Before, After, and Somebody In Between Read online

  “So how do you think you will feel,” she asks slowly, “when the time comes for you to go home?”

  What is she talking about? I am home.

  That’s when I realize the truth for the first time.

  Yes, I love my mom, because she’s my mom, okay? Yes, I do want her to get better, and, yes, I want her to be happy. But even if that happens, I don’t want to leave the Brinkmans. Whether Momma gets better or not, whether she stays sober or not, I am so not leaving this house alive.

  Once again, Zelda zeros in on my exact thoughts. “Ma-artha …”

  “Gina,” I remind her through clenched teeth.

  “You remember this is temporary?” She watches me wind a strand of hair around my finger, examining it for split ends, and takes the hint. “Well, keep up the good work. I’ll see you in a couple weeks.”

  Well, at least she didn’t make me talk about Bubby. And now, thinking about Bubby makes me think about Rachel. I’ve been here two months, and except for Nikki that first day, and at Natalie’s party, not one single person has mentioned her name.

  I know she existed—there are hundreds of photos of her around, from baby pictures up to, well, almost my age, I guess. Dark hair like Mr. Brinkman’s, not blond like Nikki’s, but with the same arctic blue Brinkman eyes, same dimples, same dazzling red-carpet smile. I even peeked in her room once, but it didn’t tell me much. Most of her stuff is gone. It kind of made me sad in away.

  Do they feel about Rachel the way I feel about Bubby? Like, if I do think about him, it’s like picking open a scab. I start to remember little things, like that Labor Day barbecue, how Bubby smelled like barbecue sauce and sweet baby sweat, how he fell asleep in my arms…

  The memory threatens to choke me like a massive hairball. God! If thinking about Bubby can make me so suddenly depressed, what’ll happen if Zelda starts making me say this stuff out loud?

  Back home, I swallow one Percodan to ward off a migraine. Danny’s taking me out to dinner, and I want to enjoy myself and not be in pain. And I think I’ll ask him about Rachel, too. He never brings her up either, but maybe I can work her into the conversation. Too bad I didn’t think of this before.

  …

  The restaurant Danny picks is so incredibly fancy, I spend the first two courses gawking at the tuxes on the waiters, and wondering why nobody thought to stick the prices on the menu. By the third course, I make more of a point to pay attention to Danny and unfortunately don’t think of Rachel till it’s time for dessert.

  But when my cheesecake and coffee arrive, Danny sidetracks me with, “Hey, did you decide what you’re playing for your audition yet?”

  “Yes! Sleepers, Awake.”

  “Solo?”

  “Well, um, I could use an accompanist,” I hint, licking cream cheese and crumbs from my cold fork.

  “Me? Hey, I’d love to.”

  “Really?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Thank you, thank you! Oh, I just gotta get into that school!”

  “You will,” he promises. “It’s the best school around. That’s where I wanted to go, too, except my dad wouldn’t let me.”

  “How come?”

  Danny shrugs. “Well, it’s not exactly college prep, you know. My dad’s got this thing about me going to medical school. You know, take people’s gall bladders out for the rest of my life, like he does.”

  “But you’re going to Juilliard, right?”

  “Yeah, but—well, that wasn’t easy.” Face clouding over, he drops his voice, like he’s afraid the wrong person might be listening. “In case you haven’t heard, my dad’s got a drinking problem. He’s not the easiest guy to talk to. Um, Nat told me how he got blitzed at her party and made a real ass out of himself.”

  “He wasn’t so bad,” I fib. “A little loud, maybe.”

  “We don’t get along,” he says bluntly. “He can be a real jerk when he’s drinking, and my mom blows it all off. I mean, wait till he cuts into the wrong person one of these days and gets sued for malpractice. Maybe then she’ll start paying attention.”

  Okay, forget Rachel—now is my perfect chance to tell him about Momma! The perfect time to let him know he’s not alone, that I know exactly what he puts up with day in and day out. I can totally spill my guts and tell him everything, everything…

  But, very quickly, like he’s anxious to change the subject, he reaches into his pants pocket and holds out a tiny box. “Hey, happy Valentine’s Day.”

  Inside the box, I find a sparkly, floating heart on a delicate silver chain. “Oh, my God. It’s beautiful!” And the first real piece of jewelry I’ve ever owned. “Thank you,” I add in a whisper, touching the tiny heart.

