Girl By Any Other Name

by MK Schiller

  “Are you leaving?” she asked after a while.

  “Do you want me to?”

  “No. Can you stay for a while?”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t want to be alone.” There was something heartbreaking in what she said.

  “Sylvie, can I ask you something?”

  “You just did.”

  “Funny, smartass. I’m being serious.”

  “Ask me.”

  “Does your daddy ever hurt you? You know, like more than a punishment?” I wanted to ask since I’d heard the rumor, but never had the courage.

  She turned onto her stomach and shifted her body halfway off the bed. She leaned down toward me. Her hair brushed across my face, forming a tent between us. The strands felt like feathers against my skin. She was going to kiss me again. I puckered up, deciding I would be prepared this time.

  She flicked her fingers against my forehead instead.

  “What the hell, girl?”

  “No, Caleb Tanner. My daddy does not hurt me. He does not, you hear me? He loves me very much.”

  I winced, rubbing my forehead. “Okay, geez, I get it. I just wondered cause he’s different than other dads.” I wasn’t just referring to his alcohol problem, but there was something off about the way he treated her. I wished I’d kept my big mouth shut.

  She sat back on her bed and took a deep breath. “I remind him of my mother. I look like her. I guess I should stop wearing her clothes. He probably thinks he’s seeing a ghost…or maybe a raven.”

  “You wear your momma’s clothes?” That explained a lot when it came to her wardrobe choices.

  “Yeah, it’s all I have left of her. He’s just sad she died.”

  “How did she die, Sylvie?”

  “She got cancer. I don’t have anything else to say on it.”

  “I’m sorry. Do you want me to go so you can get to sleep?”

  “Will you stay with me until I do? I’ve been having nightmares again.”

  “Sure, but I’ll stay on the floor, okay?”

  “I promise I won’t kiss you again.”

  “I’m not taking any chances, girl.” I chuckled, trying to lighten her mood. “You can’t help yourself around me.”

  “Whatever.” She threw me a pillow and one of her blankets. “Here, you can at least be comfortable.”

  She turned off her lamp and we sat there in the dark silence for a while.

  “Cal,” she whispered, right before I dozed off. “I’m sorry I made you come with me inside the store. You missed the game because of me, didn’t you?”

  “You can make it up.”

  “How can I do that?”

  “Don’t move away.”

  * * * *

  The next day, I came home after several exhausting games of flag football to find Sylvie helping Momma in the kitchen.

  “What’s going on?”

  She turned to Sylvie. “Sylvie’s joining us for dinner.”

  “Oh.” Sylvie would come over and play with Mandy, but despite the constant invitations to Mr. Cranston to join us for supper, he always declined. I guess my mother should have just asked Sylvie by herself.

  “Go take a shower, Cal. You stink worse than the swamp,” Momma said, pinching her nose.

  She was right. I reeked something awful. Even I could smell it.

  When I came back down, the table was set and Dad was home.

  “Hi, gorgeous, whatcha cooking for me?” It was his usual greeting to my mother, followed by a big hug and kiss. Gross.

  “Meatloaf,” she replied, smacking his hand away. “Let’s eat.”

  Dad mussed up my hair and asked me how my team did.

  “Daddy!” Mandy squealed, bounding out of her room like a tornado before I could finish my sentence.

  “Hey, princess,” my daddy said, scooping her up in his arms. He spun her around until her giggles turned into shrieks.

  He suddenly stopped mid-turn, noticing Sylvie. “Well, hello, Sylvie.”

  She bowed her head in a weird way. “Good evening, Mr. Tanner.”

  “You’re joining us for supper?”

  “Isn’t that obvious, John?” my mother said, handing him the big wooden salad bowl.

  “I suppose it is. Happy to have you.” I could tell Dad was not happy. He disagreed with Momma about Mandy and my friendship with Sylvie, but he wasn’t the kind of dad to forbid something like that. Unless he saw reason to. He wasn’t the kind of dad who would tell me who I could be friends with unless he saw a reason to.

