Rules

by Doe, Anna B.

  The words stay hanging in the air, silence stretching until I finally lift my gaze.

  “What happened to your face?” His eyes zero on the right side of my face.

  Lifting my fingers, I trace the cut on my cheekbone, feeling the tender skin underneath, and it makes me hiss softly. I almost forgot about that, as much as you can forget a shiner.

  “I was a klutz,” I say, shrugging nonchalantly. “Crashed into a door.”

  “Mhmm…” He doesn’t believe me, not that I expect him to, but he doesn’t probe further. “So what do you want? Your own piece of the pie? Because mommy dearest is already getting hers, and keeping her mouth shut ain’t cheap.”

  Of course it isn’t. Financing her addictions is anything but cheap.

  Coming closer, I stop right in front of his desk. “What if you didn’t need to pay her a dime anymore?”

  This gets his attention.

  Leaning forward, he pops his elbows on the desk, his chin resting on his intertwined fingers. “And how would that happen?”

  I watch him, look into those green eyes that look so similar to my own. A million thoughts run through my mind, a million possibilities, yet I know there is only one option. One option, one choice, that I should have taken years ago. One choice that I was destined to make, but everything that happened, especially in the last few months, made me believe that maybe, just maybe, there was hope for me.

  But I was only kidding myself.

  There is only one option.

  Only one way.

  “You help me disappear.”

  * * *

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” Mrs. Brown asks me yet again. I stopped counting the number of times asked, all in the last twenty minutes.

  I nod my head, not letting out the doubt I feel. “This is for the best.”

  “Very well,” she agrees. I can see the words she’s thinking, but refusing to say.

  You’re making a mistake.

  I know because I’ve been thinking the same thing. I’ve been wondering and going over every single possibility I could think of, every possible outcome, but it all came back to square one. As long as Josephine is in Greyford, as long as she is alive, I can’t stay here. There is no extracting myself from her. Want it or not, she’s my mother, and in the world we live in, that means that her sins are my sins, her debts, my debts. And God knows she has more than a handful of both.

  People mull around the bus station, the uneasiness I was feeling the whole day now hitting me square in the chest, making it hard to breathe.

  “You don’t have to stay here,” I say to my teacher, not moving my eyes from the guy tossing our bags into the storage of the bus. Soon it’ll be my turn to hand him my things, and before I know it, I’ll be gone.

  “I know.”

  I tilt my head back, groaning. I was never good at saying goodbyes, and the last thing I wanted was for somebody to witness me falling apart.

  “You can groan all you want, young lady, but I’m not leaving,” Mrs. Brown scolds lightly. Her dark eyes find mine, a soft smile spreading over her lips. “You’re not alone, no matter what you think. There are people in this world who love and care for you.”

  Lia’s crying face flashes in my mind.

  “Not anymore.”

  “Nonsense!” she says just as they give the final call to hand over our luggage and get on the bus.

  Mrs. Brown tilts her chin in the direction of the bus. “You don’t want to be late.”

  But I hear the challenge in her voice. She’s daring me to get on that bus. Daring me to go away. Daring me to stay.

  Pressing my lips in a tight line to swallow the protest that wants to come out, I grip the handle of my bag tighter.

  I start toward the bus, but can’t help but add, “I don’t have a choice.”

  She tsks. “We all have a choice, but it’s the risk we have to be willing to take.”

  With those final words, she lets me go.

  Taking one shaky breath in, I move forward. Giving my bags to the driver, I take a step inside the bus. My hand grips the railing, holding tight. One leg in, one leg out.

  This was supposed to be my destiny from the beginning. I was fooling myself thinking it could be any other way. That short moment of hope, the moment of delusion, really showed me otherwise. I had a plan for a reason, and I’m going to stick to it.

  Swallowing hard, I push all the insecurities away and enter. I find my seat and crash down, my eyes closed the whole time.

  I can feel the bus rumble to life, the wheels start to move, but it’s not until I’m sure we’re away from the bus station that I open my eyes. They burn, the unshed tears clouding my gaze and making it hard to see clearly, but I do my best to hold them in.

  I won’t break.

  I repeat those words over and over again as I wrap my arms around myself, holding on for dear life, as tears fall down.

  My hand slides over my stomach, a sob ripping out of my throat just as the “Leaving Greyford” sign passes by.

  It was the right thing to do. Now it’s just you and me, little one.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  MAX

  I’m not sure how I ended up here, but now that I am, I can’t turn back. Like a siren’s song, the room is calling me. Daring me to take a step inside.

  I’ve been trying to avoid the art department since I’d heard she left. Somehow I know, the moment I step inside that room and don’t find her there working on whatever painting she’s creating at the moment, it’ll hit me. Really hit me that she’s gone.

  Unanswered messages and phone calls weren’t anything unusual. Not seeing her slumped form in the classroom reading whatever book she’s interested in at the moment or seeing her glare at me from the other side of the lunch table, those I could deal with. But not finding her here, that’s unimaginable.

