Six
The elevator was out again when Zoe got home. She stumbled up the stairs as exhaustion numbed her arms and legs. The trip to Iphigene and back had taken more out of her than she’d realized. According to the clock in the liquor store window down the block, it was almost eight. She’d been gone for hours. Still, nothing could break her buoyant mood and the new optimism bubbling inside her. Today she’d seen her father and tomorrow she’d bring him home. What could be better than that?
“Zoe?” Her mother was sitting on the living room sofa. The room smelled of cigarettes and blue-gray smoke curled from the fresh butt in a saucer on the floor. Her mother looked as tired as she felt, Zoe thought.
“Hi. Sorry I’m home so late.” She leaned against the wall on the other side of the room, trying to look relaxed, like nothing had been going on.
“Where have you been?”
“Nowhere. Out walking around.”
“Don’t lie to me. Where have you been?”
Zoe stood up straight as a familiar old tension filled the room.
“At a record store,” she said.
“Till eight at night? What record store?”
“This used place in North Beach. They have a lot of old punk vinyl. I even saw a couple of covers you did.” She should have seen this coming. The buzzkill and her mother’s seemingly magical ability to start in on her just when she was feeling good. Zoe stared down at her shoes.
“Don’t change the subject,” barked her mother. “Your school called me today. You’ve been cutting classes.”
Zoe closed her eyes and tried not to groan. The scene they were starting was way too familiar.
“Just a couple,” she said.
“More than that, according to your school.”
“Well, they’re wrong,” Zoe shouted. “No one knows me here. They wouldn’t know if I was there or not.”
“So, you don’t answer when they take roll?”
“Not always,” said Zoe, hating how stupid she sounded telling such a feeble lie.
“I don’t believe you.”
Even though she knew she had no right to be angry, Zoe couldn’t help herself. Why did this have to happen now, just when things were getting better? “Believe what you want. Nothing I say matters around here, anyway.”
“What does that mean?” her mother asked, her voice getting low, her tone wary.
“You brought us here. This apartment. The new school. This whole stupid life we’re living was your idea.”
“It’s starting again, isn’t it? The lies. The disappearing.” Her mother reached for the cigarettes, caught herself, and dropped them to the floor.
“Nothing is starting again,” mumbled Zoe. She pressed the palms of her hands to her forehead, trying to force down the headache that was building behind her eyes. “Why are you acting like this?”
Zoe’s mother stood and tried to grab her. “Let me see your arms.”
Zoe crossed them tightly over her chest. “No!”
“What are you hiding?” Her mother grabbed again, caught Zoe’s sleeve, and pulled. Zoe twisted away, got loose, and backed into the hall.
“I’m not hiding anything,” Zoe said. “But I don’t want to be examined when you say it like that.”
Her mother came closer, red-faced and furious. “How the hell am I supposed to say it, Zoe? ‘Please, dear, if you don’t mind, let me see if you’ve decided to start mutilating yourself again.’ How’s that?”
“I don’t do that stuff anymore, I swear,” Zoe said, her voice small and childlike, a tone she hated.
“Then show me.”
“Not when you’re like this!” she yelled.
“I want to believe you,” said her mother, turning away. She walked back into the living room and stood with her back to Zoe. She seemed to be thinking. “What about all the classes you’ve been missing?” she asked.
Zoe sighed. “The school sucks. My teachers are jerks. The only decent one I have is Mr. Danvers. Sometimes I cut after his class.”
“That’s all?”
“Well, the other day this stupid bitch snuck some vodka into the lunchroom and spilled it all over me.”
“You were drinking at school?”
“No!” shouted Zoe. “Will you listen to me?” Exhaustion and the pointlessness of an argument she knew she couldn’t win left her with the overwhelming desire just to give up and lie down on the floor. Let her mother yell until her voice was gone. Maybe, if she stayed on the floor long enough, she’d turn to stone like one of Mr. Danvers’s fossils.
“I didn’t even know this girl,” Zoe said. “She pulled out this vodka and spilled it all over. I was angry and I smelled like a wino, so I came home. What was I supposed to do? They don’t know me there. Should I go to class smelling like booze and get expelled? If you don’t believe me, the shirt is still on the roof. I wanted to see if I could get the smell out.”
“Which shirt was it?”
“The Germs.”
“Damn. I always liked that shirt.”
“Me, too.”
Her mother dropped down onto the sofa and picked up the cigarettes. This time she lit one. When she spoke, her voice was quiet and calm. “I know our situation right now is hard, but I can’t get us through it alone. I need some help.”
“I know,” said Zoe. She went to where her mother sat and pulled up her sleeves, showing her unmarked skin. “It’s Dad who’s gone. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.”
Her mother closed her eyes for a minute. When she opened them again, they were red and wet. “Thank you,” she said. She puffed at the cigarette. “I thought you were hurting yourself again.”
“I’m not. I’m okay,” said Zoe, trying to sound reassuring. She showed her mother the rubber band and snapped it.
“Okay. But listen, you can’t keep ditching classes. The school said you can make up the classes you missed, but you’ll have to do a lot of extra work. Maybe stay late some evenings and weekends. Understand?”
Zoe nodded. “Yeah, I understand.”
“Okay.” Her mother leaned back, rubbing her eyes with one hand and holding the cigarette with the other. Her hair was a mess. Between that, her red eyes, and the lines the harsh living room light etched into her forehead, she looked a hundred years old. Nothing at all like the girl with the purple eye shadow.
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
Zoe slipped past her and sat on the sofa. “When I was born, did you quit working so you could stay at home and take care of me?”
Her mother pushed some stray hairs off her forehead. “Your dad and I thought it would be good if you had someone around.”
“I understand that part. But why didn’t you keep designing? Do freelance work, like when I was at school and stuff?”
Her mother frowned, not the furious kind Zoe had grown used to but something more introspective. She leaned back into the sofa cushions. “I used to be really good, you know? Then I stopped when you were little. When I thought about going back to work, it felt like everything had passed me by. There was all this new software I didn’t know and there were these kids who were so damned good at it. I didn’t know how to get back in the game.” She puffed the cigarette, made a face, and crushed it with the others in the saucer. She shook her head. “That’s a lie. I choked. Simple as that. Once I stopped, I was too scared to fight my way back in.”
“But you wanted to?”
“Hell, yeah,” she said. “It’s funny, you asking about this. Before he died, your dad and I were talking about it. He could get me discounts on some digital graphics classes through his company. What made you ask about this now?”