Crimes of the Sarahs (21 page)

Tears roll easily off her cheeks and she doesn’t try to wipe them away. I don’t know much about my grandma Caldwell.

“Your great-grandmother was a good person too. A better person than a lot of people,” my mother says.

She takes a few deeps breaths and squints at something. I follow her gaze, but all I see is dark asphalt.

I look at my own hands. Even though I don’t completely understand the reason behind it, my mother is crying. I should say something to make her feel better. No good daughter should let her mother be this sad.

“It doesn’t surprise me that you come from good people,” I say. “You’re great.” And I mean this.

I hope that didn’t sound corny. I didn’t mean it that way. My mother licks her lips and unbuckles her seat belt.

“You come from those people too,” she says.

I feel a lump form in my throat. Having a criminal daughter must be an enormous disappointment. Maybe that’s why she’s crying. I crack open my car door.

“You’re a good person too,” my mother tells me. “I know it.”

I don’t feel like a good person, and if we weren’t related, I wonder if my mother would really feel so positively about me. We walk side by side into the video store. She immediately heads for the new releases, but I tell her to stop.

“Maybe we should rent
Godzilla
,” I say.

“Why?” my mother asks.

“Because of Dad, Godzilla has been on my mind lately,” I say. “I should learn something about him.”

“Don’t let Liam hear you say that.”

“Why?” I ask. “What does Liam have against Godzilla?”

My mother’s answer might explain the buried lunch box and action figure.

She shakes her head. “It’s not like that. You called the monster a ‘him’ and Liam is convinced that Godzilla is female.”

“Why would Liam think that?” I ask.

“Quite a few hard-core fans believe that. In one of the films, Godzilla has a child.”

I nod. But really, I’m thinking that our family spends way too much time thinking about Godzilla.

“Liam was so disappointed that people didn’t understand Godzilla’s backstory. The beast was more than just a monster. It symbolized the dangers and anxieties of a postatomic world.”

I don’t ask her to elaborate on any of that, because the word “atomic” freaks me out.

“Look, they’ve got
King Kong
,” my mother says.

“But he’s not even Dad’s inflatable,” I say.

“But it’s a pretty good movie,” my mother says. She picks up a box and studies it. “This one starred Fay Wray. And did you know that the original ape was only eighteen inches tall?”

I did not know that and I am surprised that my mother did.

“Does it say that on the box?” I ask.

“No. I read her autobiography. In it, she talks a lot about the fake monkey and her Kong period.”

“Her Kong period?”

“It was basically her whole life. It’s all anybody wanted to hear about. Her entire existence defined by one film,” my mother says.

“At least people remember her,” I say.

“I guess,” she says. “I’ve always liked living anonymously.”

For some reason, my mind leaps to Sarah A and all her advice about how to live life to its fullest.

“That doesn’t work for everyone,” I say. “Some people don’t want to live on the periphery and be the wallpaper. Some people want to be noticed and do important things.”

“For me, cleaning
is
important,” my mother says. “I help keep people’s lives in alignment.”

She doesn’t ask me what I think is important and that’s a relief. Because I don’t know. I may be going to college in a year, but I have no idea what I want to do with my life. When it comes to having a unique purpose or identity, I don’t think that I’m much better than one of Dr. Pewter’s parrots.

We rent two movies. And when we get home, my mother decides not to unload her cleaning supplies. I notice a red feather clinging to her shoulder and I pluck it off.

“For you,” I say.

She takes it and tosses it into the yard.

“I just don’t understand animals,” she says.

“I think they’re a lot like us,” I say.

She shakes her head.

“Right. Do
you
freely relieve yourself, regardless of your surroundings?” she asks.

She has no idea of the significance of what she just said. She’s not aware of my pants-wetting history, the four slip-ups in nine years: the Barnes & Noble incident, the CD fiasco at Circuit City, the bungled hair-accessories theft at Sears, or the failed pineapple heist at D&W. She does know about my peeing accident in kindergarten. But she’s clearly not thinking about it now.

I pretend like what she said didn’t bother me, but really I feel a dull pain form in my chest. If I stay on this course, there’s no denying that adult diapers might be in my future, and that, socially speaking, I may never fit in.

