By the Light of His Lantern Page 17

  Catherine stood and followed until Lara was halfway up the stairs and Catherine stood at the bottom.

  “Tell me what’s going on!”

  Lara never stopped. She continued down the upstairs hallway. Catherine hurried after. At the top of the stairs she caught a glimpse as Lara disappeared into the guest bedroom. In the doorway, Catherine watched as Lara scrambled from corner to corner of the room snatching up clothes and other belongings and stuffing them into her luggage bags.

  “You don’t need to pack up,” Catherine said. “Just talk to me.”

  “I said I don’t want to talk about it. It’s fine. I’ll get out of your hair and you don’t need to worry about it anymore.”

  “I worry about you all the time. You don’t know the half of it.”

  “I’m sure you do…”

  In her haste to pack she never once looked in Catherine’s direction. Catherine wanted her attention so badly, to show her through eyes alone just how much she cared, but Lara avoided her like Medusa.

  “Stop!” she begged. “Just stop, and let’s talk.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about.”

  “Don’t leave. You don’t need to leave.”

  “I want to leave. And that’s okay. I’ll leave and you’ll forget all about me. Because you don’t really want me here either.”

  “Lara, stop.”

  Lara dropped to her knees and looked under the bed, checking to make sure she wasn’t leaving anything behind.

  “Lara, look at me.”

  Catherine stepped toward her. Lara got to her feet, walked by her—pushed by her, more like.

  “Lara, stop it! Look at me!”

  Lara turned, jaws knotted shut.

  “Of course I want you here.”

  “No, you want Joy here.”

  “Huh?”

  “If it wasn’t for Joy being dead you wouldn’t remember me at all. That’s how it was before. And now that she’s gone and dad’s left you, you have no one so of course you come crawling to me.”

  Lara zipped up her bag and heaved it up in one hand and moved around Catherine into the hallway.

  “I’m leaving. Don’t follow me.”

  Catherine stopped near the bottom of the stairs. Lara bumped and dragged her things on both arms through the front door and pulled the door shut behind her. Catherine resisted the urge to go outside after her. She didn’t want a scene in the front yard. She descended a single step, thinking she might go to the front window and watch Lara go. Instead she sat down, one hand on the banister. The front door bore the weight of her helpless gaze.

  And then there were voices outside. Two voices. Lara’s and another, it sounded like. Catherine perked up, listened. The other voice, a stranger’s voice, grew loud and agitated. Another female. Catherine stood and went to the front door. She put her ear to it. Despite her wishes to avoid making a scene, it appeared one was being made without her. She opened the door and stepped out onto the cool, dark porch.

  “Don’t do this here,” Lara begged. “You can have at me anywhere else, don’t do this here.”

  Catherine considered turning on the porch light but chose to leave it dark. The less the neighbors saw the better. She stood on the edge of the porch steps and watched, hands clutched against her chest.

  “Lara, is everything—”

  “Give it back, then,” the other young woman said. “I know you took it. You probably don’t have it anymore, though, do you?”

  “Not in front of my mom,” Lara said. Her voice was whiny and tear-swelled. “We can go somewhere else and talk if you—”

  “I’m not here to talk.” The other woman, hands on her hips, stared Lara down, shoulders heaving in heated breath, when she noticed Catherine standing on the porch steps. “Oh. Is this her? This your mom?”

  “Is something the matter?” Catherine asked. Although she felt terrified, sick to the stomach, she drew on her experience at the high school with breaking up fights. Rarely did she have to. There were always other teachers to handle such things. But twice she did. She’d been just as frightened then as she was now, but she thought she’d handled both instances fine. Normally when an adult made their presence known the fight fizzled out immediately, or the children turned to them willingly for intervention, making a possibly physical altercation a diplomatic one instead. But this didn’t feel the same at all.

  “You want to know what’s the matter?” the young woman asked. “Your daughter’s a whore and a thief. Did you know that?”

  “Denise, please.” Lara was sobbing.

