by Mere Joyce
Hailey starts the movie from the beginning of the tape, and then she sits beside me on the couch. We curl into each other, and Allison drapes a blanket over our knees even though the room is already warm.
“This movie used to scare me,” Hailey confesses as we watch the opening credits. “When I was really young. My parents were all about keeping everything happy and innocent in my childhood. If they’d even known what we were watching …”
She laughs, the tremble of movement vibrating against my side.
“It’s not so bad, having parents who want to shield you.” Eli shrugs.
“Not realistic, though, is it?” Hailey says, sounding annoyed. “They keep you sheltered, and you never get to see what the world looks like. Pain, death, all that shit. You stay sheltered, and then when you do encounter it, it’s way worse because you don’t understand what the hell is going on. You’re not prepared to be afraid or hurt or dissatisfied.”
“Yeah, but sometimes it can be taken too far in the opposite direction,” Allison replies. Her voice sounds hollow, like Eli’s. “They make you experience the hurt and the shame. They expect you to understand all of it, and they use it against you to make their lives easier.”
I raise my head from Hailey’s shoulder and glance at the twins.
“What are you talking about?” I ask.
They both shake their heads, their expressions clouded.
“Family stuff,” Eli mutters.
“It’s personal,” Allison agrees. “We shouldn’t have said anything.”
“But you did,” Thomas chimes in. “And people don’t let information like that slip when they don’t want to discuss it.”
Hailey chuckles beneath her breath. She must share Thomas’s opinion.
“Yeah, well, we don’t,” Eli snaps.
Thomas looks like he wants to argue the point, and I wish he would. Whatever’s happening between Eli and Allison is starting to get on my nerves. They’ve been arguing all day, and this of any day seems the most inappropriate for pointless disagreement. And if it’s not pointless, they should talk about it with us. Because if anything’s clear, it’s that they are not handling the issue well on their own.
Thomas doesn’t say anything else, though. He doesn’t have the chance. Before he can respond to Eli, Forrester comments on the movie as if he’s oblivious to the fight brewing a few seats away.
“Anyone else ever wonder what he saw in that house?” he asks, pointing to the screen as the main character enters a house after a fatal fire — the visit that terrifies him so much he goes bald.
Forrester’s voice is gentle, and it dissolves any will the rest of us had to fight. I force myself to look away from the twins. Nestling back against Hailey, I focus on the movie instead.
“I always assumed it was ghosts,” I say, trying to keep my voice light.
“I always thought it was corpses,” Thomas replies. He laughs. “They probably didn’t leave dead bodies lying around, but it explained why he was scared so bad.”
“I figured there was part of a body left. Like an arm or something. I imagined a rat gnawing on the charred meat.”
Hailey says this in the most gruesome voice I think she could manage, and Thomas laughs again.
“I don’t think you had to worry about your parents being over-protective,” he says. “That is not the assumption of a shielded little girl.”
“This is supposed to be a kid’s movie, right?” Nolan asks, watching the movie like he’s never seen it before. I wonder if he remembers any of it from when he was a kid. He would have been no more than six when we last watched it here.
I always found it amusing how he and Thomas made up the bookends of our childhood group. Nolan just made the cut-off, young but a touch too old to play with Marissa or Liam. Sometimes, his age made a big difference as a kid. Now, it’s hardly noticeable. In ten more years, I doubt it’ll make any difference at all.
No one addresses the twins again. We watch the movie, and soon we’re involved in the story. Halfway through the running time, Eli goes upstairs to make the rest of his pie. While the movie’s paused, everyone takes turns getting ready for bed, and Hailey and I rummage through the second-floor linen closet to find sheets and pillows for the pullout couch. We come back together without any lingering tension. We finish the movie, and when it’s over, Eli gets the pie out of the oven while we unfold the sofa bed.
“All right,” Eli says, coming down the stairs with the pie, a can of whipped cream, and seven forks. “You’d better appreciate my efforts. I’m not in the habit of baking in public.”
“You’re my hero,” Thomas says, taking the pie and inhaling the scent I can smell even from across the room. I don’t have pumpkin pie often, and I already ate a ton at dinner. Still, my stomach growls when its aroma reaches me.
We make the bed, put on some old sorority slasher, and gather together on the pullout couch. Thomas sits in the middle, and somehow all of us manage to crowd together on either side. We pass the hot, spiced pie between us, delighting in the smooth texture and flaky crust, the whipped cream melting against the warm pumpkin. Eli’s an amazing baker. I don’t know why he’d ever hide such a delicious talent.
Before long I’m full, comfortable, and sleepy. Over the course of the slasher movie and the small-town drama Allison puts on next, we spread out — Thomas atop the sofa cushions laid out on the floor like a cot, Forrester wrapped in a blanket on the carpet before the fireplace. The rest of us stay on the bed, no one minding the close quarters, no one feeling weird or cramped.
I don’t know how many movies we put on. I make it about twenty minutes into the third film before I fall asleep.