“I’m glad you want to support your father’s inflatable,” she says.

I don’t say anything. This isn’t all about him. I mean, it is and it isn’t. I’m deeply curious to find out what trumped my cool duck.

Chapter 18

In two weeks school starts. The governor changed the official start date, so now all the districts in the state have to wait until after Labor Day before they can ring the back-to-school bell. This means a few extra days with my parents. Our dinners last forever. There’s a reason teenagers spend obscene amounts of time with their friends.

Sometimes, I’ll be doing the most mundane thing, like washing the dishes, and I swear that I see a Sarah outside my front window. Or I’ll be driving with my mom, and I’ll spot a Sarah staring at me from behind a tree. I guess it’s a form of irony. Since they’re nowhere in my life right now, everywhere I go they’re turning up.

“He’s furious about the lizard,” my father says, cutting into his baked potato with the side of his fork. “Big Don figured all he had to compete against was the duck. I may never bring the quacker back out.”

“But have your car sales increased?” my mother asks.

My father waves his hand over his plate like he’s shooing away a fly. Really, he’s shooing away her question.

“Gas prices are shooting up like a rocket. There’re problems with the Alaskan pipeline. And could things be any worse in the Middle East?”

“So the Godzilla inflatable isn’t driving up sales as much as it’s driving Big Don bananas?” my mother asks.

My father scoops up a large spoonful of apple sauce and slides it into his mouth. He smiles big and nods.

“You should see the look on his face,” my father says. “My lizard shivers his timbers.”

My father reaches over and squeezes her hand. When I watched
Godzilla
and
King Kong
, I wasn’t that impressed. I kept thinking,
My duck got shelved over this?

My father’s hand rub turns into a long caress. I hate it when my parents show intense affection in front of me. I look out the living room window. The sun is setting, turning the world pink. I watch a deer follow another deer across the lawn. John Glenn comes and sits down next to me. I pat his head. He’s watching the deer too. Maybe they’re a couple. Then I watch a phantom Sarah poke her head up over the holly bush. It looks like Sarah A. That figures. It’s the third time I’ve hallucinated seeing her this week.

She waves at me. She’s flashing me the peace signal. Wait! I think it’s really her.

“I’m going to take John Glenn for a walk,” I say.

“But we’re eating dinner,” my father says.

“I’ll be right back,” I say.

I lead John Glenn outside and let him go.

“Sarah A,” I call out. “It’s me. What’s going on?”

I circle my house, but I can’t find her. I circle again.

“Sarah A!” I call. “Sarah A!”

John Glenn pads up to me and brushes against my leg. Am I going crazy? A cool wind cuts across my face and I walk back to my house.

“Pee time is over,” I say.

He obediently trots back in the house.

“Did you see the sunset?” my mother asks.

She and my father have finished eating and are holding hands.

“I saw it,” I say.

Believing that I may be delusional makes my stomach ache. I decide to go to my room. Maybe I should read.

“Where are you going?” my father asks.

“To my room,” I say.

“I thought you might want to go for a walk down to the lake,” he says.

“There’re mosquitoes down there,” I say.

“We’d wear repellent,” he says.

“What do you want to tell me?” I ask.

“I just want to talk,” he says.

“I’m going to wash the dishes,” my mother says.

Then we’re alone. It’s me and my father, sitting opposite each other. Our knees are practically touching.

“I know my daughter,” he says.

“Okay.”

“What really happened?” he asks.

“With what?” I ask

“Why did you take that jar and why do you own a dog named John Glenn?”

“I just love dogs, I guess.”

“Sarah, wouldn’t you rather tell the truth? Wouldn’t that feel better?”

I look down at the tablecloth. I’m not sure that coming clean about my years of petty theft would improve my current situation, let alone make me feel
better
.

“I’ve told you the truth,” I say.

“The whole truth,” he says. He doesn’t phrase it as a question. “I think there’s more to the story. School will be starting. Don’t you want to start with a clean slate? With new friends?”

I’m still looking at the tablecloth. It’s got a vine pattern that keeps falling over itself.

“I don’t have any
old
friends.”

