by Megan Hart
At seventeen, she smokes pot she buys from the farm boys looking to get some extra cash to fix up their muscle cars or buy steers to show at the Farm Show; she doesn’t ask and doesn’t care. She steals liquor from her stepfather’s cabinet and tattoos a small star on the webbing of her right hand between her thumb and forefinger. It takes her mother four months to notice, though Randall figures out about the vodka and bourbon a lot sooner than that. At seventeen, Janelle doesn’t have a boyfriend she secretly hopes to marry, one who gives her his class ring or his letterman’s jacket. She has a lot of boyfriends, but though everyone including her parents thinks she’s sleeping with all of them, Janelle’s still a virgin.
Janelle’s mother tells her she has two choices—reform school or rehab. It’s Nan who steps up to offer the third choice, to come and live with her. It sure isn’t something Janelle’s mom would’ve come up with on her own, and she’s not happy about the idea. How on earth will Nan make sure Janelle behaves herself, when her own mother can’t?
Maybe Nan understands that the booze and drugs, the makeup and clothes, are only things Janelle does. They aren’t who she is. Maybe raising five boys makes Nan feel she can handle one wayward teenage girl.
Whatever it is, that’s how Janelle finds herself unpacking her bags in Nan’s upstairs bedroom the August before her senior year of high school. The last time she stayed here, two of her uncles were still in this room. She shared the small one across the hall with her dad, who was “taking a break” from the “grind of working” in order to focus on his music. The closet in that room is still full of his things. Boxes from his apartment, packed up and never opened. His leather jacket. A pair of boots. Nan said Janelle could have the small room if she wanted it, but Janelle doesn’t want to be that close to all her dad’s stuff.
The counselor at school told Janelle’s mom it was normal for her to act out after her mom’s remarriage. After the birth of her brother. After this. After that. The counselor and her mom both needed reasons and excuses. Janelle misses her dad, but she’s not, as her stepdad says, trying to be her dad. It’s ballsy of Randall to have an opinion about her at all, but Janelle understands that he needs reasons and excuses, too.
The truth is, it’s all about power. Get a boy on his knees, begging for just a touch, a taste, a stroking hand, and that’s gaining power. Take a drink, smoke a joint, let your head get swimmy and the world go spinny—that’s about giving it up. Give and take, high and low, up and down. Janelle hasn’t decided yet which she likes best. Maybe there is no best. Maybe the world is one long and constant rise and fall.
Now she’s here in Nan’s house, sweating in the summer heat. Her shirt sticks to her skin. Sweat tangles her hair. When she runs her tongue along her upper lip, she tastes salt. She can smell herself, the tangy scent of her perfume and body odor, the lingering tinge of smoke from her clothes. Her mom confiscated all the cigarettes before Janelle left. She ran her hands inside the linings of Janelle’s suitcases, in her pockets, searching for pot or pills. She found the stash easily enough; Janelle hadn’t hidden it very well. She let her find it so her mom could go away satisfied she’d done everything she could. There’d always be more weed. It’s all about power, and by giving her mom the illusion of it, Janelle keeps most of it for herself.
Opening the window might let in some cool air, but someone’s painted the sill shut. It will take a screwdriver to pry it up. Muttering a curse, Janelle grips the painted wood. Her black nail polish is chipping, and she doesn’t remember if she packed the bottle.
When her dad was working, he saw her once every few months for a weekend or a couple days. A week or so in the summer. Sometimes she came and spent a few weeks with Nan while her dad traveled. Janelle has many fond childhood memories of her time spent in St. Marys, but none of those visits have prepared her for what it’s like to actually live here. One small movie theater. No mall. Still, even a town nestled so deep in the mountains it was like its own world had to be better than rehab or reform school.
And...hello. The brick house next door. That’s where those Tierney boys live. Gabriel is her age, and the twins, Andrew and Michael, four years younger. She used to hang out with Gabe sometimes when they were little kids, but she hasn’t seen him in years.
Now she does.
A movement behind the curtains in the room directly across from hers alerts her, but with the light on in her room, it’s hard to see. Janelle reaches for the lamp, turns it off. Blinking, she steps to one side to tug the curtain just enough for her to peer out.
