IAN, AGE TWELVE
Ian sat on the porch steps, cleaning his camera lens. Early May sunlight bathed the driveway, warming the gravel. Inside, Jackie nursed a glass of his dad’s bourbon. He was out of vodka. Jackie had been calling some guy named Clancy all morning. Clancy wasn’t answering his phone, making Jackie furious.
Ian folded the cleaning cloth and held the lens up to the light, checking for streaks and spots. The lens passed inspection. He reattached it to the camera and, elbows on knees, chin propped in hand, blew the hair off his forehead. He glanced around, waiting. His mom’s potted columbine swayed. Leaves on the sawtooth oak shimmered. The limbs and trunk creaked, expanding in the direct sunlight.
Ian should be doing his chores but he preferred to be outside when Jackie was in one of her moods. It was the best he could do to stay out of her way like his dad expected. But Jackie had the car keys. His mom hadn’t had the chance to put them in their new hiding spot, a lockbox in his dad’s desk, before she shifted. Ian knew Jackie planned to leave soon and he was ready. So what if his dad would ground him, or worse, take away his camera, when he found out Ian hadn’t gone to Marshall’s like he’d been instructed to do when Jackie was the dominant. It wasn’t like his dad was there to watch over Sarah. Someone had to make sure she didn’t harm herself.
Jackie’s voice carried through the screen door. An electric buzz of anxious excitement. Ian strained to hear the conversation, catching snippets about a man Jackie had been looking for whom Clancy had finally found. She had to meet with Clancy to get the man’s location from him.
“Two hours. I’ll be there.” She slammed down the receiver.
Ian slung the camera over his shoulder and rose to his feet. He kept his back to the station wagon and his front to the door. He was ready.
Ten minutes later, Jackie came outside and stopped abruptly. Ian widened his stance. She sneered. “Move.”
Ian straightened. He pushed his shoulders back and crossed his arms over his chest. He’d had a recent growth spurt and now stood an inch or so taller than his mom. The platform slides Jackie wore brought her to eye level. Still, Ian did not back down. He didn’t budge. “You’re drunk.” He held out his hand. It shook. “Give me the keys.”
Jackie wore low-slung jeans and a white blouse that his friend from school, Delia, called a peasant shirt, clothes that didn’t belong to his mom. She wouldn’t dress like that, especially the makeup. Jackie had applied it thickly to her face. Ian could see cracks in the foundation, exaggerating the laugh lines bracketing her mouth. Black mascara weighed down her eyes.
A smile suddenly split her face, exposing bright-pink lipstick smeared on her upper front teeth. “Are you talking about these keys?” She shook the keys in his face, making as if she planned to throw them at him. He startled. Jackie shoved his shoulder, knocking him off-balance. His gangly frame stumbled into the porch post behind him.
Jackie sauntered down the steps, swinging the keys around her index finger, mocking him. She’d curled her hair. The tight waves bounced on her shoulders. She stumbled in the gravel, her ankle twisting in the platform slide. Her arms flew out, a goose spreading its wings, as she righted herself. She giggled. “Whew, that was a close one.”
Ian eyed the clothes he’d never seen his mom wear. The lipstick shade he’d never seen her wear. He thought of the lockbox where his mom kept her credit cards and cash. Jackie must have her own stash, unless she figured how to access his parents’ when Ian wasn’t watching.
He wondered what else she’d hidden and he inhaled sharply. Nervous sweat slicked his skin as a memory from the previous year crystallized, bright and startling. Jackie had wanted one of his dad’s guns. Fear for his mom’s safety had his heart beating in his throat, forcing him to make one of the dumbest decisions of his life, his dad would later tell him. As Jackie sank into the driver’s seat, Ian slid into the backseat. They shut their doors at the same time. The car rocked.
Jackie started the engine and flipped through radio stations, stopping at Eric Clapton’s “Lay Down, Sally.” She shifted the car into reverse, meeting Ian’s gaze in the rearview mirror. Ian’s hands shook in his lap but he didn’t look away, meeting her challenge. He wasn’t going anywhere. He intended to tag along.
Jackie pushed her pursed lips to the side. Her eyebrows lifted. “Suit yourself, moron.” She floored the accelerator. Wheels spun, spitting gravel, and the Pontiac fishtailed before the tires caught. The car sped to the end of the driveway.
