Speak Now

“Speak! Now!” My father boomed as we stood in the dark foyer, my shoes in hand and socked toes gripping the cold marble tile.

          “I’m sorry. It’s not—”

          “—It’s not what? It’s not what it looks like? I was fifteen once, too, J.P., and it’s always what it looks like.” He continued without acknowledging I was speaking.

I had snuck out of the house for the third time that week, not returning until a little after 4:00 a.m. This morning was the first time anyone had noticed; of course, it had to be my father: James Princeton McAllister III, esquire. My mother would proudly preface with “the honorable” when introducing him to anyone who looked in their direction. I remember her once announcing his newest title to the bleary-eyed cashier at Stop and Shop. But around the house, he was known as Jimmy or Daddy, unless it was me, then it was Sir. I am his namesake, his firstborn, his legacy; James Princeton McAllister IV. As the fourth, all traditional nicknames had been taken, so I ended up with letters: J.P.

          “Jimmy? Is he home? Is he alright?” My mother was calling from the top of the polished white staircase that curved up to the second floor. There was no light, and I couldn’t see her; But I knew she was making her way gracefully down, her silky ivory robe, with the roses on it, whispering as it slid across the top of the steps.

          “Rosie, everything is fine. J.P. is fine. Go back to bed, dear; I will handle this.” My father tenderly replied as he turned his scowl towards me. I didn’t need a shard of light to know he was scowling; he always was, especially when looking at me. I will never forget his face, the tight lips, folded brow, and reaching stare. He has the most intense stare; you’d swear he could see straight through to your soul. It’s no wonder he was appointed a district court judge. I pray for any poor soul standing in front of that scowl wrapped in black judges’ robes.

          “J.P., you had us worried sick. What were you thinking?” My mother gasped and wrapped her arms around my neck, planting a kiss on the top of my head.

          “Mom, I’m sorry, I was—”

          “—Don’t waste our time with your adolescent apologies, son. Actions are what matter. Actions distinguish the criminals from the law-abiding.” Judge McAllister preached; he never wasted a teaching moment.

          “Yes, Sir”

          “Jimmy, he’s not a criminal. He’s just a teenager.” My mother was quick to defend me these days. I knew her secret.

          “Rosie dear, he may be a teenager, but he has acted criminally. Leaving the house in the middle of the night, he can only be up to no good.” He stated while reaching for his worn leather wallet embossed with our initials, J.P.M., “Go check your pocketbook, make sure he hasn’t taken any more credit cards. You know we can’t bare other financial setbacks after what he has spent on those damn video games.” A glimmer of panic sped up his words. “We are all but maxed out on credit; we’ll have to sell the Cadillac next, the Mercedes too.” The shame was evident in his voice as he listed the luxury status symbols they would be forced to part with.

           Everything would go, including the antique crystal chandelier above our heads, before they would give up this stately manor we called home. The McAllister manor had been in our family for more generations than I could count and provided a level of social status that no Cadillac or Mercedes could rival. Although, having the ample brick driveway sit empty would start the neighbors talking. Rumors can be dangerous; they are rooted in truth. Their truths would be catastrophic to their way of life. I will keep their secrets.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

          “Good morning, Hunny.” My mother sang as I walked onto the four-season patio encased in glass like the terrarium on my biology teacher’s desk. She dubbed it the breakfast room because she always had Valerie, our housekeeper, serve it there.

          “Morning,” I grunted; these late nights were taking their toll. “Where’s Babs?”

          “Your Sister is spending the weekend with the Malloys’; I guess she and Molly entered a talent contest at school, and they need time to prepare their dance routine.” She replied with a loving smile that quickly turned wistful. “You’ll need to get yourself to school on Monday; the Malloys will bring your sister. Your father sold the cars yesterday. All we have is your grandfather’s Volvo. Your father will have to leave for work early to avoid being spotted in it if we are to preserve a shred of dignity.” I watched her sip her coffee with a gentle slurp.

          “Okay. Joce can drive me. I’ll see her tonight and make sure it’s okay.” I replied flatly. I knew this was coming; Jocelyn Parish was my best friend, and she also knew.