Gabe Tierney went and growed himself up, Janelle thinks. He has the long, lean build of a swimmer, but his body is liberally sprinkled with hair. Something catches in her throat at the sight of his arms, abs and pecs as he turns from the dresser, where he must be searching for something to put on. She’s been with boys before, but Gabe...he’s a man.
Something strangled and low comes from her throat when he drops the towel. He’s not facing her, but the back view is as nice as the front had been. More hair furs his thighs and a small dark patch at the base of his spine. She’d have thought a hairy butt would be gross, but all at once everything about him is so masculine she can’t imagine how she ever thought smooth chests and bodies were attractive.
She can’t handle the sight of his bare front, she knows she can’t, but even though heat floods her, Janelle doesn’t look away as Gabe pulls a pair of white briefs from his drawer. Turning with them in one fist, he’s fully exposed. Everything. Every part of him is as perfect as the next, and she can’t stand it. She’s been with boys before, she’s taken them in her fist and a few times even in her mouth. She’s let them touch her, though their fumblings have never come close to making her feel as good as her own hand does. It’s all about power.
And Gabe Tierney has it.
* * *
“No more,” Janelle said aloud, twitching the curtains closed, though the temptation to keep watching was like a real physical force.
All of that had been a long time ago. They’d been kids, stupid, playing with things they didn’t understand. She wasn’t that girl anymore.
Downstairs, she found Nan dozing on the couch while Bennett sat at the table with his homework. The TV was showing a movie on mute, but when she crossed to turn it off, Nan jerked and woke. She clawed weakly at the air for a second before focusing.
“Oh, Janelle. Leave that on, I’m watching it.”
“You fell asleep.” Janelle grabbed the big-button remote and brought it over. “Can I get you something?”
Nan took the device in both hands. “I want to watch that horse movie.”
Janelle had no idea what movie that might be, but didn’t argue. “Bennett, how’s the homework coming along?”
He shrugged. That wasn’t a good sign. Looking over his shoulder, Janelle saw a page of haphazardly printed math problems with scribbled, indecipherable answers.
“Think you might want to redo some of those,” she said mildly, but the sigh Bennett gave prompted one of her own. “Bennett. C’mon, buddy. We’ve talked about this. If I can’t read your work, how can you expect your teacher to bother? If you don’t put your best face forward—”
“I know, I know. How can I expect the world to take me seriously. I know.” Bennett frowned. “Well, what if I only have one face, Mom? Huh?”
She reached to ruffle his long hair, but he ducked from her touch and she withdrew. “Nobody has only one face.”
“Maybe I do.”
“If you do,” she countered, “it needs a scrubbing.”
She meant it as a joke, but Bennett didn’t take it that way. Instead, her sweet boy scowled, brows knitting and mouth turning down. A picture of his father. He turned away from her and hunched over his book again, the pencil with its worn eraser and teeth marks clutched so tight in his fist the knuckles turned white.
“Bennett.”
“Forget it, Mom.” He slapped the pencil onto the table, then slammed the book closed with a thump so lou
d Janelle jumped. Before she could say anything else, Bennett gathered his things and pushed past her into the kitchen. His feet thumped on the stairs moments later.
From her spot on the couch, Nan chuckled. “He’s going to do his best to devil you, Janelle.”
Janelle sat on the end of the couch near Nan’s slippered feet. “He’s a smart kid, he just doesn’t apply himself. I mean, I know he gets the material, he’s just... He just wants to rush through it to get to his video games and stuff. He doesn’t take his time. He’s not careful.”
Nan laughed again. “Sounds like someone else I know.”
Janelle’s mouth quirked. “Hey. I was a good student.”
“When you wanted to be.” Nan gently shook a finger. “But there was no keeping you in that chair to do your homework, not if you didn’t want to be there.”
Janelle had another flashback, briefer this time. Sitting on her bed, knees drawn up to cradle the book in her hands, ostensibly studying, but instead watching Gabe Tierney walk naked from the shower.
“...if he’s really having trouble,” Nan said.
