by Emily Asad
Chapter 3: The Steps
And the feeble little ones must stand
In the thickest of the fight.
-Adelaide Anne Proctor
Forcing myself to stay calm, I walked to the front door to greet my mother. As I passed through the entryway, I brushed my right cheekbone with my fingers. The bruise had almost disappeared and I certainly didn’t want a new one just in time for school. Mom gave it to me last week after her wedding reception was finished and the guests were almost gone. See, she was furious that we missed her wedding. When I tried to explain that the camp counselors had forgotten that Matt and I were supposed to be dismissed early, her temper exploded. And when Mom explodes, her fists fly everywhere. Fortunately, she tries to hide that side from Roger, who still thinks she’s perfect. So when he came looking for her, and saw us together – me holding my face – Mom told him I had run into a doorway. He was a happy groom and believed her. He thinks I’m a big klutz anyway. After that, he escorted her back to the main reception area, and then they drove away for their honeymoon.
And now they were home again. And the house was not yet ready.
Shame and anger filled me. With Mom, though, anger only feeds more anger, so I pushed my feelings aside and went to greet her.
I joined Becky and the others on the lawn. I really couldn’t help smiling when I saw Mom get out of the car – she looked so fresh and happy. It seemed contagious.
She blew kisses to us – blew kisses – and I knew that an alien was inhabiting her body. My mother is not naturally affectionate, and rarely hugs or kisses any of us kids. Her week with Roger must have done wonders. I hoped this new phase would last.
My smile began to fade when I saw what was in the back seat of the car – The Girls. While Mom snatched Becky up in a whirlwind hug, Matt and I stared at The Girls. They looked miserable. They got out of the car and stood staring back at us.
The older one, Erika, had short black hair with streaks of purple and green, black fingernails, a pierced nose, and wore combat boots. Her sneer made me cringe. She was your typical rebellious seventeen-year-old, the kind that my mother always warned me against becoming. Mom would never stand for that kind of attitude – or would she, since Erika was not exactly her daughter?
The other sister, Margaret, seemed harmless. She was twelve years old, slightly pudgy, wore pastel colors, and clutched her little purse with white knuckles. She kept her eyes glued to the ground. I realized that she was more afraid of us than we were of her. Probably she felt outnumbered – after all, there were four of us and two of them.
“Welcome home,” I said, trying to break the tension. I smiled at Erika and held out my hand to take her suitcase.
She glared down her nose at me. Her posture made me feel positively ant-like. “Which one are you again?”
“Um, I’m Margaret,” I said.
The other Margaret looked at me when she heard her name. I saw the parents exchange glances, and I wondered what it could mean.
Matt heaved a suitcase out of the trunk. “You’re home kind of early,” he said to Mom. “Didn’t you like Florida?”
“It was wonderful,” she beamed. “We just thought you kids might want to get to know each other before school starts.”
“Gee. A whole week. We’ll be best friends by Sunday,” muttered Erika.
Mom did not hear her.
“Well. Let me show you your room,” I suggested. “Becky, why don’t you take Margaret up to hers?”
Matt and Peter helped Mom and her boyfriend – now her husband – unload the car. I felt kind of awkward around him. In the first place, he was so tall! He was easily six foot three. He seemed nice enough, though. He had spent some time at our house while they were dating, and he liked to play the guitar. He had a really great voice, too, a rumbling sort of bass. It was one of the things that had first attracted Mom to him. Plus, he smiled a lot.
I led Erika up to our bedroom. She seemed upset that we would be sharing a room, even though I had taken special care to make her side as nice as I could. Besides, it was a large room, big enough for three or four beds, like maybe they did back last century when the farmhouse was being used as a farmhouse. But her expression clearly said that no room would be large enough for both of us. I crossed my fingers for luck.
I also hoped, judging from her black fingernails and the Pentagram on her tee shirt, that she wouldn’t be the kind of person that offers sacrifices to Satan as part of a ritualistic plea to reunite her divorced parents. Maybe I should put a picture of the Virgin Mary in our room, just to be safe!
“So, you’re a senior?” I asked, trying to make conversation. “I’m a sophomore.”
She threw her suitcase onto the bed without replying.
“Do you play any sports?”
She snorted.
