By the time she died, Daddy and I had become armchair psychologists. We’d diagnosed her with everything from paranoid personality disorder to agoraphobia. Seemed like reasonable explanations for her bizarre behavior. But since she flatly refused to see doctors (and we didn’t have health insurance to pay for them anyway), we never really knew what was wrong with her.
Now I wasn’t so sure there wasn’t something more to her behavior than just run-of-the-mill paranoia. Maybe there really is something sinister out there, just waiting to snatch one of us up? Andrew instantly came to mind. Who wouldn’t want my beautiful, gifted brother?
A pang of remorse hit me as I thought of a dozen ways, I’d stopped doing what I thought were the silly precautions Mama took to protect us from the external world. Things like going back to public school and allowing us to be photographed for the yearbook. I also enrolled Mikey in preschool, even though she made me swear not to. What could I do? Drop out of high school to raise my brothers? Pathetic.
The tinny voices of the boys calling my name echoed from inside the metal box. So I pushed all thoughts of body snatchers and four-wheelers out of my mind for now, retrieved the key from under a cactus pot, and headed in. I wouldn’t inform Daddy about the trespassers just yet . . . in case he decided we needed extra precautions that would involve a shotgun. I was afraid he would shoot first and ask questions next! And I didn’t need the blood of innocent joy riders on expensive recreational vehicles on my head. I had quite enough bad luck in my life as it was.
Besides . . . keeping secrets was in my DNA.
But I couldn’t quite stop the weird feeling in my stomach when I went to tuck the boys in. So I added Mama’s prayer to deliver us from evil—it suddenly seemed relevant tonight.
2
QUEEN-B ASHLEY-LEIGH
When I finally closed the door to my room, I had myself convinced I was spooked for no reason—it was just some idiot out for a good time, paying no heed to the multiple No Trespassing signs posted around the fence. But then, what was with all the weird equipment? Maybe he was out surveying our land for oil? Maybe underneath the acres of infertile land, there was actually a fountain of oil about to spew forth, and we were gonna strike it rich.
I snorted. With our luck it would most likely be buried plutonium!
Anyhow, I had other problems to worry about, like where in the H-E-double-hockey-sticks was I gonna find money for new school clothes for us kids? I had about seventy dollars saved up from my job at the diner, enough to buy the boys a couple of new pairs of jeans and T-shirts. Sigh . . . We all needed new sneakers, too.
I threw my closet door wide open, hoping to find some inspiration inside. Arg!—shapeless floral dresses, bell skirts, boxy Oxfords—the hangers clanged, one-by-one, as I shoved the offending garments aside. This was all I had to work with. All Daddy would allow me to wear. “Sister-wife” clothes my former best friend, Ashley-Leigh, always called them. I heaved a great sigh. Too bad I never took Mama up on those sewing lessons when I had the chance.
I fell back onto my bed ready to finally allow myself to wallow in it. Lord knew I had a crap load of stuff to choose from. A couple of sobs broke loose. Why? I looked up at the rivers of cracks and water stain lakes, slowly turning my ceiling into a disaster map. Why can’t I catch just one little break?
I flipped over, dragging my furry pillow over my head, ready for a good, long cry when I heard the shrill ringing of the phone from the kitchen.
Well shoot! No time to even wallow in my own self-pity. I quickly blinked away a couple of fat tears before Daddy could see them and count them against me: two strikes. His heavy footsteps came tromping down the hall. It would be Ashley-Leigh no doubt, calling to bring me her exciting day from the Clovis Country Club pool. Where she is the prettiest social butterfly in the bunch, I thought meanly.
Daddy spoke through the door, heedless of sleeping boys. “Katie-girl, Ashley-Leigh’s on the phone for ya.”
“Comin’, Daddy.” I wiped my nose on my sleeve and followed Daddy’s broad back as far as the kitchen.
“Five minutes,” he warned, before returning to his recliner and favorite pastime. “I can’t hear what they’re sayin’ with all that gabbin’ girl talk goin’ on . . . and I deserve some peace and quiet after the day I’ve had!”
I snorted but said the requisite “yes, sir.” Then: “Hello.” My voice sounded a little thick, but she wouldn’t notice.
“Katie!” A too bright voice boomed from the receiver. “You’ll never, ever guess who was at the CCC today!”
“You’re right . . . so why don’tja just tell me.”
“Aw, Katie. You’re no fun sometimes,” she pouted. “Go ahead . . . three good guesses.” While she waited for me to amuse her, she was probably posing for her next selfie or checking her smooth platinum hair for split ends in the mirror. It was Ashley-Leigh’s custom to talk and admire at the same time.
“Hmmmmm,” I pretended to deliberate. “Kevin, Joe, and Nick?”
“Jonas Brothers, right?” She laughed merrily. “Nope. Keep guessin’!”
I audibly sighed, bored already.
“Never mind,” she huffed. “I’m just gonna tell ya, since you’re obviously in one of your moods again tonight.”
Gee wonder why? She never asked how I was doing, usually just calling to inform me how truly “fab” her life was. I really wasn’t much for envying Ashley-Leigh’s shallow existence, but I had to admit: juxtaposed next to my life, it sounded pretty dang great.
“Remember that hot guy we saw at Chapa’s when me and my mom took you out to dinner for your birthday last year?” she asked.
“Uh-huh,” I said noncommittally. I did vaguely remember her going on about something, but she usually found something or someone to go on about. I was still in too much of a stupor at the time to remember much of anything clearly. Mama’s death had still been so raw and painful.
“Well . . . he’s baaaaaaaack!”
“Wow. That’s uh, really . . . cool, Ash.” I tried and failed to infuse my tone with the right amount of enthusiasm.
“Yeah. He, like, works as a lifeguard now! Swoon!”
That was enough to have her off and running for a while. As Ashley-Leigh droned on enthusiastically about the hot college guy, her accent became more exaggerated. She thought southern accents “drove men wild” and never failed to add that to her repertoire of feminine wiles. You had to give it to her—she was a force to be reckoned with. I pitied the poor guy she set her sights on.
When it came to me and boys . . . well, it felt like I was mostly blind these days. It wasn’t always like that. I used to at least be slightly interested. I recalled the wild feeling of being chased by boys at recess, my ribbons unraveling in the wind as I nearly outran them. There had never been a shortage of admirers, both girls and boys, surrounding us. All that came screeching to a halt the day Mikey was born. Mama yanked me out of middle school, in the middle of seventh grade.
I thought of the phrase I learned in last year’s Spanish class. “Como cambio el mundo,” I muttered under my breath.
“Say what?” her bright voice broke into my dark thoughts.