The Night Always Comes Read online

  “I wasn’t trying to be mean to you back then,” said Lynette. “I was just mad and scared. There’s a difference. I know it doesn’t seem like a difference, but I wasn’t trying to be mean. That’s not why I left when I did. I had to and you know why.”

  Her mother got up off the couch, walked to the kitchen, and unlocked the fridge. She took out a quart of chocolate milk and poured herself a glass. She came back to the couch, sat down, and lit another cigarette even though one was still burning in the ashtray. “I didn’t know why you ran away and you can’t say I did. So I’m not going to feel guilty about that. I’m not. I didn’t know because you didn’t tell me. All I did was come home one night and you were gone and I thought I was gonna die. I couldn’t sleep for months. I had constant diarrhea. I used to throw up at work. It was the worst time in my entire life. Worse than finding out about Kenny, worse than your father abandoning us. Worse than finding you bloody in bed after you came home and tried to kill yourself. Because it was the first time, and first times always hurt the worst.

  “What you don’t remember is how relieved I was when you came home. Just so grateful. Jesus, you have no idea. I thought, it’s all over. She’s safe now. Little did I know that it was just the start of the hard times. Just the beginning. Because you came home a different person. You weren’t my Lynette anymore. You were just a shell who was underweight, who had hives covering half of her back, who wouldn’t eat, who wouldn’t go to school, who wouldn’t take care of herself.”

  She paused and took a drink of the chocolate milk. “What you don’t understand is that I’ve always been scraping by. Always. Your father never paid his full child support and you don’t know how many times I called him begging for money. I begged him when I knew he cheated on me. I begged him even though after the doctor said Kenny would never be right, he quit touching me. I was five months pregnant with you. He just quits touching me, quits kissing me, quits hugging me or being nice. Think how that makes me feel. And then he just leaves. You’re four months old and I take you guys to Yakima to show you off to my aunt and uncle and when we come back all his things are gone. Even the TV and the microwave. A new mother and he takes the microwave. My fucking god. . . . But even so, even though I hate him more than anyone in this world, I call him up and beg and beg and beg and I get the only job I know, waitressing. I put one foot in front of the other. And let me tell you it’s hard to do.”

  Lynette again rubbed her face with her hands and thought of her mom’s old boyfriend. Randy in his boxers showing himself. Randy whispering to her. Randy taking her can of soda and drinking from it. Randy and her mom having sex. Randy asking the next morning if she’d heard it. Randy wanting to take her shopping or to the movies by herself. Randy walking into the bathroom before she put the lock on it so he couldn’t get in.

  “I know you’ve had it rough,” she said. “But I didn’t leave to be mean and you know it. I left because of him. Because your boyfriend broke the bathroom door down when I was in the tub and started grabbing for me. . . . I still almost throw up just thinking about it. If it wasn’t for Kenny having a seizure, who knows what would have happened.”

  “But I didn’t know that!” cried her mother. “Goddamn it, I didn’t know. I mean, I lived with him for eight more months without knowing any of it. And I didn’t know because you didn’t tell me. You can’t say it was my fault if I didn’t have any idea.”

  “I didn’t tell you because I thought you liked him more than me. I thought if I told you, you’d kick me out. So I left ’cause I didn’t want to be around him and I didn’t want you to make me leave. I didn’t want to hear you say you didn’t want me.”

  “Jesus,” cried her mother. “Am I a monster? Is that what you really think of me? That I would do something like that? Push my own daughter out on the streets? I could have killed him once I found out. I really could have. And the son of a bitch didn’t even deny it. He said he was in love with you. It made me so goddamn sick. It really did. It made me sick to the core. . . . And this will sound horrible, will make me sound horrible, but part of me was jealous, too. It hurt me that way because I was already getting fat and I knew he was getting tired of me. But let me tell you something, I was as good-looking as you are, I was, back before I had kids. Back before everything went wrong . . . When I was your age, men stared at me all day long. Even in the grocery store, they couldn’t keep their eyes off me. When I was a waitress, they were all after me, all of them. For a lot of years I could have had any man I wanted. But . . . Regardless of how much I hated Randy for what he did, it was awful when he left. But not for the reasons you’re thinking. I’m not a romantic. It had nothing to do with that. He was just the first man since your father who I liked who’d actually put up with Kenny. Who genuinely liked Kenny. I mean that in itself was something. And he paid two-thirds of the rent, took me out to dinner at least once a week, he bought us a lawnmower, and paid for cable and groceries. He fixed the washing machine and gave me the Saturn. He bought us a dishwasher and installed it. Those things, they might seem stupid, but Jesus, they really helped.”

