Chapter 7: Canyon Lake

Every day it’s like this. Today I wake up at seven twenty-three in the morning, and I can’t get back to sleep.

I sit up, slowly. Across the room, Charlotte is a sleeping lump under the covers, hair messy on her pillow.

My shoulders are itchy. The white lacy stuff on my nightgown has dug in while I was sleeping. I hate this damn nightgown. It’s a hand-me-down from Mrs. Devlin. I’d rather sleep in underwear and a tee shirt, but Sandy and Johnny might think that was weird.

I crawl out of bed, quiet as I can. I don’t know why I bother holding my breath. Charlotte seems to sleep like the dead. I don’t know why I don’t want her seeing me awake.

I pee, sitting perched there in my ridiculous nightgown for a long minute before it comes. My feet line up, pale and even on the bath mat except for the tiny whitish scar on my one toe. I wish Charlotte was still at violin camp.

Do I really wish that? Maybe not. But I do wish we didn’t have to share a room. I don’t want her to ever see me sleeping. Is that weird?

Quiet as I can, I creep back into bed.

There’s a good three or four hours before it will make any sense to be up, and I’m tired. Rona once told me that when I’m like this I should count sheep. I’m not sure if that means imagining some sheep, then counting them, or what, but either way it doesn’t work.

I miss Rona. I know I got sent away from there because her oldest son, Curt, was coming back from juvenile hall, and she just didn’t have the room for both of us. But that didn’t stop me from being mad. And from crying like a little baby when I found out.

Charlotte doesn’t snore, but she breathes really slow when she sleeps. She even sounds sleepy. God, I wish it was contagious.

Yesterday I woke up too early too. I laid down and forced myself to sleep and I was almost there when a car alarm went off down the block, and that was it. Maybe, if I try hard today, I can make it. I listen to her breathing.

If she can sleep so deeply, breathe so slow, then there’s no reason I can’t do it, right?

I wish I believed that.

I’m so tired it feels like tiny cracks of pain behind my eyes.

.

This time a weird pain in my belly wakes me up. Across the room, Charlotte’s covers are moving. My stomach feels weird, kind of like I need to run to the bathroom, but the pain is higher. “Shit.”

“Good morning.”

I peek out over the covers. Charlotte is sitting up, her nightgown very purple against her messed up hair.

“Morning.”

“You said ‘shit.’ What’s wrong?”

“Aw, nothing. My stomach feels weird, I’ll be fine.”

“What do you want to do today?”

A sensation of butterflies joins the ache in my belly. I’m still not used to hearing that question. The feeling is not altogether unpleasant.

“I dunno. Whatever you wanna do.”

Charlotte’s response is a loud pitchy yawn. I know it doesn’t mean she’ll fall asleep. There are footsteps in the hall.

Sandy knocks on the door. “Come in,” Charlotte says. Maybe I did sleep, because it’s ten forty-nine according to the alarm clock. I stretch and root back under the covers, so that Sandy can’t see me.

“Good morning kiddies,” Sandy says.

“Morning Mommy.”

“Morning.”

“You guys wanna go see Grandma?”

I know she means Charlotte’s grandma. Obviously she can’t mean mine because my grandma was a mean spiteful lady who now happens to be dead.

Going to see Charlotte’s grandma excites me about as much as going to see my own, dead or alive. But Charlotte seems happy with this plan, and the bottom line is that I have no choice.

“Okay. Boat’s leaving in an hour. Don’t worry about breakfast - we’ll get brunch along the way.”

The Greenes are big on brunch. I’ve never had as much brunch as I have since living here. I think it’s just that they’re such late risers that they don’t want to eat breakfast an hour before lunch, and they don’t want to skip breakfast altogether. So, they eat brunch, which I’ve found pretty much includes whatever you feel like eating. I like this, sort of. Angelica Rodriguez would have a cow over not having a “normal breakfast,” but that was Angelica. Things are a lot more mellow here. And I guess that suits me.

I think that if my dad were alive, he would be pretty mellow too. As long as I got fed.

“What are you smiling about?” Charlotte is looking at me. She’s not being nasty, or making fun of me. She’s just curious.

I decide to play dumb. “Huh?”