  We took our seats at the table. My father said grace. I opened one eye to stare at Sylvie. She had her eyes closed tightly and had squinted her face like she was praying extra hard.

  “Sugar, this is delicious,” my father complimented after he took his first forkful of food.

  “Sylvie helped. She’s a very good cook.”

  “I helped, too!” Mandy shrieked.

  “Yes, you did. Thank you for shucking the corn for me, princess.”

  “You ladies all did a fine job,” my father said. “Cal and I will do the dishes.”

  “How was work?” Momma asked him.

  “We caught some speeders on the south end of town. Nothing too exciting, but guess what happened after work?”

  “What?” Momma asked.

  “I headed over to Walmart to buy some batteries and ran into Mona Simms. Boy, let me tell you, she gave me an earful about our rude son.”

  Damn, I had forgotten all about that mean woman. Practically tasting the hot sauce that would soon be on my tongue, I caught a glimpse of Sylvie. She looked more frightened than me, and I was about to get my ass tanned in a few minutes.

  “What did Cal do?” my mother asked, her voice sharpening a few octaves.

  Before my father could answer, Sylvie interrupted. “Mr. Tanner, please don’t be mad at Cal. He was defending me. It was my fault. Miss Simms made fun of my outfit, and he was taking up for me.”

  My father stared at Sylvie for a moment. I winced, hoping he wouldn’t ban her from our house. Instead, the corners of his mouth quirked as though he fought a grin. “Is that a fact?”

  “It is,” she said, staring down at her lap. “I swear it.”

  He turned to me. “Cal, I appreciate your sentiment.”

  I let out a breath.

  Dad held up his hand. “However…” Damn, that word. “I’m not pleased with how you handled things. You don’t defend one lady by insulting another. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir,” I said, although I wouldn’t call Mona Simms a lady.

  “I want you to write her an apology note and hand-deliver it.”

  “But—”

  “Or should I give you another punishment? Either write the note, or you can forfeit Friday night football for the rest of the season.”

  “I’ll write a note.”

  “Wise choice. You wouldn’t want to spend your Friday nights cleaning out the garage instead of going to the game.”

  “He didn’t go yesterday, John,” my mother said.

  My dad put his elbows on the table, leaning forward. “What? You didn’t go?”

  I pushed the corn kernels around my plate with my fork. “I had other stuff to do.”

  My father placed his hand on my forehead. “You feeling okay, son?”

  “I’m fine,” I said, matching his wide grin. The tension broke, and I relaxed.

  Sylvie exhaled, too. The rest of the dinner, Mandy hijacked the conversation as she usually did, babbling about her favorite shows, her school outfits, and all the other boring random stuff I tuned out. My parents and Sylvie listened with rapt attention as if she was reciting the formula for turning garbage into gold. I did my best not to yawn.

  My father leaned back in his chair, patting his stomach, staring down at his empty plate. “Woman, I knew I was destined to marry you when I first tasted your meatloaf.”

  “My meatloaf, really?” Momma asked, smirking.

  “One of many reasons, sweetheart. On
e of many.” He took her hand and kissed it. “Like, for instance, how you always help me when I’m struggling to remember something.” He started humming.

  I rolled my eyes, knowing what was in store for us.

  “Oh, no, not again,” Momma said. “You have a song stuck in your head, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, sugar. Can you give it a shot? You're always good at this.”

  My mother sighed. “Okay, what is it?”

  “Goes something like ‘Walk away’ and a girl’s name. It’s like ‘Walk away, Sarah.’ You know what I’m talking about? It’s catchy, though. From the sixties, I think.”

  “I have no idea.”

  My father loved music, especially old, elusive music. He’d been in a rock band when he was younger. They tried to make it to California, they got as far as Dallas. He played the piano and the guitar. When I was younger, he tried to teach me, but I didn’t have the skills. I’d snapped off his guitar strings and my piano playing had induced a series of headaches for Momma. My family decided Focusing his teachings on Mandy would be a better use of his time and may just save their eardrums too.

