Outside the Lines: A Novel

I rode home in the front seat of a police car. My father hadn’t looked at me from the backseat of the other car, even after I screamed over and over how sorry I was. I didn’t want to get him in trouble, I only wanted to go back home. I never should have followed him out of the house or gotten into the car. I should have woken up my mother and told her he was running away. But it was too late to change it. No matter how much I wanted to, I couldn’t take it back.

“Has your dad done anything like this before?” the policewoman who was driving me home asked. officer phillips, her name tag read. “Taken you?”

“He didn’t take me,” I said. My forehead was pressed against the passenger-side window and as I spoke, my breath fogged up the glass. I used my index finger to draw a smiley face in the condensation and then immediately wiped it away.

“He didn’t?”

I turned to look at her. “No. He told me he was leaving and I went with him.”

“But then you got scared and asked the waitress to call your mom, right?”

“Right.” I wondered what my mom would do when she saw me. What she might do to my dad for letting me go with him. “Is my dad going to jail?”

“For a little while, yes. He had alcohol on his breath and he hit the other policeman.”

“Will he get in trouble for letting me go with him when he left?”

Officer Phillips glanced over at me and smiled before turning her eyes back to the road in front of us. “I don’t know, honey. That depends on what your mom decides to do.”

“Well, it’s not his fault. He asked if I wanted to go and I said yes. It’s not like he did anything wrong. It was me.” I wanted to make sure that point was clear.

“The problem is, in the eyes of the law, you’re not old enough to make that kind of decision for yourself.”

“That’s dumb.”

She laughed and flipped on the turn signal to change lanes. “Maybe, but it’s the law. Grown-ups are supposed to make better decisions than the kind your dad made last night. And this morning.”

“But it was me who decided to go with him. So I should be in trouble, not him.”

“Eden, you can argue with me about this all you want, but your dad is the one who let you leave with him in the middle of the night without telling your mom he was going or that he was taking you with him. And you were scared enough to tell that waitress to call your mom. So you know that something wasn’t right about what your dad did, right?”

“Well, maybe not how he did it.”

“I understand you want to protect your father, but it’s kind of past that point now. He’s going to be in trouble for drinking and driving and for hitting Officer Peterson. I’m sorry, sweetie, but that’s just the way it is.”

“Can we listen to the radio?” I asked, turning to look out the window again. I didn’t want to talk about my dad anymore. It was making my stomach hurt.

“Sure,” she said, and reached over to push the button. “Anything in particular?”

“I don’t care.”

We didn’t speak for the rest of the ride back to my house. When we finally got there, Officer Phillips asked me to stay in the car while she went inside and talked to my mom for a few minutes. I was tempted to argue, wishing I could be the first one to explain what had happened to my mom, but I was pretty sure picking a fight with a police officer wouldn’t get me anywhere but in more trouble. I made sure to stay sunk down in my seat, hopeful the neighbors wouldn’t see it was me being brought home by the police. After about ten minutes, my mom came racing down the front steps and I jumped out of the car. She wore black stretch pants and a too-tight red T-shirt, and her blond hair was matted. She grabbed me and squeezed me hard.

“Oh god, Eden! I was so worried!” She pulled back and pressed her palms against the sides of my head, searching my face with her eyes. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

“No, Mom! He would never hurt me. I just wanted to come home. I knew you’d be worried.”

She hugged me close again and I breathed in the warm, slightly yeasty scent she always had when she didn’t shower every day. I tried to make myself believe she wouldn’t be this happy to see me if she never wanted me. She wouldn’t have cared that I left with my dad. She would have been happy to see me go.

“Let’s go inside,” she said into my hair, and then looked over to Officer Phillips. “Thank you so much for bringing her home.”

“It was my pleasure. Bye, Eden.” She waved at me.

“Bye,” I said.

Once inside, my mother and I sat down in the living room on the couch. I thought about what my father had said and didn’t know whether or not I could ask her if it was true. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to hear her answer.

“What happened, baby?” she asked. She took my hands in hers and held them tight. The skin around her eyes crinkled as she peered at me, waiting for a response.

I shrugged. I didn’t want her to be any more mad at my father than she already was but I didn’t want to lie, either. “Dad came into my room last night after you fell asleep and he told me he was leaving. He said it was his medicine that made him throw the table last night and he was going away to sell his paintings up and down the coast and make us a lot of money so you didn’t have to work anymore.”

“You know that’s not true, baby, right? That it was the medicine that made him do that? I don’t think he has been taking it.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“And then what?” my mother asked, prompting me. “Why did you go with him?”

I shrugged. “I dunno.”

“Come on, Eden.” She dropped her chin toward her chest. “That’s not good enough and you know it. Tell me.”

I sighed. “I guess because I was afraid if I didn’t, I’d never see him again. And also because I didn’t think he could take care of himself. He needed me.”

“Oh, Eden.” My mother’s hand curled into a fist and she pressed it against her mouth.

“I was worried that he’d hurt himself and I thought if I was with him, he wouldn’t. But then we stopped for breakfast and he was acting kind of weird and went into the bathroom and didn’t come out for a long time. I knew you’d be worried about me and so I asked the waitress to call you and let you know I was okay.” I looked at her. “So I guess it was you who called the police? Because Daddy thinks it was me.”

She dropped her hand back to her lap, where she folded her fingers together as though in prayer. “Yes, I did. The woman at the restaurant said you were okay but that you seemed scared, and I figured the quickest way I could get you back was to get the police involved.” She paused. “Did your dad do anything to you, honey? That made you afraid?”

“Not really,” I said, picking at a loose thread on my jeans. “He was kind of nervous and didn’t really look me in the eye very much. And when he went into the bathroom and didn’t come back for such a long time, I thought maybe he’d changed his mind and left me there alone.” My eyes filled. “He yelled. A lot. And he hit the policeman, Mom, when we got pulled over. He was kind of drunk.”

She leaned over and hugged me again. “I know, baby. The officer told me. It’s okay, though. You did the right thing.”

“You’re not mad at me?”

She leaned back and stared at me. “Why on earth would I be mad at you?”

“Because I went with him,” I said, keeping my voice quiet.

“Baby, none of this is your fault. Your dad is sick and needs help. It’s not the kind of help I know how to give. We’ve been trying and trying and nothing seems to work. He just gets worse.”

“What are you going to do?”

She sighed and took my hand. “I don’t know yet. Right now, at least, he’s safe. They’ll keep him in jail until his hearing for the drunk driving and assault charges. That gives me a month to figure things out. I’m very angry with him right now.”

“I went because I wanted to, Momma. But then I just changed my mind.”

“Okay, baby. I understand.” She let go of my hand and stood up from the couch. “Why don’t you go upstairs and take a shower? I’ll fix you something to eat.”

“Don’t you have to go to work?”

“I took the day off. There’s no way I could concentrate when I was so worried about you.” She smiled. “I’ll go back tomorrow. And you’ll go back to school. Today, we play hooky. We deserve it.”

As I went upstairs, I thought about my father sitting alone in a jail cell. I imagined a black-striped uniform and the people in charge making him shave his head. I pictured him standing in line waiting for horrible, maggot-ridden food. I wondered if he hated me, and the thought made my stomach ache. I had always kept my father’s secrets and now I was sure he’d never trust me again. I was the one who got him in trouble. Now he was gone and this time it wasn’t because my mother had sent him away. This time it was my fault. I had no one else to blame.