Chapter Ten: September
When she came down to the kitchen the following morning, it was her mother who told Laurie that her father had gone away. Ten years ago, Laurie would've been hurt that her father hadn't kissed her goodbye, but years of his unpredictable leaves have conditioned Laurie from feeling disappointment. Too much of it, at least.
In his absence, Laurie often found herself in her father's study, sitting at his polished redwood desk. She had first sat there when her toes could barely touch the ground. Now she sits there, bare feet planted firmly, her arms folded, a cushion for her head.
The dying sun imparts the last of its warmth onto her back when her mother marches into the room, awakening Laurie.
"Wake up, young lady."
Laurie lifts her head and rubs her eyes.
"Yeah?" she mumbles.
Her vision sharpens on the garment her mother drapes over the desk.
Her mother smoothes the front of a peach colored dress, pats down the decorative lace of its sleeves, as she scolds Laurie.
"You didn't tell me homecoming was this Friday."
Laurie can't fathom the sigh which brims her mother's curt tone. What had she done now? Which one of her friends had she bullied that information out of?
"I don't see why. I wasn't planning on going."
Her mother becomes cross and her hands linger on the dress. "Well, why not?"
"I—…"
Laurie's words stall in her throat as a swell of emotion threatens to rise in her chest. Things had never been the same when her father began to be called away from home more frequently. Certainly, no one could blame him who works to sustain his family. That, Laurie could understand. But, her mother seemed drained of her happiness for every day he was gone. And those days put the greatest strain on Laurie's relationship with her.
And it's for this reason, Laurie had never felt comfortable enough to tell her about Ben Tramer. How she had loved him since she was in eighth grade. How she had wanted him to ask her to the homecoming dance. How it would always be him and only his arm she'd let guide her through the gymnasium in her evening dress.
So, Laurie responds and says, "There's no one who could take me."
An answer more true to Laurie than her mother could ever understand.
But, her mother laughs, a tad sarcastically (or maybe Laurie was imagining it) and says, "Oh, don't be silly—"
Laurie visibly stiffens.
Her mother continues without pause. " — You would waste this opportunity to wear this beautiful dress I've kept for you? Laurie, how could you do this to your mother? Is this how I raised you?"
Laurie is obligated to feel guilty, even if such guilt doesn't come easy to her after her mother's rebuke.
"I'm sorry, mama." Laurie stares at her arms, folded atop the table. "I'll go."
Because she'll do anything for her mother.
If it means Laurie gets her to smile.
And smile her mother does, and the happiness sheds back many years from the woman's face. Many years flavored with a lie that both Laurie and her mother tell themselves when Mr. Myers is away.
It's for his work, they both say.
A lie her mother convinces herself to be true when she is trying to clean off the smear of lipstick on one of his favorite collared shirts.
"That's my girl."
Laurie watches her mother take the dress away and as she leaves the room suggests,
"Perhaps, your brother can drive you since you can't."
"Drive?"
Her mother stops in the doorway and looks over her shoulder.
"Yes. Your brother knows how to drive Laurie. Dr. Wynn gave him driving lessons for good behavior."