The Lifeguards(72)
I was sobbing now, murmuring words like please and help me. I used my phone’s flashlight to look around. At the very back of the cave wall, I saw a narrow line. I approached, and found a hinge.
It was a door.
-6-
Annette
ANNETTE CALLED INTO ROBERT’S bedroom and asked him to come with her to the 7-Eleven. “What?” he said.
“Ice,” said Annette. “We need some ice. And lottery tickets.” Her father had always bought Annette and her siblings lottery tickets when they went to the filling station, and Annette had carried on the tradition. None of them had ever won a cent.
Robert shrugged, and they set off in his truck. Annette drove. They did not say goodbye. “How are you?” she asked, when they had fastened their seatbelts.
Robert looked at his hands and shrugged.
Annette wanted to end this uncomfortable moment. But she forced herself to wait. Robert mumbled something. Annette put her hand on his shoulder. He spoke again. “There’s something wrong with me,” he said.
“No,” said Annette. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”
“Then why didn’t Lucy stop taking drugs?” said Robert. He turned to Annette. “She said she would stop. She promised. I told her I loved her. I thought that’s what I was supposed to do. I just feel like my brain is different, or something. I don’t know how to be normal. I’m trying, but it’s like I’m in a play, like I have to act all the time.”
“We can talk to a doctor about all of this,” said Annette. “Brains are different. Yours is perfect, but there’s no reason to feel so confused.”
He nodded. “Do you ever feel that way, Mom?” he said. “Like you’re pretending to be normal? Like you have to watch everyone all the time and copy them to fit in?”
“I feel that way all the time.” As Annette said it, she realized it was true.
“I thought I could make her stop taking pills,” said Robert. “But she took them anyway. It’s my fault.”
“It’s not your fault,” said Annette. She thought of her kind father, his hard work, his respect for others. And she wanted to be near him. In Laredo, Annette could relax. She could drop the false version of herself she’d been so carefully upholding. She could surround herself with people who built her up.
“Mom,” said Robert, as she breezed past the 7-Eleven, heading for the highway.
“Yes, amor?”
“Do you feel different now that you’re a citizen?”
Annette smiled. “No,” she said. “Actually, I’m just the same.”
“Where are we going?”
Annette didn’t answer, wasn’t sure how to answer. Where were they going? She said, “Laredo.”
“OK…” said Robert. “What, for the weekend?”
“Your grandmother will be so happy to see you,” said Annette, deflecting.
“What about Dad?” said Robert.
“And your uncles, too,” said Annette. “They love you so much, Roberto.”
“Roberto,” scoffed Robert, mocking her.
Annette felt tears in her eyes. His caustic, mean tone was the same as his father’s. Cutting, hurtful, ready to pretend it was “a joke” if you got upset. It was not abuse like a fist, but it hurt anyway, kept Annette in line.
“Yes, Roberto,” said Annette. Her voice was little more than a whisper. She was scared that her son, like her husband, would shame her. Instead, though, Robert grinned.
“OK,” he said. And then, as he’d always asked when they went to Laredo, he said, “Can we get paletas?”
“Of course,” said Annette. “Of course, little one.”
She hit the gas, passed car after car, and drove south, toward home.
-7-
Liza
“CHARLIE!” I CALLED. THERE was no answer. The door deep in the cave had no handle. Was it a door? Could it be?
I began to pound on the rock. Claustrophobia and panic made my blood hot. “Charlie!” I screamed. I heard a clicking and a bright light made me wince. A hand grabbed me. I reared back and pain shot through my wrist, my bones in a vise. I was yanked through what seemed to be a man-made entranceway.
I held my free hand to my eyes, momentarily blinded, adrenaline flooding my veins. As my vision cleared, I saw Whitney. Her fingernails dug painfully into my skin. The room was cool, clammy after the stultifying outdoor temperatures. I saw Charlie sitting at a desk. He was pale and looked terrified.
“Charlie?”
Whitney slammed the door. Her expression was furious. I looked around, taking in deep leather couches, sconces, and mahogany-inlaid walls. “Where are we?” I said. “What’s happening?” The room was lit by skylights and a window showing…the Eiffel Tower in Paris?
THE EIFFEL TOWER FROM DIFFERENT ANGLES—FOREVER!
I remembered Whitney describing the Parisian vista, laughing as I sipped a “mom marg” at the Packers’ pool in what felt like another world.
An aboveground world.
A real world, with real light.
I peered at what I’d thought were skylights and saw that their color was flat, the view blue with no variation or clouds. The hue was a bit off, too bright, without the yolky yellow tinge of Texas sky.