The File on Angelyn Stark (18 page)

“Nothing, Mom. I told him nothing. So—nothing to worry about.”

I rest my head against the window. It bumps gently as we move. Air from the vent cools my face, and the sun warms my hair. I close my eyes and drift into something like sleep, knowing every turn, stop, and merge as Mom makes it.

Close to home, she takes the turn hard off the highway. My shoulder rolls. My head knocks against the window.

“What?” I ask, pulling myself up.

She speeds along our route, dug in with her shoulders.

“Mom?”

Hard again, she swerves from the road, the truck’s wheels spinning into a stretch of gravel and weeds.

I grip the seat. “Mom!”

The truck tilts as we run along a ditch, a cow pasture on the other side.

“What’s wrong?” I shout. With a jump she lifts her foot from gas to brake.

The truck jolts to a stop at the rise of an asphalted path into the pasture.

Bent at the wheel, Mom looks at me. “You’ve been talking about our family.”

“I have
not
.”

“Then how would he know to say that?”

I straighten. “How would
who
know to say—
what
?”

“Him! Mr. Rossi. ‘Friend, father, lover.’ You tell me what that means.”

“He said I had the lines blurred.” I’m embarrassed, remembering.

“Either you’ve been talking with that man or you’ve had some kind of
relations
with him.”

“Relations?” I feel sick. And glad that Mr. Rossi told me no.

Mom juts her chin. “Well?”

I’ll say it
. “Everyone isn’t like Danny.”

She punch-pulls my shoulder. “You stop with that!”

I wrench from her. “Don’t touch me!”

I’m in the weeds, shaking.

The air is hot and still.

Mom comes after.

“You are going to lose me that job. What’ll Miss Bass think of me now?”

“I don’t care about your job!”

She
runs
at me. Mom doesn’t run. I face her, blinking hair out of my eyes.

“I’ve got just as much reason to be pissed as you. Why did you say that
crap
about me to Miss Bass and Mr. Rossi? They liked me, and now—”

Mom laughs, more of a bark. “
He
likes you, all right!”

I stare at her. “I think we should forget this. I will if you will.”

Her eyes narrow. “What did you tell Mr. Rossi?”

“Nothing.”

“Oh, it’s something. The way he looked at you.”

“Mr. Rossi didn’t look at me. He looked anywhere else.”

“The way he didn’t look, then. Like he was
scared
to look.”

“Danny’s scared to look,” I say.

Hands on hips. “Danny, again.”

“He’s scared to look. Do we really want to go there, Mom? Do you?”

She studies me. “Are you confused, Angelyn, like your teacher said?”

“Yeah. I’m confused.” Totally sarcastic.

A muscle car zips past, a
vroom
from nowhere and gone.

I sweep a hand to the road. “Can we go? I want to go.”

Mom nods. “I’m bringing Danny in on this.”

“No!” I call after her. “Hey! I’ve got
more
reason to be pissed than you.”

She keeps on toward the truck. I follow, nowhere else to go.

Danny’s in the hall when we come in. A towel tucked in his pants.

He thumbs to the kitchen. “Hey, Sherry, I made dinner.”

Mom shakes her head. “We’ve got to talk.”

“Something wrong?” he asks.

I stand between them. “I have to go to the bathroom.”

“So, go,” Mom says.

When I come back, they’re in the front room. Danny’s in the armchair and Mom is on the couch. She slaps a spot beside her.

“No,” I say, standing at the wall.

“We’re doing this,” Mom says.

“I’m tired and I don’t feel right. I need to lie down.”

“You know something, Angelyn? I’m tired and I don’t feel right either. Come here and lie down if you want to lie down.”

“No,” I say. “Not there.”

Mom says, “Why not?”

I make my mouth tight.

Mom nods to Danny. “Say something to her.”

“Act right,” he tells me. “It’s past time.”

Head down, I fold my arms.

“Let’s do this in the kitchen,” he says.

Danny’s made tacos. He takes his time setting them up. My gut is like iron.

