What Mr. Mattero Did (18 page)

Jenna sank back in the chair at my desk and fiddled with a paper clip. Neither one of us said anything. One by one, I folded the felt feet of my platypus under his belly.

“Whatever,” Jenna finally said. “I just feel sorry we did it because now we're all split up. Plus, you know, one of the main reasons I did it was to get my mom to come back, and it didn't work.”

I put my platypus down. “What do you mean?”

She smiled sarcastically. “Can you believe it? I actually thought my mom would feel so bad about it that she would come home. But look what happened—it
backfired
. She didn't come back, she left!”

I frowned at her. “I thought it was to get out of Mr. Mattero's boring music class. And to get back at him—for you not getting the Wendy part in
Peter Pan.
”

Jenna sighed. “It was . . . a little bit, I guess.” She put the paper clip down. “But it's a good thing I didn't get that part. I'm not a very good singer.”

“Jenna!” I did not find that funny, although really, it didn't much matter what Jenna's reason was. Suzanne and I went along with her because we were friends and because Jenna asked us to—and yeah, the truth is maybe I wanted a little attention from
my
mother, too. But that's not why I did it. The absolute main reason was the friend thing. We never once thought it would create all these problems or that anyone would get hurt.

“The whole thing was pretty stupid,” I said. I plucked at a loose thread in my bedspread. “We never should have said those things about Mr. Mattero.”

“Oh, Claire!” Jenna sounded disgusted with me. “Who cares what happens to Mattero? He's such a creep. Honestly, sometimes I don't know why I wasted my time on you.”

“Excuse me.
Wasted your time?
” I asked, a little stunned at that statement. “Is that—”

“You know what?” She threw up her hands. “I don't care about anything anymore. Why should I? My mom doesn't care about me! For a whole year, she was seeing that guy when she told us she was flying. I mean,
what a liar!
All those times she went to Hawaii and brought us those nuts?”

“The macadamias?”

“Yeah! She bought them at the grocery store!”

My mouth fell open a little.

“I hate her so much! She never cared about me. She never even bought me half that stuff I was always showing you guys.”

Pause. “She didn't?”

“No.”off

“Then where'd all that stuff come from?” I asked, although I don't know why I bothered because I think I knew the answer.

Jenna slumped back in my chair and turned to stare at the wall. Her shoulders moved a little, like she was crying. I don't know, I was mad at Jenna, but I felt sorry for her, too. I think she was really messed up by her mother.

I got up off the bed to get her a Kleenex just as Corky ran into my room. He held a gray horse out to Jenna, and she recovered so quickly I wondered if she really had been crying.

“Hey there, buddy,” she laughed, then sniffed, “that's not an elephant baby!”

I think we were both glad to be distracted.

Corky snatched the horse back and ran from the room.

“He carries that thing around with him all the time now,” I told her.

“Why?” Jenna wiped her cheeks, and I could see they were wet. “Is he into cowboys or something?”

“No, some girl at this place where Corky takes riding therapy gave it to him.” I lowered my voice in case Corky was outside the door. “It looks just like the horse they want him to ride, only he's too scared.”

“Ahhhh . . .”

Pretty soon after that, Jenna got up and left. I was glad.

A week or so later, I heard she was gone. Moved to Pennsylvania with her dad, just like she said.

But I still don't think it's fair. How she missed all the fallout.

20

Melody

“CADE!” I SHOUTED,
running to meet my brother as he drove up after school. “I can't find Dad!”

My brother does not panic easily. He frowned at me through the open window and didn't even soften the radio in his car. “So? Maybe he's takin' a walk or something.”

“Dad doesn't take walks. And look—” I held out the empty bottles of sleeping tablets.

Cade raised his eyebrows and turned down the music. “What's that?”

“I found them by the bathroom sink.”

The expression melted from Cade's face. He turned off the ignition. “What? You think he overdosed or something?”

