Six Going on Seven, Chapter 4 ~ Six Going on Seven

Sometimes it was a terrible burden to be six years old.  There was so much Elly could witness that she was not meant to witness, so much about it that she could not understand, so much that she could not do about any of it.

That Tuesday morning her mother didn’t get up at six and go to work like she usually did.  It was eight, the time Dad usually got them up and took Elly to school, and instead it was Mom who got the cereal out of the cupboard, yawning.  Elly hadn’t slept all night, not even after Mom had gone back to bed and fallen asleep just after three.  Dad was still in bed at eight, Mom was not at work, nothing was as it was supposed to be, everything was wrong.

She wanted Dad to be awake.  Nothing scared her more than what she could not understand, and she could not remember ever being more scared than last night.  She needed Dad to make sense of what had happened for her, to explain it, to say why he hadn’t come home for so long and why Mom had been outside talking to herself in the night.  Mom would never tell her, she understood that much.  It never did any good to ask Mom.

Elly snuck away to her parents’ bedroom as Mom got Eric dressed.  The blinds were up to let the sun in, but Dad had his head under a pillow.  Elly climbed on the trunk at the foot of the bed and crawled up to sit beside him.  “Daddy!”  She shook him by the shoulder.  “Daddy?  Are you sick?”

She heard a low moan from under the pillow.  Then he squinted out at her and sighed.  “Elly Ann . . . do me a favor . . . .”  He gestured vaguely to the side with one hand.  “Close the curtains, K?”

“Alright.”  She jumped up, scrambling to the other side of the bed to pull the blinds shut.  She fumbled with them, glancing over her shoulder to see if Mom would come through the door.  She got them closed and moved to the other side, having to step over Dad’s back to get at it.  He’d gone back under the pillow, wrapping his hands over the top.

Elly sat back down.  “Daddy,” she whispered fretfully, and he lifted the pillow, rolling over.

“I’m fine,” he said, but he was still squinting.  He smelled like the beer he sometimes drank in the garage, only he hadn’t been in the garage last night.  She had looked.  “Is it time for school?”  He lifted himself to one elbow.

“Yes.  But Mommy’s still here, she said she’s going to drive me,” Elly told him, and he winced.

“She doesn’t have to do that . . . I’ll walk you to the bus stop like usual,” he said, sitting up all the way, running a hand through his hair.

“Where did you go?”

“Just out.  With Uncle Jake and the guys.  It doesn’t matter.”

“Daddy—” she was about to tell him about Mom, about the hours she had spent worried about the both of them, when Mom opened the door.

“Elly,” she said, frowning, “come on.  It’s time for school.”

“But—”

“Liseli—”

“Let your father sleep and come on, I don’t want you to be late.”  Mom reached out her hand and beckoned impatiently with her fingers.

“I can take her—”

“Why bother, Russ?” Mom snorted.  “Eliasha, come.”

Elly hesitated, looking back into Dad’s bleary eyes as he shook his head at Mom.  “You’ll be late for work.”

“I called in sick today,” Mom said shortly as she walked closer to the bed.  “You think I’m going to leave the kids with a drunk?  No.  You’re useless like this.  Come on, Elly.  Now.”

Dad sighed and looked away, but said, “It’s okay, Elly, go on.”

Elly crawled off the side of the bed, but avoided Mom’s hand, shaking her arm away as she headed for the door.  Mom clenched her hand shut and dropped it to her side, shooting a disgusted look back at Dad.  “Go back to sleep, Russ.”  She slammed the door on her way out.

Elly much preferred walking down to the bus stop with Dad and then riding the school bus.  The bus was noisy and full of kids, but she liked to sit quiet in her seat listening to them all.  Other kids were interesting to watch, especially the ones from the higher grades.  She felt so small and young, one of the only first graders on that bus route.  Small and young, but not afraid.

The best part was walking the couple of blocks with Dad.

Mom drove her right to the school, handing her lunch as she got out.  “Elly,” she called when Elly turned to go without a word.  Elly paused a looked back, stone faced.  “Have a good day,” Mom finished, tilting her head to the side and gripping the steering wheel for a moment.  It was a chore to smile and pretend everything was okay, Elly could see that, but she didn’t smile back.  She just nodded and turned around, shrugging her backpack up higher and walking toward the school doors.

She didn’t understand why Mom was so unhappy when Dad wasn’t around, but when he was she said harsh things to him and left the house. Elly didn’t understand.  She didn’t understand why Mom was unhappy no matter what.

Elly was the youngest child in her class.  All the other kids were seven going on eight already, and Maisie Artling was her only friend.

Maisie had the wisdom of a girl nearly eight who spent weekends at her father’s house in Los Angeles.  Elly hadn’t planned on telling Maisie about last night, and she didn’t really, but she ended up admitting over lunch that her parents had been arguing a lot lately.  Maisie shook her head and told Elly that they were probably going to get a divorce just like her parents had, and Elly said no, they wouldn’t.  They couldn’t.  Maisie smiled pityingly, and that made Elly mad, so she refused to talk to Maisie the rest of the day.