They drove for almost two hours, heading toward Boise National Forest. He’d been near there before, deer hunting with his dad. Stu likened hunting to photography. Look through the scope. Study your subject, or prey, however you want to look at it. Don’t breathe. Point and shoot.
Ian hated everything about hunting, from stalking the animal to his dad posing by his kill, gripping the antlers to lift the head like a trophy. Ian couldn’t stomach it. He was a disappointment, his dad had told him more than once that day after Ian had a deer lined up in his scope and failed to take the shot. He didn’t care what his dad thought of him. Ian refused to pull the trigger. Shooting a living animal was nothing like pushing the shutter button.
Ian pressed his forehead against the glass window. Seventies tunes blared from the speakers. Jackie didn’t speak to him. She barely acknowledged him. Fine by Ian. He’d learned not to ask questions or say anything that distracted her from driving. He also kept his camera out of sight. He wouldn’t risk her ordering him from the car again, especially this time. They’d driven the farthest yet from home. Ian kept a mental note of landmarks and highway signs. His mom would be confused and disoriented after this trip. She’d need him to help her find their way home.
Jackie sang along with the tunes. Her fingers drummed to the beat on the steering wheel. Her singing voice royally sucked, but he kept that to himself. Instead, Ian took interest in the passing scenery. He wished he’d brought along food or something to drink. He had to pee.
A ballad came on, the Bee Gees’ “How Deep Is Your Love.” Ian had started to doze when the car slowed. He sat upright, rubbing his eyes, and looked around. The highway stretched long behind them and curved around a bend in front. Jackie turned into the parking lot of a rundown motor lodge and cut the engine. Tall pines fringed the lot. Across the street a neon mini-mart sign flashed high above a gas station. Ian’s stomach grumbled. His bladder burned. He squirmed on the seat.
“Stay here,” Jackie ordered, getting out of the car.
“Where are you—” The door slammed. “Going?” he finished meekly.
Ian watched her cross the parking lot to a pay phone. She made a call, then paced in a tight circle. Every so often she glanced down the highway. Who was she waiting for? Clancy? Aside from their car, the lot was empty. The place looked like a dump. Windows on several rooms had missing screens. One door had a hole near the base in the shape of a booted foot. Definitely not good signs of a safe place to hang out.
A half hour went by, which seemed like forever to Ian, and nothing happened. Jackie had moved toward the highway, her back to him, and that was about it. Hopefully she wasn’t planning to hitchhike out of here. Ian wouldn’t have a way home.
His bladder burned. He scooted toward the door, thinking he could make a run for the gas station, when a big guy on a Harley cruised into the parking lot. His full beard, dark brown threaded with gray, reached his chest. His gut peeked from under his faded black shirt. He lifted off the motorcycle and ambled across the lot toward Jackie. He must be Clancy.
Finally, something was happening. Ian scrambled for his camera.
Jackie waited for Clancy, arms crossed and hip popped out. He walked right up to her, gave her rear a rough squeeze, and yanked her against his fat stomach. He kissed her, his tongue thrusting out of his mouth before it reached hers.
Ian gasped, dropping the camera. It thudded on the vinyl seat. Clancy eventually came up for air. Jackie’s chest heaved. Saliva drenched her lips. He went into the lodge office and Jackie wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She glanced at the Pontiac. Ian sank low, peeking over the seat back. He felt physically ill. His damp palms slid against the seat.
Jackie smoothed her blouse and rubbed her hands back and forth on her hips the way Ian did when he was nervous. The lodge office door slammed, drawing Ian’s attention. Clancy showed Jackie a key and pointed to one of the rooms.
Who was Clancy and what did he want with Jackie?
Ian picked up the camera. He didn’t trust this guy, not one bit. Hands shaking, he took a picture of Jackie standing beside Clancy, who stood more than a head taller than she did. She shuffled her feet, waiting as he unlocked the door. He stood aside and, hand on her ass, nudged her into the room. Ian snapped another picture and the motel room door closed.
Now what was he supposed to do?