“I don't know,” I answered. At the same time, it hit me that I hadn't checked upstairs in the house. “Maybe he's taking a nap,” I suggested, hoping that's all it was—a nap—even though it didn't explain the empty bottles.

“Mellie, wait!” Cade called as I ran back toward the house.

But I was not waiting for my brother.

Inside, I flew up the stairs and raced down the hall to where his bedroom door was closed.

“Dad!” I called, rattling the knob on the locked door. “Dad! Are you okay?”

No answer.

Cade rushed up behind me.

I pounded on the door. “Daddy! Are you in there?”

When he didn't answer, my brother and I looked at each other.

“Cade, I'm so afraid of what Daddy's done!”

Cade shook the door, too, but nothing happened. “Dad!” he called out, even louder than I had.

When there was no response, Cade ordered me to “stand back.” Then he turned sideways, lifted his right shoulder, and threw his weight against the door. Nothing. He tried again but the door didn't budge.

Next, Cade took a step backward, lifted his foot, and kicked the doorknob. His heel smashed the knob off, and it clattered to the floor. Slowly, the door squeaked open.

When we rushed in, we saw my father sprawled facedown on his bed.

“Daddy!” I screamed.

Cade ran over and shook his shoulder.

I held my breath.

“Dad, are you okay? Are you okay?” Cade kept asking.

I brought my hands down. “Should I call for help?”

When Cade didn't answer, I rushed to the other side of my parents' bed, but their cell phone wasn't where it usually was on the nightstand. In a panic I swung my head around, searching. “I can't find the phone!”

“Dad!” Cade called.

I spotted the phone on the floor and picked it up.

But Cade yelled, “Wait, Mel!”

I looked up to see him holding up an empty vodka bottle.

And Dad moaned.

“He's drunk,” Cade said. “Drunk as a skunk.”

“Daddy's
drunk?
” I uttered in disbelief. I brought the phone down. I had never seen my father take a drink, let alone be drunk.

“Hey? Whas goin' on?” Dad asked sleepily. He tried to push himself up on his elbows and open his eyes, but they kept closing. He looked at Cade, then slowly turned his head toward me. What little hair he had was rumpled, and he wore a dumb, rubbery expression on his face.

“Dad, we thought you overdosed or something,” Cade said. “Mellie was just about to call 911.”

Dad pushed himself to a sitting position beside Cade.

“D-don' do that,” he said.

“But what about these empty bottles?” My voice shook. I thrust the two empty containers toward him. “I found these in the bathroom downstairs.”

My father hung his head. “Yeah.” He took in a breath and blew the air out. “I dumped 'em out. I dumped 'em in the toilet.”

“What?” Cade seemed perplexed.

But I caught on right away. “So you wouldn't take them, Dad?”

He covered his eyes and didn't answer.

 

 

I left the room—I had to get out—and went downstairs to make coffee. In all the movies I had ever seen, drunk people sobered up with coffee. While it dripped, I paced the kitchen, still in shock over what my father had done—and
almost
done. Then, when the coffee was ready, I poured it into a mug, added milk and sugar, and took it upstairs, walking carefully so as not to spill it.

“Don't bother,” Cade said, meeting me in the hallway. “He's dead to the world.”

I flashed him a startled look.

“As in dreamland,” Cade clarified, arching his eyebrows. “Just let him sleep it off, Mel.”

Still, it was a poor choice of words, I thought.

We went downstairs together.

“Should we call Mom?” I asked, setting the steaming mug down in the sink.

Cade wrinkled his nose. “Nah. I wouldn't. What's she going to do? It'll just upset her.”

So we didn't call Mom. We waited until she came home from work to tell her. She placed a bag of groceries and a gallon of milk on the counter and, without even putting any of it away, sat down on a kitchen chair.

“I was afraid of this,” she said.

“Afraid of what?” Cade asked.

