by Vi Keeland
“Is Leo an adult or child?”
“Child. Who thinks he’s an adult. He’s my… We spend time together every Wednesday afternoon. It’s part of a program my mother started twenty years ago for foster kids. It’s sort of like a Big Brothers, Big Sisters program, except all the kids in it are in foster care and all of the Bigs are former foster children. Bigs make a commitment to mentor a Little from five to twenty-five. Foster kids get bounced around a lot, and having the same Big for years gives them consistency.”
She shook her head. “That’s awesome. But there are really two sides to you, aren’t there? You should have told me that story the other night. I probably would have said yes to dinner.”
I chuckled. “Now you tell me.”
Ireland smiled. “But I’m also glad you didn’t make up an appointment to ditch me.”
“Likewise.”
“I should get going anyway. We both have things to do.” Ireland stood. “Thank you for lunch. Next time you don’t need to go overboard and order so much. I’m not picky. I eat anything.”
“Glad to know you’re planning a next time. I’ll pick you up Friday at seven?”
“I’ll come to you.”
“I’m capable of picking you up. Besides, I already know where you live.”
She smiled. “And I’m capable of driving myself.”
I shook my head. “You’re always a pain in the ass, aren’t you? I’ll see you Friday at 7 at the marina.”
Ireland picked up my empty food container and hers from the table and shoved them into a bag. She held the garbage out to me. “Oh. And I should tell you I don’t kiss on the first date.”
I took the handle of the bag, along with her hand, and used it to yank her closer to me. “That’s good. Because this was our first date. See you Friday, Ireland.”
***
“I don’t want the alarm connected to the police station. I don’t like guns in the house.”
The installer looked at me, and I motioned for him to keep working as I guided Grams into the kitchen to talk. “Grams, if the alarm goes off and you don’t hear it, they’ll know to go looking for Pops. I registered him with the police department, so they’ll understand that it’s more than likely a missing person and not a break-in they need to show up for with guns blazing.”
She sat down. “I’m capable of taking care of him.”
The worse Pops got, the harder things grew for her, too. She felt disabled herself for needing any help with her husband of fifty years.
I sat across from her and covered her hand with mine. An older, independent couple didn’t view taking help much differently than a foster kid might—they didn’t want to rely on anyone but themselves. Logical arguments don’t work, because what they’re fighting is emotional and not practical. So just like with Leo, I knew the best thing to do wasn’t reason with my grandmother. She needed her emotions validated.
“I get that you don’t need any help, Grams. You could handle him all on your own. But I want to help. If Mom were still here, she’d be moved in and sleeping on your bedroom floor to make sure Pops didn’t wander off and get hurt. Letting me help Pops is for Mom and me. Not because you can’t do it yourself.”
Grams’s eyes watered. I’d broken out the big guns mentioning Mom, but it was the truth, and we needed to get past her unwillingness. Unfortunately, things weren’t going to be improving.
She squeezed my hand and nodded. “Fine. But if I’m taking your help, there’re some other things I could use a hand with.”
“Name it.”
Leo busted into the kitchen, and Pops followed behind. “Look at this thing Pops made. It’s an electric chair!”
Great. More shit I’d have to explain to Leo’s social worker at some point. In his retirement, my grandfather had taken up building replica miniature houses. All of his years as a wooden boat builder had come in handy, and he’d spent the first two years of being home building an exact miniature replica of his and Grams’s house, down to the bathroom fixtures and chipped bluestone in the yard. Leo and I visited Grams and Pops a lot, and he’d tried to get Leo interested in his little hobby. But being a typical eleven year old, Leo thought making a dollhouse was boring. That is, until Pops started to work on a creepy dollhouse. The entire thing was a freak show of weird shit. But Pops and Leo had built every little bit of that freak show, and Leo had gotten pretty good with woodworking.
I took the miniature electric chair from Leo’s hands and checked it out. The details were pretty amazing, down to the tiny black leather wrist straps on the arms of the chair and what looked like a few drops of blood stained on the seat.
“It’s great. But do me a favor and don’t bring it home to your foster mom. She already suspects I might be a devil worshiper after you brought home that creepy miniature doll so you could work on mangling it.”
“Fine.” He rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”
Grams got up. “What can I make you to eat, Leo? How about a peanut butter and banana sandwich for a snack?”
He grinned. “With no crust?”
Grams walked to the bread drawer and opened it. “People who eat crust can’t be trusted.”
Leo took a seat on a stool at the granite kitchen bar and propped his feet up on the one next to him.
I knocked them off. “Feet off the furniture.”
Pops said he was going to go take a nap, so I told him I’d tag along to check on the ceiling fan Grams had said wasn’t working.
When I came back to the kitchen a few minutes later, Grams and Leo were laughing. “What’s so funny?”
“You. In a Santa suit.” Leo chuckled.
I swiped a piece of his peanut butter and banana sandwich from his plate and shoved it into my mouth. “What are you talking about?”
Grams answered. “Earlier, when we were talking about how you like to help, you said you’d do anything I needed, right?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Yeah. But why does the way you’re asking me now feel like a trick question?”