If he were still alive, would I still be calling him Daddy, or would it be Dad? I feel like, if I think hard enough, I can come up with the answer to the question. And that if I do I won’t be so lost.

“You’re smiling.”

“I dunno... I’m still half asleep.”

“Your hair’s cute, it’s all messy.”

“Oh.” My hands move to my hair.

“You want the first shower?”

“Umm, naw, you go.”

I wait until she gets up, watching her out of the corner of my eye. Her nightgown hangs halfway down her tanned calves.

.

It’s more like two hours before we’re on the road. Charlotte informed me that a trip to her grandma’s often requires a bathing suit because she lives on a big lake with boating and swimming.

That sounds fun, but I really don’t feel like meeting Charlotte’s grandma. Grandmas are always weird cause they’re never mine. Even if they’re nice, it’s weird. And on second thought, even mine was a little weird.

The first time I heard her talking about my father, it seemed that it had to be someone else. There was that slow-motion sickening feeling of all the blood leaving my face. Don’t look at me, I thought, ‘cause you’ll see I’m not breathing.

She’s talking about some other guy, some other Max. I told myself that any minute she’d reveal a surname that wasn’t McCutcheon. Or laugh, and say that she wasn’t serious.

Any minute she would look at me. She would have to because things inside me were changing in an obvious way, not just my face but my bones and tendons, warping under the force of a great pressure...

“Shane? Play for shotgun?” Charlotte’s in front of me. We’re standing by the minivan, overnight bags packed, waiting to get in.

Huh? "Oh, yeah." Three, two, one. I produce scissors because that’s the first thing to come to mind. She’s holding out an upside down fist. The friendship bracelets on her wrist, all shades of purple, are in varying degrees of decay. Rock crushes scissors. Charlotte gets shotgun, which is fine with me.

Or so I think until I sit down next to Jake who keeps kicking my thigh with his little sneakered foot. The first five times, I give him a tired smile. Up front, Sandy and Charlotte are discussing back to school shopping. I wonder if they’ll buy me anything. Probably not, since Sandy just bought me clothes. I need a new pair of jeans, but that’s fine with me anyway because I don’t like it when people spend money on me. I know the agency pays them to take care of me but she’s probably already used up all that money already, and besides, they need their money for Charlotte and Jakey.

I can’t wait ‘til I’m old enough to get a job.

The ache in my belly is just as bad as it was, maybe worse. Sandy pulls in to an In and Out Burger restaurant and it flip flops in rebellion. Maybe I should have said something earlier. Maybe I should say something now. I don’t want for this to ruin their grandma trip.

Maybe it will just go away, I think. I help Jakey out of his car seat, and he kicks me the whole while.

“Please don’t do that, Jake, it hurts.”

Jake just grins. I’m not in the mood for this today. So as we walk inside the restaurant I make it a point to stay as far away as possible from him. And for a while my stomach does feel better. I’m quiet though. I’m in a cranky mood today and I know that I need to just keep my mouth shut.

“You’re still not feeling well, are you?” Charlotte asks. Now I feel like kicking her.

“It’s not that bad.”

Sandy turns to me with the usual grownup look of concern. She touches my forehead with her hand, but I doubt that has much to do with my aching belly. Her hand is cool. Even though I don’t have a fever, it feels good. “What’s wrong?”

“I have kind of a bellyache.”

“You ate your lunch okay.”

I thought it was brunch, but I guess after a certain point it doesn’t matter. “Not that kind of ache. I feel a little better now, actually.”

“I wanna play on the swings,” Jake says.

Sandy sighs. “Five minutes. Shane, when we get to Grandma Dixie’s, you can lie down on the patio if you’re not feeling better.”

“Okay.”

We get up and start to throw away the trash from our trays. Sandy puts her hand on top of my head again. “And you tell me if you start feeling worse, okay?”

I want to squirm. “I’m fine. Really.”

As soon as we get in the van, Jake kicks me. “Stop it, Jake!” I say, meaner than I’d meant to.

“Jakey, don’t kick Shane. She’s not feeling well.”

I wonder, is it okay to kick the foster sister if she is feeling well?

.

Charlotte’s Grandma Dixie lives in a place called Canyon Lake. When we get there we pull up outside a little station in the road where a man in a uniform asks why we’re there.

