If I could be invisible, I’d know what everyone was saying about me behind my back. I’d know if they thought I was ugly or if my outfit sucked or something. And I’d know what Cooper is up to whenever we’re on one of our breaks. He says he doesn’t hook up with anyone else, but maybe he’s lying.
I’d also know if Mom and Dad were really going to get divorced. I don’t know if it would matter, but I still want to know.
4 Days Left
If I were the tortured soul of this story, I’d wake up screaming because of a nightmare. Inevitably it would have pickup trucks, cigarettes, evil tree carvings, and a dead grandfather wearing a Clemson shirt. Instead, I sleep through the rest of the night and wake up feeling pretty darn refreshed. Invigorated, even.
My morning gets even better when Felix takes a shower. I take the opportunity to steal his cigarettes and replace them with a different brand. Even though I’m tired of this, it’s like I have to stick with it.
You’d think I’d have better things to do with my time right now, given all the weird things that have happened, but Felix deserves this. If he’s going to lose his job because of smoking, he might as well lose his mind along with it.
That’s how aggravated I am with him. Not just because of the smoking, but because he can’t figure out why he keeps misplacing his own things. Here I am, making it as obvious as possible, and he doesn’t have a clue.
When I’m in the shower, I imagine Felix finding that pack and wondering if he’s losing his mind.
This is exactly what happens. I can see it on his face when I come out of the bathroom. ‘You okay?’ I say.
He looks at me, blinks his glassy eyes. ‘What happened last night? What was that car you were chasing?’
‘I wasn’t chasing anyone,’ I say. ‘That music woke me up and I was trying to tell them to turn it down.’
‘You ran out there barefoot.’ He says this like I ran out there naked.
‘I was mad. They woke me up.’ I sound much calmer than I feel. In reality, I am freaking out about what happened. In a good way.
Felix looks like he’s going to argue but decides against it. Interesting. Usually he doesn’t even get that close to arguing.
This morning there is no music outside, no minivans in the parking lot. Just a cold morning in northern Wyoming and a few people who need more sleep. Felix is the only one who makes small talk. He does it as we pack up the car and he does it again when we stop for breakfast.
Since no one else is talking, Felix launches into a description of a true crime documentary series he watched just last month. It involved girls that had been kidnapped, dismembered, and sprinkled around the cornfields in Oklahoma.
No one interrupts.
Felix babbles on, maybe trying to convince himself he’s not losing his mind. He describes the whole documentary, episode by episode. Eventually he gets to the point, which is that the police knew who did it but pretended they didn’t have a clue.
‘Totally shocking,’ he says. ‘I didn’t know until they revealed it. Up until they made the arrest, the media had zeroed in on this one man, a teacher, but it wasn’t him at all. It was a totally different guy.’
‘Wow, honey,’ I say. ‘That sounds like an amazing story.’
Yes, I’m patronizing him. And I’m wondering if he was like this when I met him. It was a couple of weeks after I returned from Georgia, where I’d been to see my mother in prison. I just remember that he was kind and easygoing and different than everyone in my family. But maybe he had always been this annoying and I never noticed.
Eddie pays for breakfast because I paid for the motel. Portia doesn’t even bother offering anymore unless it’s just for coffee or snacks. And gas – she has paid for gas.
Felix talks about work as we walk back to the car. Sherry got promoted, Allan got demoted. Hortense the cow (their department mascot) was stolen by finance, who then traded it to marketing in return for an as-yet-to-be-named favor. Oh, and our numbers looked pretty good this month, but not great.
A month ago I would’ve been right there with him, trading stories and gossip and wondering how the company was doing. A month ago, I went on morning walks with Felix every day before work. A month ago, I was thinking about bills, my weight, my health, and the likelihood of having time to run errands on my lunch hour. A month ago, I had a husband who didn’t lie to me.
Now I know that not having kids with Felix was the right decision. Is the right decision.
That’s not what I’m thinking about, though. What I’m actually thinking about is more important than my marriage.
