Forgotten (4 page)

I feel my eyes start to fill with tears. A range of emotions flow through my body, all within seconds. Anger, sadness, frustration. And then, before I can stop them, my tears spill over and I start to cry.

“Natalia,” my mom says. “Honey, please, what’s wrong?”

But I’m crying too hard to answer. She guides the car off the road at the next rest stop, pulling into a parking space behind a rusty red truck. I keep crying, my shoulders shaking, and my mom releases her seatbelt and pulls me toward her.

I rest my head on her shoulder, tears sliding down my face.

“It’s okay,” she says, stroking my hair. “Natalia, it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s going to be okay.”

She repeats the words over and over, and I let myself, just for a second, believe they’re true. I pretend she can take care of it, the way she used to take care of me when I fell off my bike and scraped my knee, or when I had a bad dream in the middle of the night.

After a while, my crying gets softer and less intense, and I sit up, wiping at my eyes with my sleeve. My mom reaches over and pulls a napkin out of the glove compartment and hands it to me. I blow my nose and dry my eyes. The napkin is scratchy against my face, but when I’m done, I keep it in my hand just in case I start to cry again.

My mom doesn’t say anything for a minute, and I take deep breaths, my heart rate gradually slowing, my anxiety ebbing away little by little.

“Feel better?” she asks.

“A little,” I admit.

“Do you want to tell me what’s going on?” Her voice is soft, and I turn to look at her. I can see the concern and worry in her eyes, and I feel bad for the way I was treating her earlier. I wish I
could
tell her. I wish I could tell her everything. She’s my mom.

She’s supposed to know what to do. I might not be a kid, but I’m definitely not an adult.

And these are adult problems that are happening to me, things that I shouldn’t have to be dealing with.

I shake my head, about to tell her that I can’t. But before I can, she reaches over and takes my hand. “Honey, please,” she says. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

I want to believe her. I want to believe her
so bad
. I want to believe that if I tell her the crazy stuff that’s going on, she’ll have some explanation for it. Maybe she knows something she’s not telling me. Maybe she’s encountered something like this in the past.

She’s older than me, she has more experience, she’s my
mom
for God’s sake. She’s supposed to protect me.

“It’s hard to talk about.” My fingers twist the napkin I’m holding.

“You can tell me,” she says. “Whatever it is, Natalia, we can deal with it.” I don’t say anything, wondering where to even start. “Does it have to do with Cam?” she asks gently.

I shake my head. “It doesn’t,” I say. “I promise.”

“Is Derek bothering you again?”

I shake my head again. “I wish that were it.”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s these girls at school,” I say, deciding to frame it in a way that she can hopefully understand. “This one girl Raine in particular.”

“Okay,” my mom says, nodding. There’s a slight look of relief on her face, and I know what she’s thinking -- that if it’s just girls at school, then it’s nothing she can’t handle. Her lawyer brain is probably already formulating a strategy, coming up with a plan of action – letters to the superintendent, phone calls to parents, emails to members of the media to put pressure on the school district. “She’s been giving you problems?”

I nod.

“Okay,” my mom says. She pushes her shoulders back resolutely. “We’ll take care of it. As soon as I get home, I’ll start making calls. We can get –”

“Mom, no,” I say, “it’s not going to help.”

“Of course it will,” she says, with the kind of confidence that only lawyers can have about situations like this. “We’ll sue them if we have to.”

I shake my head. “Mom, this isn’t…Raine isn’t…” I try to find the words to explain what’s really going on, the words to tell her exactly what it is that’s happening.

“What is it, Natalia?” she says. Her voice sounds a little angry now. “Just tell me!”

“Mom, Raine……she has…she’s powerful.”

My mom snorts. “Some sixteen-year-old little brat is not powerful.”

“No.” I shake my head. “I don’t mean that girls at school are afraid of her. I mean, yes, the girls at school
are
afraid of her, but that’s not what I’m talking about. She has powers. Like, actual powers.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I mean she can make people do things with her mind.” I think about adding that I can do it, too, but I stop myself because I can see the look on my mom’s face slowly changing from one of confusion to one of fear.