I wonder why it matters. The man checks a piece of paper and waves us through and as I look around the houses aren’t that fancy. I guess people just like living in a place with a man and a uniform and a clipboard.

I can see the lake shining between the gaps in the houses on the right side. The light hurts my eyes. My belly is still hurting, off and on, and I just want to go home. Curling up in a ball on Grandma Dixie’s patio doesn’t seem like such a bad idea. Charlotte turns around in her seat and looks at me. She smiles, as if she knows what I’m thinking. I smile back. I can’t help it.

Sandy makes a few turns, following the edge of the lake until the last one, where she veers away from it. At the top of a small hill she turns into a driveway on the right hand side. I guess this is grandma Dixie’s house.

Jake has fallen asleep in his car seat and I try to undo the buckles without waking him up. “You’re a good helper, Shane,” Sandy says. I shrug. I leave her to deal with the car seat. The way my luck is going today, if I stick around I’ll get kicked.

I follow Charlotte up the cement path that leads around the side of the house. Instead of knocking she just opens the side door and leads us into the house. It smells kind of like mold inside. Mostly like lemon Pledge.

I follow her upstairs, dreading this. My whole life has been a parade of other people’s houses, and this is no different. And I don’t want to meet another oooh and ahh’ing grandmother who I’ll meet once or twice and then never see again.

“Grammy?” Charlotte is calling. Sometimes I feel a million years older than her. She even seems like a child, her hair up in a swaying ponytail. She has a lot to learn about life, I think. Then I feel bad for thinking it.

“In here,” a Grandma-voice calls. We go down the hall to the room at the right. A woman in a denim dress is sitting on a big sofa next to the biggest dog I’ve ever seen. And the woman is saying something but I have no idea what it is. The dog barks so loud it’s all I can hear, and he leaps down from the sofa, wagging his tail.

“Dumpling!” Charlotte says, and bends over to pet the dog. I can’t take my eyes off it. It’s huge and white and fluffy and almost comes up to my belly button. Part of me is afraid of a dog that big but the other part realizes that it seems to be smiling.

I meet the eyes of the woman across the room. She has a smiling face and I feel bad for thinking about how I didn’t want to meet her. “He won’t hurt you. He’s just a big baby.”

“Mom?” I hear Sandy’s voice from down the hall. It’s weird to think of Sandy having a mom. She comes inside with Jakey who is looking all red-faced and sleepy from his car nap. I eye his baby Keds warily. I don’t think he can kick me from where he’s at.

Charlotte is petting the dog, whose pink tongue lolls out. “Look how fluffy he is, Shane.” I reluctantly I reach out toward the big smiling fluffball. He sniffs my hand, then licks it. He can’t decide if he wants to sniff my crotch or Jakey’s shoe or what.

“My god, mom, what did you adopt now?”

“That’s Dumpling. He’s a sled dog,” Grandma Dixie says. “He’s a good companion.”

“God, he looks like a pillow.” The dog is now looking at me and I pet him. His ears are silky soft and fuzzy but the hair of his chest is more rough, and so deep I can sink my fingers into it.

“He makes a good pillow, too. Can I get you guys something to eat?”

“We went to In and Out, Grandma,” Charlotte says.

Sandy sinks into a recliner with Jake on her lap. The dog, excited from four sudden possible new attention sources, looks from Sandy and Jake to me to Charlotte like he can’t decide. Then he hunkers down on his belly and rolls over, paws up in the air.

“How was the ride down?” Grandma Dixie asks. The TV is on, I notice, but there’s no sound. Charlotte sits down on the carpeted floor and gives Dumpling a vigorous scratching. I sit next to her.

“Not bad. A little slow on sixty. Charlie, did you introduce Grandma to Shane?”

“No. Sorry. Gram, this is Shane.”

“Hi.” I’m blushing, probably eight shades of red.

“Well hi, sweetheart. Welcome.”

“Thanks.” Still blushing. Not good. Dumpling, however, is pretty comfy, he’s just wriggling from side to side on his back. “Tits up,” my uncle Bill used to say. It made me giggle. His dog was nothing like this. His paws are enormous.

“Shane, how’re you feeling?” Sandy asks.

I study the nap of the carpet, moving little twisted pieces back and forth with my thumb. “So-so.”