The pickup truck was one thing, along with the flat tires and stolen starter. Even someone coming into our room at a sketchy motel to look at my phone wasn’t that unbelievable. All of that could be explained. It wasn’t like the guys in the truck actually hurt us. They never even tried. It was just weird, like the year carved into the tree. Anyone could’ve done that. Even Krista’s sudden disappearance was easy – and no one was complaining she was gone.
Last night was different. Or rather, everything looked different, like seeing a room through a peephole and then seeing the real thing.
Not because of the van. A lot of people knew what kind of van Grandpa had. Plus it was all over the local news when Nikki disappeared.
The location was a little weirder. Wyoming was a desolate, sparsely populated state. What are the chances?
The song was what did it. Eddie, Portia, and I knew that song. We could sing it word for word, even now.
‘I Think I’m Paranoid’ by Garbage was blasting out of that van.
The only people who know this are sitting right here. Plus Nikki.
She’s here. I knew it. I always knew it.
Montana
State Motto: Gold and silver
Today is the longest single-day drive of our trip – both times. Nikki wanted to get out of Wyoming to have some real fun, and not the kind you have at tourist sites and odd museums.
Screw history, she said. It’s all boring.
Roller coasters were a much better idea. The biggest theme park in the area was over nine hours away and we couldn’t wait to get there. On the other hand, nine hours was a long time to be cooped up in a car. All kinds of things could happen in that amount of time.
Grandpa was still drugged, though neither unconscious nor sick, and he always looked like he was watching TV. Even in the car, he stared out of the window like he was watching an episode of JAG.
I gave him his breakfast, which came from a drive-thru. He used to like breakfast sandwiches, or at least he acted like it, but now he was a zombie who couldn’t taste anything.
I couldn’t look at him without thinking of what he’d done to Grandma. Everything I remembered about her was warm and sweet and filled with apple juice. She always gave us apple juice. Even if you could hit her, why would you?
However, as mad as I was, he looked pathetic. He was drinking a constant stream of pain pills and that made him woozy enough to slur his words. When he wasn’t trying to talk, he stared off into space, and he looked terrible. Unkempt hair and clothes, days of stubble on his chin.
‘Hey,’ I said. ‘You okay?’
He turned to me, his eyes dull, his skin so very white, and he laughed. It was so unexpected it made me jump. Grandpa laughed so hard he had tears in his eyes. No one else saw, or heard, because Nikki had the music up so loud.
‘Why are you laughing?’ I said.
That made him laugh all over again. I waited until he stopped.
‘I can’t believe you asked if I was okay,’ he said, wiping his eyes. ‘You’re holding me captive.’
I shook my head, gesturing to his body. ‘You aren’t tied up.’
‘You’re right, I’m not tied up.’ He sighed so hard it made the seat rumble. ‘But I’m still a captive.’
Well, yes. He was, I’ll give him that. Our threats about Portia were keeping him here instead of running whenever he had the chance.
‘
There’s something wrong with your sister,’ he said.
My first thought was Portia, who was in the seat in front of us, playing with an Etch A Sketch. She looked fine.
‘Not her,’ Grandpa said.
Nikki. Up in the driver’s seat, singing along to the music, bouncing around in her seat, trying to dance. Seemed normal to me. ‘She’s not sick,’ I said.
‘She’s sick in the head.’
This was all a little vague for my young mind. Nikki was my sister. She was wild and fun and a little crazy. And pregnant. But not sick. There’s a difference, and I knew it even then.
He lowered his voice and said, ‘Do you know about the camera?’
I nodded. We had been taking a lot of pictures with that disposable camera.
‘Not that one,’ Grandpa said. ‘The other one.’
‘The second camera? We haven’t used it yet.’
‘She has.’
I shook my head. He was wrong, because I just saw the first camera earlier in the morning. It still had pictures left. There was no reason to start another one.
‘So you don’t know about the other pictures,’ Grandpa said.