Joce had been picking me up for weeks in her sun-blistered El Camino for my overnight shift at the Lazy Daisy Motel. It had once stood next to a rolling field of daisies and welcomed all-American families on their summer road trips. Now, it was surrounded by cracked pavement and flanked by a twenty-four-hour diner and greasy gas pumps. The only reminder of its wholesome past was showcased in patinaed frames in the lobby; faded photos of smiling families holding handfuls of daisies as they posed in front of their station wagons. Most of the guests these days were weekly raters, calling the Lazy Daisy their permanent home, so there wasn’t much checking in or out, making the job a cakewalk. I spent my nights behind the counter studying.

           Education was important to the McAllister family; it bought bragging rights within their circle. One-upmanship was like a sport to them; whose kid was on the honor roll? Which one scored the highest on the S.A.T.s? What pretentious university were they attending next fall? But I didn’t do it for them; I did it for me. I did it for freedom. I knew an impressive G.P.A. and high test scores could get me into any school in the country or beyond. That was my dream, the freedom to go beyond. Beyond their shallow world of secrets that I had to keep tightly wrapped in gold-plated foil and studded with moissanites.

          “Oh, is that who you’ve been sneaking out with? Jocelyn – Parish?” My mother said Jocelyn’s name like it was a bitter clump of grapefruit pulp stuck under her tongue. “I wish you would spend your time with a girl like Prudence Clearwater. Her father owns half the commercial real estate in town. If it were her, I wouldn’t have to keep your late nights a secret from your father.”

          “Secret?! You want to talk about secrets?” I could feel my ears turning red and my skin heating up.

          “J.P., don’t start with me.” Her voice was a whisper, and I could barely hear it over my speeding heart.

          “Your whole life is one big secret, filled with a million tiny secrets!” I burst out. Rage can only stay locked away for so long. “You’ve spent all your money and Dad’s, plus some, on your desperate attempt to bring another McAllister into the world. Just face it, you’re too old to have another baby. Why can’t Babs and I be enough? “My emotions were getting the better of me.

          “J.P., you just don’t –”

          “—Just don’t what, mom? Don’t understand? I understand you let me take the blame for taking the credit cards and spending the family into debt. You know I didn’t do it; I don’t even play video games. I’m too busy studying! You tell mountains of lies and keep so many secrets to protect your fake diamond-encrusted image you don’t know what’s real.” I sat there catching my breath, not breaking my stare at my mother’s astonished face. It felt good to finally speak some truth.

          “And you do?” She replied after a moment, holding back her emotions.

          “Yes. I’m real. And I don’t want to keep your secrets anymore. Why can’t we just be happy?” My words lacked the power and fierceness of before but gained sincerity backed with the mist of my tears.

          “J.P.,” she said my name with such comfort it almost washed away the hurt. “I know it’s hard to understand, but some things must be hidden and stories made to replace them to have happiness. I promise it’ll all fall into place. Just keep quiet about the money for a little longer. One more round of I.V.F., and I’ll have my happiness. I’ll buy you any car you want for your sixteenth birthday. Won’t that make you happy?” She finished with a timid smile.

          I can’t believe she was bribing me to keep taking the blame for her irresponsibility. And, with a new car, no less, it’s like she thought the cars were in the shop getting the latest G.P.S system installed instead of sitting in some used car lot. I worried that she might be delusional. Did she really think everything would just work out, and she’d suddenly have her millions back, buy me a Lambo, and we’d be one big happy family with her new bundle of joy? Maybe we could take a trip to the Lazy Daisy with our rose-colored sunglasses and add our portrait to the nostalgia clinging to the ripped wallpaper of yesteryear.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

          “It’s getting harder to make it out of the house unseen. The Judge and his wife are watching me like a hawk. They even threatened to lock me in the attic all weekend if I snuck out again.” I leaned across the counter to hand Jocelyn my biology notes.

          “J.P., that’s insane. They can’t do that. It’s cruel and unusual punishment.” Jocelyn responded.