Next time I feel ill, I’m not saying a word, I promise. Not unless I’ve lost a limb or I’m bleeding from the ears or something.

Later we’re out in the small yard, which is a terrace hemmed in with big pieces of wood that keep the yard from rolling all the way down to the lake. And I guess the grass helps with that. In sixth grade science we learned about plants and erosion, which is bad.

I try to imagine all the dirt that is up here, supporting Grandma Dixie’s green lawn, down there in the lake basin. It would be awfully muddy, which I guess would be bad. I wonder, if I tumbled over the edge marked by the wood, would I be able to roll all the way down until I splashed into the water? Probably not. A silvery-white boat glimmers on the lake surface.

Behind me Charlotte is chasing Jakey around the yard, and Dumpling is chasing them both. I hope they tire Jake out so that he won’t kick me on the way home. But maybe we’ll stay the night. Grandma Dixie cuts across the yard, now wearing jeans and a sweatshirt. She goes into the big shed in the corner of the yard. Sandy follows her. I know that Grandma Dixie must be Sandy’s mother, because she called her mom, but they don’t really look alike.

Sandy comes out with an armful of orange life preservers. “C’mon guys,” she calls out. I watch as Charlotte takes the smallest one to put on Jake. She buckles it around his chest, and smiles at him. How did I wind up with such a flawlessly nice family? Charlotte looks just like Sandy, but Sandy looks nothing like Grandma Dixie.

I look nothing like either one of them. I stand there and think about it, apparently for a second too long, because Sandy looks up at me. “Shane.” She hands me the life jacket, which feels strange and puffy. I wonder why they have one that fits me. Maybe Charlotte has lots of cousins, and they all come up here and go out on the boat together. The thought makes me lonely.

Grandma Dixie leads us across several yards to a walkway. I thought it was just grass from far away but now I realize it’s a pathway, not cut through anybody’s yard. No man’s land. Mr. Shostack said that a lot in fifth grade. He really seemed to like the idea.

From over Charlotte’s shoulder I see what I missed before: the path rims the entire top row of houses, and in the middle is a narrow stairway built into the hillside. The stairway is made out of the same big dark wood pieces as the yard. We have to walk down double or single file. The steps are big for Jakey, and he reaches out to grab my hand without looking. Just assuming that someone will be there. When I was his age, would I have done the same?

I take his doughy little palm in mine, and feel a strange surge of niceness. I’m having more feelings today than usual. Maybe it’s because I didn’t sleep well.

The stairway leads down to a relatively flat grassed area, I can hear a slap slap slap noise of water hitting the fat bellies of boats tied up on a dock. I step from the gravel shore to the wood and my stomach gives a sickening surge when it moves under me, just barely. I realize the wood is floating on something, not anchored to the bottom of the lake. That doesn’t seem like a very good idea to me.

There are three rows of boats tied along wooden lanes. Is that how many houses there are on this side of Canyon Lake? I notice a faded road that stretches as far as I can see, around the curved side of the lake. Sandy, Jake and Grandma Dixie are moving up the third row. I try to guess which boat is theirs. I’m wrong by two.

Jakey hangs back when we get close to the boat. He’s afraid. Should he be? Before I can say anything, Charlotte lifts him up. “You ride with Mommy. I’m sitting next to Shane.”

I feel strangely chosen, though maybe I shouldn’t. Maybe he kicks her too. Jake frets and fusses the way only a very little child can, and Sandy holds him on her lap. I’ve never been on a boat before. Apparently Dumpling has. He jumps in the second Grandma Dixie slips behind the driver’s seat, furry and unafraid. Charlotte gingerly climbs into the back seat. My heart lurches as I see the boat move. Sandy is holding the side of the dock, where the boat is roped. This isn’t much comfort.

“Shane, you ever been in a boat before?” Grandma Dixie asks.

“Yeah, once,” I lie, and take a deep breath. I sink into the seat next to Charlotte and the boat only moves a little bit.

“Okay, Charlie, gives us a little push.”

Charlotte reaches past me. The rope is knotted in a figure eight around a metal fixture on the dock. “You forgot to untie us in back.”