  She took another drink of the chocolate milk. “But it turns out all men are assholes. That’s another thing I’ve learned in this life. Every single one of them except maybe my father. But I think now my father was just different. He was just better than the rest of them. And Kenny, of course. But he doesn’t really count, does he?”

  She leaned over to the coffee table, took another cigarette from the pack, and lit it. “Kenny . . . You’ve said before that you think I’ve given up on him, given up on everything. Well, I’ve thought a lot about that and maybe I have, maybe that’s true, but if I have it started when you ran away and then came home wrecked. That first time broke me, you’ll never have any idea how much, and I will say this, the second time after Jack left you, that time finished me off. That time was so awful. You know I used to tremble just going down the stairs? Did you know that? I’d say to myself, ‘If she’s not dead, she’s gonna yell at you. She’s either gonna be laying there dead or she’s gonna scream at you.’ Jesus, you could be mean.”

  “I know I could,” Lynette said, hardly loud enough to hear. “What do you want me to say? How many times do I have to apologize?”

  “Apologies don’t mean anything, don’t you see? Because you’ve left scars and those scars don’t just disappear because you haven’t shown that side in a while. Just because you’ve gone to therapy and read books and tried to be different doesn’t mean you really are. Because I know it’s still in there. I can feel it. You don’t think it is, but it is. Look at my hands, they’re shaking.” She put out her hands.

  “I know it’s still there,” whispered Lynette. “Don’t you think I know that? But it doesn’t come out now. It hasn’t for a long time and it won’t anymore. That’s what you don’t understand. I’m getting better and I’m trying to make up for what I’ve done. That’s why I’m trying to get us the house.”

  Her mother held the cigarette in her lips and ran her hands through her hair. “You know after you came home the first time you never left the basement when I was home. Never. Like what had happened to you was my fault. Do you remember us fighting so I could wash your sheets? I had to beg you just to stand up.”

  “Please stop talking about this stuff,” begged Lynette.

  “The only light in all that gloom was when you’d eat waffles with Kenny. I’d make them and you two would eat them and then I’d run down and wash your bedding and your underwear and pajamas and when I did I could hear you talking to him. You wouldn’t talk to me, not a goddamn word, but you’d talk to him. . . . You think I’m a bad mother, but just seeing your pile of dirty underwear on the floor made me so happy. Because a girl who changes her underwear must want to live. She must at least want to live a little bit. That’s what kept me going. Sometimes I’d sit by the air return vent just to hear your voice. To hear you talk to Kenny. It was like Christmas to hear it. She’ll make it, I said to myself, but then when I
’d go back to the kitchen, I’d try to join in, and you’d fall silent. Like you were punishing me when I was trying so hard to help. You don’t know how difficult it was to fight every day, to get up and try to help your daughter when you know your daughter hates you. Despises you. . . . And then . . . and then right when I think you’re getting better, you try to kill yourself.”

  “Why are you doing this?” Tears leaked down Lynette’s face and she wanted to collapse to the floor.

