Twenty-one: Holocaust Girl
***
Keltie’s happy mood lingered until the beginning of May. It made no sense, for Bolt was (presumably) still on the prowl. Or was he? As April came to a close, she began to wonder. Night after night she lay awake with a tray of cigarette ashes, until her body could no longer stand the punishment of lucidity, only to awaken next morning with all the room quiet and undisturbed. Not long after her tryst with Marty she began visiting the school library at the end of each day, scouring its newspaper rack for articles about strange or unexplained deaths. And while there were indeed a few (a man had gotten on a bus in the middle of the night, only to disappear before that bus reached its next stop; another man, perfectly sane with a wife and two daughters, had jumped without provocation from the fourth level of a shopping mall as his wife stood nearby paying their cell phone bill), Keltie could associate none of them with bloodthirsty attacks from dark shadows.
By the first of May she all but put vampires out of her mind. There were two reasons. The first had to do with final exams, which were no longer just a blip on the school radar, but a looming beast whose shadow chilled the heart of every girl in the north wing. More and more Keltie visited the library to study rather than read newspapers. Her grades in both science and math were low. To fail their finals meant a possible second trip through her sophomore year. There were also a few midnight crunch sessions in her dorm room with Amanda, albeit these more often than not collapsed beneath the weight of distraction.
The second reason was Chloe.
Keltie was in the gymnasium one afternoon, practicing cross handstands, when a summons came from Principal Margot. She was to report to the front desk immediately. Breathing hard from exertion, Keltie asked why.
“It’s your mother, I’m afraid, dear.”
She followed Principal Margot at once, so that it was in bare feet and a leotard that she met Cameron at the front desk, who told her that Chloe was back in the hospital.
“Same reason as before?” Keltie asked, glancing at the principal and Mrs. Cobb.
His answer of course was yes, and twenty minutes later they were on their way to Fisher-Titus Memorial. “She wants to see you,” Cameron kept saying as he drove. “I told her you have exams. That you need to buckle down on your schoolwork. But she’s insisting.”
“It’s okay, Dad. I want to help her.”
“You can’t help her, dear. She has to help herself. Goddammit!” Keltie jumped as he yelled. His truck lurched to a stop. “Fucking traffic lights are always changing to yellow just as I’m about to drive through!”
A chill touched her. This was the way Cameron used to talk in the ugly days, just before hauling off with a mighty slap or a squeeze on the throat.
“I don’t know how I’m supposed to pay for all these hospital stints,” he went on. “Jesus! It’s not like my health insurance at the church will fucking take care of the whole load!”
“But you are insured?” Keltie asked tentatively.
“Yes.”
Well, that was something. Not enough, but something. She tried not to think about the rest as Cameron parked the truck and they walked inside. Chloe’s room was at the end of a long hall in the old section where patients had been coming, going, and dying for fifty years. Pale yellow walls, fake plants, well-polished floors. A lingering scent of alcohol. Name plaques on closed office doors. Keltie herself had been born in this wing, only ninemonths before the World Trade Center attacks. According to the stories Chloe used to tell, her dad used both days—birthday and death day—as an excuse to get drunk.
Maybe it’s no wonder I turned out the way I did, Keltie thought presently. I’m a holocaust girl.
When they reached Chloe’s door Cameron refused to go inside. “Your turn,” he said, frowning. “I’ve seen enough already.”
The room was dimly lit, though the afternoon skies were clear. On the bed lay the woman Keltie had come to see. She looked like a dead witch. Her gray hair fanned the pillows—an open peacock’s tail bleached of all color. Her skin hung around knobby bones and dark, sunken eyes. Hovering back, Keltie wondered how she should proceed. The old woman looked to be asleep. Would it be rude to wake her, to force an early return to this sad world that gave her so much pain?
Chloe’s head suddenly moved. Two eyes, caught in the light, shined across the room.
“Hi, Mom,” Keltie braved.
The voice that called back sounded weak as a neglected flower. “Keltie. Come here, baby. I need you here.”
She crossed the room and took hold one of Chloe’s cold hands.
“Oh my goodness,” the old woman smiled. “Look at you. Still dressing like Cyndi Lauper.”
Blushing, Keltie glanced down at her skirt, her boots. “Cindy who?” she asked.
Chloe waved the question off. “It’s all right. You’re a teenager. You’re allowed to have fun.” Her smile dropped a little. “Are you having fun, Keltie? Because you’ll never be stronger than you are now. You’ll never be more hungry or brave.”