“Sorry, what?”
“I said, if you think he needs help with his math classes, you should get Andrew to help him.” Nan looked concerned. “Do you feel okay? You look a little flushed.”
“I’m fine.”
Nan patted her hand. “Your hands are like ice, honey. But your cheeks are all pink. Are you sure you’re not coming down with something?”
Janelle squeezed Nan’s fingers gently. “I’m okay. Are you warm enough? I can turn up the heat.”
Nan shook her head. “No, no.”
“Nan,” Janelle said, “you know you don’t need to worry about the oil bill, right? If you’re cold, I should turn up the heat.”
Stubbornly, Nan shook her head again. “I’m fine. I can just put on a sweater or get under the blanket. Bring me that afghan.”
Janelle did, tucking the green-yellow-orange-and-brown-striped monstrosity around Nan’s hips. “Did you make this?”
“Of course I did! I made it for your dad’s high school graduation. Lordy, that was a long time ago.” Nan plucked at the yarn, peering closely. “My goodness, how ugly.”
Janelle laughed, then again, a little louder. She leaned to hug her grandmother. “Oh, Nan. I love you.”
She smiled. “I love you, too, honey. And don’t you worry about Benny. He’s just having growing pains.”
“I know.” Janelle sighed and tugged the bottom of the afghan over her to warm her feet, tucked on the couch next to Nan’s. “It’ll all work out.”
“Ask Andrew to help him, if he’s struggling,” Nan advised again.
“Andrew. From next door? Andy Tierney?” Nan nodded. Janelle laughed again, but saw Nan was serious. “But he’s...”
“Oh, some things about him aren’t right, that’s for sure. The brain injury, you know.” Nan leaned forward a little bit, to whisper, though there was nobody there to hear them. “And of course, he was always a little strange, anyway.”
Of the three Tierney boys, Andy wasn’t the one Janelle would’ve said was strange. Mikey had been a little weird. Gabe, just surly. Andy’d been goofy...well, mostly, at least until the end, when he’d changed. He had been smart in school, though. “How do you know he’s good at math?”
“He plays those Sudoku puzzles.” Nan waved an airy hand. “Also, he used to help me figure my coupons.”
“Coupons...?”
“You know. All those coupon deals, buy three get one free, that sort of thing. Back when I was into that.” Nan shrugged. “It got to be too much, but there were weeks I saved so much money, Janelle, I can’t even tell you.”
“And Andy helped you with that.”
“You ask him,” Nan said. “He’d be happy to help Benny with his homework, I’m sure of it.”
FOURTEEN
ANDY MIGHT’VE BEEN happy to be asked, but his brother was definitely not. By the way Gabe glared, you’d have thought she was asking him to donate an organ, not spend a few hours a week tutoring. Janelle glared back.
“I’ll pay him, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“She’ll pay me,” Andy repeated, delighted as Bennett would’ve been about being offered a new video game or a trip to an amusement park. “Forty dollars a week, Gabe!”
“If that’s not enough, if you think he deserves more...” Janelle shrugged. “I checked into the going rate for tutors through the school, and they get less than that.”
“Oh, let ’im do it. What do you care about it, anyway?” This came from Mr. Tierney in his recliner, feet up, in the corner. “Always trying to act like you run the place.”
Gabe didn’t even glance at his father, but his mouth thinned. He crossed his arms over his chest. He didn’t look at Andy, either. He stared unrelentingly and unblinkingly at Janelle. “He doesn’t need the money.”
“Everyone needs money.” Mr. Tierney snorted into a handkerchief and folded it in half, then did it again. “You’d think so, too, if you didn’t have enough.”
“Who says I ever have enough?” Again, Gabe didn’t look at his dad when he spoke, but at least he stopped staring at Janelle. “Between all that beer you’re always drinking and Andy’s lottery ticket habit—”
Andy did a brief, shuffling dance. “I’m going to win the lottery! I am! It’s just a matter of finding the right numbers, the right numbers.”
“You know why they call it the lottery, right? Because it’s by chance. You can’t predict it.” Gabe shook his head and kept his gaze away from her.