Leo laughed. “Because she’s gonna sucker you into playing Santa this weekend, instead of Pops.”
I pointed a finger at Leo. “Watch your language.”
“What did I say? Sucker? That’s not even a bad word. I’ve heard you say way worse.”
“I’m an adult.”
“So?”
“So, you’re not.”
Grams got up and took Leo’s empty plate. “He has a point, Grant. If you want him to act a certain way, you need to mind your own rules.”
Leo boasted a smug smile. The little shit knew I wouldn’t argue with Grams. “Yeah, Grant. I only say bad words because I hear them from you.”
I made a face that screamed bullshit. “My ass.”
Leo pointed to me and looked at Grams. “See, there he goes again!”
Grams sighed and turned on the sink to rinse Leo’s plate. “Settle down now, boys.”
The brat was just about to eat the last bite of his sandwich when I swiped it from his hand and popped it into my mouth.
“Hey…” Leo whined.
I grinned. “You heard the lady. Settle down now, kid.”
Grams came back to the table. “Grant, I really do need you to play Santa this weekend at the Pia’s Place Christmas in July party. You know Pops usually does it. But I don’t think he’s up to it this year. Sometimes he forgets what he’s doing, and I don’t want him to scare any of the little kids.”
“Can’t you find someone else?”
Grams frowned. “It’s a family tradition now. I think it should be passed down to you.”
Leo grinned from ear to ear. “Yeah, Grant. It’s a family tradition.”
The little shit was in rare form today. But I couldn’t say no to my grandmother. Even though I suspected I’d been set up from the get-go today. She’d lured me into the conversation about doing things for her, just so I couldn’t refuse.
“Fine.” I pouted. “But if any little kids pee on me, I’m telling you n
ow, next year the tradition will be passed to Kate’s husband.”
Grams walked over and cupped my cheeks. “Thank you, sweetheart. It means a lot to me.”
Later in the evening, on the ride to Leo’s house, he mentioned he was going up to San Bernardino next weekend so he wouldn’t be at the Christmas in July festival this year.
I glanced over at him and back to the road. “San Bernardino? What are you doing there?” I knew of only one reason he might be making that trip, and I hoped I was wrong.
“My mom’s back in town. She’s picking me up and taking me to visit my sister.”
Shit. “Rose is taking you to see Lily?”
Leo frowned. “That’s what my social worker said.”
Chapter 14
* * *
Grant - 11 years ago
“Don’t let her drive. She was up all night again, you know?” Mom whispered as we sat in the kitchen drinking coffee together.
“Yeah, I know. She was in the garage painting. She’ll probably pass out in the car on the drive up. I won’t let her behind the wheel.”
Lily had been living with us again for a few months now—her fourth time back in four years. The foster care system had created a vicious cycle. Every time Lily would start to get settled in with us, they’d put her back with her mom—even though she never wanted to go at first. Then once she was living with her mom again, she would feel responsible for taking care of her and not want to put her back into a mental health facility. Things would eventually get really bad, and Lily would be removed and upset. She’d come back to our house, and it would take a few months for her to settle in again. Seven or eight months later, the entire circle jerk happened again.
Broken system. Though, as of today, Lily was officially not part of the fucked-up world of foster care anymore. Because today was her eighteenth birthday. Unfortunately, the only thing she wanted for her birthday was to drive upstate and visit her mom. Which was one of the reasons she’d been up all night painting again. She got anxious when there was anything to do with Rose, and painting soothed her when her mind couldn’t rest.
“Dad and I were talking,” Mom said. “We think maybe Lily should see a counselor. Someone privately, outside of the social services system. She’s had five different counselors since she first came here, and I think she would benefit from some consistency. She’s been through a lot—the constant moves back and forth, being taken away from her mother, us moving from Big Bear Lake closer to LA because of all my appointments, my being sick…”
Of course it was a lot, and she was right. Lily took Mom’s ovarian cancer diagnosis just as badly as I did. I had no doubt Lily should talk to someone on a regular basis. But she’d been looking forward to her eighteenth birthday mainly because the state couldn’t force her to go see a shrink once a month anymore. To her, seeing a therapist of any kind meant she was crazy like her mother.
“I don’t know, Mom. She’s not going to want to go.”
“If anyone can talk her into it, you can. You two are closer than brother and sister.”
I frowned. I felt bad that we were still lying to my mom, and to everyone. But if my parents had known we were a couple when we were fifteen, they might not have taken Lily back. The state definitely wouldn’t have allowed it. Then as we got older, we didn’t say anything because it was easier to have our privacy. If Mom knew we were together, we’d never be allowed behind a closed door again—especially not with my little sisters around.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Lily swept into the kitchen and sing-songed, “Good morning.”
She was full of energy, even though she’d been up all night painting. It seemed like she had two moods lately: up or down. There was no real in-between anymore. But I could understand it; she’d been through a lot.
“Happy birthday.” Mom stood and brought Lily in for a hug. She cupped her cheeks, along with some hair. “Eighteen. Today brings you a lot of freedom. You’ve spent time with us over the years because you had to, but I hope you’ll stay for many more now because you want to. You’re part of this family, Lily.”