“Natalia,” she says, sounding deliberate. “What are you talking about?”

“Never mind,” I say, turning back and looking out the window. It was stupid to think she could do something, stupid to think she could help. No one can help me. No one even knows what’s going on except for Cam.

My mom pulls the car out of the rest stop and back onto the highway. I pretend to be asleep, sliding my seat all the way back, keeping my eyes closed. At one point, I do doze off, and in my dreams, Raine is chasing me down a long hallway at school, yelling that she’s going to call the police on Cam, that I can’t have him, that she’s keeping him for herself. When we finally pull into the driveway, it’s a relief, mostly because now I can retreat to my room and get away from my mom.

But when I open the door to get out, she stops me. “Natalia,” she says.

“Yeah?” I turn around, my door open, my feet on the driveway.

She’s not looking at me. “I’m going to make an appointment for you to talk to someone about this.”

“Mom,” I say, “you really don’t have to do that. I’m fine. I don’t need to talk to anyone at school, it’s only going to make things worse.”

“Not at school.” She’s still staring out the windshield at our garage door. “A counselor or a psychiatrist.”

Heat rushes to my face, and a lump rises in my throat. I’m about to fight her on it, but instead, I step out of the car.

“And I meant what I said about you not seeing Campbell.”

I don’t answer. Instead, I slam the car door and head into the house.

Chapter Six

Campbell

The ride back to Santa Anna is long, and since I have no car, my dad had to drive me, which hasn’t made him the happiest camper. He’s not very friendly on his best day, so the car ride has been mostly quiet. Once or twice we attempted to make small talk about football or school, but the conversation would die out after a few exchanges back and forth. I’d like to say it doesn’t bother me, but that wouldn’t be true.

He knew I was taking Natalia to the hospital, knew she couldn’t remember anything, and yet except for a quick “How’s your girlfriend doing?” when I got back to his house, he hasn’t asked me a thing about her. I can’t help but wish that I had at least one parent I could talk to if I need help. Instead I have a drunk for a mom, and a dad that forgets I exist except when I can come work for him at his business during the summer.

We pull up in front of my house and most of the lights are off. My dad leaves the car running and doesn’t say anything.

I let out a long sigh. “Her car’s here so she must be home.”

“I guess I can figure out what that means,” he says with disgust.

I look at him. His eyes are hard, unforgiving. I want to ask him why he married her if he hates her so much. And then I wonder if his hatred for her extends to me for some reason. But I don’t say any of that. I know he wouldn’t answer me.

“Well, thanks for the ride.”

He grunts and nods his head.

I get out of the truck and he’s gone before I even hit the front door.

My mom’s probably going to be pissed off at me for leaving like I did, going away for nearly three days. But she’ll get over it. She always does. Whatever crap I pull, she never stays mad at me for too long.

When I get inside, I flip on the hallway lights. “Mom?”

No answer. I walk into the kitchen. The light is on over the oven and there’s a pan of macaroni and cheese on the stove. It looks old, like it’s been sitting for hours and hours.

“Hello?” I call again, louder this time.

Still no answer. I go into the living room and there she is. Even after so many times of seeing her like this, I still feel the same sense of revulsion and surprise.

The TV is on, but the sound is off, so it’s just pictures flashing in the darkened room. My mom’s sprawled out on the sofa, looking like a doll that’s been carelessly tossed aside. She’s wearing a gray, tattered nightgown and one of her legs hangs over the side of the couch. Her face is turned to the wall, mouth open, and she’s snoring softly.

There’s got to be at least six or seven empty bottles of wine on the coffee table.

“Mom, wake up.” I walk over and shake her roughly.

She doesn’t stir at first, so I shake her shoulder again.

Finally, her eyes roll and she sits up with a start. “Cam. Honey.”

“You passed out.”

“I’m sorry, I just got so tired.”

“You mean you just got so drunk.”

“Don’t be like that.” She rubs her face and sits up a little straighter. “What time is it?”

“Too late to deal with this crap.”

“I made some macaroni and cheese. You should have something to eat. How was practice?”

