Dirty Little Secrets - C. J. Omololu [55]
“Ha, ha,” he said flatly. “Point taken.” I could hear him draw in a heavy breath, and the sound of some music in the background. “Okay, so how are you? And what in the hell did you do to Sara? I’ve spent the last half hour with her on the phone screaming in my ear about how ungrateful you are, and how I must have put you up to it.”
I should have known Sara would call him. There was a green bin over near the wall, so I went to sit down on it. “I didn’t do anything to her,” I said. “She just came busting in here and started freaking out. You know how she always acts like she owns the place.”
“So you’re not doing what she said?” he asked. I could tell somebody was nearby because he was practically talking in code.
I looked around at the half-full garbage bags. “No.” I hesitated for a second. “Maybe.”
His voice cut out, and I could picture him switching the phone to his other ear. “What do you mean ‘maybe’? Have you been . . . messing with her stuff? You know better than that.”
I could hear another voice in the background. “Where are you, anyway?” I asked. “It sounds like you’re at a party or something.”
“I’m with Jen in the car,” he said. “We’re going up to Tahoe for a couple of days. And you didn’t answer my question.”
“I was just straightening up a few things around Mom’s chair when Sara came in and did her usual favorite-daughter routine. It’s no big deal.”
“From the way she was talking, it sounded like you were dragging Dumpsters up to the front door and loading everything into them,” he said. “Have you learned nothing? Leave it alone.”
“I can’t leave it alone.” I said. “Not anymore.”
“Less than two years, Lucy,” he said quietly. “All you have to do is sit tight and wait until you graduate. Then you can do anything you want.”
“I’m tired of waiting,” I said, knowing everything had already been set in motion. As I looked around the room, I wished so badly that he would turn the car around and come help me. He was free to go to Tahoe for the weekend with his girlfriend, but I couldn’t even go meet Josh at a party. I was tired of having it be my turn all the time. My turn to take care of Mom, my turn to worry about the house. When was it going to be my turn to get a life?
The resolve that I felt about being able to do this by myself was beginning to crack. I was sure that if I just told him the truth, he’d feel exactly like I did. If anyone in the world would understand how important this was, Phil would.
“How far away are you, exactly?” I asked.
“Placerville,” he answered. “Why? Is something wrong? Sara said Mom was sick.”
“Why haven’t you ever brought Jen over to the house?” I’d met her a few times, and they’d come over to Bernie and Jack’s house on Christmas, but she’d never been closer to the inside of our house than the driveway.
Phil’s voice got lower. “Why are you asking that now?”
“It’s important,” I said. “I want to know why.”
I could barely hear him over the car stereo as he answered. “You know why.”
“Because of the mess? Because of the way we live?”
“Look, I don’t want to get into this right now,” Phil said. “I’ll come over after I get back, and we can talk about it.”
“I want to talk about it now,” I said quietly. Why was I doing this all alone? Phil had just as much to lose—he should be here helping. I needed to tell someone. The pressure of keeping everything in was building, and I wouldn’t be able to contain it much longer. Phil was the only solution. “Phil, there’s something I have to tell you.” I took a deep breath and just plunged in. “Mom . . .” I stopped, swallowed, and then tried again. “This morning I . . .”
My voice cracked as I surveyed the expanse of wall space that was smothered by stacks of newspapers and magazines that were as tall as I was. “I don’t think I can handle this,” I whispered.
Phil laughed a little. I think it was his attempt to sound soothing. “You can totally handle it,” he said. “You’re doing a great job.