Mom taps the table. “What’s the occasion?”

“I picked up a job today,” Danny says over his shoulder. “A lady wants me to install new gutters. If she likes the work, she’s got more that needs doing.”

“You’re getting paid up front?”

“Half now, half when the job is done. Same as always.”

Mom grunts. “It’s been so long I’ve forgot.”

Danny sets the platter on the table and sits beside her.

“Sherry, what’s going on?” he says.

The tacos look foul, flopped in a slab, grease weeping through the sides. Pooling on the plate. The spice smell gets up my nose.

“Angelyn was in trouble today at school,” Mom says.

“That’s not new,” Danny says.

“This kind of trouble is.”

“What’d she do now?” he asks.

“While we were out of town,” Mom says, “Angelyn spent the night at a teacher’s house. A
male
teacher’s house.”

Danny takes a couple of tacos. “That’s deep.”

“Shut up,” I say. Under my breath.

“We had a little meeting about it,” Mom says after a pause. “The vice principal, the teacher, Angelyn, and me.”

Danny crunches. “Is the guy in trouble?”

The question hangs. Mom doesn’t answer it. She looks at me.

My heart beats faster. “Mr. Rossi shouldn’t be in trouble.”

Sour-faced, Danny chews on.

“
He
shouldn’t be,” I add.

Danny swallows what he’s got. “Sherry, you want to call her off?”

“You can look at her, Dan,” Mom says.

“What?” he says. I’m frowning.

“Angelyn thinks you’re scared to look at her.”

“Don’t
tell
him that,” I say. Then: “He is scared. He is!”

Danny says: “Your mother told me not to.”

“Mom, you did?” I ask, and we’re quiet.

“Do you want to look at her?” Mom is hoarse.

“Hell no!” He’s loud.

“That teacher picked up some funny ideas somewhere,” Mom says.

Danny’s looking at me now. “What are you stirring up?”

I search him. Dull brown eyes, and nothing reflected back.

“I’m not stirring up anything,” I say. “People are seeing it in me.”

What you put there
.

“Am I being accused of something?” he says, staring now.

Mom nods to me. “This is Angelyn’s show.”

“It isn’t,” I say. “Mom, I don’t know what you want.”

“Sherry, she pushes herself at people,” Danny says. “That’s the problem.”

I do not
. The words catch in my mouth.

“She pushed herself at me.” He waves in my direction. “Twelve years old, and built
almost
like that.”

“Don’t say how she’s built.” Mom is almost absent.

I lean in. To cover myself. To talk to him. “I didn’t push. We were friends. You said so.”

Danny’s lip curls. “She was all over me.”

“Mom.” I sound like a kid.

She’s head down, listening.

“Okay. I was all over Mr. Rossi. I really was. And he
wouldn’t
. He said I was a child—a child to him
now
.”

“That’s what this is,” Danny says. “She’s protecting this guy.”

“No,” I say. “It’s not about that. Mr. Rossi doesn’t like me anymore.”

Danny’s eyes play over me. “That’s ’cause he got caught.”

Mom looks up.

“So—” I say, “no one would like me unless they were messing with me?”

Danny puts a hand on Mom’s chair.

“Mr. Rossi didn’t mess with me.”

“All right, Angelyn,” Mom says.

“He stopped liking me.”

I’m pointing at Danny.

“Careful, now,” he says.

Mom turns to him. “Careful?”

Danny’s watching me. “She’s geared up for something.”

“When he—” I stop. “When Danny—”

“Just a minute.” He’s rising.

I’m standing too. “You stopped liking me when you got caught.”

“
I didn’t get caught!
It was that kid,” Danny says, “that dopey kid.”

“He wasn’t so
dopey
. Not about you.”

“I’ve heard enough.” Mom speaks evenly.

“Danny touched me.” I sag with it.

“You lie!” He shouts it.

I sit, arms curved around my stomach.

“Then you sit too, Dan,” Mom says, and I hear him sit, heavily.