  He takes it from me, and fastens it gently around my neck. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

  His folks are home for a change, but he sneaks me in anyway, and as we’re rolling around under the covers, I hear a distinct snap. “Oh, shit.” Yep, my glasses, busted beyond repair.

  Danny grins. “I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you swear.” I’m ready to die of embarrassment, but he laughs and kisses me hard as I stammer an apology. “Hey, why don’t you try contacts this time? Show off your eyes!”

  Thankfully, Mrs. Brinkman thinks this is a great idea, so the next day I get contacts, plus a trendy new pair of glasses. I stare dumbly at my reflection in every shiny surface, shocked at the sight of my own face without a hunk of plastic on my nose.

  I thank her over and over again, and say “Mrs. Brinkman” so many times, she finally laughs. “Oh, don’t be formal! You’re part of the family now. We don’t mind if you use our first names.” So now it’s Richard and Claudia, and see? I was right …

  I am part of this family. Claudia said so herself.

  37

  I hate to say it, but lately Shavonne hardly crosses my mind. I’m so busy with Danny and school and my twice-a-week cello lessons, to say nothing of getting ready for my Great Lakes audition. Plus I made two friends in the orchestra, Faith Kwan and Chloe Eisenberg, and thanks to them—and a generous allowance—I’ve discovered the joy of becoming a mall rat.

  I’m not avoiding Shavonne, exactly. I just haven’t figured out a way to tell the rest of the world that I’m not really “Gina.” Once I do that, I can get back together with Shavonne. Jerome, too. I really do miss them, now that I think about it.

  So what does Shavonne do? She calls me. Luckily, I make it to the phone before Nikki. “Yo, Mar-tha!”

  “Oh, hi,” I say softly, glancing around just in case.

  “Hey, I got my phone turned back on! Boss Man sent us some money. You didn’t put him up to it, did you?” she adds suspiciously.

  “Not me,” I fib, unsure if this would be a bad thing or a good thing.

  “Why you whispering?” she blasts in my ear.

  Claudia’s right. This stuff is re-eally getting old.

  “So, did you call Jerome yet? Girl, he been buggin’ me to death—”

  “I told you, I’ve been—”

  “Busy. Yeah, I know. Busy with what?”

  “Duh. My audition?” I quickly fill her in on Great Lakes, how Danny’s going to accompany me on the piano, and how I’m composing my own piece. Without comment, she lets me ramble till I run out of breath. “You still there?”

  “Yeah,” she says shortly, ignoring everything I said. “Well, I gave him your number, so I guess he’ll be calling you.”

  “You what?” And it comes out sounding awful.

  Long silence. “Okay. I get it now, bitch.” She hangs up on me flat.

  Crap, crap, crap! I dial her back. “Look, I’m sorry. But I gotta talk to you about something—” How, how do I explain it?

  “Talk to me about what? Your wonderful, perfect life? You and that piece of shit cello of yours?” Stunned, I can’t speak, and then she blurts out, “Sorry! I’m sorry. Don’t hang up on me, okay?”

  “I wasn’t going to.” Even though I almost did.

  She�
��s crying now, and Shavonne never cries. “I just want things to be like they used to be. I just want us to be friends—”

  “We are!”

  “—and I want my mom to get better, okay? I can’t stand this no more, all this in-between shit. Either let her die, or don’t let her die. You know what I’m sayin’?”

  “Maybe she won’t die, Shavonne. People can have AIDS and live a really long time.”

  She sniffs once, and her voice is steady again. Too steady. “Uh-huh, that’s right. You the expert on everything. Anyway,” she yammers over my feeble protest, “have a great life. Let me know when you can work me into your busy-ass schedule.” Bam!

  If I were any kind of a friend, I’d call her back again, but now my feelings are hurt. Hey, it’s not my fault her mom is sick, and it’s not my fault she’s so jealous of me. For the first time in my life, I like my life. Why apologize for that?

  …

  That night I dream about money falling from the sky, and a sock monkey dancing through piles of green bills. By morning I’m exhausted, and the day lasts forever. When study hall rolls around, I finish up my science homework in eight minutes flat and then hunch over my notebook, writing Danny Brinkman in perfectly aligned columns. Brinkman, Brinkman, what a beautiful name!