I lean back out of the way so she can undo the rope. She is stretched across me. We’re both wearing shorts and I can feel her leg against mine. I can smell her shampoo, which has become almost familiar. On her neck I see a tiny mole, just a dot. I lean back uncomfortably, heart pounding from the contact.

Finally the rope comes loose and Charlotte pushes us away from the dock and moves to her own seat. “Sorry,” she says to me with a grin.

Why is she so sweet?

A small burbling noise begins behind me and I realize it’s the motor. I also realize that we’re moving forward very slowly. Dumpling changes his footing so that he’s sitting between Charlotte and me. He’s so furry that his fur touches her left leg, and my right leg. When Grandma Dixie turns out of the docks and speeds up, he leans more toward me. He’s half sitting on my foot. I get that same sweetish feeling I got when Jakey held my hand. Weird.

Sandy says something to Grandma Dixie that I can’t hear, and they smile at each other. We speed up, and I feel the first fine mist of water on my face. The speed makes the front of the boat come up, like we’re in a rocket ship. Out of the corner of my eye, I feel Charlotte watching me. She smiles when I turn to look, a smile that makes everything fade away.

We zip up the center of the lake, so fast our hair trails out behind us. There are no other boats, just a set of waves. “Look,” Charlotte says, excited, and then we are flying. The boat leaps over the waves, one after the other after the other.

.

We’re halfway back to the docks, maybe, when I realize that there’s a strange wetness in my shorts. Did I pee myself while getting in the boat? I wasn’t that scared.

It hits me then, and my ears ring, and my face goes hot with embarrassment. My strange moods, the ache high in my belly. I’m stranded out here on this boat with these people, too stupid to realize that I was getting my first period.

Shit.

Okay, think. It may not have soaked through my shorts. The first thing I need to do is cover up. I’m wearing a hoodie sweatshirt over my tee shirt. I’ll put that around my waist right before I stand up. But that’s under the life jacket. Damn. I’ll have to get the life jacket off quickly, then casually wrap the hoodie around my waist. I’ll pretend that I’m hot. Then I’ll make a dash for the bathroom.

We drive around a little more, past the beach and then back toward the marina. I unsnap the life jacket the minute I see the docks. Charlotte isn’t looking. Nobody is looking.

It seems to take forever for Grandma Dixie to back the damn boat against the dock. I’m grateful that Charlotte doesn’t have to lean over top of me to do that.

I manage to get my life jacket off and my hoodie in place over my ass. Sandy and Dixie get out first with the dog. I dread crawling out past Charlotte, and as soon as I’m on the deck, I stand there, offering her a hand so she can get out. She grins at me. I don’t know why.

I need to make sure everyone else goes up the stairs before me. I make a big show out of tying my shoe.

“Shane, are you okay?” Sandy asks.

“I’m fine, just need to tie my shoe,” I lie. She finally starts walking up the stairs and then I follow.

Once we’re in the house, I run for the basement bathroom because it’s the most out of the way. My heart is pounding as I take off the sweatshirt and let it fall to the tile. I strip off my shorts and find that the crotch of my underwear is soaked through. The blood is dark and brown. It doesn’t look like I thought it would. My shorts are spotted in two places but I have no choice but to put them on.

I check every cabinet and drawer in that little bathroom but all I find is little soaps and extra washcloths.

I soak my underwear in the sink and clean up as best as I can with toilet paper. I can hear feet overhead. Maybe if I can get to Sandy’s purse. Or I could ask Charlotte. But if they don’t have anything they’ll have to make a trip to the store. Just for me. That I can’t deal with.

“Shit,” I hiss. The water in the sink is flowing over the blood. Now I’ll have to put my bloody shorts back on without underwear. I don’t know if I thought this through very well.

I soap up the underwear in the sink and rub them as hard as I can, and most of the blood washes out. They’re too wet though, I still can’t put them on. Shit, shit shit. I need to get to Sandy’s purse. It’s my only choice.

I turn off the water, then wring out my underwear. It’s quieter upstairs. Maybe they’ve all moved to the back of the house.

I hide the underwear in a dark corner of the under-the-sink cabinet, then flush the toilet once to make it sound good. I open the bathroom door and I stand there, quietly. The downstairs hall is empty. Everyone must be upstairs. I don’t want to do t his. But I also don’t want to tell anyone what’s going on. I can hear Sandy upstairs, and Jake, and Grandma Dixie. I creep all the way upstairs, and then step into the kitchen. It’s empty.