I took it as a ‘no.’
“Drama club? Choir?”
She shot a black glare at me. “Look, I don’t need you becoming my best friend, so you can stop right now. I was forced to live here. It wasn’t my choice. Leave me alone and we’ll get along just fine.”
I held up my hands. “I’m just trying to be nice.”
“Back off.” She shoved her clothes into the dresser a little too forcefully.
I was stunned. I hadn’t quite expected this sort of reception. Somehow I thought everybody was going to accept and even like everybody else. This was reminiscent of a renegade Brady Bunch – a stepfamily gone dreadfully wrong. And it was only our first day!
I decided to check on Becky and Margaret to see how they were doing. Their door was not closed all the way, so I peeped inside. They were unpacking Margaret’s suitcase together, chatting. Margaret still seemed shy, but sweet little Becky had an unconscious way of putting people at ease. At least there would be no ritual blood sacrifices from that bedroom.
I crept downstairs to see what the boys were doing. To my surprise, Matt was on the floor with Roger, wrestling. Peter cheered them on, chanting for a pin.
Mom saw me and beckoned. “You did a good job unpacking.”
I was shocked. A compliment? From my mother? She never noticed anything – except when the chores did not get done. Then, boy did she notice!
“I’m sorry I didn’t get it finished,” I stammered. “I was expecting you tomorrow.”
“That’s okay, honey,” she said. “It looks wonderful.”
Honey? I knew for sure that this woman was an imposter! My mother had been left in Florida... I liked the replacement better.
“You got him! You got him!” Peter shouted.
I turned around to see who had been gotten.
Matt lay in a half-Nelson, his neck twisted at an odd angle. He looked uncomfortable, but he was smiling. “I want to learn that move!”
Roger released him. “I earned a spot as the captain of my team with that. I was about your age, too.” He saw me and stood up. “Hello, Margaret.”
“Hello, sir,” I replied.
His eyebrows shot up at my formality. He glanced at Mom, who just shrugged.
I felt as if I had done something wrong, so I began to blush. One drawback to being a redhead is that I’m prone to blushing. I have the kind of pale skin that sunburns easily, overheats even more easily, and blushes uncontrollably. What was I supposed to call him? Roger? Father? Dad? I already had a biological father somewhere out in Oregon, or at least that’s where he was the last time we heard from him years ago. I wasn’t ready to give this man the intimate title of “Dad,” yet calling him “Father” sounded too stuffy. Maybe I could call him something slangy, like “Pop,” sort of compromise between recognizing his marriage to my mother and keeping him at arm’s length. Or maybe I would just stay with “Roger” until we figured out how long he would stay.
“Donna, did you give the kids their presents?” he said, breaking the growing silence.
“I completely forgot,” she said. She called upstairs. “Girls? Come down for a minute. We have something to give yo
u.”
Roger retrieved a large plastic bag from the entryway and sat on the loveseat beside my mother. He put his arm around her shoulders. She snuggled up to him as if she belonged there. I had never seen her so content. I started to like Roger a tiny bit more.
Becky tumbled down the stairs in a flash of energy. “What did you bring me?”
“Sit down until the others get here,” said Mom.
Matt, Peter, Becky and I crowded onto the couch and waited for our new sisters to join us. Margaret shuffled down the stairs, keeping her eyes on the floor, and sat in the recliner. She folded her hands in her lap, trying very hard to be invisible.
We waited for a few minutes, but Erika did not appear. Mom looked at Roger as if to say, “She’s your daughter.”
“Erika, come down here, please,” he yelled toward the ceiling.
Nothing.
The wait became uncomfortable, so he sighed. “I guess she can have hers later.” He put his hand inside the bag and withdrew the first gift. “Matt.” He tossed the box into Matt’s waiting hands.
I was surprised to see that it was neatly wrapped. The decorative covering made the occasion feel special.
Matt opened the little box eagerly. It was a Swiss Army knife with his name engraved on the handle. “Cool! Thanks!”
“That was Roger’s idea,” groaned Mom. “You know you never would have gotten it if he hadn’t insisted.”
Score big points for Roger… he was on Matt’s good side already.
“Peter.”