          “Tell that to The Judge.” I scoffed. “I’ll be ready to quit next week. One last paycheck is all I need. I have almost enough saved to buy that red Range Rover over at Del’s Used Cars. My mom will love it; the Rover has heated leather seats, a heated steering wheel, and even heated mirrors!”

          “That’s a lot of heat.” Jocelyn giggled.

          “Plus, it’s red. She loves red.” I continued.

          “J.P., you should keep the Rover for yourself. You’re the one who earned it.” Jocelyn urged lovingly.

          “What? Are you sick of driving me around?” I teased, flicking a rubber band at her.

          “Of course not! I’d drive you to California and back and love every moment of it. I just think you’re putting too much faith in the people who keep letting you down.” Jocelyn’s tone softened as she glanced up from her textbook.

          “They’re my parents, Joce. I love them, even if I hate their secrets. They need my help.” I said defensively.

          “Okay, okay. Let’s get back to this practice test. I heard from Lisa the biology midterm was brutal.” Jocelyn redirected.

          “I’m not worried about it. I already got an acceptance letter to Kensington Prep.” I said apathetically.

          “What?!” Jocelyn screeched. “That’s amazing! You’ve been working so hard for that; I’m so happy for you. I mean, it sucks, but I’m happy. Kensington is like a ten-hour drive. I won’t be able to visit much. I don’t think my car could make it ten hours without busting apart. You’re not going to forget about me, are you?” Jocelyn’s smile faded as she realized the distance that would be between us.

          “Don’t worry, Joce; It’ll all fall into place.” I lied.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

“Mom! Dad! Babs! Come outside.” I yelled excitedly into the foyer, my voice echoing through the empty rooms.

“What now, son?” Judge McAllister was first to the door, my mother and sister on his heels.

“Just come outside and look!” I replied.

The cherry red Range Rover was parked in the driveway, centered in front of the manor, like a trophy for the whole neighborhood to gawk at. I had been pulling overnight shifts at the motel for months while studying continuously, I was tired, and I wasn’t going to let my efforts be wasted. I had collected my last paycheck from the Lazy Daisy and, with Jocelyn’s help, went straight to Del’s Used Cars. Del himself sold it to me. He didn’t care that I didn’t have a driver’s license when I told him the Rover was for Judge McAllister. He even offered to deliver it free of charge. I hated using my name as a bargaining chip, but it worked, and this was important.

“J.P., what have you done? Where did this car come from? I can’t believe you’ve escalated to auto theft! It’s bad enough you’d steal from your own family, but now you’re committing grand theft?” My father had his phone in his hand, dialing the sheriff’s office.

“Dad, stop. I didn’t steal it. I bought it. I bought it for mom.” I whined like a chastised puppy.

“Son, there is no way a fifteen-year-old hooligan like yourself could afford a Range Rover. Where exactly am I supposed to believe you got the money for such a purchase? It’s not like you have time for a job with all the sneaking around you do with that Parish girl. Stop lying, save our family the embarrassment of a trial, and just confess when Sheriff Mosely arrives.” Judge McAllister fumed.

“Mom, do something!” I pleaded with my mother to intervene. “I swear I didn’t steal it; I have the receipt. It’s in the glove box.”

My sister jumped forward and scrambled into the passenger seat of the Rover. She quickly located the sales papers and produced them as evidence of my innocence. My father scowled at them, disconnected his call, and walked back into the manor without another word. My mother looked at the glimmering red Range Rover with intrigue, moved towards it, then turned to face me.

“An Audi would have been a better choice. Classier.” She said as she walked past me, taking the key from my outstretched hand and retreating into the manor.

“I like it.” Babs said earnestly as she skipped up the front steps, following our parents inside.

I was left standing alone, staring blankly at my reflection in the glossy paint of the Rover. That wasn’t how I had imagined this moment. Instead of receiving the excited cheers and loving affection I had expected, I received accusations and disapproval. I continued to stare at myself in the Rover. Why do I keep trying to win the approval of people that don’t believe in me?