“I’m sure, unless you take action, the Sarahs will realign and you’ll be part of the mix again.”

I frown. My dad doesn’t understand how girls work at all.

Getting back into the group will probably take a ton of effort on my part.

“The company you keep says a lot about you. Your friends will determine your future.”

“That’s why the other Sarahs aren’t hanging out with me. I’m a criminal.”

“You are not a criminal,” he says. “Not exactly.”

“You don’t get it,” I say.

“Help me get it.”

I look at him. His eyes have grown soft with concern. I don’t want this kind of attention. I don’t like disappointing him. Why am I even having this conversation? How can I make it end?

“I think it’s obvious,” I say.

He reaches to take hold of my hand, but I pull it back, and cross my arms over my chest.

“Sarah,” he says.

I feel tears welling up in my eyes. I feel like I could tell my dad about the Sarahs. I feel like the truth is really close to flying out of me. I close my eyes and take a deep breath.

“You never should have shelved the duck. The duck was my idea. The inflatables don’t sell the cars. It’s the salesmen who sell the cars.”

My father shakes his head. The soft concern in his eyes has faded. The muscles in his face tighten and he looks frustrated.

“The duck has nothing to do with this,” he says.

“The duck has everything to do with this!”

This is as close to the truth as I can come right now.

“Sarah, don’t make this about something it’s not.”

“You never listen to me,” I say.

“I’m listening to you right now.”

“The duck mattered to me. It was a decision I helped make.”

My father nods.

“I understand. But King Kong altered the equation. A duck would have been below par.”

“But I picked the duck. I never pick anything. Don’t you see that?”

“Sarah, I think you’re trying to dodge the issue. Let’s talk about the jar.”

“The jar wasn’t my decision.”

“I knew it,” my father says. His mouth cracks into a smile. “Who put you up to it?” He’s stroking his fuzzed chin. His eyes look pleased, almost like he’s won something.

“Nobody put me up to it,” I say.

“But you just said that it wasn’t your decision.”

“I meant that the duck was my own cool idea. Stealing shit from a store is the oldest crime in the book.”

“Shit?” my father asks, his eyebrows raised.

“Shit,” I say. I uncross my arms and pound my fists on the table. “Shit! Excrement! Fecal matter!”

“Sarah, you don’t need to be so emotional. I’m trying to understand what happened.”

“I took the jar to be part of something,” I say.

“Part of what? Do all your friends steal?”

“I don’t have any friends anymore. I haven’t had a friend in weeks.”

“Sarah, don’t get melodramatic. You’ll make new friends. Everybody cycles through different peer groups in high school.”

I’m so mad at him. I’m not being melodramatic. And he’s being totally simplistic if he thinks that a high school senior can attach herself to any new social group she seeks out. Yeah. I’ll just start hanging with the cheerleaders. No, I’ll sit at the table with the drama kids. Maybe I’ll try out for the part of Lady Macbeth in the upcoming play.

“I’m not like Liam. I don’t walk into a room and make automatic friends.”

“You don’t have to be like Liam,” he says. “Nobody is comparing you to Liam.”

“But you’d love it if I were exactly like Liam, wouldn’t you? Wouldn’t that be great? I mean, Liam practically raised himself.”

“Sarah, you’re accountable for your actions, not us.”

“Yeah. You and Mom are blameless. I forgot.”

I stand up.

“We’re not through.”

“Yes, we are.”

“Sarah, I’m trying to get to the bottom of something.”

“I’m already there. I’m at the bottom of everything.”

“Just because you’re a teenager doesn’t mean you have to freak out like this.”

I turn and walk away. I’m not exactly blown away by his comforting words.

“Sarah, I’m still talking.”

I don’t look back.

“You’re going to work with me tomorrow. No debate.”

“Great, I’ll plug in the fan that inflates Godzilla for you.”

“This isn’t about the duck, Sarah. This is about your circle of friends.”

My brain is at war with itself. Part of it is convinced that the issue at hand is the duck and my father. But the other half of my brain, perhaps the one comprised of its more reasonable lobes, understands his concern and knows that he’s just trying to uncover the truth. And not because he wants to punish me further. No, it’s more awful than that. My father wants to understand why I did what I did.