out the windshield at the nose of Mom's white VW, parked like she'd never even left. My heart thudded, and for a second I thought she might be home.

“Claude?” Liz shook my shoulder. “Claude?”

“It's nothing.” I got out of the car and walked to the steps.

Liz lagged behind, looking out at the garden. “Wow, I haven't been here since—”

“Forever?”

“Yeah, since that time—” she said.

“That time you came to pick me up for a sleepover and Mom was smashed out of her mind and tried to hug you and you freaked out and waited in your van with your freaked-out mother.”

She laughed. “I was a little surprised, that's all.” She stepped closer to the garden. “But wow,” she said, looking around. “When did she do all this? She really pulled it together.”

After that episode with the hugging, I'd banned Liz from the trailer and always had her pick me up at the seawall. I never invited anyone over when Mom was drinking. Just like Liz never invited anyone over unless her dad was in his Pleasure Zone.

The giant sunflowers nodded against the trailer, covering the rust. In front of them were hollyhocks, mallow, and a crawling yellow flower that filled in the empty spots. The individual beds of herbs, perennials, and annuals spread out from there, spilling over onto the paths that connected the beds to the workshop.

“She does okay in the summer,” I said. “Better than before, anyway.” I remembered the trailer during the bad times: shades down, filled with smoke, Mom's unwashed hair and rumpled clothes. A million years ago, it seemed.

But this time I walked up the steps and opened the trailer door without a trace of anxiety. “Come on in.”

“Wow, this place looks incredible,” she said. “What'd you do to it?”

“I cleaned it out. No big deal.” I caught her staring at my red hands, and I put them in my pockets. “Put your stuff anywhere,” I said.

Liz threw her coat and backpack on the couch and went to the kitchen. “Can I get a drink?” she asked.

I told her where the soda was and asked her to bring the brownies I'd made. I moved her things off the couch, hung her coat on a hook, and put her backpack out of the way of traffic. The slipcover had come out of the cracks of the couch and I straightened it out. When I turned around, Liz was staring at me.

“What?” I said.

“You're every mother's dream,” she said.

We sat cross-legged on the floor and ate brownies and talked about guys and who was with whom this year. Every once in a while I got a jolt of panic and wondered if Mom was going to blow in with Linwood or Candy or Gary and settle in to party, but then I remembered that it was just me and I laughed a little louder, felt a little happier. It was like having my own apartment.

“While you're in this great mood, Claude, can you get me started?”

“Oh, yeah, no problem.” I spread her notes out on the floor and took a look.

“I have to write a report for health about a current topic.”

“You mean like cloning,” I said.

“Like any current topic,” she said. “But it has to be written”—she made quotation marks in the air—“through the lens of a scientist.”

“It's obvious, Liz. You have the perfect subject at home.”

She gave me a blank look. “Home?”

“Yeah, make it about alcoholism.” I jumped up and ran to my room. I came back with all my books. “I don't need these anymore. You can cover the history of alcohol use, the beginnings of AA, current thoughts, health dangers. Everything.”

She didn't look thrilled. “Maybe I'll make it about drunk driving. Maybe.”

I got her another soda and opened up a book of affirmations. “Listen to this,” I said. “‘Denial is a river in Egypt.'” I laughed and slapped her knee. “That's where you are, in denial.”

Liz was staring at the books like they were poison. She bit her bottom lip. “What are you talking about? I'm not in denial. I know my dad has a problem.”

She had so much to learn. This would be a great project for her. “What do you think?” I asked.

She shrugged.

“Brainstorm first,” I said.

She picked up her notebook and sighed dramatically. “Okay, shoot.”

“Are you waiting for me to come up with the idea?” I shook my head.

“Yeah, just get things going for me. You always help me think.”

“Okay. Statistics, family dynamics, and the science of it, like what it does to your body—exactly what it does!” I loved it. The ideas came from nowhere, one after another.

“This is great, Claude, really great. And we could make a big poster with a timeline of alcohol through the ages.”

“And you can use all my books for your bibliography.” I stacked them neatly so the titles showed:
The Elephant at the Table; Paddling Denial River; My Journey and Back
.

“Will you work with me on it tomorrow?” Liz said. “And after we can study for the English test.”

“What test?”

“What's going on with you? You keep missing assignments. That's so not you, Claude.”

I shook my head. “Daydreaming, I guess. So when is it?”

“Quiz tomorrow and test next Tuesday.”

“Oh, right.” I slapped my head like I'd forgotten the obvious.

“Thanks, Claude. I'd be lost without you.”

“That's what Mom says.”

4

THE SCENT OF EARTH on Moonpie's paws woke me up. He kneaded my chest and thunked down on me. His diesel purr was as loud as Linwood's lobster boat. I wanted him to stay put. I didn't want to move anyway. My shoulders and arms ached like I'd been hauling traps or pulling weeds.

I stood under the shower and let the hot water melt my muscle aches and soothe the headache that was beginning at the back of my neck. I used the nailbrush on my dirty nails while the conditioner soaked into my hair. What had I done to myself? I put on jeans and a shirt and turned on the morning radio show. While the coffee brewed, I painted my fingernails Seashell Pink, and toenails, too. That would hide the dirt better, I thought.

It was while I was rushing around that I realized I could hurry off to the bus or I could take Mom's car. The car, of course. I took my mug and cereal, walked through the September flowers—asters, purple coneflowers, and cosmos—and up the stairs to the deck. From there I could see the ocean between the cottages. I sat with my feet on the railing and listened to birds in the trees and to the distant waves at low tide. A flash of yellow meant the bus had gone by, so I took a last gulp of coffee, but not before I noticed the mess the garden had become overnight. From the rooftop deck it looked as though something or someone had thrashed through it, leaving holes in the beds, bent stems, and crushed flowers.