“I don’t think I’m very responsible with fun, Mom. I live in a juvenile center.”
“Making any friends there?”
She thought of Penelope. Of Amanda. And of course, Marty. “A few,” she answered.
“And how are your grades?”
Here Keltie was forced to suppress a grimace. “Not perfect. But I’m passing all my classes. What about you, Mom? How are you feeling?”
“I’m in a hospital, Keltie,” the other said with an arid sneer. “I feel pretty bad.”
“So let’s get you well again.”
“Who? You and your dad?”
“That’s just right. Me and Dad. And you, Mom,” Keltie added. “There has to be you.”
Chloe’s sneer deepened. “Now we get down to it. Mom needs to quit drinking.”
“Yes. I’m afraid you do.”
Keltie felt the older woman’s hand slide from her grip. “I told you,” she said. “I don’t know how.” Her eyes went to the ceiling, as if to measure the gloominess of her situation. “I get so damned lonely. And please don’t offer to have your father come visit. We tried to be friends once already.”
“No,” Keltie said, though she’d been about to suggest that very thing. “Of course not.”
Chloe looked back at her. “My only friend these days is the bottle, dear. It’s all I have.”
At this a flame of rage burst in Keltie’s heart. And for the first time, she had an understanding of how Cameron felt towards his ex wife. No wonder his temper tended to erode whenever they discussed her. She was drowning, and apparently didn’t wish to be saved.
“Knock it off,” Keltie snapped. “You sound like an old Garth Brooks song.”
“Why don’t you come back to the trailer some time? Spend the night like you did last year. Remember that?”
“Not much of it. Listen, Mom—“
“Fewer memories equals less guilt.”
“I’m not going to let you rot away in that goddamned trailer.”
Chloe gaped from the pillows, allowing several seconds to pass before she spoke again. “Did your father teach you talk that way?” she managed.
“When him and I leave here today,” Keltie said, “we’re going back to Sunset Lane and give that pile of rust another cleaning. And you,” she pushed on overtop of whatever it was Chloe opened her mouth to retort, “are going to enroll in rehab. You’re going to enroll even if it means I have to break out of that stupid school again and throw you through the front door.”
“You don’t talk to your mother that way!”
“I do whatever’s necessary, Mom.” She’d been sitting on the edge of the bed; now she stood up.
The effect on Chloe was instant. “Where are you going?” she demanded, terrified. “Stay here!” A desperate hand clawed from under the sheets, snatching at Keltie’s skirt. “Please!”
Keltie hesitated. It was like before—like last year, when she’d needed to get back to school but Chloe had begged her to stay. She’d relented then. But today—
“All right,” she said, relenting again. “I can stay. But Mom? I meant what I said.”
Sighing deeply, Chloe lay back into the pillows. Her eyes found the ceiling and would not leave as she told Keltie: “If you fix me, I’ll just break again. I always do. I sit alone in that trailer and I start crying. Then I start drinking.”
“When I graduate school I’ll come and live with you,” Keltie said. All of her anger had flown. Being with Chloe was like that, she’d found. One minute you hated her, the next you loved her. She was sweet; she was stupid. She was a helpless old drunk who happened to be her mother. “Two years, Mom. And I’ll come visit you in the meantime. How does that sound?”
She wouldn’t answer. But maybe that was okay. Keltie watched her stare at the TV (which was turned off) and could tell that her thoughts about the idea weren’t all bad.
Oh yeah? And since when did you know how to read minds?
“Good,” Keltie said, shoving her pessimism aside. “What’s on TV?”
She reached for the remote, sat back on the bed, and pressed the ON button.
Well, well, well, Bolt said with a suave smile. What have we here? He took a lady’s hand, kissed it. Greetings. I’m Lando Calrissian. I’m the administrator of this facility…
Keltie’s thumb all but crushed the channel change button. She dialed past a few commercials before finally settling on an all day news channel. At the same time, a nurse came with a dinner tray for Chloe. To Keltie’ surprise—and great relief—the old woman began to eat straight away.
She let her finish before asking, gingerly, how she felt.
“I’m not sure,” Chloe answered. She looked at the TV. “Hospital food and Wolf Blitzer.”
“One makes you well while the other makes you sick again.”
“No, no. Don’t pick on Wolf. He’s only doing his job. When there’s news he has to report it.”
The old woman’s tone, along with the dreamy look in her eyes, made Keltie grin. “So you have a crush.”
“Don’t tell anyone,” came Chloe’s playful reply.
