Fractured Slipper

by Adrienne Monson

  “You can’t—ow, ow, ow!” chants Zel.

  I twist their ears a little harder.

  “I’m not your nanny. I’m your big sister and that does make me the boss of you! We’re going home. Now.”

  Ana and Zel try to plant their feet, but I twist relentlessly and force them to stumble back to the beach.

  I hear a splash and look over my shoulder. Jerry’s pants are on the ground near the big saltwater pool. His feet sink below the surface.

  After what the girls did, he’ll never speak to me again.

  Goodbye, Jerry’s feet.

  Zel realizes I’m distracted and tries to pull away, but I grip harder.

  “Stop it, Rell! You’re hurting me!”

  “Good.”

  At the rock wall near the showers, I let go of the girls long enough to grab my shoes.

  Jerry’s shoes.

  I run my fingers over them.

  Goodbye, Jerry’s shoes.

  It’s been real.

  I turn on the shower and rinse my feet.

  “Into the water,” I say.

  “No.”

  “It’s too cold.”

  “We’ll shower at home.”

  “You’re not getting sand in the car and making more work for Jerry. Rinse.”

  “No.”

  Oh, yes. Yes, you will.

  I grab ruffles.

  “Let go!”

  I twist for a better grip.

  “Hey!”

  “Rinse the sand off your feet or I’ll dunk your whole body under the spray.”

  “You can’t make us.”

  “You’re not the boss!”

  I yank, pulling their legs into the spray.

  “Cold, cold, cold!” they shriek.

  “Good,” I say.

  “Ha! Fooled you. It’s not that bad.”

  “Yeah, we wanted to anyway!”

  “Let’s get really wet and soak the car!”

  “Yeah! Water’s way worse than sand.”

  Out the corner of my eye, I spot Ilima limping around the showers and slinking behind the trash cans.

  She’s following us.

  That can’t be good.

  “Let’s go,” I say.

  Ilima trails us all the way past the event tent and across the street to the rental car. I unlock it and push Zel toward the backseat.

  “It’s too small,” she whines.

  “Complain to your mother.”

  “It’s too hot,” Ana says.

  “Get in.”

  “I want to sit up front.”

  “No, I want to,” Zel says.

  I grit my teeth. “You both get in the back right this minute or so help me, I’ll leave, and you can walk.”

  “I hate you!” Ana says.

  “Right back at ya,” I say.

  “I’m telling Mom,” Zel says. “She’ll punish you for being mean to us.”

  I count to three, then slide the driver’s seat all the way forward. “Get in.”

  They grumble, but finally climb in. When I get in, I feel their knees and feet pushing against my back.

  They want to be that way? Fine.

  I turn all the air conditioning vents toward me and start the engine.

  “Hey! What about us?”

  “Can we put the top down? It’s hot.”

  “No. Be quiet.”

  “I want a drink.”

  “Me, too.”

  “Let’s go in the store.”

  “No way,” I say.

  “Come on, Rell. Buy us a drink.”

  “It’s hot, and we’re thirsty.”

  I adjust the mirrors. “You can get one at the house.”

  “You’re so mean, Rell.”

  “Mom was right about you.”

  When I put the car in reverse, Ilima steps out of shadows to watch us leave. I roll down my window.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell her. “I hope your ribs are okay. I won’t let them hurt you again.”

  “What’s Rell saying?”

  “She’s apologizing to the dog!”

  “That dog attacked me!”

  “It should be put down!”

  “She’s crazy. I can’t believe Mom sent us with her.”

  Ilima locks eyes with me.

  My eyes dim like I’m going to faint. I take a deep breath and try to shake the ringing out of my ears.

  I smell sandalwood and lemonade.

  Ilima tips her head to the side and chuffs.

  The taste of lemons fills my mouth, sweet and sour and a little salty, just the way Mama used to make it.

  In an instant, I’m three years old again, running through the backyard sprinklers. Mama says, “Rell! Time for lunch, sweetheart.”