Eli
At least
they like the pie. Damn well better. I’ve been working
on that pastry recipe
for a year now.
Ali once suggested I become a chef. What a laugh. I can only
imagine
what I’d look like, covered in food,
catering to the general public’s needs.
I’m glad they like it, though.
I’ve never made pumpkin before. My specialty’s
lemon meringue.
Weirder than the pumpkin
is the fact I’m enjoying myself.
Movies, food, a roaring fire,
the rain inaudible down here.
We’re in a cave,
tucked away
from the rest of the world.
It’s nicer than I would have expected.
But it’s only
temporary.
This cottage is outdated. It could be so much better. It has
the potential
to be so much more.
It’s not preservation of the past here.
It’s laziness,
a lack of money,
a lack of sense.
This place could be magnificent.
Instead it’s living inside a pathetically packed time capsule.
We go home tomorrow.
Dad will pick up Ali
because he wants
her help.
I’ll leave by myself,
and I won’t look back.
No lingering glances,
no feelings
of sadness
that this time in our life is over.
Forrester deserves my pity.
Our family history does not.
I’ll enjoy the last hours, if I can.
I’ll allow myself that much.
But after tomorrow,
this memory will fade,
and life will move on,
like it’s supposed to.
Allison
Saturday, October 8th, 2016
44°F, rain, 30 MPH winds — N
Today wasn’t as bad as my dream led me to believe it might be. I’m glad I don’t see these people every day. The girls are irritating — Kayla meek, Hailey coarse, and each obsessed with their appearances, in one way or the other. What would either of them say if they knew I haven’t given my reflection more than a cursory glance in over a year?
They’d probably tie me down and try to force me to endure a makeover.
I shudder to envision the outcome.
The boys aren’t much better. Thomas is too lighthearted, and Forrester is too grave. And Nolan, well … I’ve got enough skulking to deal with from Eli.
I’m not being totally fair, though. Kayla’s disposition is sweet, and Hailey’s got confidence I could only dream of. Thomas sees brightness in every situation, Forrester’s attempt to keep hold of his senses is admirable, and Nolan’s doing a much better job of hiding the reason his face flits through emotions each time he not-so-secretly checks his phone than Eli is at keeping his temper down. Anyway, I’m jealous of how easy Thomas and his brother are together.
Eli’s furious with me, which is becoming a more frequent occurrence these days. I don’t see the world the same way he does, but I don’t want that to tear us apart. Then again, maybe losing each other is inevitable. Look at Dad and his brothers. Maybe the Hacher family is doomed to be estranged.
I want to snuggle against Kayla and fall asleep. I want to sleep so deep I don’t remember any of my problems when I wake.
But it looks like I’m the only one unsettled enough to stay up for now. At least the roll of thunder above us is a comfort.
I wish I could be out of this calm and up in the storm. A storm’s where I’m headed, anyway. Might as well get an early start.
Kayla
I DON’T REMEMBER WHAT I dream about. Hudson, maybe. Or Uncle Simon. Perhaps even Julie, whoever she is. The dream is murky before I’ve regained consciousness, and it’s gone the moment I wake with cheeks wet with tears.
I wipe the moisture away like they’re droplets of stupidity. My body’s shaking, and my stomach is sick. Too much food — too much pie. I try to take a deep breath and surprise myself by sobbing instead. Whatever I dreamed about, its clutch hasn’t yet loosened. My lips are trembling as I chastise myself in the dark.
“Kayla?” The voice is a whisper, and it takes me a moment to locate its source on the floor. Squinting, I make out Thomas’s shadow as he rises up on his elbows and rubs his eyes through a yawn. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I say, my voice at once a laugh and a sniff.
The weak tone is not enough to convince him. He crawls over to the bed, his brows furrowed. Around us bodies rise and fall in the rhythm of sleep. I don’t want to wake anyone else because of my nuisance of a dream, whatever it was. Sitting up, I wonder if I can lift myself over Allison without disturbing her, until I realize Allison is not beside me. I look around the room, but it’s too dark to see much of anything. She probably moved closer to Eli, more comfortable next to her brother than the cousin she doesn’t know.
I slide off the bed, blinking away the sticky, sleep-filled tears. Thomas stands, grabbing my hand as he beckons for me to follow him upstairs, and I nod as he pulls me up, both of us shuffling across the carpet. Morning is still far off, and a fierce storm rages outside. Halfway up the steps, a lightning flash brightens the floor above us, thunder bellowing a few seconds behind.
When we reach the living room, I discover Allison did not move to sleep next to her twin. She’s up here already, lying on the sofa and watching the storm. She glances at us as we step down into the sunken square, but then she returns her head to the sofa’s arm without saying a word. Thomas doesn’t seem perturbed by her presence, and I suppose I’m not, either.
We sit on the wooden step, our faces to the back windows. If it weren’t for the lightning, it would be impossible to make anything out of the docks or the bay this late. But with a bright flash, the whole property blooms into view — the shadowy shed, the grassy slope, and the black water surrounded by blowing trees.