Peter caught his box. It was larger than Matt’s. We watched, greedy, as he carefully peeled the wrapping paper so as to not tear it. Inside was a remote-controlled jeep. He was delighted.
I rolled my eyes. I could already envision him knocking it into the furniture, breaking lamps or tripping people. I didn’t want to be blamed if he broke anything.
Becky’s package was carefully handed to her. It was a porcelain doll in a lacy yellow dress. She removed the dress and put it on her own favorite doll, which was still tucked in her arm. Her new doll fell to the floor and lay there, abandoned and naked, while she lovingly buttoned up the dress onto old Abby.
“I told you so,” whispered Mom.
“At least she liked the dress,” Roger replied.
I was excited. It was like Christmas, except that it was August. And the gifts were personal – they were things we kids would have chosen ourselves, if we had the money and the chance. I couldn’t wait to see what they had brought for me!
“Margaret.”
We both held out our hands at the same time. Embarrassed, I dropped my hands first. She didn’t bother to look at me.
“That’s okay,” said Roger. “It’s the same thing anyway.” He handed us each a small narrow box.
I furrowed my eyebrows. What could she possibly want that I also wanted? Did we have the same tastes?
She tore her box open within seconds and withdrew a dainty golden bracelet. Her name – our name – was inscribed on the plate. “Oh, Daddy! It’s perfect.” she said in her harmless whispery voice. “Now I have the complete set.” She held out her wrist to him so he could help her put it on. It matched her earrings and necklace.
My face burned as I opened my box. Mom knew I hated jewelry. What a stupid present. How generic! What was she thinking?
“What do you say, honey?” asked Mom.
“Thank you,” I mumbled.
Roger noticed my disappointment. “She hates it, Donna. I told you she would. We should have gotten her that book.”
“Book?” I raised my head, trying to hide the interest in my eyes.
“About horses. Pictures and everything.”
I repressed a groan. I loved horses! “That’s okay. The bracelet is pretty enough.”
“Really?”
I attempted a smile. I must have been a good actress, because it fooled him. Mom didn’t notice either way.
“Are you kids hungry?” asked Roger.
The boys shouted their answer. I could have spoken for Matt, who was always hungry. Roger decided that we would all go into town and eat at a restaurant. “You shouldn’t have to cook your first day back,” he crooned to Mom, kissing her cheek.
“But there are six kids,” she protested. “It’s too expensive.”
“It’s in the budget. We didn’t spend that last night in the hotel, remember?” he said. “Okay, everyone in the car. Skinny-butt kids in the back!”
He had to go upstairs and almost drag Erika down. We could hear their conversation through the ceiling.
“I’m not hungry.”
“So get a soda. You don’t have to eat.”
“I don’t want to go!”
“It’s family time, Erika. We’re going to start behaving like a family now.”
“They’re not my family. I don’t want to be a part of it.”
“You don’t get a choice. Stop it. Let’s go. Grab your purse.”
The sudden silence made us cringe. The rest of the conversation was muffled. Soon, Erika tramped downstairs, her lips curled in a snarl. She could have set us all on fire with her gaze, if horror movies happened in real life.
Did you ever hear that expression, “If two’s company, then three’s a crowd?” Well, imagine a crowd of eight. My new family had eight people, and one tiny little Nissan. Erika and I had to sit in the back storage area, behind the seats.
When we pulled out onto the highway, Erika flashed me a demonic grin, and then pulled a slender pocketknife from her ripped jeans. She put a finger to her lips and locked eyes with mine. Deliberately, she unfolded the knife.
I gulped. If I called for help, would she stab me? I watched, horrified, as she put the blade to her wrist and began to cut tiny knicks into her own flesh.
Droplets of blood welled up. Just when I thought they would spill onto the carpet of the car, she put her wrist to her mouth and sucked. Then she covered the wounds with her other hand, applying pressure. “Stops the bleeding,” she whispered.
There was an unspoken threat hanging in the air. Tell anyone, and I’ll kill you, she seemed to say.
I tore my gaze away and tried to focus on the corn fields outside. Maybe it was the blood, maybe it was the fact that I hate traveling in the back seat, maybe it was just stuffy with eight people in the tiny car. Whatever it was, I felt nauseous. And afraid. I would probably be murdered by nightfall. What had Mom done this time?