  Taking a deep, shaky breath, I push the door open. My ribs ache with the strain, the bruise from yesterday’s game killing me. I knew playoffs would be intense, but nothing could quite prepare me for it. Everybody was giving their absolute best, each of us pushing ourselves to the max in order to take advantage on the ice and score the goals that would take us to the championship game.

  I look straight to her station in the back of the room. My heart falls when I find it empty, though I didn’t expect anything different.

  “Can I help you somehow?” A smooth voice startles me. I turn around, noting the older lady sitting at the desk at the front of the room. She barely lifts her gaze at me before she returns to whatever she’s been doing.

  “I was looking for somebody.”

  Somebody who apparently walked away, without a backward glance.

  “Classes don’t start until later in the afternoon.”

  “She used to come here in the morning.” I give another longing look toward her station. I’m not even sure why I’m telling all of this to this woman, but I need to tell someone. “She’d let me study while she worked on her artsy stuff.”

  That seems to get her attention. “Are you talking about Brook?”

  My eyes narrow. There is something in her tone… “Yes. Have you talked to her lately?”

  “Not since she left.” She shrugs nonchalantly, but for some reason, I don’t buy it for a second. That lady, she knows something.

  “Did you know her well?”

  “As well as any of my students. She preferred to keep to herself. A loner, that one. But an amazing artist. I haven’t had anyone quite as talented as her in a long time.”

  I nod, not sure what to say. Brook was always really secretive about her art. In all the time we spent in this room, I never caught even a glimpse of what she was working on. Not one peek. But her teacher’s words make me wonder.

  What is it that she’s been hiding all this time? If I look at her art, will I discover another layer that makes Brook Taylor the girl—woman really—that she is?

  “Are you planning on staying?” She gets on her feet, brushing her hand
s against her jeans. “I’d love to continue with our chit-chat, but I really need to pack these paintings and send them to my friend.” She gives me an assessing look. “I could use your help.”

  There are a dozen things I should be doing, but being here makes me feel more connected to Brook than I have in days.

  I need to talk to you.

  This is really not the best time.

  Not that I have any right.

  Swallowing hard, I nod. “I can help you out.”

  Her lips curl in a small smile. “Come, I’ll show you.”

  I follow behind her, my eyes darting around the room, taking everything in. The light space, all the art supplies, the endless colors... For all the times I’ve been here, I never paid much attention to the room itself. It was always Brook. The reason I came. The one to hold all my attention.

  The way she’d tilt her head to the side, nibbling at the paintbrush as she observed her work, her ponytail swaying. Different color smudges on her face. The light that would appear in her eyes the first time she allowed herself to open them and actually see what she’s been creating.

  It was always her. Brook. My Firecracker.

  “We usually let the paintings dry, and then I put them away, but since I’ll be sending this to my friend who works in the gallery, I pulled them all out. It’s…”

  But I don’t hear the rest because I see them. Brook’s paintings. I don’t need anybody to tell me they’re hers because I just know. I see them, but really, I see her.

  I’m sure my mouth is hanging open, but I don’t care one bit.

  Turning around slowly, I take in every single one of them. I don’t know shit about art, but these… these are beautiful.

  “This is…” I gape at the paintings. The pages of her precious books glued to canvas and vivid images painted over them. So many colors, so many emotions.

  “Amazing isn’t she?” Mrs. Brown chuckles behind me.

  I nod absentmindedly but don’t look away. Silhouettes of people, mostly girls—on a swing, little girls holding hands on the field, a crying profile, hiding, a couple kissing, and is that... a party? A girl looking at a guy who’s looking at…

  “Is that… me?” I ask, coming closer and finding more of them.

  Painting upon painting upon painting of me. Not knowing what to say, what to think, what to feel, I just stare at them.

  Happy, confused, pensive, irritated… she captured it all. There is even one painting of me playing hockey. Mid-swing, determination to score the goal written all over my face. Determination I haven’t felt since Jeanette’s accident.

  “Those are her latest paintings.”

  She knew. “Is that why you called me in here?” I can’t help myself but ask. “To show me her work?”

  “Nonsense.” She waves me away, pulling out the tissue paper. “I just needed a young, muscled man to help me pack all of these.”

  “What are you going to do with them?” I ask, looking around. The idea of wrapping these up and sending them somewhere upsets me more than I want to admit.

  “She wanted me to sell them.”

  “You talk to Brook?” My heart starts beating harder. If she’s talking to her than she must know where Brook…

  “Not anymore. She asked me to do that before she left town.”

  The hope I was feeling only seconds ago deflates.

  “Now, are you going to help me or just stand there?”

  Sighing in defeat, I look at the paintings. One last trace of Brook that will soon be gone. Erased like her very existence.

  As I scan the paintings, I stop on the one of the couple, eyes narrowing as I observe it more carefully.

  “Do you have to send them all?” I turn around and catch one of her silver brows rising in question.

  “Did you have something in mind?”

  I point at the painting. “I want this one.”

  * * *

  “This looks good, Max.”

  I turn around in my chair to face Jeanette. She’s sitting cross-legged in the middle of my bed, a little black furball nestled in her lap, snoozing. I still couldn’t believe Andrew got her a freaking dog. And even less that our mom let Jeanette keep it. In the house, at that.

