He didn’t ask me what happened and I was glad. He knew me so well. I liked that we could sit next to each other and just feel the warmth radiate off one another’s bodies. Things couldn’t be all bad if I had my brother.
There were three sticks of gum left. He gave me two and then shoved the last one in his mouth. We each licked the sugary stuff off the wrappers and ducked our heads to avoid the drips. The rain petered out, growing softer until the cemetery came back into focus. Everything was green again, leaves overhead dripping fat chunks of Spanish moss.
Both of us walked slowly back through the cemetery, glancing our hands off the headstones and avoiding some of the larger branches that had tumbled down in the storm. The air felt lighter again, humidity lifting briefly. My face was tight from crying and snot dripped down my chin. I wiped it off with the front of my shirt, a sheen of mucus sweeping across the front.
When we got home, I went straight to my room but left the light off. I wasn’t sure where my father was. I didn’t want to see him, and I wanted to think about it even less. I pulled off all my clothes and left them in a wet, muddy heap by the door. Then I crawled under the covers wearing only my damp underwear.
Low humming woke me. I was bundled in bed, the only light coming from the crack under the door. My mother sat beside me, stroking a hand through my long hair, which she’d taken out of its braid. My eyes were crusted shut from crying. They felt too big for my face, lids swollen.
I fixed your pants for you. Her cool hands felt good smoothing over my flushed cheeks and forehead.
You did?
It’s patched. You can wear them tomorrow to school, if you want.
My mother turned on the bedside lamp. Rosy light pooled from the stained-glass shade. The owl peered at me from the belled center of the dome. It had wide eyes and a large brown body, surrounded by green leaves and blue water.
See? All fixed. The hole in the crotch was gone. I couldn’t even tell where it had ripped. She flipped the pants over and stuck her open palm into the seat to present where the pockets had separated from the denim. She’d embroidered a twining vine of flowers there, the petals luminous in pink and yellow and blue. I followed the trail with my finger, feeling the slickness of the embroidery thread.
It’s really pretty. How’d you do it?
I’ll show you tomorrow. After school, okay?
Nodding, I burrowed my face into my mother’s lap. She was warm and smelled like the powdery deodorant spray she always wore. I thought about school the next day, how jealous Brynn would be of my jeans. She’d probably want to come over and have my mom teach her how to do it so she could embroider all her clothes.
Everything all right? My father stopped in the doorway. He wore his regular flannel shirt and jeans and had on socks with his slippers. His reading glasses slid partway down his nose. He was normal again, just my dad, not the emaciated corpse I’d seen naked in their bathroom. He was looking at me and smiling. It didn’t seem weird at all.
Everything’s fine. My mother curled a long strand of my hair around her finger. She was pulling it a little, but I didn’t care. I was tired and ready to forget everything, to pretend like none of it had ever happened. My life felt like it was supposed to again. Just like it should, with my mother and my father there and Milo just down the hall, and one of the dogs walked up behind my dad, sniffing at the leg of his jeans.
Can Brynn come over tomorrow and do embroidery with us?
Yes, sweetheart.
My breath came in slow pulls, drowsy, chest heavy. Smoothing down my hair once more, my mother stood up and turned off the lamp. She hung the jeans over the back of my wicker rocking chair and closed the door behind her.
9
Milo and I both showed up at our mother’s on the night of the art opening. When I got there, he was already climbing out of his truck, wearing something snappy. That suit looked familiar: the navy-and-gold-striped tie, light blue shirt with the white collar peeking out over the matching navy jacket. Then I remembered. In my mind, there was Brynn standing at his side in a white linen sheath she’d bought at the mall, eyes cutting back and forth at the crowd in my parents’ backyard. Worried someone else might have worn her wedding dress.
“You look fancy,” I said, clearing my throat. The pants still fit. His shoes were the same scuffed brown loafers he’d worn his entire adult life. It was a miracle the soles hadn’t fallen off. “Haven’t seen that jacket in a while.”
“Right.” He darted a finger at me, taking in my clothes with a dismissive sweep. “I can see you spent a lot of time getting ready.”
I hadn’t worn something dressy. I’d come straight from the shop, still in my dirty jeans and a stretched-out T-shirt with the word Bahamas faded to crackling red bits across its front. My plan was to go inside and try to talk some sense into my mother. I had a tiny glimmer of hope that she’d listen to me, maybe see what she was doing was hurtful to the people around her. That maybe she’d hear me and decide not to go through with the night. I wasn’t sure what good my phone call to Donna had done. I hadn’t heard from Lucinda either way—not about the show and not about what I’d said regarding her cheating, either. There wasn’t any way to know what would happen, not without calling again.
We started up the walk, overgrown with weeds, some sprouting up through the brick pavers. The flower boxes outside the front windows were full of moss and plants so far dead they looked like giant spiders, blackened vines twisting upward, trying to escape.
“Thought Bastien was gonna take care of this.” I kicked a fallen palm limb out of the walk before ducking under the trellis. Black, mildewed gunk dripped from a corner of the eaves, leaching stains into the peeling paint. “Isn’t that what he’s here for? To help Mom?”
“I would say it’s mutually beneficial. Besides, he’s been too busy at work to handle all this shit. You know that.”
“Right.” The last time I’d seen Bastien, he’d been carrying a black Hefty bag into the back of the shop. He hadn’t opened it to show me what was inside, but it was still moving. He was bringing more and more live fare back to the shop. It was beginning to feel like a slaughterhouse. “Where’s Lolee?”
“I dunno. Probably with Kaitlyn.”
“You don’t know?”
“I’ve been at work.”
I doubted that very much. More likely he hadn’t checked in with his daughter for a few days and didn’t like the fact that I’d brought it up. I wasn’t in a very good mood either and didn’t have time for his pissy attitude. Our dad had constantly been on Milo’s case about the lack of time he spent with Lolee. Do you know a single thing about your own daughter? Do you know you missed her recital? Is this the kind of man you want to be? The kind of father who only pays attention to himself?
Our father, who ignored Milo most of the time.
“She’s been spending too much time with Bastien,” I said, stepping back when Milo threw open the screen.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
A strong waft of cooking grease hit me, making my stomach rumble.
“And when she’s not with him, what’s she doing? You know what can happen when kids are left alone all the time,” I said, thinking of Brynn and the swell of her stomach when she was only five months pregnant with Bastien. She’d looked like a preteen with a basketball stuffed beneath her shirt. Milo had seen it too. He’d been with us in the hospital. He knew all about how easy it was for your teen years to evaporate; gone forever, no way to get them back.