“Oh no Mom. Not a word. It’ll be our secret.”
***
The trailer on Sunset Lane looked terrible as it had in February. Seeing it made Keltie groan. After doing so much punishment work for the school the last thing she needed was this. But here it was anyway: dirty laundry, dirty floors, dirty dishes. And bottles, of course, some empty, others not.
On the bright side, she had Cameron for a workmate. Janitor that he was, the mess did not perturb him in the least. He attacked it with full gusto, hitting the tables and counters first before moving down to the floors while Keltie handled the laundry and dishes. As a result the place got clean much faster than before, so that it was still light out by the time they left, though the sun was low and the skies were pale.
They rode in silence. As luck would have it, Cameron’s route to Benedict Avenue took the truck directly to Bolt’s house. Having no choice but to endure the ancient mansion’s presence, Keltie waited for the traffic light at Pleasant and Main to change. Huge windows glowered in the dying light, sending a chill down her spine. Soon Bolt would be awake in the blackness beyond their curtains, if he wasn’t already. But what were his plans? He’d been biding for so long.
“What do you know about this house?” she asked her dad all of a sudden.
At that same moment the light changed. “It’s big,” he said, driving off from its Greek pillars, its pedimented gable. “It’s creepy. Cool, but creepy.”
“So you don’t know anything.”
He laughed. “Not a damned thing, dear.”
“Okay. Let me heave another question at you.”
“Heave away.”
“If you had to kill a vampire but you didn’t believe in god, what would you do?”
“I would find my religion. Very fast.” He spared her an odd look. “That’s some question. Is your lit class covering Bram Stoker this month?”
“Tom Holland. Listen, Dad—“
“You believe in God, don’t you?”
She froze. Now that question was out, lying on the seat between them like a haunted doll, Keltie wished she’d kept her mouth shut about the whole thing. Alas, too late. And today she didn’t feel like telling a lie to Cameron, not after she’d been so straight with Chloe.
“I don’t,” she answered, looking at the trees around Pleasant Street Park.
A long time passed before he responded. She stole a glance at him when they reached West Elm, and then another when they turned onto Benedict. The man was smitten, no doubt about that. Struck voiceless by her words.
Rows of old, familiar houses flew by her window. Green lawns, blooming flowers. Keltie began to wonder if she should apologize to Cameron. Maybe she could take it all back, or pretend she’d been joking. Would he laugh? Probably not.
They were nearing the school. It was almost time for her to get out of the truck and go back to life as a bad egg student. She glanced at Cameron again. His eyes were on the road, doing their duty not to get them killed.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” she said. “I didn’t mean to make a bad day worse.”
“Nah,” he replied absently, “you didn’t. But when did you give up on Him? Do you remember?”
“I don’t think I ever subscribed to any of it. The whole idea of a magic man in the sky…I remember it sounding silly to me right from the start.”
A sigh came from the seat opposite. “Well, it’s hard to believe in God when you’ve got a drunk for a mom and an asshole for a dad.”
“Dad!”
“And that drunken mother? A big part of that is my fault, too.”
He pulled into the school parking lot. Evening had officially fallen. Both wings were lit up. Through the front door Keltie could see the empty desk where Mrs. Cobb sat during the day. One of the boys stood behind it now, talking on the phone.
“But I just want you to know, Keltie, that the old Cameron, the guy who was such a mess? He’s gone. Dead and buried.”
She wasn’t really seeing the school, or the boy. She just didn’t want the man sitting behind the wheel to know that her eyes were wet.
“I know he is, Dad,” she got out. “I’ve known since last year. You don’t have to beat yourself up.”
“Somebody needs to beat me up. God knows I’ve done enough of it to everyone else.”
Now she looked at him, and never mind her tears. Leaning over to give him a hug, she told him not to worry, that the two of them were better now. His head, nestled against the back of her own, moved with a nod.
“And once we save Mom, all three of us will be fixed. How does that sound?”
“Like one of your vampire fairy tales.”
That made Keltie shiver for a moment, but when she moved back to look at Cameron, he was smiling. “Vampires aren’t real, Dad,” she said, giving him a playful slap on the face. “You know that.”
“Of course I do.”
“We’re real. And we’re going to be okay.”
Leaving him to sit on these words of optimism, she kissed him on the cheek and opened the door. The late spring air smelled of living things. Flowers, tree bark, cut grass. She closed the door, and with a final wave to her dad, sprung to the school’s front porch, skipping its stone steps two at time.