“Thank you, Pia.”
Mom sniffled and shook her head. “I don’t want to ruin your birthday and get all emotional. So let me just give you your gifts.” She turned around, took two wrapped boxes off the kitchen counter, and handed them to Lily. “Happy birthday, sweetheart.”
Lily thanked her and opened the first one. Her eyes lit up as she found a big set of expensive oil paints she always visited in the store. “Thank you so much. I’ve wanted these for so long. But they’re so expensive. You shouldn’t have.”
“Grant told me how much you admired them.”
She opened the second box—stationery with Lily imprinted on it and lilies wrapped around her name.
She ran her finger across the top. “This is beautiful.”
“I figured you could use it to write to Grant when he goes away to college.”
Lily’s eyes jumped to me, but then she smiled at Mom. “Thank you. It’s perfect. I really love it.”
Four years ago, when Lily moved back in with her mom the first time, she’d told me she would write to me every day we couldn’t be together. I’d thought she was exaggerating, but the last time I counted, I had over five hundred letters. Some days she sent me three or four pages about her day, other days she’d just write a few sentences, and sometimes I’d get a poem or a picture she’d drawn. But she never missed a day. So the stationery was a great idea, though she wouldn’t be using it when I went away to college. I’d decided to stay home. Yet another thing neither Lily nor I had mentioned to my mom yet.
I looked at my watch. “You ready to get going?”
“I am.”
“You two be careful,” Mom said. She turned to Lily. “Enjoy your visit with your mom.”
If today was anything like most days with Rose, there was about a fifty-fifty shot of that happening.
***
A psychiatric center might be a hospital, but it’s a hell of a lot different than the place you go when someone has a baby or something, or at least this one was. The white walls were bare, with no cheerful art or framed pictures to soften the hardness of the environment. Since the floor we were visiting at Crescent Psychiatric Hospital was an adult-only wing, everyone was dressed casually, mostly in street clothes. But a few people were milling around in pajamas, even though it was the middle of the day.
Rose, Lily’s mother, wasn’t in the activity center or any of the common areas. We found her in her room, lying in bed in the fetal position with her eyes open. Her big belly was really showing now. Three months ago when she was admitted, we’d found out Rose was four months pregnant. She’d been in the midst of a manic episode then, rambling on about all the plans she and the baby’s father had. Though as far as I knew, the mystery man who had gotten her pregnant had never shown his face even once to check on her since her admission. And something told me he never would.
Rose’s eyes acknowledged us as we walked in, but she didn’t move.
“Mom, how are you?”
Lily went to sit down on the bed. She brushed her mom’s hair back the same way I’d seen my mom do to my sisters a hundred times.
Rose mumbled something incoherent.
Lily leaned down and kissed her mother’s cheek. “Your hair is nice and soft. Did you wash it today?”
More incoherent babbling, yet Lily went on like they were having an actual conversation.
“Look, Grant’s with me.” She pointed to where I stood near the door, and her mom’s eyes followed along for a few seconds, but then Rose went right back to staring into space.
I wasn’t sure what kind of drugs they were giving her, but she was only slightly more alert than catatonic. Or maybe they weren’t giving her any. She was pregnant, after all.
Lily got up, went around to the other side of her bed, and climbed in behind her mom to snuggle her. “I missed you.”
I blinked a few times as the
scene before me brought back a flash of a memory. About six months ago, Lily had been sad when her mom hadn’t called or shown up for their scheduled weekly visit again. After waiting all day on Sunday, Lily had climbed into bed and spent a few days there…lying in the fetal position. I’d thought she was just sulking and sad, and I had done my best to cheer her up—including spending hours snuggled in bed behind her, a lot like she was doing to her mother now.
That thought made me antsy. “I’m going to go for a walk—give you two some time alone.”
Lily nodded.
I grabbed my jacket and opened the door, but I glanced back over my shoulder one more time before leaving. A fucked-up feeling settled into my chest as I thought how much the two of them looked like Lily and me had a while back.
Except Lily just had a lot to deal with. She wasn’t sick like her mom.
Chapter 15
* * *
Ireland
I was so damn nervous.
Grant’s boat was only a twenty-minute drive from my apartment, but I wanted to pick up something to bring with me, so I’d left an hour early. The liquor store pit stop only ate up a few minutes, so I arrived at the marina almost a half-hour before I was supposed to. I gave my name to the attendant at the booth, and he pointed out one of Grant’s assigned spots. I could see down the long dock that led to where his boat was parked. There was a flurry of activity, people coming and going to their boats, and chairs set up where people sat on the dock and chatted with their neighbors.
It seemed like a friendly community, and it made me wonder why Grant didn’t bring dates down here. His boat was impressive, and the setting was definitely made for romance. I made a mental note to dig deeper into the no-dates-on-the-boat zone, and I pulled down the mirror to check my makeup. When I flicked it back up, I saw Grant outside on the back of his boat. He was dressed casually, in a pair of shorts with an untucked short-sleeve button up and sunglasses. When he hopped over the back transom, I saw he had no shoes on.