I did not. ‘Tell me.’
‘They’re …’ His face scrunched up into a ball of wrinkles. ‘They’re vile.’
Vile. The word made me think of vomit, but that wasn’t what he was talking about. I knew, or thought I knew, but even I couldn’t believe it.
‘Are they … Are they pictures of Portia?’ I asked.
He nodded once, closing his eyes as he did.
‘She took them,’ I said, thinking out loud, working through what he was saying. Vile pictures of Portia were what kept him here, what kept him from trying to get away or get help.
That’s what he said, anyway.
It took me a few seconds to process what he was saying, to assess it, and then to remember that this was the man who hit Grandma.
‘Liar,’ I said.
‘Beth, I swear I’m not lying. Your sister … She isn’t right.’
I shook my head at him, at every word he said. ‘You’re the one who isn’t right.’
‘Please –’
‘Shut up.’
I went up a seat, to where Portia was sitting. ‘Let me,’ I said to Portia, grabbing the Etch A Sketch. It wasn’t really hers, anyway. Originally it had belonged to Nikki.
‘Hey,’ she said.
‘Just wait.’ I spent quite a while with that thing, creating a bad replica of our house back home, including the imaginary dog I had when I was little because Mom didn’t allow pets. Portia sat right next to me, her arms crossed and her bottom lip pushed out. The girl could pout.
She eventually got tired of waiting, because she leaned forward and poked Nikki on the arm. Nikki turned down the music and said, ‘What?’
‘Beth took the Etch A Sketch,’ Portia said.
‘So?’
‘So I was playing with it.’
Nikki looked into the rearview mirror. ‘Then why did you let her take it?’
Portia blinked, her eyes wide. ‘Because she’s –’
‘Because you let her,’ Nikki said.
Portia didn’t answer, nor did she grab the Etch A Sketch. She didn’t do anything except continue to sit by my side until I finished my picture and gave it back to her.
That was my fault, and I can admit that now. I underestimated Portia. Always have. Later that day, my things started going missing.
The first was a candy bar I had hidden in my bag. I had saved it from our convenience store stop the day before, but when I went to eat it, the bar was gone. Portia claimed to have no knowledge of said candy bar.
Next it was a T-shirt I loved, followed by some hair bands. Those I went looking for, and I found them in the pocket of her jeans.
‘You took these,’ I said.
She shrugged. ‘No, I didn’t.’
‘But they’re in your pocket.’
‘I don’t know how.’
Like that, over and over, for the rest of the trip and the rest of her childhood.
Would she have become a little kleptomaniac if Nikki hadn’t told her to take the Etch A Sketch?
I’ve thought about this a lot over the years, wondering if you become something like that just because someone tells you to. You don’t. You don’t become a murderer because someone says ‘Kill that guy.’ That’s not how behavior works.
Nikki may have given her permission, but there was a little thief inside of Portia all along. Just like there was an asshole inside of Eddie and a wild child inside of Nikki. And a liar inside of all of us.
Nikki was one of the best. There were no pictures of Portia, certainly not any that were vile. I asked Nikki about it that very night, after everyone was asleep.
She laughed. ‘Are you kidding? Of course there aren’t any pictures.’
‘I didn’t think so. He just seemed so sure.’
‘That’s the point.’
Liars that good are hard to find.
What is something that has surprised you?
Oh, I can name more than one. Being pregnant is first. Whatever was supposed to happen in my life, it wasn’t getting pregnant at 17, I can tell you that.
Grandpa being an asshole is a close second.
Our parents allowing this trip to continue is third. Although I guess it’s somewhat understandable since they don’t know what Grandpa did. Grandma said it didn’t start until he retired – was forced out, actually – and all of a sudden he had no job and nowhere to go. I mean, part of me can’t blame her for staying. What do you do when you’re 64 years old and your husband suddenly starts hitting you?
Who the hell knows? Doesn’t matter anyway, because he’s the asshole.