But she couldn’t forget what had been said.  And Maisie, of all people, would know what happened just before a divorce.  Elly thought about Uncle Jake and Dad with their two mothers and one father, and wondered if Dad or Mom could find different people and have different families, just like that.  It was disgusting to her, but it seemed impossible.

Elly thought about only seeing Dad on weekends and it made her shiver then fear that she would disappear against her will.  That wouldn’t be good.  It wasn’t good to turn invisible where others could see it happen.  Then she might as well not disappear ever again.

---

Russ pulled himself out of bed a little while after Liseli and the children had left.  It had been a while since he last had a hangover, but it was just as shitty as ever.  He was sure that he’d drank the least of all the guys, even Jake and Sam who were underage and probably shouldn’t have been drinking at all, but he felt like a cement truck had rolled over him several times during the night.  He was just pathetic at holding his liquor, that was all.  Liseli called him a drunk.  He was hardly a drunk, he didn’t have the stamina to be A Drunk.

He showered and went into the kitchen.  He had never been able to stand coffee; it was like drinking something he’d scraped off his shoes.  Liseli had always seemed to think that a hangover was a good excuse to make him drink coffee, but without her around he steered well clear of it.  Orange juice.  Yeah, much better.

He went for cereal and found about a dozen boxes crammed inside the cupboard.  He chose one blindly and came up with Trix. “Silly rabbit, Trix are for kids,” he mumbled to himself as he carried it over to the table.  He was on his third bowl when Liseli and the boys got home.

She brushed by the table and he hunkered down a little, fixing his eyes on the purplish milk in his bowl.  He heard her close the cupboard doors after him, and then there was silence, except for his own crunching.  The boys had run into the living room and switched on the TV.  Sesame Street or something like that.  Russ kept on eating, steeling himself for whatever Liseli was getting ready to unleash as she stood by the sink, staring at him . . . .

He wasn’t going to look up; that would be inviting trouble.  But he was almost done with his third bowl of cereal, and then there wouldn’t be much else to do besides look up.  He thought he might try pouring himself a fourth bowl, but that could only lead to a fifth and a sixth until the box was gone and he was feeling sick . . . and she’d still probably be standing there, waiting for eye contact.  Waiting for her prey . . . .

He heard her sigh and push away from the counter, and thought for a moment she was going to leave the room.  But instead of passing him she stopped right behind his chair.

“I was thinking . . . ” she said, and began to run her fingers through his hair. He tensed; this was something he usually enjoyed but it might be a trap.  “I’m not going in to work today, and the car’s here . . . .”  Her voice was a little too non-threatening for comfort.  “Maybe we could go somewhere . . . with the boys.”

“Go somewhere?” he echoed, tilting his head back.  She brushed his hair away from his forehead, combing through to the back of his head before starting over.

“Yeah.”

“Where?”

“Mm.”  She paused, shrugging.  “I don’t know.  Just out, somewhere.  The park.  Do you usually just let them sit in front of the TV like that?”

“No.  We have a yard.”

“Then you don’t want to go anywhere.”  She brushed her fingertips down his neck and rested her hands on his shoulders.

He swallowed uncomfortably.  He had been thinking about a nap, maybe.  Noah wanted to bring the guys over again after three to practice some more, and Russ was still feeling a bit hungover.  He’d thought of maybe getting some rest and avoiding the old-guy-who-can’t-hold-his-booze jokes.

How to tell Liseli this without getting my neck broken . . . .  “I, um . . . well Elly Ann’s at school.  Maybe this weekend, we can all go out.  Like to the zoo.  Or something.”

“I suppose.”  She came around the side of his chair and leaned against the table.  She shrugged.  “The house needs cleaning, anyway.  I should probably scrub the bathroom.”

She reached out and touched his chest.  He held his breath, but dared to meet her eyes.  They were that soft, piney green that usually meant she was about to undress him . . . in the good way.  But he was sure that she had to be upset with him, and he couldn’t do anything but return her gaze with a deer-in-the-headlights stare.

“Are you going to be home for dinner tonight?” she asked, tilting her head to the side.

“Yeah.”

“Not going out with the guys again?”

He shook his head.

Liseli smiled.  “Good.”  She leaned forward and gave him a slow kiss, running the tip of her tongue across his lips before she drew away.  “You taste like sugar,” she commented, but pushed herself away from the table when he reached out to pull her into his lap.  “I’d better get started on the bathroom.  Make sure you take the boys outside sometime so they get a little fresh air.”

He held back a sigh, “Alright.”  She’d excited him with that kiss and her smile said she knew it.  He should have figured; all the soft touching and looks were her sneaky little way of getting back at him.  A tease.  He should have remembered, after ten whole years of it, that his sweet wifey could be an awful tease.

“Russ.”  She paused in the doorway.  “Could you find some time today to fix the faucet?  It’s still dripping.”

“Oh.  Right,” he answered with forced nonchalance.  “Mmm-hm.”

“Thanks.”

When she was gone he let out his breath in a whoosh and crossed his eyes.  Women.

He decided that he would have that fourth bowl of Trix, after all.  Then he’d set in on the faucet . . . it couldn’t be that hard.  Probably just needed something tightened somewhere.  A gasket or whatever they called those things.