Echoes Between Us - McGarry, Katie Page 0,81
my car are three bottles of wine. On the phone with Hannah earlier today Mom laughed and said she’s bringing a bottle for every bad day she had this week. Don’t know why, but each word was the equivalent of sticking my hand into a working blender.
Those three bottles of wine would be the reason why I’m driving us to Sylvia’s for another Saturday night potluck dinner. Lucy’s strapped into the backseat, singing a song she’s made up on her own. Most of it is about unicorns and how she loves macaroni and cheese.
Veronica returns sometime tonight, and I’m equal parts dying to see her and going slightly insane. I lost myself in kissing her and in the dream kissing her provided. Veronica and I agreed to a committed, chill relationship, which is good because the idea of that intense bullcrap love I see everywhere else in the world rubs me wrong.
What’s really wrong is for me to have committed to her without telling her the truth about the night we jumped into the river. But how do I tell her? How do I keep her yet be honest?
Mom looks over her shoulder to Lucy. “Are you excited to move into a house in this neighborhood?”
Lucy stops singing and scans the huge, new houses with lawns that don’t have a single weed. I expect a swift answer from her, but instead she strokes the hair of the mermaid doll she refuses to get into the pool without. “Do these houses have ghosts?”
My eyes snap to the rearview mirror and catch sight of my sister’s white face. “Does our current house have ghosts?”
“You’re both silly,” Mom says. “Ghosts aren’t real.”
Lucy hugs the mermaid to her chest as if she disagrees and stares out the window. I guess she doesn’t feel like singing anymore.
I park in front of Sylvia’s house since the driveway is already filled. Leaning toward the backseat, I grab Lucy’s backpack and Mom touches my arm. “Can we talk?”
Uh … there’s no part of me that wants a conversation that starts with that mixture of sweetness and inferred guilt. “Sure.”
Her gaze bounces between me and Lucy. “I told Hannah about the insufficient funds with our first rental check.”
I’m quiet as I gauge where this is going. Sometimes, conversations with Mom are like testing ice on a pond after the first warm day of spring. “Okay.”
“I also told her how your dad’s not paying child support.”
My heart sinks, but I stay silent. Mom’s free to talk to her friends about whatever she wants. But while Dad and I have problems, I’ve never liked how Mom and her friends dog my dad. I can be pissed at him—he’s my flesh and blood. Mom can even be mad at him. He married her, knocked her up twice, then ran. But when her friends get going, cackling around Hannah’s kitchen table, calling him names like they have the right, it irritates me in ways that make me want to rip my arms out of their sockets.
“I told Hannah that my check didn’t bounce because of insufficient funds but because of a bank error—a technological issue.” Mom picks nonexistent lint off her pressed khaki shorts. “So if the subject comes up, I’d appreciate it if you’d keep it to yourself that our check bounced because we didn’t have enough money. I don’t want anyone to think I can’t handle my finances or that I don’t make enough to take care of the two of you. I make plenty of money. More than enough. It was just a weird week. What I’m saying is that if for any reason it comes up, I don’t need your dad’s child support and any issue we had was a bank error.”
I glance back at Lucy, wondering if she understands anything Mom’s saying. Lucy’s braiding her mermaid’s hair, not paying attention. That’s for the best. But then Mom reaches back and places a hand on Lucy’s knee. “Do you understand? Don’t talk about Mommy? Okay? What happens in our home, stays in our home.”
Like our apartment is a drunken, weekend bender in Vegas. Lucy nods and then Mom looks at me for confirmation that I, too, will keep my mouth shut.
“Will you keep quiet about Veronica’s tumor?” I ask.
Mom scowls. “It’s like you have no faith in me at all.”
That’s the thing, I don’t.
“Promise me you’ll keep quiet,” Mom pushes.
I cross a finger over my chest because I want out of this car. That does the job and Mom