  “Excuse me?” Catherine asked.

  “Tell her,” Denise demanded. “Tell your mom what you did. Tell her what a whore you are.” Lara shook her head, still begging when words failed her. Denise scoffed. “Tell her how it wasn’t enough taking Rob away from me, you had to come back for my shit too.”

  “What’s happened?” Catherine descended the porch steps, made her way to the edge of the lawn.

  “I’ve got an empty purse and an empty medicine cabinet, that’s what’s happened. And it’s your little princess I have to thank for it.”

  “What?”

  “I thought I’d come over here to get some of it back, but we both know it’s already gone, don’t we?”

  Lara had since dumped her bags onto the grass on either side of her. She held herself across her middle like she was freezing, shoulders hunched, head down. Catherine only saw the back of her. She could hear her sniveling.

  “Lara, is this true?”

  “It’s true,” Denise said.

  They remained quiet for a few moments. It was a painful quiet. Catherine’s thoughts raced for a resolution to the conflict, even if only temporary.

  “Look at her.” Denise nodded at Lara. “She can’t even look at me. Falling apart at the first sign of facing any kind of consequence for her actions. Not so tough without Robbie around to make excuses with you. Fucking scumbags.”

  “Listen,” Catherine started. She walked toward them both, closing in on Lara from behind in case the argument happened to escalate. “I can pay you back. Whatever’s been stolen, I can pay you for.”

  “Jesus. I don’t want your money.”

  “Whatever I can do to—”

  “I want your cunt daughter to stay the fuck away from me and my house. You hear that? I don’t ever want to see you again. And if I even get a hint you’ve been around my place again I’m calling the cops.”

  “That’s fine,” Catherine answered. She put her hands on her daughter’s shoulders. Lara jumped. She was shaking. “I assure you, you won’t. I’ll see to it.”

  “Great.” Denise turned to leave, and then she stopped and looked back at them. “You pathetic, fucking whore. You’re lucky your mom’s here. I should beat the fuck out of you.”

  “It’s fine,” Catherine said. “It’s okay. We’re done. I’ll handle this.”

  Denise laughed—a shrill, mocking pitch which raised hairs on the back of Catherine’s neck—and finally walked back to her car. Catherine waited with Lara until she was gone, at which point Lara became suddenly animated again. She bent and grabbed her bags off the lawn.

  “You’re not leaving,” Catherine told her.

  “Yes, I am.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  Catherine took hold of one of her bags and stopped her. Lara jerked it once. Catherine jerked it back, tore it from her grip quite easily. She spotted Lara’s keys in her other hand. She leaned and snatched them away as well.

  “Come inside.”

  She stepped back and motioned for Lara to go. Lara looked at the open front door. Her eyes dropped to the grass at their feet, mouth pursed, and Catherine thought for a moment she might make a run for it. Reluctantly, Lara went back to the house. Catherine followed her in and closed the door behind them.

  “Set your bag down here,” Catherine instructed, and set the bag she was holding down first. “Then come into the front room with me and talk.”

  “Can
we talk in the morning? I’m just… I’m not up for it now.”

  “No. Right now.”

  They sat together on the sofa in front of the window. Catherine turned a lamp on.

  “Tell me what’s really going on.”

  Lara scratched idly at her leg. “I don’t know…”

  “Was anything you told me true? About the breakup, the cheating?”

  “No.”

  “Rob and Denise.”

  Lara didn’t say anything. There was an angry red line above her knee where she scratched, getting angrier and redder.

  “Denise kicked you out because you slept with her boyfriend.”

  Lara tried not to cry, Catherine could tell. Her eyes were broken dams, though. Nothing could be done for them.

  “Are you on drugs?”

  “No.” She answered quickly but the tone of her voice was weak, unconfident, unsure.

  “Denise implied you stole drugs from her. Pills? Are you on pills?”

  “No,” Lara said again, but she was beginning to cry harder which Catherine interpreted as a more honest response. “They… Rob stole pills from her.”

