Page 52 of Everything We Give

Reese reaches across the table. “I didn’t mean ... My stupid mouth. Some things don’t change. I still have that bad habit of blurting out questions without thinking. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

I flag the waitress. Alex rushes over.

“Please charge the meals to my room.”

“Ian ... wait.”

I stand. “Get some sleep, Reese. We have a long day tomorrow.”

CHAPTER 15

IAN, AGE TWELVE

Ian sat on the porch steps, cleaning his camera lens. Early May sunlight bathed the driveway, warming the gravel. Inside, Jackie nursed a glass of his dad’s bourbon. He was out of vodka. Jackie had been calling some guy named Clancy all morning. Clancy wasn’t answering his phone, making Jackie furious.

Ian folded the cleaning cloth and held the lens up to the light, checking for streaks and spots. The lens passed inspection. He reattached it to the camera and, elbows on knees, chin propped in hand, blew the hair off his forehead. He glanced around, waiting. His mom’s potted columbine swayed. Leaves on the sawtooth oak shimmered. The limbs and trunk creaked, expanding in the direct sunlight.

Ian should be doing his chores but he preferred to be outside when Jackie was in one of her moods. It was the best he could do to stay out of her way like his dad expected. But Jackie had the car keys. His mom hadn’t had the chance to put them in their new hiding spot, a lockbox in his dad’s desk, before she shifted. Ian knew Jackie planned to leave soon and he was ready. So what if his dad would ground him, or worse, take away his camera, when he found out Ian hadn’t gone to Marshall’s like he’d been instructed to do when Jackie was the dominant. It wasn’t like his dad was there to watch over Sarah. Someone had to make sure she didn’t harm herself.

Jackie’s voice carried through the screen door. An electric buzz of anxious excitement. Ian strained to hear the conversation, catching snippets about a man Jackie had been looking for whom Clancy had finally found. She had to meet with Clancy to get the man’s location from him.

“Two hours. I’ll be there.” She slammed down the receiver.

Ian slung the camera over his shoulder and rose to his feet. He kept his back to the station wagon and his front to the door. He was ready.

Ten minutes later, Jackie came outside and stopped abruptly. Ian widened his stance. She sneered. “Move.”

Ian straightened. He pushed his shoulders back and crossed his arms over his chest. He’d had a recent growth spurt and now stood an inch or so taller than his mom. The platform slides Jackie wore brought her to eye level. Still, Ian did not back down. He didn’t budge. “You’re drunk.” He held out his hand. It shook. “Give me the keys.”

Jackie wore low-slung jeans and a white blouse that his friend from school, Delia, called a peasant shirt, clothes that didn’t belong to his mom. She wouldn’t dress like that, especially the makeup. Jackie had applied it thickly to her face. Ian could see cracks in the foundation, exaggerating the laugh lines bracketing her mouth. Black mascara weighed down her eyes.

A smile suddenly split her face, exposing bright-pink lipstick smeared on her upper front teeth. “Are you talking about these keys?” She shook the keys in his face, making as if she planned to throw them at him. He startled. Jackie shoved his shoulder, knocking him off-balance. His gangly frame stumbled into the porch post behind him.

Jackie sauntered down the steps, swinging the keys around her index finger, mocking him. She’d curled her hair. The tight waves bounced on her shoulders. She stumbled in the gravel, her ankle twisting in the platform slide. Her arms flew out, a goose spreading its wings, as she righted herself. She giggled. “Whew, that was a close one.”

Ian eyed the clothes he’d never seen his mom wear. The lipstick shade he’d never seen her wear. He thought of the lockbox where his mom kept her credit cards and cash. Jackie must have her own stash, unless she figured how to access his parents’ when Ian wasn’t watching.

He wondered what else she’d hidden and he inhaled sharply. Nervous sweat slicked his skin as a memory from the previous year crystallized, bright and startling. Jackie had wanted one of his dad’s guns. Fear for his mom’s safety had his heart beating in his throat, forcing him to make one of the dumbest decisions of his life, his dad would later tell him. As Jackie sank into the driver’s seat, Ian slid into the backseat. They shut their doors at the same time. The car rocked.

Jackie started the engine and flipped through radio stations, stopping at Eric Clapton’s “Lay Down, Sally.” She shifted the car into reverse, meeting Ian’s gaze in the rearview mirror. Ian’s hands shook in his lap but he didn’t look away, meeting her challenge. He wasn’t going anywhere. He intended to tag along.

Jackie pushed her pursed lips to the side. Her eyebrows lifted. “Suit yourself, moron.” She floored the accelerator. Wheels spun, spitting gravel, and the Pontiac fishtailed before the tires caught. The car sped to the end of the driveway.

They drove for almost two hours, heading toward Boise National Forest. He’d been near there before, deer hunting with his dad. Stu likened hunting to photography. Look through the scope. Study your subject, or prey, however you want to look at it. Don’t breathe. Point and shoot.

Ian hated everything about hunting, from stalking the animal to his dad posing by his kill, gripping the antlers to lift the head like a trophy. Ian couldn’t stomach it. He was a disappointment, his dad had told him more than once that day after Ian had a deer lined up in his scope and failed to take the shot. He didn’t care what his dad thought of him. Ian refused to pull the trigger. Shooting a living animal was nothing like pushing the shutter button.

Ian pressed his forehead against the glass window. Seventies tunes blared from the speakers. Jackie didn’t speak to him. She barely acknowledged him. Fine by Ian. He’d learned not to ask questions or say anything that distracted her from driving. He also kept his camera out of sight. He wouldn’t risk her ordering him from the car again, especially this time. They’d driven the farthest yet from home. Ian kept a mental note of landmarks and highway signs. His mom would be confused and disoriented after this trip. She’d need him to help her find their way home.

Jackie sang along with the tunes. Her fingers drummed to the beat on the steering wheel. Her singing voice royally sucked, but he kept that to himself. Instead, Ian took interest in the passing scenery. He wished he’d brought along food or something to drink. He had to pee.

A ballad came on, the Bee Gees’ “How Deep Is Your Love.” Ian had started to doze when the car slowed. He sat upright, rubbing his eyes, and looked around. The highway stretched long behind them and curved around a bend in front. Jackie turned into the parking lot of a rundown motor lodge and cut the engine. Tall pines fringed the lot. Across the street a neon mini-mart sign flashed high above a gas station. Ian’s stomach grumbled. His bladder burned. He squirmed on the seat.

“Stay here,” Jackie ordered, getting out of the car.

“Where are you—” The door slammed. “Going?” he finished meekly.

Ian watched her cross the parking lot to a pay phone. She made a call, then paced in a tight circle. Every so often she glanced down the highway. Who was she waiting for? Clancy? Aside from their car, the lot was empty. The place looked like a dump. Windows on several rooms had missing screens. One door had a hole near the base in the shape of a booted foot. Definitely not good signs of a safe place to hang out.

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