“Yes,” she finally answers. “And he’s called a couple of times over the past few months to make sure I’m still giving you a place to crash, but this is the first time he said he’s returning. But it could mean nothing. He could have sobered up and forgotten he called.”
A large rush of air escapes from my mouth. He’s been gone six months this time. Maybe the next time he won’t be away as long. Where he goes or what he does when he leaves, I’ll probably never know...or want to know. Sometimes he returns looking like he barely escaped the grim reaper. The last time, he detoxed from something so bad that he shook for two out of the three weeks he was home.
The expression on Joss’s face mirrors my balled-up and twisted insides, so I kind of change the subject. “What’s my dad coming back have to do with the male crack whore downstairs?”
“Here.” Joss drops into the spot beside me and offers me the box of cereal. “It’s only a month past expiration.”
I take the box, but I’ve lost my appetite. She tosses a few flakes into her mouth and when she’s done crunching she looks at me. “If I don’t find another guy to hold my hand when your dad shows, he and I will end up in the exact same position as before and I don’t think that’s a good place to be.”
Meaning they’ll fall completely tangled together in that twin bed and then she’ll end up in there alone crying her eyes out when he leaves again. Joss is in her late twenties and Dad’s in his mid-thirties, but together they add up to a mess.
My throat constricts. “Do you want me to leave?”
Because if I’m gone, he won’t stay here. He’ll find me...and a new girlfriend to con. But the scary part is, if Joss kicks me out, I’ll have run out of suitable ex-girlfriends. They’d probably let me crash if I showed, but I value my life and some of those places have the ingredients for the headlining story on the eleven o’clock news. My only hope for a stable home lies in Joss’s stubborn feelings for my deadbeat dad.
Lines form on Joss’s forehead. “No. I want him to come back. Maybe this time he’ll stay.”
He won’t. He never has, but I keep that to myself.
Joss’s brown eyes stare straight into mine. “Don’t become me, Stella. Don’t you dare ever hope for more. There’s no such thing as living happily ever after or pulling yourself up by your bootstraps. The world is how it is and there always has to be bottom-feeders. People like you and me, we’re it, and the world might want us to believe we can have more, but the momen Kbut to be t we try to break out of the water they’ll shove us down into the mud. It’s better to know the truth. It hurts less if you accept society’s crappy rules.”
I start school tomorrow. Graduate in the spring. Joss may be older than me, but I’ve lived this type of life longer. Yet even with all the years of experience, deep down inside, I’ve hoped to become more. “Sounds a little pessimistic.”
“No, not pessimistic. Realistic.”
4
Jonah
There’s a spot saved for me in the driveway outside the two-car garage, but what makes me circle the block for the fifth time are the four cars parked on the street in front of my house.
Being obsessed with new houses, my parents built this place three years ago. We’ve moved six times in the past seventeen years. My parents stick to the same area of town, sometimes a few miles from where we lived before, but it’s always newer and bigger.
What I never noticed before today is how the houses in this neighborhood are clones: red bricks, black roofs, large windows on the first and second stories, and columned porches. Baffles me that I never paid attention before or that anyone would spend so much on the unoriginal.
Thanks, James Cohen. Once again, the world as I know it has changed.
I round the corner again. My house comes into view and so does my younger sister, Martha. In a blue sundress, with her brown hair styled as if she’s on the way to prom, she waits next to the brick mailbox by the street. If she’s dressed up that means bad news for me.
By the other three cars, I knew Todd, Jeff and Brad were here, but I’d assumed that the missing Camaro equaled a missing Cooper. The fourth car’s a mystery, but it could be anyone: a friend of Mom’s, a business associate of Dad’s, but my sister’s choice in clothing suggests Cooper’s in the house and she needs me in order to have the courage to stand near him.
Gripping the steering wheel tighter than I should, I ease into the driveway and turn off the engine. Home sweet home. Until Mom decides to move again.
I exit the car, and Martha’s in my grill before I can shut the driver’s side door. “Where have you been?”
“Driving.” It’s better than telling the truth, that I visited the cemetery again. Not a good answer when everyone’s in the dark about me visiting at all.
“Well, Mom texted you and so did I. Why are you ignoring us?”
Crap. My phone. I pull it out of my pocket and power it on. Sure enough, the message icon pops onto the screen. “Sorry. I must have turned it off by mistake.”
Not a mistake. I crave silence, not Mom asking if I need anything for the millionth time.
Martha focuses on the ground and does that thing with her toe that shows she’s nervous—like she’s squishing an ant with her foot. “Cooper’s here.”
She’s barely sixteen and he’s eighteen. She’s bright-eyed and innocent and he’s Cooper. I’d shatter his face with my fist if he asked her out or if he mistakenly dreamed of touching her like he’s touched half the girls in school. For some reason, I force a smile instead of letting the angry thoughts tumble out of my mouth.