“Are you okay?” Thomas asks again once we’re sitting side by side, listening to the heavy lashing of rain against the windowpanes.
This time my laugh is stronger. “Yeah. It was a stupid dream. I don’t even remember what it was about. Nothing to concern yourself over.”
The way he stares at me suggests he doesn’t believe in stupid dreams, just as he doesn’t believe in slips of the tongue. He holds my gaze, and my cheeks warm with embarrassment. I don’t remember what I dreamed about or why I was crying when I woke up. But his stare is nagging, like he’s trying to pull my secrets free. I’m not like the twins. I don’t have some deep-buried truth I’m unwilling to reveal. My problems are, well … non-problems at a time like this.
I don’t want to tell him about Hudson. Not here, with everything else going on. But Thomas doesn’t stop staring, so after a lengthy pause I sigh and let the words flow.
“My boyfriend …” I shrug my shoulders and ball my hands together in my lap. “Hudson. He’s away at university. He left at the end of August, and I haven’t seen him since then. We talk and all, but we haven’t been physically together … um, that sounded wrong. I just mean, I haven’t, like, touched him … and that sounds even worse.” I shake my head through Thomas’s laugh and catch Allison’s smirk from where she’s listening on the sofa. “He’s been away, and I haven’t spent time with him in person,” I clarify, my cheeks now burning hot.
“That sucks,” Thomas says, the laughter almost gone from his voice. “Is that what you dreamed about? Do you miss him?”
“No,” I begin, and then, “well, yes, I miss him a lot. But that’s not what the dream was. I don’t think so, anyway. It’s just … he’s coming home for Thanksgiving. Arrived yesterday, leaving Monday morning. His family is strict about celebrating with only the family. So, today … yesterday? Saturday. Saturday was the only chance we had to see each other.”
“You gave it up to come here?” Thomas asks. “Kayla, you didn’t have to come.”
I place a hand on his arm to cut him off before he can start pitying me.
“I chose to come, and I’m not sorry I did,” I explain, thinking back to the day of the funeral and the brief certainty I felt when I agreed to help. “I miss Hudson like crazy. But it’s our family. It’s what needed to be done.”
“So why the long face?” he asks.
I smile, retrieving my hand and running it through the tangled strands of my hair. I probably look like a disaster. I didn’t even wash off my makeup before bed.
“He wasn’t too fond of my change of plans. He didn’t see being here as something important. And now he’s mad, and we’re missing our chance to see each other, and I think I’m afraid this is how the end of it starts.”
I blink and replay the words I’ve uttered out loud. Sharing so many details was definitely not part of the plan. I don’t know what it is about Thomas. He grabs the truth like he’s pulling silk scarves from a pocket.
“You think he’d end it because of this?” he asks.
I open my mouth to respond, but it takes a while before I figure out which words to respond with.
“No. I don’t think it will be over because of this,” I say at length. “But this weekend was our way to keep grasping onto one another, to keep hold of us. Everyone told us to break up before he went away, you know? And we told them they were wrong. And, I still think they were. I don’t want to be without Hudson.
But I’m afraid it’s different on his end. He’s away, after all. My day-to-day is the same as always, while he’s in a different world. I’m afraid he’ll drift. This weekend was our tether. I wanted to pull it tighter, make sure it’s not going to break. Make sure his heart is still docked with mine. Instead, I’ve frayed an edge, and that could lead to the rope snapping somewhere down the line.”
“Do you believe he loves you?” Thomas asks.
This time my response is quick.
“I know he does,” I say. “That’s one of the only things I’m certain of.”
“Then this weekend won’t hurt anything. Frayed edges can be repaired. They don’t all snap.”
I breathe deep, my full stomach straining with the effort.
“I know, but being oblivious to what will happen next is still tragic, isn’t it?”
“I’ve always liked not knowing.” He grins. “It’s more fun that way. Surprises are around every corner, and being surprised by them is awesome.”
Thunder cracks outside, and for a minute all three of us are silent. When Thomas moves his arm, my eyes travel to his black-and-sepia-inked wrist as he scratches his elbow.
“Thomas, where did you get the idea for your tattoos?” I ask.
He startles at the sound of my voice, and then looks down at his wrists, joining the two together.
“There’s this painting in the hallway at home,” he says. “It’s right across from my bedroom, so I’ve looked at it pretty much every day for as long as I can remember. On my eighteenth birthday, some of my friends took me to an excellent tattoo artist. They made the appointment months before, so I couldn’t disappoint them and not get something done. I spent, like, an hour thinking about it, and then I remembered the painting. I found it online, and Miranda — the tattoo artist — she freehanded this based on it. Stunning ability. Stunning woman, too.”
My fingertips tingle with triumph. I knew the tattoo was from a painting.
“What painting was it?” I ask, keeping my voice light and only mildly intrigued.
I’d put money on it being painted by one of seven individuals. I think of the picture in our kitchen and the one downstairs above the fire. Five brothers, seven artists. I wonder if everyone has a painting at home.