  Her mother took a drag from her cigarette and again looked at the TV. “All I know is when I got home from work and saw you in your bed like that, with all that blood, I went into shock. Maybe I’ve never come out of that shock, I don’t know. . . . If I was smart I would have just put you in the car and driven you to the hospital myself. But I was so scared I could barely think. . . . And then of course Kenny was having a fit ’cause I was having a fit. So I called 9-1-1. The whole thing cost me three thousand dollars ’cause of Fred Meyer’s shitty insurance. A five-minute ride for three grand. Do you know how long it took me to pay that off? Four years. Four years to pay off three thousand dollars. Talk about not wanting to get out of bed. Do you know what I could have done with that money? I could have taken us on vacation. Can you imagine us on vacation? Can you see us going to Hawaii or even to Astoria for a weekend? With that money I could have bought new clothes instead of always going through the bins. You know that since Kenny I’ve only bought new underwear and new socks. For thirty-two years everything I’ve worn has been somebody else’s hand-me-downs. That might not seem like much to you, but it’s something to me. It’s something that just grates, that chips away at your confidence, at your belief in yourself.”

  Her mother got up again, poured herself another glass of chocolate milk, and then came back to the couch. “I’ll never forget Child Services coming here. Sitting me down and asking me if I beat you. If I’m a drug addict. If I’m an alcoholic. If you’ve been molested and why was it so cold in our house? And why were you in the basement? And had it been tested for radon? I didn’t even know what radon was. They looked in our fridge and cupboards to see what kind of food we had. They checked to see if we had hot water. I mean, who the fuck do they think they are? And the whole time they’re talking. Why this and why that. Like it was all my fault. Like everything in the world was my fault, not your father’s for abandoning us. Not his fault that he only paid a third of his child support payments. Not his fault that he doesn’t acknowledge Kenny as his son. And he never came to any of your school events. Not even softball and you were so good at that. I mean, my god. Did he visit you in the hospital?”

  “No,” Lynette muttered. “But you gotta stop. You’re just trying to hurt me and it’s working. Don’t you think I hate myself enough? How many times have I said I’m sorry? For a third of my life I’ve apologized.”

  Her mother took a pull from the cigarette, then put it out. She coughed and looked at the TV. “Child Services wanted you held for psychiatric evaluation. So I asked them, If you take her somewhere, is it like One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest? Is it that bad? Will you give her shock therapy, will you give her a lobotomy? Please be honest and tell me if it’s that bad because I don’t know anything about this sort of thing. Well . . . They told me it wasn’t. They swore on their lives they wouldn’t do those things to you. But how did I know if I could trust them? And I had no one to talk to about it. No one. . . . But in the end I signed the papers and I signed them because I couldn’t get that image out of my mind. You in bed with all that blood all over you, holding that box cutter. That’s what did it. That’s what made me sign the papers.”

  “I needed help,” she whispered. “And you helped me. That’s why I’m trying so hard now. Don’t you see? To make up for everything I’ve done. To make things right. I haven’t lost my temper in this house in over five years. I haven’t thrown anything or lost control. I’m not saying I’ve been great but I’m not like I was. I’ve been working two jobs. I’ve done a lot of good things. I’ve gotten us a decent washer and dryer. I got us a new water heater. We always have enough of everything and I’m more than pulling my weight with Kenny. I’m contributing and you know I am. So please, I’m begging you with everything I have, just stop bringing up the past. Stop punishing me. You can’t change it, I can’t change it. But we can have a good future. We can buy this house. That’s something that’ll change our lives. It will give us confidence. Mr. Claremont is giving us our first real break. And I promise I’ll stay and help. I will. But . . . but you have to stop picking on me and you have to take back the car.”

  “I’m too tired,” her mother said and finished the chocolate milk and lay back down on the couch. “I’m too tired to talk about this anymore.”

  “I know. . . . But we have to figure it out. We have to take the car back.”

  “I don’t want to go back to the dealership,” her mother said. “They’ll think I’m an idiot. Just another dumb old fat lady who wanted to be a big shot and couldn’t handle it.”

  “Then I’ll go with you,” said Lynette. “I’ll do all the talking. They’ll understand. These things probably happen all the time.”

  Her mother shook her head and covered herself with the electric blanket. “I’m all talked out.” She grabbed the remote control and turned up the sound on the TV.