  Mama?

  “What are we waiting for?” Ana whines.

  “It’s so hot!”

  I swallow and the memory’s gone.

  When I look back, Ilima isn’t there.

  “Mom is so going to hear about this,” says Zel.

  “Uh-huh,” says Ana.

  Chapter 13

  I’m so angry that I don’t consider parking on the street when I get to the estate and pull all the way to the back of the house. I grab my purse from the seat next to me, throw the keys inside, and hold the door open for the girls. They climb out acting stiff and sore, like I forced them to ride twisted like pretzels in a box. A door opens, and Regina stalks out.

  “My precious,” she says, throwing her arms wide.

  “Mommy!” the twins shout and rush to her, crocodile tears falling like rain.

  “My lambkins! What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

  “Mommy, Rell yelled at us.”

  Regina’s jaw clenches as her eye starts to twitch. “I’m sure it was just a misunderstanding. Rell knows better than to yell at you.”

  “Regina—”

  “And Mommy, we were thirsty, but she refused to let us drink!”

  “What! In this heat?” Regina pulls the girls close. “That’s cruel, Rell, even for someone as thoughtless and uncaring as you.”

  “She made us ride in the back without air conditioning!”

  “That’s not all! She twisted our ears! Look!” Ana flips back her hair.

  Regina looks at Ana’s ear, then Zel’s.

  “Oh, my babies! Your ears are all red and swollen!”

  “Regina—”

  Regina rises to her full height and squares her shoulders. “I am so disappointed in you, Rell. I wish I could say I was shocked, but I’m not.”

  “The girls pushed—”

  She holds up her hand. “I don’t want to hear it. Clearly, this is my fault. I thought if you spent some time with your sisters, you’d love them as much as they love you. I thought you’d decide you missed us and would want to be part of the family again. But I see my hopes were misplaced. Your father was right about you.”

  Her words stop me cold.

  Victory shines behind her eyes. She’s daring me to ask.

  I won’t give her the satisfaction.

  It’s a stare-down until one of us blinks.

  She holds out her hand. “Keys,” she says.

  I blink.

  “What?”

  She wiggles her fingers. “Give me your keys. After the way you’ve behaved, you’re not going anywhere.”

  “But the auction—”

  “I don’t want you anywhere near the auction. You’ve proven you can’t be trusted. You’ll spend the night in your room.”

  “I—”

  Faster than a snake, Zel reaches out and tugs my purse off my shoulder.

  “Got it, Mommy! Her keys are inside.”

  “Give that back!” I reach to swipe it from her, but Regina sweeps Zel protectively behind her.

  “Don’t you touch her. You’ve done enough damage.”

  Zel unzips my purse and pulls out my phone. “We got her cell, too!” she crows.

  “Give me Rell’s phone,” says Ana.

  “Why?”

&n
bsp; “I want to send text messages to her friends.”

  “She doesn’t have any friends,” says Zel, pushing buttons. “Oh, man! Her phone’s locked! We can’t text from it.”

  “Let’s throw it in the toilet!”

  “Yeah!”

  “Come back here,” I say and move towards the door. Regina blocks me.

  “Run along and get ready, dears.”

  “But we don’t want to go to the auction.”

  “Bor-ring!”

  Regina pats their heads. “You’re not going to the auction, sillies. That’s for grownups. I’ve arranged for all the good girls to spend the night at the fabulous Princess Party at Disney’s Aulani Resort.”

  “Rell’s not a grownup,” Zel says.

  “She’s not a good girl either,” snickers Ana. “At the party, I’m going to be Jasmine.”

  “No, I am!”

  “Too late. I called it.”

  “You’re Olaf!”

  “Olaf isn’t a princess!”

  The girls bicker all the way into the house.

  They still have my phone!

  I better not find it in the toilet.

  Regina says, “We need to talk.”

  I scowl. “I’ve nothing to say to you.”