  I write my own name, too, and then somehow Gina Kowalski turns into Gina Brinkman. I scribble and scribble, forgetting all about Shavonne as I find myself sucked into a brand-new fantasy:

  Gina Brinkman, the newly adopted daughter of prominent Shaker Heights attorney Richard Brinkman, invites you to her debut at Severance Hall.

  Renowned cellist Gina Brinkman, appearing in person at Carnegie Hall.

  Gina Brinkman, principal cellist for the Cleveland Symphony Orchestra and wife of renowned composer Daniel Brinkman, is considered by many to be …

  My pen stops dead as a shadow hits the page.

  “Gina, right?” It’s Caitlin Mackenzie, who knows perfectly well who I am. “Is it true you’re still going with Danny Brinkman?”

  I flip my notebook over. “Maybe. Why?”

  “Well, I’m not sure if you know this. But Danny and me, we’re practically engaged?”

  Um, excuse me, Caitlin. What galaxy are you from? “Well, that’s news to me. I don’t see a ring on your finger.”

  “Oh, we go through this all the time. Typical guy stuff. They get on these kicks about going out with other girls, and once they get it out of their system, they always come back. At least Danny does,” she adds with a confident smirk.

  I’m sweating like a pig, and not only that, I can’t seem to tear my eyes away from her jeweled nostril. “So, like, is this something I should care about?”

  Broad smile. “I just thought I’d tell you before you get too serious about him. I mean honestly, Gina. You’re a sophomore, right? Danny and I, we’re both graduating this year. What do you think he’s gonna do with some high school kid?”

  I can’t say a word. I just wish to hell I’d cut study hall today.

  “We had a really long talk, on that ski trip we took?” None of her questions are really questions, and it bugs me to no end. “And we’ll be back together before you know it. Anyway, I thought I should tell you.”

  That freaking ski trip!

  “Well, thanks for the warning,” I manage to reply. “But don’t bet on it, okay?”

  “Oh, it’s a pretty safe bet. Why don’t you ask him yourself?” Exceedingly smug, she saunters back to her own desk, and I can see her lacy underpants peeking out of her jeans as she bends over toward her snickering friends.

  Well, what—a—bitch! Do I tell Danny about this? If I bring up that ski trip, he might think I don’t trust him. I crunch my knuckles and take a few deep breaths. Oh, forget it! That nose-studded midget-freak is obviously delusional. Danny loves me and she knows it. No wonder she’s flipping out.

  …

  The house is deserted when I get home, and I love having it to myself. This is exactly the kind of house I’ll live in when I’m famous.

  Huge, quiet, and peaceful, with everything perfectly in its place. Nobody complaining or screaming, no rude interruptions—

  The front doorbell chimes, and I hear “Martha! Yo, Martha!” and spy Jerome waving wildly through the window.

  What the—? I tackle the hysterical Taffy and shut her up in the basement. No point in asking him how he got my address. Shavonne’s revenge, no doubt.

  He trudges in and gazes around, awestruck. “Damn. Ain’t this nothin’?”

  We stare at each other in bare recognition. Taller now, he looks different with his hair twisted into braids, and I sure don’t remember his shoulders being this big.

  “You look cool,” he says. “Nice hair. Where’s your glasses?”

  “Contacts. Hey, you look really good, too.”

  That said, we stand there like dummies. I think about hugging him, but it might embarrass us more. I bring him some leftover cherry pie, and as he shovels it in, I notice the way he slouches, how he seems older and tougher, and—well, a lot like Anthony.

  “Shavonne sent you, right?”

  “Naw, it was my idea.”

  “Everybody okay? Your grandma and them?”

  “Yeah, we’re all fine.” He catches me up on some stuff at school, and on Mario’s latest antics and Aunt Gloria’s latest meltdown, and how Wayne’s crankier than ever since he broke down and got a job, and how he’s threatening to evict the Lindseys now that Anthony’s lowlife homies seem to have taken up permanent residence. He chews quietly for a moment before adding, “Guess what? My mom’s back.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah, she got a place in the projects and, well, she wants me to come live with her now.”

  “Live with her? Really?” He nods, so I ask, sounding a bit too much like Zelda, “Um, are you happy about that?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.”

