Radical (9 page)

I stay away for hours, until I’m hungry and thirsty. I don’t have anything to purify the water from the pond, and chewing on foraged greens isn’t cutting it.

When I get back, they’re all sitting at the table. They don’t say anything when I sit down and join them. Uncle Skip stares, wide-eyed, at my head, but once the initial shock wears off, he sort of smiles. He quickly wipes the smile away before Dad can notice, but it’s enough.

I fill my plate in silence.

“You look like a freak,” Mark finally says. No one acknowledges that he’s even spoken. “Can’t you see how stupid she looks?” he asks Mom and Dad, looking from one to the other. Uncle Skip just eats. I wait, surprisingly curious about their response. “You’re not going to let her go to Clearview like this, right?” Mark asks. When Dad doesn’t answer, Mark starts to sputter. “Da-ad, everyone’s going to —”

“We can see how she looks, thank you,” Mom says, a little too calmly. Her being calm is not a good sign.

Mark retreats to his room as soon as he’s done chewing.

Uncle Skip excuses himself with “Delicious, Charlotte,” and goes out to his workshop.

I’m on cleanup duty. I’d have had to clean up even without the haircut, but now it’s got the added weight of punishment.

Mom is on the phone with Aunt Lorraine. I can’t hear what she’s saying, but the murmur of her voice bleeds through the ceiling from upstairs. Anger. Anguish. Something else that makes dinner churn in my stomach.

I take my time wiping down the counters, drying the dishes and putting them away, feeling the tension build. Mom and Dad are sitting in the living room, talking too quietly for me to hear. I catch my reflection in the window over the sink. I like how I look. Enough to smile.

It’s time to get whatever is going to happen over with. Anticipating the worst is making my stomach hurt.

When I walk into the living room, Mom stops talking midsentence and leans back. Dad turns to face me.

“Why?” Mom asks.

I shrug.

“That’s all? That’s all you think we deserve, when you . . . I don’t even know what to make of this. Because we want you to look nice? To fit in, and . . .”

I step closer but don’t sit down. I’m not sure I’m supposed to sit down. “I’m not like Hannah or —”

“You don’t have to be like Hannah! There’s a world of difference between her and
this
.”

She doesn’t understand. Or maybe she does.

“Well,” Mom says, “you can shave your whole damn head. Dye it blue while you’re at it. I don’t give a fig anymore. But this was selfish, and it was childish, and it was disrespectful.”

“It’s my hair!”

“You don’t think how you look reflects on this family? That people won’t judge us based on this?” She gets up from the sofa and walks toward me, turning me toward the mirror on the wall. “Look at yourself. Is this who you want to be? Someone who people stare at? Who people think is, is —?”

“What?” She doesn’t respond. “What, Mom?”

Just when I think she’s not going to answer me, she whispers, “Damaged. People will think you’re damaged.”

“I’m not damaged. Or confused. You don’t have to fix me.” I don’t look at her, or at Dad. “You can’t change me,” I say, looking at her in the mirror.

We stare at each other.

“Well?” Mom finally says, but it’s not directed at me.

Dad clears his throat, looks at me until he can’t anymore, and then says, “What do you want me to say?”

Mom looks like she wants to hit him. “Nothing, David, as usual.” Then she turns to me. “I can’t bring you to Lorraine’s like this. Can’t fix it,” she says.

Nope. I bite my cheek to not smile.

“I can’t even send you to Arizona looking like this.”

Gran would have another heart attack.

“Go,” Mom says. “I can’t look at you anymore.”

Mission accomplished. So why do I feel like crap?

I changed my mind about the Bobcat every five minutes, and I had more than a week to debate it. But when Boyd finally called to set up a time to meet for the exchange, he caught me in a
yes
frame of mind. Which is how the Bobcat and ammo come to be in my backpack by my feet, within reach of Uncle Skip, who would seriously wig out right now if he knew.