  “Then listen.” She steps close, so close I can see the makeup spackled under her eyes. “We can do things the easy way or the hard way. It doesn’t matter to me. If you want to keep going to that fancy school, you’ll do what I say. Otherwise, I’ll cut your funding, and you’ll be out on the street.”

  “Why can’t I go to the auction?”

  “Because I said so. This deal is bigger than you know. You’ve proven that you can’t handle taking two little girls to the beach. There’s no way I’m letting you near something this important.”

  “Funding a surf camp for disabled people is big? That makes no sense, Regina. What’s your angle?”

  “No imagination. That’s what your father said about you. Rell wears her heart on her sleeve, he said. There’s no way she could ever play poker.”

  “Regina—”

  “Get your things. I’ll show you to your room. In the morning you can drive yourself to the airport.”

  Oh, no.

  My bag.

  In my mind, I clearly see it in the back of Jerry’s truck.

  She sees the look on my face. Her eyes widen like it’s her birthday.

  “You don’t have it?”

  “It’s—I think I left it in the back of the truck.”

  “You have no clothes.”

  “No.”

  Regina throws her head back and cackles. “No car, no phone, no clothes! How utterly perfect. There’s no way for you to go now.”

  Chapter 14

  On my way to a tiny room just off the kitchen, I discover the laundry room. After Regina and her entourage leave, I toss my clothes in the washer and take a long, hot shower. With no one else around, I pour myself a glass of guava juice, make a peanut butter sandwich, and scrounge up a bag of chips. Shivering, I take them outside to sit in the twilight while my clothes dry.

  Wrapped in a big, fluffy towel, damp hair hanging down my back, I sit on a chaise lounge on the patio and sigh. Even though the sun has gone down, it’s far warmer outside than in the house. Regina must have the air conditioning cranked. I could almost see my breath when I got out of the shower.

  My dinner sits next to me on a small side table.

  I need to eat. That iffy breakfast burrito on the plane was hours ago.

  I take a bite of sandwich, but I can’t swallow past the lump in my throat.

  Accentuate the positive, Rell. Don’t let Regina get you down.

  Bright side: At least I’ll have clean clothes for the plane ride home.

  Clean clothes. Big whoop.

  I force the down the bite of sandwich and wipe my eyes on a corner of the towel. Time to suck it up. Only babies cry. Big girls pull up their panties and problem solve.

  Even if their panties are still in the dryer.

  Identifying the problems is always the first step in dealing with Regina.

  Problem one: car keys. I’ll search the house. I doubt Regina took them with her.

  Problem two: a phone. There’s got to be a landline for the house. Find it and call Jerry.

  Problem three: I need my purse. It has Jerry’s business card.

  Problem four: find a phone book or computer. Call the rental company. Somebody there can give me his cell.

  Call his work?

  Gee, Rell, that’s not stalkerish at all.

  Oh, Jerry.

  What would I even say? Sorry my wicked stepsisters pushed your special rock into the ocean? Hope you were able to get it out?

  Unbelievable.

  I can’t forget the look on his face.

  I should’ve stayed and helped him instead of running away like an idiot.

  He’s wondering why I’m not at the party.

  He probably thinks I’m mad at him or something.

  Who am I kidding? He’s relieved I’m not there.

  I look at my sandwich and soggy chips and wrinkle my nose. I bet they’re having dinner now. Luau food like roast pork and fresh pineapple.

  Bright side: peanut butter’s okay. A little sticky. Filling. The bread’s fresh.

  Hey, another one: The surf camp will be built. That’s a good thing, right?

  But it makes no sense. Why would Regina care about a surf camp? There’s no margin in it.

  Jerry—

  Stop it. Just stop it.

  A guy like that probably has a girlfriend. The way Luna talked, probably several friends.

  Cedar, cinnamon, cloves, and wintergreen mints.

  The sunlight on his bare shoulders when he took off his shirt.

  Should’ve kissed him when I had the chance.

  Just one dance at the party. Is that so much to wish for? It’s my birthday, for crying out loud.