One more thing. I think we’re being followed. No, I’m sure of it. That maroon Honda has been behind us for a while now.
When I look at Portia now, headphones on, listening to music, I wonder if she’s really as broke as she pretends to be. Maybe it’s all a lie. Maybe we’ve been paying her way because she’s still stealing from us.
Eddie. Where had he been during that original nine-hour ride? In the passenger’s seat, next to Nikki, doing a whole lot of sleeping. He woke up long enough to charm a truck stop waitress into giving all of us some free ice cream. As soon as we got back into the car, he went back to sleep after mumbling something about pulling a muscle while up at the ghost town.
That’s when I turned my attention to him. Throughout the trip, he was our secret weapon. The one who could talk anybody, young or old, into giving us a pass. If we were late checking out of a motel, we sent Eddie to talk to the manager.
I spent a lot of time watching him, trying to figure out how he charmed people into giving him free stuff and, usually, becoming his friend at the same time. He did have a formula.
One, make fun of yourself. It makes you nonthreatening from the start.
Two, smile. Especially when you’re asking for something. Three, mix your lies with the truth.
Four, remind them how silly/stupid/forgetful you are, this is all your fault, and won’t you be an awesome person and lend a hand?
This worked for him often enough that I tried to copy it. I practiced making fun of myself, I memorized jokes, and I practiced a half-dozen smiles so I’d have a lot to choose from.
Didn’t work. People never responded the same way. It didn’t matter how nice or sweet or cute I was, I never would’ve been able to convince that truck stop waitress to give us free ice cream.
Even at fourteen years old, Eddie was the guy everyone loved. I hated him because everyone loved him.
We were around five hours into our nine-hour journey when I kicked the back of his seat.
Nikki didn’t notice, neither did Portia. I didn’t know it yet, but she was too busy looking for shit to steal.
I was about to kick his seat harder when I realized I could kick his arm. It was wedged between the seat and the passenger’s door.
That woke him up.
He looked around like we had hit something. ‘What?’ he said.
‘What what?’ Nikki said.
‘Nothing, I guess.’ He curled back up to sleep. After about ten minutes, I kicked his arm again. And again.
The fourth time was the charm. That was when he figured out it was me.
‘What the hell?’ he said.
I shrugged.
‘Stop it.’
Obviously I did it again.
Eddie readjusted, making sure none of his limbs were reachable by my foot. I felt like I had won.
Now, as I sit behind the driver’s seat, his left arm is visible. Maybe even reachable.
More than that, I still want to kick him.
Back then, it was because I hated him. I knew that. Now I know my hate was just jealousy, and I also know I feel it toward all my siblings. Every one of them ended up with some special skill. A superpower.
Eddie and his charming ways, Portia and her ability to steal. Nikki, who got away with everything, even disappearing. What did I get, other than similar DNA? I can fade into the background. Let others have the spotlight.
Every family needs a dull bulb. Not everyone can be as bright as the sun. I’ve known for a long time that I’m not smart enough or charming enough to get all the attention. It’s always worked for me, or I’ve made it work, but that doesn’t mean I like it. Sometimes it makes me angry.
Right now, it makes me want to kick Eddie just like I did before.
I stare at his arm, at the seat, at the road in front of us. How stupid would it be to kick his arm while he’s driving? What are the odds we’ll get into an accident? And if we do, what are the odds we’ll survive?
This is what I think about during our nine-hour drive.
‘Beth.’
Felix’s voice snaps me back, making me want to kick him instead. ‘What?’
‘Did you read your e-mail today? Your work e-mail?’
‘No.’
He hands me his phone, pointing to the screen. A company-wide memo was sent out this morning about a downsizing plan to reduce our staff by 15 percent. The first cuts were made today. I read down the list, not recognizing most of the names, but then I get to Linda McCormack. My supervisor. Next I see Danielle Bertram, one of my coworkers, followed by Adam Perry, our administrative assistant.
He Started It Page 16