  “C’mon, honey, help me out here. It’s like a one-hit wonder. I think we danced to it before. Hell, I might have the record around here.”

  “No swearing, John. Children are present,” my mother chided, although I didn’t think “hell” counted as a swear word. It was in the Bible, after all.

  “Sorry,” my father grumbled, walking over to the piano. He strummed a few notes, trying to find the right combination for the song that grasped hold of his mind and wouldn’t let go until he figured out the name.

  “Come on, family. Surely, you have to have some idea here?”

  “Is it a princess song?” Mandy asked.

  “No honey, not that kind of song.”

  “I have no idea, John,” Momma said.

  “Don’t look at me,” I said, holding up my hands.

  My father sat down at the piano bench and hit a few more keys. “I can figure it out.” He kept hitting key after key.

  Sylvie wiped her mouth, stood up, and walked over to him. “May I?” she asked, gesturing to our old Suzuki mini-grand.

  My father regarded her with surprise, but moved over on the bench. “Be my guest.”

  She sat next to him and started playing. His shocked expression transformed to awe as Sylvie’s fingers danced across the keys, but I’m not sure if I ever recovered. When she started singing, I thought my father might fall right off the bench. Sylvie was a damn good singer. Who knew?

  “That’s right,” my father said, slapping his knee. By the time she got to the chorus, he joined her. My mother walked over and added her voice. This was weird. My father sometimes sang and played, but we didn’t sing together except for Christmas carols. Mandy ran over and jumped on my daddy’s lap. The four of them looked so happy. I guess music had a way of bringing people together. I walked over and stood next to my mom. I sure as hell wasn’t singing, but I didn’t mind standing with them.

  When Sylvie finished, she turned to my father nervously. “’Walk Away Renee.’ It’s by The Left Banke, and it is a one-hit wonder, although the Four Tops and Linda Ronstadt have covered it.”

  “Where did you hear that song, Sylvie? And where did you learn to play? You’re really good,” Dad said.

  She looked down at the piano. “Thank you. My mother taught me on both counts. My father used to sing that song to her. Her name was Renee.”

  Momma patted Sylvie’s shoulders. “It’s a beautiful song, and all the lyrics came right back to me. You have an angelic voice, young lady.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. It’s better than my piano playing. I haven’t played for a while.”

  “You could use some practice, but you definitely have a strong basic framework. You should take lessons,” Dad said.

  Sylvie blushed deep. I wondered if anyone ever said a nice word to her.

  “Is there someone in Prairie who gives lessons?” she asked.

  My father and mother both grimaced at the same time, chiming out in unison, “Mona Simms.” We all laughed.

  “Look, why don’t I give you lessons?” Dad said. “I usually work with Mandy after dinner. You’re much more advanced, but I’m sure you girls could learn from each other.”

  Sylvie widened her eyes, regarding my father with such crazy gratitude he even blushed—and Sherriff John Tanner never blushed.

  “I would like that, sir.”

  “Great. We’ll start tomorrow night.”

  I think that’s how Sylvie won her way into my daddy’s heart. She knew as much about obscure rock songs as he did, and they both loved the piano. She won my mother’s by being so well-mannered and sweet.

  The girl didn’t have to win my heart.

  She owned it outright.

  Chapter 6

  Present day

  I arrived to class early on the pretense of grading the last few papers, but I hoped to get a better look at Sophie Becker. I swallowed hard as I watched her come into the classroom. She still wore the baseball hat, but I could see the deep cinnamon-colored hair sticking out in a silky ponytail. It curled at the ends. She wasn’t wearing her sunglasses, and for a brief moment, our eyes met before she tilted her face downward. They were large brown eyes—solid as fresh earth, sexy as melted chocolate, and soulful as the majestic oak trees in Prairie. They took my breath away.