Janelle understood why. He’d been in her face and belligerent since she walked through the door, but now he was embarrassed. Ashamed, even. She might’ve reached out a comforting hand or even tried to give him a sympathetic look, but Gabe was having none of it. She shifted half a step forward and he took two back.
“I’m going to win,” Andy repeated.
Awkward silence, broken only by the television’s ranting and Mr. Tierney’s honking nose. Janelle tried again, this time focusing on Andy. Giving Gabe space.
“Andy, if Gabe thinks you shouldn’t help Bennett, maybe it’s best if I get someone else.” She kept her eyes on Andy’s, ignoring the white streak in his hair and the way he shifted from foot to foot. “It’s really okay.”
“No, it’s not!” His hands came together, fluttering, until the fingers linked and clutched. He made an obvious effort at holding them still. “I can do it, Gabe. I really can.”
“Too much stress upsets you, Andy. C’mon. You know that. If you agree to do this, you can’t just give up on the kid after a session or two. You’d have to stick with it until the end of the school year, or until he doesn’t need you anymore. And you couldn’t blow it off because you wanted to stay home and play your games.”
Gabe sounded exasperated, and now Janelle understood. It must be exhausting dealing with his brother. Just because Andy could feed and dress himself, could get around—could tutor math, for God’s sake—that didn’t mean he wasn’t disabled, Janelle realized. She was learning for herself how hard it could be to care for people who couldn’t quite manage on their own but insisted on it, anyway. It was like having a child you’d never given birth to.
“I won’t. I won’t.” Andy gave Janelle a pleading glance.
Oh, those eyes. Those blue Tierney eyes. They’d always been able to break her down, and this time was no different. “Honey, if Gabe says no...”
The endearment slipped out, made things worse, but Janelle lifted her chin and gave Gabe a head-on stare, daring him to say anything. He didn’t, of course. How could he?
“Listen, you little shit. Let him do the damn tutoring, let the kid earn a few bucks. It’s nothing off you. And you—” Mr. Tierney pointed a bent finger at Andy “—better buck up and stop that whining. Get your act together. You do this thing, like Gabe said, I don’t wanna hear you whining about how you gotta go help that kid instead of farting around on that computer.”
> “I won’t, Dad. I promise.”
Gabe sighed and rubbed a hand over his eyes before scrubbing it back through his dark hair. The motion showed off the silver strands, and when he pulled his hand away, strain showed in his eyes, so much like Andy’s in color but so different in the way they looked at her.
“Fine,” he said. “Whatever, what the hell do I care?”
Janelle wondered that, herself.
“But you go there.” Gabe stabbed a finger in the direction of Nan’s house. “That kid doesn’t come over here. You hear me, Andy? You go there, or meet him at the library, or whatever. He doesn’t come here. Ever.”
Andy nodded. “I got it. Jesus.”
“Watch the mouth,” Mr. Tierney said.
“Sorry, Dad.”
Without another word or even a glance at her, Gabe stalked out of the room. The silence he left behind was louder than the TV. Mr. Tierney didn’t seem to notice, and Andy definitely didn’t.
“When do you want me to start?”
Janelle smiled at his enthusiasm and once again held herself back from ruffling his hair. “Tomorrow, why don’t you come over around four-thirty? Bennett can show you what he’s doing, and we can figure out how often you’ll need to help him.”
“I can come every day.”
“I’m sure you won’t need to do that, Andy.” At the flash of disappointment on his face, Janelle added, “But I know my grandma loves having you over. So don’t be a stranger, okay?”
Mr. Tierney’s thick and rattling laugh turned both their heads. It changed into a cough, his shoulders shaking and his face turning the color of his red flannel shirt. He covered his mouth with the hanky, then spit into it. Then again.
“What’s so funny?” Andy asked.
Mr. Tierney had blue eyes just like his sons, but his were rheumy, the whites yellowed. He showed his teeth, straight and too white to be natural. “You. You can’t help being a stranger, can ya? Cuz that’s what you are. Strange. Always have been, huh?”
Andy didn’t look offended, but Janelle was on his behalf. “You come over whenever you want, Andy.”