His stomach growled, and worse, he had to piss before he burst. For a split second he thought about getting a candy bar at the gas station mini-mart and using the bathroom, but he quickly discarded the idea. He couldn’t leave. What if his mom surfaced and Jackie receded while alone with Clancy? Ian needed to be there for her. He might have to help her get away from Clancy.
Ian shouldered the camera strap and opened the door. He stood there, legs shivering with nerves and fear, for a good five minutes. For something to happen. For one of them to come out of the room. An occasional car passed on the highway. Crows pecked at trash. A breeze wafted through the lot carrying the scent of pine and wood smoke, nudging his back. It was the push he needed.
Ian unzipped his fly and relieved himself right there in the parking lot in the V between the car and the open door. He groaned with relief and then, bouncing on his toes, gave himself a shake and zipped up his pants. He looked around to make sure no one had seen him.
All clear. He quietly shut the door and went to the motel room. He raised a fist to knock and hesitated when he heard a noise. He pressed his ear to the door. Muffled groans and gasps, the repeated slap of flesh, penetrated the hollow door. A deep, guttural voice cursed. More grunts followed.
Ian fell back, almost tripping over the concrete parking bumper. He’d heard sounds like those before. They came in the dark of night from his parents’ room.
Ian felt like he’d swallowed a toad. A foul, sickly lump kicked around his stomach, rose up and thickened in his throat. He almost dry-heaved.
Hunger pangs forgotten, Ian ran across the parking lot, stumbling in his haste to get to the pay phone. Gravel scraped his hands and chin. He barely registered the cuts, the burn of raw flesh. He stood and shoved open the phone booth’s glass door. He collect-called his dad’s hotel, asking to be transferred to his room. The phone rang and rang until the operator came on the line and confirmed what Ian suspected. His dad was out. Ian was alone.
He hung up.
He wanted to cry.
He wanted to run away.
He didn’t want to ride home with Jackie. He didn’t want to be anywhere near Jackie. She’d betrayed Sarah in the vilest way possible. Sleeping with a stranger was a thousand times worse than the purple blemishes that marred his mom’s skin whenever Jackie took off on one of her mysterious outings.
Outings that probably led her to Clancy. Someone had to have given her those bruises.
The phone rang, a shrill cry, and Ian jumped. He grabbed the receiver and said a croaky “Hello?”
“Ian, is that you?”
“Dad!” Relief floored him. He sagged against the scratched glass wall covered with Sharpie-inked phone numbers and Call me messages.
“What the hell are you doing in Donnelly?”
Ian rubbed the heel of his hand in his eyes to stem his tears. “Jackie brought us here.” Ian explained what he’d seen and heard.
His dad didn’t say anything for a long time. Ian thought he had hung up when he heard a dull thud. It sounded like a fist punching the wall. His dad cursed.
“Dad?” he asked, his voice unsure.
“For God’s sake, Ian, I told you to never ride along with Jackie. I also ordered you to get yourself to Marshall’s house and call me the moment your mom shifted.”
“What’s the point?” Ian yelled back. “She’ll be Mom again by the time you get home.”
“Dammit. Do as you’re told for once. Get back in the car so she doesn’t leave you there. She’ll come home, she always does. But don’t you dare tell your mother what happened. Let me talk to her when I get home. This’ll be too much for her to handle.”
“But, Dad, she—”
“Do it! That’s an order,” his dad bellowed loud enough for Ian to pull the phone from his ear. “You damn well better go to Marshall’s when you get home. You wait there until I get you. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“I don’t want anything to happen to Mom. Jackie will get her hurt.”
A door slammed, snagging Ian’s attention. He turned back to the lodge and his chest caved. “Gotta go.” The receiver slid from his ear.
“Ian? Don’t you hang up. Ian! Ian!”
His dad kept yelling until Ian hung up, cutting him off.
Across the parking lot, Jackie stood outside the motel room. Their eyes met. Ian could see the sheen of tears illuminated on her cheeks despite the distance between them. Her mascara smeared, hair knotted, and shirt hanging off one shoulder reminded him of the deer his dad instructed him to shoot. Just as he’d raised the rifle all those months ago, Ian slowly, carefully, lifted the camera to his face, else she spook. This time, he took the shot. He pressed the button. The shutter clicked. Then Ian cried. Because it wasn’t Jackie he’d caught in his lens.