Mom's weary eyes settled on him. “I was afraid he'd relapse and drink because he's depressed. Because of the pressure he's been under.”

“It could have been worse,” I offered.

Mom nodded wearily. “Yes. It could have been worse. I wonder if I need to get him some kind of help. And gosh, it's going to be so embarrassing for him. On top of everything else that's happened, he'll have to deal with this.”

Mom added, “I just hope you kids don't think any less of your father because of what he did today.”

Would I? Would I think less of Dad?

I wondered about that all evening.

Even after Dad had sobered up and come downstairs to apologize to us, I wondered whether I thought less of Dad.

“There's no excuse for what I did. No excuse at all,” he said. “I am so sorry, Cade. Mellie. Please forgive me.”

Even after he said that and didn't touch a bite of dinner and sat in the family room all evening, just sat in his chair, without the television on, or a book or anything, I still wondered about it. Because as hard as I tried, I could not get that image of my father with his dumb, rubbery expression out of my head. It's like all of a sudden, he wasn't even the same person I knew anymore.

 

 

A couple more days passed, and still we waited for word from Detective Daniels. As I said earlier, one of the only bright spots during that time was my job at the stables. But it was yet another bubble that burst the following week.

I arrived early on my volunteer afternoon to brush and tack up Misty. I even gave the horse a pep talk and told him to step very carefully when he took Alexander around the ring for the first time. I looked forward to being one of the two walkers who would accompany Alexander on his first trip. Another volunteer would lead the horse. When the boy arrived, however, he came with his family.

“Melody,” Mrs. Dandridge said, accompanying the family and eager to introduce me to the girls. This is Isabelle, Alexander's little sister.”

I shook hands and smiled at the small, blonde-haired girl.

“And this,” Mrs. Dandridge said, “is Alexander's older sister, Claire. In fact, I think you girls might go to the same middle school—Oakdale. Am I right?”

Unbelievable! My mouth dropped open. I know it did. And I don't blame Mrs. Dandridge for what happened next. She didn't know. It was not her fault.

21

Claire

 

My heart did a somersault and landed in my throat! I didn't know what to do!

You could tell right off Melody knew who I was. The color drained from her face.

Her and me, we just stared at each other for a couple seconds—and then she came flying at me like a maniac! I remember hearing that woman, Mrs. Danderfield or whoever, hollering, “Melody! Melody! What's wrong?” Then that woman and my mother—both of them had to jump in to hold Melody off me.

“You liar!” Melody screamed.

“Stop, Melody! Stop!” that woman yelled.

But Melody was like a crazed animal! She lunged against everyone holding her back and managed to get in one good swipe. My hand stung, and I could see blood from where she scratched me.

“How could you do that? You liar!” Melody kept hollering.

Corky and Izzy started to cry, and other people came running. The gray horse Corky was supposed to ride threw his head back and skittered sideways, stepping on a woman's foot. When she yelled, the horse bolted.

It was a nightmare moment, and all I did was freeze up. “Do you know what you've done to my dad?” Melody was still screaming while they dragged her off.

I was not going to deny it. No siree. I figured whatever she said, whatever she did, I deserved it.

After they hauled Melody into the little room with all the saddles and closed the door, things got quieter. Izzy and Corky were still crying, so Mom knelt down to scoop them into her arms. She looked up at me. “Claire? Are you okay?”

I hadn't moved. Not an inch. “I'm all right,” I said in a flat voice.

Mom didn't seem to notice my
non
reaction.

“Let's get out of here,” my mother said. “I had no idea who that girl was. No idea. She has been so wonderful to Corky. Oh, Claire, look at your hand, it's bleeding. Good Lord, I can't believe this.”

Unbelievable was definitely the word. Of all the people in the world, Mr. Mattero's daughter had to be the one who worked with Corky at riding therapy? It was so random. I mean, what kind of fate is that?

I picked up the camera from where Mom had dropped it and followed her back to the van where I helped buckle the kids in.