  She wore simple jeans and a loose V-neck T-shirt the color of mud, but the outfit didn’t hide her voluptuous assets. My gaze followed her perfectly round ass and shapely legs all the way up the steps of the lecture hall to the very back seat. This girl had so many similarities to Sylvie, but she was different, too. Sophie Becker was jaw-drop gorgeous. Then again, I’d always known Sylvie had a natural beauty. Even she couldn’t hide that forever. Determined to get more information this time, I wasn’t letting Sophie get away so easily, but first I wanted to talk to her openly. Talk to her without talking to her. Luckily, I was in a position to do that.

  “Today, we are going to talk about the unsent letter, which is your next assignment. Just like the term implies, it is a letter you write to someone but you have no intention of sending. You will all be writing unsent letters to someone. They can be sonnets or a simple letter. The idea behind the assignment is a chance to showcase some emotional writing as exhibited in the works we have been reading. We won’t read them out loud so they will be completely anonymous except to Jessica or myself.”

  Roy Adkins’ hand shot up. I waved it away. “Mr. Adkins, there is no need to point out this assignment is not in the syllabus. This is a place of higher learning and, as your instructor, I have the right to add additional assignments as I see fit.” A few of the guys groaned, but I ignored them. “Do not look at this as additional work, but rather an extra opportunity to impress me. I hope some of you will, as it is a rare experience for me. Now, it won’t take much time. It only needs to be a paragraph or two. I just want a clear indication of your writing skills through an informal outlet.”

  A girl in the front row raised her hand. I nodded toward her. “Can it be to anybody we want?”

  “Yes, anyone.” I paused for a moment, trying to coax the next words to come out evenly. “Dead or alive. It’s your choice. I have an example of an unsent letter I wrote when I was eighteen. It’s to give you some perspective on the assignment.” I took the folded paper out of my pocket, questioning why the hell I’d thought this was a good idea in the first place. I laid down the faded page against the desk and smoothed it out with my hand. It was ripped in the middle where it had been creased one too many times. “I wrote this to someone I cared about very much, and writing it brought me some peace.”

  I cleared my throat and stared at the hastily scrawled words, flavored with yellowing tinges of time.

  “Hello, my old friend. My childhood friend. My best friend. The girl of my heart. What you are will never change for me. No matter what. But I keep forgetting you’re not with me anymore.
I keep going to our fishing spot, looking for you, but you’re not here anymore. Now, I walk in the woods at night like you used to do. I stare at the fallen leaves, wishing I could hug you again, but you’re not here anymore. I tap on your bedroom window, waiting for you to let me in, but you’re not here anymore. The only place I find you now is in my heart and troubled soul. There you live as if you’ve never left. There you will be forevermore.”

  A sob escaped in the first row. Melanie Adams had a tissue out. Shit.

  “That was so poignant,” she said. Some of the other girls looked teary-eyed, too.

  “Thank you,” I said, surprised by the emotional reaction. I’d only read the first paragraph, but decided that was enough.

  “You loved her,” Melanie Adams said.

  I didn’t respond. What more was there to say? “Your letter can be a poem or in letter form. It can be anything you want as long as it’s spoken from the heart. Also, don’t forget we have an exam next class and it’s worth a quarter of your grade.”

  She filed out fast with her head down as soon as class ended, but I yelled out her name. “Miss Becker, may I have a moment?”

  She halted in her tracks. I almost thought she would keep going. She turned back slowly until she stood in place like a frozen statue while students filed past her.

  “Have we met?” I asked her.

  “I don’t think so,” she replied.

  When I walked over to her, she winced, staring at my feet. The limp was slight, and few people noticed it anymore, but Sophie Becker did. “Are you sure? You look like a girl I used to know.”

  She smiled politely, but shook her head. “I get that a lot. I have one of those faces.”

  “No, you don’t.” My gaze lingered over her lovely body. I was in trouble. I had to stop this madness.

  “Professor…err…Cal, may I speak with you?” Melanie Adams interrupted.

  I turned toward her, trying my damnedest not to scowl. “One minute, please.”

  When I looked back, Sophie Becker was gone.

  Just walk away, Renee.