  In the basement Lynette’s hands shook so badly that she could barely get undressed. She put her work clothes in a hamper by the dresser and stood naked and tried to breathe. She fell on the bed and stayed there for five minutes and then sat up, wiped the tears from her face, wrapped a towel around herself, and walked back upstairs. In the bathroom she stood under the shower, exhausted, for ten minutes, then got out, dried her hair, did her makeup, and walked back to the living room with a towel around her. She sat in the same chair near the front door. “Are you asleep?” she asked.

  “No,” said her mother.

  “I’m begging you. Please take the car back. I’ll get you a new car. I promise. And I’ll go with you and explain everything. You won’t have to say a word. They’ll understand. It’s only been a few hours. But . . . but if you won’t, if you really have to have it, then I just thought of something else. Maybe you can still get a loan for a hundred and sixty thousand. The amount less the car. I don’t know what the bank thinks about things like that. Or maybe I can get a loan for forty thousand. You’d think, even with my bad credit, they’d give me that much. I hadn’t thought of that before, but maybe it could work. We could ask the bank. There’s always a way. The more I think about it, the more I don’t think we’re totally sunk. I just wasn’t looking at it clearly. I just got upset. What do you think?”

  Her mother didn’t say anything.

  “Did you hear me?”

  Her mother pulled the leopard-print electric blanket to just under her neck. “I can’t,” she whispered.

  “You can’t what?”

  “I can’t live here the rest of my life.”

  “Well, then, what are we gonna do? Where are we gonna go?”

  Her mother paused for a time and then said in a shaky voice, “Maybe you should just do whatever you want.”

  “Whatever I want? For three years I’ve been trying to get the down payment for this house and now in just one day you buy a car and change your mind?”

  Her mother stared at the TV and said, “Maybe . . . maybe you should just live on your own.”

  “On my own?” said Lynette.

  “Yes.”

  “Really?” cried Lynette.

  Her mother nodded.

  Lynette went back to the chair and sat down. She put her hands over her face and sobbed. “If I do go,” she said, “then I’m taking Kenny. You haven’t given a shit about him in a long time. And we’ll leave and we’ll never come back.”

  “Well, then, you can have him” was all her mother said.

  5

  Lynette dressed for her shift at the bar, put a set of clothes together for afterward, and left the house. It was t
hree twenty p.m. and she was crying as she walked to her car. The day was already fading, the rain continued, and her car started on the sixth try. It was five miles to the restaurant and cocktail lounge where the sign on the roof read THE DUTCHMAN’S ROOM in red-and-white neon. Connected to the bar was a restaurant with windows that looked out onto the street. A handful of old people sat inside eating. The bar itself was to the left of the restaurant and had no windows, only red front and side doors and above each of them a white neon sign read GOOD TIMES AWAIT. Inside was a classic lounge with a gas fireplace, red vinyl booths that lined the walls, and a dozen small wooden tables in the center. There were pictures and mementos from the Netherlands. Windmills were on the napkins, the salt and pepper shakers, and engraved in gold on the glass mirror behind the bar.

  In the break room Lynette put her coat and purse in her employee locker and sat for five minutes in a plastic chair next to a card table and closed her eyes. Then she got up and went through a service door to the bar, where a sixty-eight-year-old woman stood making drinks.

  “Hey, Shirley,” she said.

  The old bartender looked at her red eyes and swollen face. “You been crying all day, huh?”

  Lynette shrugged.

  “We’ll talk about it when it slows down,” Shirley said and squeezed Lynette’s arm. The old woman had dyed red hair and red lipstick and wore black polyester stretch pants, a sparkly gold top, and thick black orthopedic shoes. Her glasses were bifocal, and she had three gold rings on each hand and a black-and-gold choker around her neck.

  Four construction workers came toward the bar, Lynette took their orders, and her shift began as the Dutchman grew crowded with after-work drinkers. The two women worked side by side nonstop until happy hour ended three hours later. Shirley clocked out and told Lynette to call her when she got off, and Lynette worked the bar alone.