I just stare at her, realizing we’ve hit a new low. She has no idea I’ve been gone.

“Practice was awesome, Mom. Thanks for asking.”

“Good.” She’s barely listening to me. She stands up and walks unsteadily to the kitchen. “I need some water.”

“I’ve got to take your car,” I tell her.

“Where’s yours?”

“In the shop, remember? I told you that last week.”

“Oh, that’s right. I forgot.”

“So can I borrow yours for a few hours?”

“Sure, honey.”

It’s pathetic how easily she buys my lie about the car being in the shop, but that’s how it is when she’s been on a bender. It makes me feel guilty, but only for a second.

I shake my head, grab her keys off the ring by the garage and then leave without saying goodbye.

***

I’m not sure when I decide to go to Natalia’s, but I should have called first. I realize this when I pull up in front of her house and honk my horn. But I’m not really thinking straight. I’m angry.
Really
angry. Angrier than I’ve been in a long time. I feel pissed at everyone and everything but her. She’s my beacon of hope and I need to see her now.

But when the front door opens, it’s not Nat who’s standing there.

I get out of the car and wave. “Hi, Ms. Moore. Sorry to stop by so late unannounced. I know I’m probably not your favorite person right now.”
That’s an
understatement,
I think.
She only called the cops on you and tried to get you thrown in
jail.

“Campbell, you’re not welcome at our house and I’m telling you right now that Natalia isn’t allowed to see you anymore.” She’s not wearing a coat, and she crosses her arms over her chest, hunching her shoulders against the slight wind that’s blowing.

“I didn’t hurt her,” I say. “I need you to know that I would never do anything to hurt her.”

I glance up at Natalia’s window. The light is on but I can’t see her.

“Campbell, I’m not going to have this conversation with you. Please respect my wishes and leave my daughter alone.”

“What about what Nat wants?” I ask. I glance up at the window again, wondering if it would be crazy to just start screaming her name. Would she come down?

I curse myself for not running away with her earlier, like she wanted.

“She’s a teenager who doesn’t always know what’s best for her. Perhaps you would be better served if your mother took a stronger role with you as well.”

Her words are biting, and again I want to tell her she has no right to judge me or my mother. It’s bad enough that she tried to have me arrested, but now she’s going to stand there and treat me like I’m a piece of trash.

But the words don’t come. I look up at the window and see Natalia there, watching. Her face is lost in the shadow, but I can see her dark hair, illuminated by the light behind her. “Nat!” I yell, and put my hand up, waving at her.
Come on, open your
window. Run downstairs. Tell her you want to be with me. Fight for us, Nat.

But she doesn’t move. I stand there, looking up at her for what feels like forever.

“Campbell,” Natalia’s mom says. “Please go home.” She steps inside, closing the door behind her. But I don’t go home. I stand there, looking up at Nat. She doesn’t open the window, or say anything, or even acknowledge me. And then she turns away, disappearing into her room.

I feel rage bubbling up inside me. As soon as I’m back in my car, I peel out, spinning my tires like the dumb teenage jock Natalia’s mom thinks I am. Let her think it’s that simple. Maybe I
will
be that guy. Maybe it’ll make things easier.

I drive

for a while, not even sure where I’m going. My thoughts are racing. Why didn’t Natalia say something, why didn’t she come outside when she saw me?

I try and reason with myself, try and calm myself down but nothing’s working. It’s driving me crazy that I have no way to talk to her, and I feel the anger inside me building and building.

Before I know it, I’m at Dom’s Wine and Spirits over on East Main Street, in the bad part of town. Dom’s is the one place that’s almost guaranteed to serve liquor to minors. I park out front and walk inside. The place is small, dingy, and Dom himself is at the register. He’s a short, stocky guy with a shaved head and goatee that he seems to think looks pretty cool, apparently not realizing goatees haven’t been cool for a long time. He’s got tattoos running up and down his arms, and he wears a white button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

“Howdy,” he says as I come in.

I nod, hoping he won’t try to talk to me. I don’t come here all that much, but the few times I have, he always tries to talk football and pretend he was some kind of stud at Santa Anna back in the nineties.