  “And it’s just Rob? You’re not on them as well?” It was a rhetorical question. Catherine didn’t give her any time to answer. “Was it Rob your father said he saw in your car today?”

  She nodded.

  “What did you need money for?”

  “Rob needed money for rent.”

  “Lara…” Catherine sat back, groaned. “What are you doing with him? Why are you letting this happen to yourself?”

  Lara wiped her eyes, sniffled mucus, shrugged her shoulders.

  “Why are you here with me instead of him, then?”

  “Because… I didn’t…” She threw her hands up. “I had nowhere else to go, after Denise…”

  It crossed Catherine’s mind, flickered like a jumping spark, the idea that Lara had asked for a place to stay intending to steal from her. Or maybe that was purely opportunistic on her part. They shared a minute of silence while Catherine thought everything over, processed and deconstructed the things Lara told her, held them up to the light in her head and saw what shined through and what didn’t.

  “Why were you fired from your job?”

  “I hated that job…”

  “But you didn’t quit.” Again, Catherine didn’t know this for sure but it was the only thing that made sense.

  “I stopped going.”

  “What are you doing now?”

  “Nothing.”

  “For over a month? What are you doing for money?”

  Stealing it, was the first thing Catherine thought.

  “I’m getting another job.”

  “And Rob, what does he do for money? Why can’t he pay his own rent?” After a brief consideration, “Never mind, I’m sure I can guess.”

  “What do you want from me?” Lara met her mother’s eyes again. “I can’t tell you anything that’ll make you happy. You should have just let me leave.”

  “I don’t want you to leave. I just… I want to know what’s going on so I can help you.”

  “You can’t help me. Even if you could, I don’t want your help. I just want to leave. I don’t want to… be here, anymore.”

  “Where will you go? To Rob?” Lara didn’t answer. “Stay away from him. He’ll pull you down even further, believe me.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  A car passed by just then and Catherine looked over her shoulder, listened as it faded away. She studied Lara with intense need, felt that aching to touch her more than ever, to comfort her.

  “I can help you find a job. I can help you get back on your feet. You just need to trust in me. Rob isn’t going to do anything for you. Neither is stealing from your friends or asking people for money.”

  Eyes squeezed shut, Lara rattled her head, frustrated. “I can’t talk about this anymore. Please. I’m tired…”

  “Spend the night here,” Catherine said. “In the morning, after we’ve both slept on this and cooled our heads we can talk some more. We can figure all this out. Together. Everything will be okay. All right? Will you just spend one more night? Do me just that. Okay?”

  Lara got to her feet. “Fine. Okay. I’ll spend the night. I just can’t talk anymore. I’m done tonight. Please.”

  “That’s fine. Here, I’ll help you get your stuff back—”

  “No, that’s okay. I’ve got it. But thanks.”

  Catherine watched, filled with anxiety, as Lara left the room. She grabbed her things from next to the door and took them upstairs, head down, feet heavy like a sleepwalker. Catherine stayed seated for several minutes longer, listened to the water in the pipes from the upstairs bathroom and the opening and closing of doors until it sounded as though Lara was back in the guest bedroom, just where Catherine wanted her. If only for another night. That’s all she needed.

  In the morning they would talk again, more clearheaded. They would figure all this out.

  Everything would be okay.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  The next morning, Thursday, Lara was gone. The guest bedroom was empty. She’d taken her bags, left the bed unmade. Catherine wondered how long she’d actually stayed, if she’d slept at all or had only waited until Catherine was asleep and then tiptoed out…

  My daughter is a stranger to me.

  Catherine sat on the bed and wondered why she had expected anything else.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  As she looked in the mirror, examined her face, pulled her expression in funny ways, she noticed the lines around her eyes appearing deeper, longer.

  I need sleep, that’s all. I’m not getting enough sleep.