  I’m not going to cry.

  Not going to.

  Dang it!

  Through the tears, I see a star peeking over the mountain top.

  The first star.

  No candles on my birthday cake. Heck, no birthday cake! I’m not wasting this chance.

  “Starlight, star bright; first star I see tonight; I wish I may; I wish I might; have the wish I wish tonight.”

  I close my eyes and wish.

  “Woof.”

  I whip open my eyes. In the shadows on the far side of the patio is a yellow dog.

  “Ilima?”

  She limps towards me until she is standing in a pool of moonlight. I rise from my chair and lean forward, one hand clutching my towel, the other outstretched.

  “Hey, girl. What’re you doing here? That’s a long walk from the beach. How’re your ribs?”

  She sits and cocks her head at me. Her tongue drops out of her mouth as she pants.

  “Thirsty? Be right back.”

  In the kitchen I fill a bowl full of cool water and bring it out to the patio.

  I set it next to her. “Here you go.”

  She glances at it, then bats it away with her paw.

  “You don’t want it?”

  Her eyes lock like laser beams on my sandwich. She smacks her lips.

  “Sandwiches aren’t for dogs.”

  She whines and lies down, resting her head on her paws. Her eyes never leave my sandwich.

  “Really? You like peanut butter?”

  “Woof!” She sits up, ears forward.

  I shrug. “Okay.”

  I tear off a chunk and toss it to her.

  She catches it mid-air and gulps it whole.

  “Careful! You keep eating like that and you’ll choke.”

  Her ears droop as her body shakes, quivering in the moonlight. The air fills with the scent of sandalwood and lemons. Sparkles of silver light cascade down her body like glitter as she bows her head. I hear chanting or drums—a rhythmic beating that pulses like ocean waves against the shore. A gust of
wind swirls around the patio, blowing the bag of chips to the ground.

  “Ilima?”

  The high, clear note of a conch shell echoes against the house, a wall of sound so loud I cover my ears.

  “Ilima, what’s going on?” I shout. “We better get inside.”

  Her limbs and torso elongate as she rises.

  Before me stands a beautiful Hawaiian woman.

  “I—I—Ilima?”

  “Woof,” she says.

  I step back and almost trip over my own feet. My heart is pounding. I can’t get enough air to breathe, let alone scream.

  The woman laughs, and it is the sound of wind chimes and beach glass. “Relax,” she says, rolling her shoulders and neck. “I’m just playing with you.” She touches her ribs and grimaces. “Although I could’ve done without the kick in the ribs. What’s the matter with those two? Are they retarded?”

  Reflexively, I say, “Don’t say retarded. People aren’t retarded.”

  She smiles without showing her teeth. “My mistake. It’s tough to keep up with your human terms; they change so often. What should I say?”

  “Intellectually disabled or differently abled.”

  This conversation is surreal. I shake my head to clear it, but the woman is still there.

  “Are they?”

  I blink. “What?”

  “Intellectually differently abled?” she says.

  “No.” I cock my head to the side. “At least I don’t think so.”

  “Ah. Just plain mean, then. Good. That makes this easier.” She stares at the rest of the sandwich still in my hand. “You going to finish that?”

  “Uh, no. Knock yourself out,” I say as I hand it to her.

  Her fingers brush mine.

  Oh, man. She’s real.

  Ilima the woman takes dainty bites, but finishes the sandwich as fast as a dog.

  “Oh, that’s better,” she says. “Changing form always makes me hungry!” She points to the glass of guava juice. “May I?”

  “Be my guest.”

  Like I’m going to say no.

  She drains the drink in one great swallow. “Umm, that’s good,” she says.

  She sees me watching her.

  She deliberately raises the glass to her lips.

  She raises an eyebrow.

  And takes a bite.

  Glass crumbles and falls to the ground.

  What the?

  She chews.

  Crunch, crunch, crunch.

  She smiles, this time showing her teeth. There are little bits of glass clinging to her lips.