When Uncle Skip and I pull down the drive, Dad and Mark are over by the grill. Talking, sipping beer. They’ve been a little boys’ club lately. For the past few weeks, Mark’s been out to Clearview nearly every day, and Dad’s been out there or at meetings about Clearview almost as much. Mom hasn’t totally warmed to the idea of their joining. I get the sense it’s her pressure on Dad keeping me out. She gave up on me going to the city, but she’s pissed and so won’t give in on me going to Clearview. I should have acted like I didn’t want to go; then she’d probably make me.

Dad and I used to talk all the time, on the porch, in the truck when we went to the range or when he picked me up from work. I’d even sit through baseball with him sometimes, for the talking in between any action. I wonder if he even realizes he’s swapped one kid for the other.

Uncle Skip is ahead of me when we go in, but I can hear the radio on, Mom singing along. Inside, the table is already set.

“Oh, good,” Mom says to Uncle Skip, wiping her hands on her apron. “You’re just in time. Wash up.” She did her hair and put on lipstick. This is an event. “You, too, Bex. Dinner’s almost ready.”

Ribs outside. Potato salad. Biscuits. Pie on the counter. My mouth is watering, but this much effort has me on edge.

“I’m going to go change,” I say, keeping my backpack slung over one shoulder.

Mom turns and looks at me. “You’re fine,” she says. “Just wash up.”

“The ribs have arrived,” Dad says, coming in the door carrying the platter.

I put my backpack in the laundry room, behind the hamper, where no one’s likely to mess with it, and then scrub my hands and arms in the laundry-room sink, using the brush to get the oil out from under my nails and the wrinkles at my knuckles and wrists.

Leaving my backpack there, with the bundle of stuff from Boyd inside, makes me crazy nervous, but I have to play it cool. The last thing I need is for Mom or Dad to try to take it from me or to move it and feel the weight.

Mark puts two more cans of beer on the table, and Dad just smiles. A few weeks of Clearview bonding, and it’s totally cool for Mark to drink out in the open now.

“Looks wonderful, Charlotte,” Uncle Skip says, pouring himself some tea from the pitcher and then reaching for my glass without asking.

“Thank you, Skip.” Mom is beaming.

Dad’s grace is shorter than usual, maybe because he’s as hungry as the rest of us.

Dad and Mark pretend to fight over the ribs.

Plates and platters are passed. Uncle Skip, who doesn’t usually say much at dinner, is telling them about the guy who thought he could haggle the price of his repairs down today.

I open two warm biscuits and slather them with butter, then look for the honey. I always put honey on my biscuits. But it’s not on the table. I have to get up and get it from the shelf. Before my hair, Mom would have put it next to my plate.

“In the morning we did some painting — I worked on the porch — and then he bought the whole crew lunch,” Mark says. “Then this afternoon we finished marking the section of trail we started the other day.” Smiles all around — like I haven’t been working for almost a year.

“Make sure you’re done on time tomorrow,” Dad says. “We need to leave early. I told Jim that I would go with him to check out some equipment.”

“Sh’okay,” Mark says with a last mouthful of potato salad. He swallows it down before saying, “Darnell says he can use us all weekend helping him turn around a rental that needs to be ready by Monday. I’m going to crash at Daniel’s tomorrow night, and maybe Saturday if the job goes to Sunday.”

“Which one’s Darnell?” Mom asks.

“The black guy,” Mark says. Dad gives him a look. “What? He is!”

“And he’s a member of the club?” Mom asks, skeptical.

“Yes,” Dad says, as if it was a stupid question. “Darnell and Frank served in Iraq together. Darnell’s the one who went with me to look at the prefab structures.”

I bet Darnell is Delia’s father. Most of the younger members have parents who are involved in the organization. Delia probably gets to go to Clearview all the time. “When do I get to go out to Clearview again?” I ask.

Conversation stops.

Dad looks at Mom and then at me, and then says, “Soon.” From Mom’s look, that wasn’t the right answer. “They’re coming up with a schedule for training sessions now. We’ll get you back out there before they have the schedule set so you’re ready to go.”

“Everyone ready for pie?” Mom asks, getting up and clearing dishes, obviously changing the subject.

“Dinner was wonderful, Charlotte,” Uncle Skip says, taking some of the plates to the counter.