  And then there were the lines around her mouth. She grimaced by default now, she noticed. How quickly had they appeared? She hadn’t noticed them before. Had she? She was usually so aware of her appearance, fussing over every detail, agonizing over every precaution, she found it difficult to believe her face could sneak up on her so.

  Butterflies in her guts, she forced herself out of the bathroom before she lost herself to tears.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  There were many problems in Catherine’s life. At the moment she felt overwhelmed with them. Each time another came along, it weighed upon her more than the last, and she found it difficult to sort them or prioritize them, until she didn’t do anything about anything and wallowed instead.

  “You just might be the least of my problems,” she said.

  The unconscious man nodded in agreement, puckered his lips to ready himself for more of Catherine’s ungodly smoothie concoction. Only not really. He didn’t move at all. His chest swelled and shrank with each breath, the one sign of life he offered.

  “And I could so easily be rid of you if I wanted…”

  She sat cross-legged beside him, placed the half-empty glass down between them. A stale basement chill crawled over her and she pulled her legs up against herself.

  “I doubt you’d do much with your life, anyway. Even if I could stop this, reverse it somehow, it would only serve to let you be a drain on society for a bit longer, I’m sure. You might even hurt someone else. People like you don’t learn…”

  She leaned forward. His skin was sickly and somehow serene. He may have been dying anyway, despite her efforts to sustain him with the bare minimum. Delicately, she pushed one of his eyelids back. The floating eye within, spider-webbed with red capillaries, stared emptily into her lap. She removed her finger and watched it slide shut.

  “You might not even know why this is happening to you, wherever you are right now. You can’t imagine why someone would put you there.”

  She dropped her head, closed her eyes. She felt herself involuntarily rocking back and forth, a subtle sensation.

  “It’s my fault…” she whispered. “I turned her into what she is. Somehow. I don’t even know her. She’s right. I haven’t paid any attention. She could go the rest of her life without me and it wouldn’t be any diff
erent. I don’t understand what happened. I was different with Joy, it’s true. But I don’t know why. It wasn’t fair…”

  The tears were coming and she wanted them to come. She egged them on, welcomed them with her sadly furrowed brow, eyes hot with the pressure. She wouldn’t even wipe them away when they came, she thought. They had every right…

  The sleeping man lay still. Occasionally she peeked at him, saw him judging her self-pity with his cold silence.

  It was a mistake…

  She jolted upright. She craned her head over her shoulder, to the stairs behind her. Up them, somewhere in the front room or in the kitchen, her phone had started ringing. She grabbed the smoothie glass and hurried up. She found her phone on the sofa under the window. It was Beth.

  Before she answered, she sniffled, sighed, cleared her throat.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey! It’s me.”

  “Yes, I know.” She tried to force a laugh but it didn’t come out right. “What’s up…”

  “I was wondering if you wanted to do lunch again. I was thinking sushi?”

  “Uh…” Catherine considered. She was about to answer when Beth interrupted.

  “Is everything okay? Your voice sounds weird.”

  “Yeah, everything’s fine…” Except that as she said it, her voice cracked and she began to feel those coals burning again, the pressure swelling from her throat to the center of her skull, bulging against the backs of her eyes.

  “You don’t sound fine…”

  “Yeah… I’m just…” She shuddered into the phone. “Beth… I…”

  “What’s going on?”

  It had to come out. Her tongue waggled against her, the words spilling like a leaky faucet. She didn’t know how to stop herself. She’d go mad trying, she knew.

  “I’ve done something awful,” she said. “I can’t anymore…”

  A brief pause.

  “Hey, I’m coming over. Okay? Let’s talk. All right? Don’t go anywhere, I’ll be over in just a few. Stay put.”

  Catherine cleared her throat once more. “Okay.”

  “I’m coming right now.”

  Catherine ended the call, tossed her phone on the couch. She was trembling. She hugged herself tightly. The air around her felt colder than ever, shivering, icy cold, and she knew it was her nerves. She turned toward the basement door, considered closing it, locking it, before Beth arrived. But she didn’t.