  Jerome studies Claudia’s row of suspended copper pots, like one of them will magically come to life and tell him how he should feel. “I guess. I don’t know. She sure ain’t changed much.”

  Biting my tongue, I wait for the details and when he doesn’t offer any, I switch back to Shavonne. “When you talk to her, tell her I’m sorry, okay? About not calling her and stuff.”

  “She thinks you’re mad at her ‘cause you never want to hang out.”

  “I’m not mad, and I just saw her—” When? Oh yeah. Weeks ago, the day I lost my purse.

  My head swivels in the direction of the ticking clock. Jerome notices. “Well, I gotta take off. Where’s the john around this place?”

  I show him around upstairs, and turn him loose in my bathroom. Downstairs, I’m scampering back and forth, cleaning up evidence, when a long, ragged shriek splits the air. Nikki, bugeyed, stands frozen in the hall, watching Jerome hip-hop his way down the sweeping staircase.

  Babbling, I rush over. “Um, Nikki, this is Jerome. Jerome, this is Nikki—I mean, Nicolette.”

  Jerome sticks out his hand. “Yo, Nik-oh-lette. ‘Sup?”

  Nikki recoils, and I shuffle her aside. “Hey, I thought you had a rehearsal.”

  “I did.” Nikki’s steely eyes stay glued to Jerome. “It was canceled.”

  Graveyard silence. Jerome takes the hint. “Wow, man. Gotta roll.” He waves me away as I tag on his heels. “Naw, it’s cool.

  Gimme a call sometime.” He swaggers off down the driveway, hands deep in his pockets.

  Nikki’s all over me in an instant. “Is that the guy from the picture? What’s he doing here?”

  “He just stopped by to say hi. I told you we were friends,” I remind her defensively.

  “Well, how’d he get here? He didn’t come in a car.”

  “How would I know? Maybe he took the bus.”

  “From Columbus?” At my vacant look, Nikki adds impatiently, “Columbus, Gina. Isn’t that where you’re from?”

  Trapped and confused, I blurt, “Yes!
I mean, I think he took a Greyhound.”

  “So what was he doing upstairs?”

  “Using the john!”

  She points to the back hall as she frees poor Taffy from her prison. “Well, there’s one right here in case you never noticed.”

  “Jeez, Nikki. I showed him around, okay? If there’s something you want to say, then why don’t you say it?”

  “Say what? Boy, are you paranoid.” Nikki flips back her mane and heads upstairs. “I’m taking a nap. And don’t wake me for dinner. I’m on a diet.”

  I hug my chest, trying to slow my thudding heart. Well, one thing’s for sure: things can’t possibly get shittier.

  38

  Later, as I help Claudia clear the table after dinner, I try to think of a nonchalant way to bring up Jerome. I’m sure Nikki’s holding out for exactly the right moment to spring it on her folks that I had a guy in the house—plus it was a black guy, plus nobody else was home. I need to give them my version before Nikki poisons their minds.

  But we’re singing along with The Beach Boys: “Aruba, Jamaica—ooh, I wanna take ya!” as we put dishes away, and the next thing I know, Nikki’s screaming in the doorway. “Mo-om! I’ve been calling you forever!”

  Claudia snaps off the radio. “What’s wrong? You look flushed.”

  “My head hurts. I need a Motrin.” As Claudia gets it from the cupboard, Nikki’s fiery stare never leaves my face. Huh? What did I do? I was just goofing around with her mom.

  “Maybe it’s a good thing you skipped your rehearsal.” Claudia touches Nikki’s forehead. “You do feel a little warm, honey.”

  Nikki jerks away. “I didn’t skip my rehearsal! I don’t skip rehearsals. It was called off, okay?” She grabs the pill, gulps it, and slams the glass on the sink. “Where’s Daddy?”

  “He went”—Claudia sends me a sideways look—“to a meeting.”

  Funny how she has no idea I already know that Richard goes to AA. It’s even funnier to find out that she wants to keep it a secret from me. Weird, but I can’t picture it—Richard drunk? What’s he like when he’s loaded? Does he get goofy like me? Vicious like Wayne? Obnoxious like his brother? Or maybe he’s more like Momma with her bizarre combo of maudlin, slobbery-affectionate, and mean, mean, mean.