“It’s a lie,” he says.

I raise my eyes. “I’m not lying anymore.”

Mom looks back at me.

Danny slouches. “Shut up. Grow up.”

“It’s hard to grow up,” I say. “When my boyfriend touches me, I feel you.”

“Boyfriend?” Mom says.

Then there’s nothing. For I don’t know how long.

“The girl never liked me,” Danny says.

“I
loved
you.” I search him again. “Did you ever—like me?”

His mouth works like he’s chewing tobacco. “No. I never did.”

“That’s a lie.” My voice cracks.

“Angelyn, you leave us to talk,” Mom says.

“He’s lying.
He
is.”

“Go.”

I tip the chair, leaving.

I hear Mom ask, “Has it started again?”

Has it started again?

It’s what I think when I wake up.

How could she ask that?

I check the clock. It’s 8:15. Long past our time to leave for her work and my school.

Did she leave me here with him?

Mom is in the kitchen at the window.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” I ask.

She leans against the sink. “Have something to eat.”

The table holds one set of dishes, used.

“Those are mine,” Mom says.

“Where are his?” I ask.

“Danny went out on the job early.”

My stomach rumbles. I take an orange. I work on the peel, facing her.

“Mom, what’s going to happen?”

She turns. “We’re getting your backpack today.”

Sacramento is a two-hour run.

“You won’t get in trouble on your job, doing this?” I ask as we start.

“Let me worry about my job,” Mom says.

“You keep saying you want me to worry about it too.”

“Angelyn.” Her voice is strained. “I need a day to think.
Away
from here. Is that all right with you?”

Away
. “Yes,” I say, sitting back.

Morning light floods the truck. We could be twins in ball caps and sunglasses.

I flip the visor down. Mom gets coffee for the drive. I sip Diet Coke. An hour later we stop to pee.

In Manteca we pick up Interstate 5 for the freeway part of the drive. The signs start for Sacramento.

“Do you ever wish we’d stayed?” I ask.

Mom jerks. “Stayed in Sacramento? No. Getting out is what saved us.”

“Oh.” I was five when we left.

“You don’t know what it means to me, coming back and having something now. A job. Some kind of life.”

What kind?
I think.

“There’s plenty you don’t know.”

I look at Mom. “I didn’t say anything.”

“No one wanted us here. My family didn’t want us.”

“They didn’t?” I say.

“Danny’s the only one who ever gave me more. And I had to leave to find him.”

“Do you—
love
—him?” I ask, my mouth twisting. “After last night?”

Mom takes a long breath. “Don’t push me.”

“I heard you ask if it was happening again. It isn’t. What did Danny say?”

“He said no. He said nothing ever did.”

I watch her. “The way you asked him, you know that’s a lie.”

“We’re staying in Sacramento tonight,” Mom says.

“We are? Why?”

“I’m not only asking him. I’ve got questions for you.”

I laugh.

Mom jabs a finger at me. “
Don’t
laugh.”

I’m leaning to the window. “It’s just— Mom, I said it all last night. If you didn’t hear me then, you never will. Or—is all of this
my fault
? ’Cause that’s
how I am
?”

“I want to know,” she says, “how bad it got.”

“Oh.”

I look out the side. Rice fields. The endless flats. I remember.

“You want to know—is it worth doing anything about.”

“What do you want me to do, Angelyn?” Mom’s voice is sharp and sour.

I don’t know
, I think, and say it.

Curled on her side, Mom watches me from bed. Cross-legged on mine, I work a comb through shower-wet hair.

“If you’d screamed it,” she says, “I would have heard.”

I point to the TV. A PBS pledge break. “I’m watching this.”

Mom grabs the remote from the nightstand and pops the set off.

The room is dark.

“Not like this,” I say.

I hear rustling. A switch flicks. She’s got the light on.

“Thanks.” Cold in T-shirt and sweats, I climb under the covers.

Mom sits at the edge of her bed. “You never told me anything.”

It’s hard to look at her. “You never asked.”