I see Sandy’s bag on the kitchen table. Now. I move quickly and quietly as I can. It’s a big bag, even though Jakey is too old for a diaper bag she’s got a big bag full of stuffed animals and cracker baggies and stuff.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Charlotte is standing there, looking shocked.

She looks so beautiful, is all I can think. It’s a weird thought, but so true.

“I...” My tongue feels like it’s encased in molasses. “I need... I was looking for some pads or tampax or something. I got my period.”

She just stands there, looking so upset, not saying a thing. She looks at my hands on the bag, which I promptly drop.

“Look, I would never, ever ever steal from you.”

She’s still quiet. She glances toward the back of the house. For a second I think she’s gonna yell for Sandy, but she doesn’t. She doesn’t do anything.

“Why should I believe you?”

Tears rise to my eyes and I blink them back. Absolutely fucking unacceptable.

“I’m telling the truth.”

“Why didn’t you just bring some pads?”

“Cause I don’t have any! And this is my first time!”

She looks warily at me. Finally she reaches for the bag. Oh shit.

Instead of taking it away, she reaches for a little toiletry kit and pulls out a little plastic envelope. She hands it to me. I can see in her eyes that she doesn’t believe me.

“Thanks.”

I swipe the plastic from her hand and run to the downstairs bathroom.

That evening we go out to eat at a restaurant. I don’t speak a word to Charlotte, I only speak when someone else speaks to me. Sandy gets halfway lit on wine and doesn’t think to ask why.

When we get back we watch a movie. Some silly kiddie movie. Jakey and Charlotte are on a blanket in the middle of the room. I’m up on the couch. I want to curl up into a ball and die.

I feel something on me. I look up. Dumpling. His doggy tags make a tinkling metal sound. He scoots up next to me and lies down. I put my arm around him. My fingers get lost in his fur. I don’t think I’ve cuddled with any living creature in nearly eight years.

After the movie I pretend that I’m asleep. Everyone gets up and Dixie calls Dumpling for one last walk. He gets up, the traitor. Damn dog.

Down the hall, I hear Sandy getting Jake ready for bed, a toilet flushing, and Dumpling’s dog tags. I keep playing dead. I was supposed to share a bed with Charlotte in Dixie’s spare room, and I can’t bear that. I’d much rather stay here on the couch all night. I might even be able to sleep.

I think that I just may have pulled it off, when I hear quiet footsteps. Shit.

“Shane?” It’s Charlotte.

“Hmm?”

“You can’t sleep out here.”

“Oh.”

“You’re sharing with me.”

“Okay.” Fucking fantabulous.

I take as long as possible brushing my teeth. I put on that stupid nightgown. Then finally I walk into Dixie’s spare bedroom. There’s a night light in the room. Charlotte is already in the bed. I climb in behind her, staying as far over on my side as I can. The bedspread is chenille. The sheets smell like they aren’t used very often.

My heart is pounding and I pray she says something but she’s quiet. I try to settle in as far away from her as I can.

I lay there. It seems like forever. I can’t tell if she’s falling asleep or not.

Then she’s moving, rolling over toward me. I quickly close my eyes.

“Shane?”

“Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you just say something? Getting your period isn’t a big deal.”

“I dunno. I just... I guess I was embarrassed.”

“Why? There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Periods are natural, right?”

“Yeah.” I’m so uncomfortable and I wonder if there’s any excuse for me to leave this bed. “It’s not that. I just... I didn’t want anyone to know. Not today.”

“So you just felt self-conscious.”

“Yeah. And I felt stupid, that I didn’t figure it out earlier.”

“Don’t feel stupid. I got my first one during a swim meet.”

“I just - I really didn’t want you to think I was a thief. I hate people who steal and I would never do that.”

“I’m sorry I accused you.”

“It’s okay.”

And it is. I pray she’ll just shut up and let it go. At this rate I won’t get any sleep tonight.

It's quiet for so long that my mind starts to wander. Then she speaks without a prelude. "I'm really glad you're staying with us."

"Me too," I say.

It's a long time, after her breathing has deepened and fallen into sleep, before I realize that I'm telling the truth.