With Mom away from the table, Dad gives me a small smile and a wink. Then shakes his head at my smile, nodding toward Mom. I swallow it back but still look at Dad. He’s already decided to let me go back. And soon.

Once everyone has pie, Dad says, “Okay, Charlotte, out with it. Is this a celebration?”

“It’s nothing big,” Mom says. “At least not yet. But the new placement feels like a good fit. The office manager said I’ve caught on real quick, and he heard I was taking those online Excel classes and said they might be able to use me full-time when the lady I’m covering for comes back from maternity leave.”

“Well, that’s great,” Uncle Skip says when the rest of us don’t immediately respond.

“Yeah, great,” Mark adds.

“Real proud of you, honey,” Dad says.

Everyone looks at me. I try to make my mouth work, but my brain is running in another direction. “Full-time? So you’d stay with Aunt Lorraine, like, permanently?”

“Well, no,” Mom says. “If it works out, we’ll find someplace of our own, soon, somewhere closer to the city.”

None of us wants to move down by Aunt Lorraine and Uncle Nathan. Well, none of us but Mom. The silence drags on.

“Well, that’s great,” Uncle Skip finally says again. “Sounds like a great opportunity.” He takes a sip of his iced tea. “But you know, you’re all welcome here as long as you like,” he says, looking around the table. “There’s no rush.”

That’s my plan. Just have to convince him to let me stay even if they go.

“We know, Skip. And you’ve been so generous, but if we could get settled before the fall, Bex could start at the high school in September,” Mom says, like that’s a selling point.

“I’m all caught up,” I lie. “You said if I stayed caught up, I could keep doing the distance-learning program.”

“I said we’d discuss it if we were still out here,” Mom says.

“And there’s no need to make any decisions now,” Dad says. “Let’s just wait and see. Might be getting worked up for nothing.”

Mom’s face falls.

“I mean about the school,” Dad adds. “The job sounds great. Here’s to being a dual-income family again”— he lifts his glass —“soon.”

“Really?” Mom asks.

Uncle Skip stares at Dad. “When did that happen?”

“The meetings have been going well,” Dad says, looking at Mom more than the rest of us. “Frank, Norman, Jim, and I met this afternoon. We’re hoping to present the plans to the organizational committee at the end of the month for preliminary approval. If all goes well, we’ll start building the first tactical course later this summer.”

“Well, great,” Mom says, but she has the same forced excitement we did about possibly moving to the city.

Mark asks Uncle Skip about fixing his truck, and Dad chimes in about the insurance, and Mom adds her two cents, and I just pulverize my piece of pie. No way I’m going to the city. Maybe it’s time to be less picky about finding a truck. If I’m going to stay out here on my own, I’ll need a vehicle.

Uncle Skip excuses himself as soon as he’s done and heads out to the workshop to sand wood and listen to the baseball game in peace.

Mom gets up and starts to clear the table.

“Let the kids do that,” Dad says, waving us to take over and then shoving Mark when he doesn’t immediately jump up to help.

“Come on,” Dad says to Mom. “Let’s take our iced tea outside and sit on the porch swing. They can handle this mess.” He waggles his eyebrows at her. “Maybe I’ll try and get fresh with you.”

“Gross,” Mark says.

Mom shakes her head like she’s exasperated, but she touches Dad’s cheek, and he takes her hand, leading her toward the porch.

“Oh, Bex,” she says at the door to the porch, “Lorraine sent more books. Some of the ones Hannah read in her ninth- and tenth-grade classes, so you won’t be lost if they come up next year. I put the bag near the stairs.”

“Why do I have to read all these books if we’re waiting and seeing?”

“Reading a few books won’t hurt you,” Mom says.

“Far from it,” Dad adds.

“And then if you do enroll in September, you won’t start off any more behind than you already are.”

“But . . .” I scramble for a viable reason to wait.

“Hey,” Dad says. It’s an all-encompassing
Stop, do as your mother says, and I’m tired of the chatter
.

As soon as Mom and Dad leave the kitchen, Mark backs through the doorway and into the living room. “Have fun,” he says, turning and heading upstairs.