Authors: Ellen Hopkins
Identical (45 page)
You need to get up now and
clean up this mess
. He gestures
toward last night’s vomit.
And I
will be waiting for your apology.
Almost a Week
Since Kaeleigh tried to off herself,
and believe it or not, she did apologize
to Daddy. She stood, head tilted toward
the floor, shoulders stooped like an old
woman. “Sorry, Daddy. I was stupid.”
She cleaned up the floor, washed herself,
her clothes, her sheets. But she couldn’t
wash away the indelible stench of Daddy.
She wore it to school. To play rehearsal.
To stolen moments with Ian. I watched
as she tried to put “the incident” behind
her. But anyone who ever noticed her
has to have noticed a change inside her.
She’s no longer afraid to die. What she’s
afraid of is living, accepting the status quo.
Daddy Acts
Like it never happened. It’s how
he deals with any trauma in his life.
The accident. The incident.
Mom’s winning the election.
Daddy simply moves forward. One
day, one night at a time.
Hannah has stopped by
several times to check up on Kaeleigh.
She always says the same thing:
Your daughter needs help, Ray.
The reasons behind the attempt are still
there. It could happen again.
Daddy’s answer is the same:
It was just the stress of the election.
Now it’s over, she’ll be fine.
Then he’ll change the subject,
to one he finds much more appealing.
You’ve had some time to
think things over. I hope
you’ve reconsidered. Kay and I
are married in name only.
Hannah remains steadfast.
You’re still married. It was a mistake
to get involved. I’m sorry, Ray.
The Last Time
She dropped by, Daddy wasn’t
home yet. But Kaeleigh was.
I listened in best I could.
Hannah pounced.
Kaeleigh, I don’t
know what’s going on in your life
to make you decide it isn’t worth
living. But I’m pretty sure it has
nothing to do with the election. If
it had something to do with your
father and me, that’s all over, and
I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt—
“No. It wasn’t that, so quit blaming
yourself, if that’s what you’re doing.”
Then she made up a half lie. “There’s
this boy who I like, but I know it won’t
work out, no matter how much I want
it to. But I’m over that now. I’m okay.”
Just then Daddy arrived. I vanished
as he stormed into Kaeleigh’s room.
But I could hear every word.
Hello again, Hannah. As you can see,
my daughter is doing well. I’d appreciate
it if you wouldn’t drop by unannounced.
Kaeleigh, please go start dinner.
He Is a Cold-Hearted Bastard
That’s for sure. And suddenly
I desperately need to know why.
Did he not see Kaeleigh, screaming
for help, the only way she could—
wordlessly, helplessly, no one to hear?
I don’t know how to get hold of my
grandmother, and considering
the reception she got from me
last time, I sincerely doubt she’ll
call back any time soon.
But somewhere, buried deep in
Kaeleigh’s journal, is an address
for Theodore Gardella. Grandpa
Teddy. (Pu-lease!) He lives less
than two hours south, in Calabasas.
I think it’s time his granddaughter
paid him a visit. But first she
has to find a ride. I easily think
of exactly one person and pick up
the phone. “Hello? Is Brittany there?”
Operative Word: Easy
Brittany is quite simply the most
easy-to-manipulate person ever.
She had planned to see a movie
with Joel, but when I told her my
grandpa was really sick, she softened.
And when I threw in the part about
filling her gas tank and buying lunch,
I almost had her right there.
Okay, but only if Joel can come
too. We’re a thing now, you know.
Yeah, and if she isn’t careful, there will
be a little thing growing inside her.
If I can persuade her this easily, her steady
“thing” should have no trouble talking
her into whatever. But hey, that’s not
my problem. And now I’ve got my ride.
I MapQuest directions, extract eighty
bucks from my private stash, pop
a single Oxy to steady my nerves,
go to meet Brittany and Joel.
Between Brittany’s Driving
And a traffic accident jam, the hundred-
mile trip takes us over two hours.
Two plus hours of hip-hop, Brittany
giggling, and Joel’s immature, totally
not sexy innuendos. Aaagh!
I’m mostly silent, filling with dread.
What if he won’t see me, let alone
tell me the things I need to know?
Not like we’ve ever done anything
but exchange a letter or two.
So what kind of sick is your grandpa?
asks
Joel.
We won’t catch something, will we?
“Well, I don’t think you want to come
inside. You can drop me off, go have
lunch—on me, remember?—and come
pick me up. I don’t have to stay that long,
just make sure he’s got his medicine.”
Hey, I know what I want for lunch,
sneers Joel.
Tuna! Got any, Britt?
OMG! What a disgusting loser.
I can’t believe Brittany actually
shrieks with laughter. This is why
I don’t maintain friendships. Friends
tell friends what they really think.
We Find the House
Arrange a meeting time, and I give
Brittany forty dollars. “But don’t
leave until he answers the door.”
Last thing I need is to sit here
on his doorstep for two hours.
Brittany waits patiently while
I idle slowly up the walk, noting
his yard is neat but not pretty.
I swallow one more pill for good
measure, steel up my courage.
Reach for the doorbell. Push.
I hear footsteps immediately.
The door cracks, leaking warm air.
Yes? Who is it?
The voice
crackles.
What do you want?
“Um. Sorry to disturb you. But
I’m your…your granddaughter.”
The door opens wider and Brittany
starts her car. I want to shout, “Wait.”
But I don’t. For the first time,
I look my grandfather in the eye.
“I think it’s time we talked.”
Long past time, young lady.
But come on inside.
The House Is Small
Gloomy, and like his yard, tidy
but not pretty. No adornments
anywhere. Serviceable furniture,
lacking comfort. Still, I accept
his offer to perch on the hard sofa.
Almost to himself, he says,
I wondered if you’d ever come.
In lieu of small talk, we sit
and stare at each other for
several skeptical minutes.
My grandfather is shorter than
Daddy, and much darker,
with weathered California skin
and gunmetal eyes. Oh, Daddy
got his eyes from his father,
whose own searching eyes slice
into me now. I swear, it hurts,
like he’s dissecting me without
benefit of anesthesia. Someone
has to break the awful silence.
But I can’t think of a single
icebreaker. Luckily, he does.
So what can I do for you after all
these years? You have questions.
It’s a statement, as well it should
be. I could tiptoe around the real
reason I’m here. But why waste
time? “I want to know why Daddy
won’t have anything to do with you.”
Well, that’s very direct, isn’t it?
Why is it important now?
I could lie, tell him I want to
know him, learn all about my
roots. But I suspect he’d know
it was a fabrication. “I need to know
why Daddy is like he is. Why I am…”
Who you are,
he finishes. Hesitates.
I’m not sure where to begin.
Oh, I can help him there.
“I don’t need to hear any
happy stuff, if there is any
to tell. I need to hear about
when everything went to shit.”
He Winces Slightly
But agrees.
I don’t know you from
Adam, but someone should hear this
story. Your father would carry it to
his grave. How much do you know
about Charlotte, your grandmother?
“Only that she walked out when
Daddy was a boy. Something
about your messing around?”
A nice way to put it. Yes, I cheated.
I was lonely. Charlotte shared most
of her time with a whiskey bottle,
and so devoted little to your father
or me. When she left, it was a relief,
or would have been, except I had to
work long hours. Your father was still
young, so I placed him in the care of
a neighbor, a woman I had known,
or thought I did, for many years.
Turned out I didn’t know her at all.
One day I came home early and
went to pick up Raymond. I knocked
but no one answered, so I went
around back, where I heard voices….