  I guess part of it is because she feels guilty. Guilty she missed the signs that something was wrong with Jeanette, not once but twice. Guilty she ignored her fucked-up marriage, drowning her sorrows in shopping and day drinking. Ignored Dad’s cheating until it all fell apart, and like a wrecking ball, pulled us all down with it.

  “You think so?”

  With everything that has been going on, I fell behind on my studying, and since the person who usually helped me is MIA, I had to bug Jeanette. Coach is pissed at me as it is. We barely managed to pull through the first playoff game, and if my grades slip again, he really will bench me. Something I can’t risk.

  Seeing Brook’s paintings, seeing myself through her eyes, has awoken something in me that was asleep for a while. Looking at them, I knew she’d be disappointed if I let my team down. If I let myself down after everything we’ve worked for.

  “Yes, I think you grasped the concepts and applied them to the subject correctly.”

  The pressure I was feeling wrap around my throat eases a bit.

  “Thanks, Anette.” I smile. Getting up, I take the papers from her hand, noting the red marks—grammatical errors and other adjustments I’ll have to go through before handing it in tomorrow.

  One thing at a time—that’s the mantra I repeat over and over when things become too much.

  Finish math homework.

  Go over Spanish conjugations.

  Do a revision of the Civil War.

  Rewrite the essay.

  Figure out where the fuck Brook-fucking-Taylor is hiding.

  One thing at a time.

  From the corner of my eye, I see her massage her wrist. “How are you holding up?”

  After her car accident, Jeanette had some pretty nasty injuries. And although the outside bruises and scratches have healed, her wrist still hurts and she has had some trouble breathing. Oh, she tried to hide it, but it’s not like you can hide heavy wheezing every time you climb a set of stairs.

  “I’m fine.” Her hand falls down, settling on top of the dog’s head and scratching lightly behind her ears.

  “Anette…” There is a warning note in my voice.

  I love my sister, but she’s always trying to take on the weight of the world, and it’s bound to break her at some point. And that’s the last thing I want. I almost lost her, twice, and I’m not doing it again.

  She lifts her head, rolling her eyes at me. “I’m fine. Really. I can feel the dull ache, but that’s normal. The damn thing was broken and in a cast for weeks, and I can’t keep taking the pain meds. It’ll get better with physical therapy.”

  I really hope she’s right. Jeanette is somewhat of a musical genius. She plays the violin and writes her own music. I know she doesn’t want to go to Julliard or any similar prestigious school. She never wanted to be in the spotlight, but I don’t want this accident to rob her of something she loves and holds dear. She’s been through enough already.

  “Want me to go with you?”

  I wasn’t sure where I’d fit it between all the studying I had to do and practices, but for her, I’ll do anything.

  “Nah, Andrew’s going with me.” Her phone chimes. “Speak of the devil.”

  A smile spreads over her face as she checks her phone. It’s big and bright, so bright it hurts to look at her. I want to be happy for her—I am happy for her—but at the same time, I can’t escape the pang of jealousy I feel every time I see her smile like that.

  “He coming over?” I ask nonchalantly as I get to my feet, giving her space.

  “Mhmm… If you want, we can all watch movies together or something.”

  “No thanks.” I force a smile, but it’s weak at best. “I don’t feel like being a third wheel.”

  “You’re not going to be
a third wheel.” Jeanette grabs Lady—that’s what she named the little black monster—and comes to me. “I can even invite Derek and…”

  “No.” I stop her, disentangling from her touch. “You don’t have to baby me. I’m fine. Besides, I have shit to do.”

  “But…”

  Whatever she wanted to say dies when the door to my bedroom bursts open.

  “There you are! I’ve been looking for you!”

  Mom stops at the doorway, looking at the two of us. She’s dressed casually, well, as casually as Jane Sanders knows how to dress.

  Jeanette and I are not the only ones the accident, and everything that followed, affected. Mom’s different too. And not just physically, but mentally as well. She’s more present, spending more time at home and less time with her friends shopping and drinking.

  Jeanette’s accident, the possibility of losing her, shook her pretty badly, so for weeks she barely left her side. And she put more interest in our school, extracurricular activities and just… us. It’s weird. Before she was barely home, and now if either of us stays out a bit longer, she’s all over us.

  “Something going on?” Jeanette asks, shifting the dog from one arm to another.

  “I just wanted to check in.” Her fingers play with the pearls around her neck. Some things might have changed, but others are still the same. Socialites can soften around the edges, but at the end of the day, she’ll still have blue blood running through her veins. “Before I go out.”

  I narrow my eyes at her, looking at her more carefully, trying to figure out the cause for her sudden nervousness. “Going somewhere special?”

  “As a matter of fact, I am.” Blue eyes look at me. “I’m meeting your dad.”

  I flinch back like she punched me. My stomach clenches uncomfortably, and the steel grip around my throat is back, making it hard to breathe.

  “You’re doing what?” I all but roar at her, livid. Jeanette’s hand wraps around my bicep, her fingers digging at my skin as she pulls me back.