by Megan Hart
“I need a smoke.” He patted the breast pocket of his shirt.
With a sigh, Janelle followed him out to the back porch. When he offered her a cigarette, she waved him away. She found a place on the concrete retaining wall and drew her feet up, her arms pinning her knees to her chest as she watched him. In the flare from the lighter, he looked like a stranger, if only for a second.
Gabe drew on the cigarette, making the tip glow in the dark. She heard the hiss and whoosh of his exhalation, and smelled the smoke on the fresh night air. Above them, the stars were sharp and cold.
“He thinks you two used to be together.”
“Who? Andy? And me?” At this, she had to stand. The sidewalk was rough under her bare feet, but she paced, anyway. She shivered suddenly. Held out her hand. “Okay, give me one. That’s...ridiculous! Why?”
The light from the house illuminated only bits and pieces of Gabe, but she could see enough to watch him shrug. “I think you know why.”
He lit the cigarette for her and handed it over. Only the first drag ever tasted any good, and she savored it for a few seconds in silence before taking another. Gabe shuffled his feet, kicking at the porch step.
Sickness roiled in her belly, and she pressed a hand to it. “I thought you said he didn’t remember anything.”
“I guess he remembers some stuff, maybe just a little. Or maybe just feelings.”
Janelle frowned. “You have to tell him it wasn’t...like that. It wasn’t true. I mean, not like that.”
“Do you think that will change how he feels about you now?”
“It might,” she said. “And if it doesn’t, you still have to tell him, Gabe. Jesus. And you have to tell him that we’re...that we—”
Except, of course, what would Gabe tell his brother? What were they? Friends with benefits, or something more? They’d never talked about it.
“I’m not telling him anything!” Gabe tossed the cigarette to the concrete and ground it out. “Neither are you. You say nothing to him, you hear me?”
“Yeah. I hear you.” Sullen, she threw her own cigarette to the ground, where it lay burning, until Gabe did her the favor of stepping on it. “I get it. You don’t want to tell your brother that we’re together because he has a crush on me. Because that would be so much worse than just letting him think he has a chance with me or something, right? Worse than letting him find out the hard way, like tonight, when it will only make him feel betrayed?”
Gabe said nothing.
“Oh, God,” Janelle said, after a moment of staring as his dark form, unable to see his expression. “You don’t want to tell him, you don’t want to tell anyone. Right?”
“Janelle...”
She turned away from him, her arms crossed over her chest to help warm her against another wave of chill. “I’m such an idiot.”
“You’re not. I’m an asshole.”
“You keep saying that,” she snapped, “like it’s a good excuse.”
“It’s not an excuse. It’s true.”
She bit at the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood, before she could trust herself to speak without her voice cracking. “Well. Fine. I’ll tell him, then. I’ll tell him the truth.”
She moved to go inside the house, but Gabe grabbed her. It was an echo of that long-ago last night she’d seen him, though they’d been in his bedroom then. She’d carried the marks of his grip for almost two weeks, and sometimes had pressed the bruises, making them hurt, to remember how his hand had felt on her. The pain had been a sort of guilty pleasure.
She threw his hand off her now, no longer some messed-up eighteen-year-old girl who didn’t know which end was up. “Don’t!”
He put his hands up immediately, though he didn’t move away. “I’m sorry.” A pause, a breath. His voice, lower. “I’m so sorry.”
He tried to hold her again, but Janelle pushed away from him. He caught her again on the top step, his fingers shackling her wrist loosely enough for her to pull away if she wanted to. She didn’t. She turned.
“You can’t tell him the truth,” Gabe said. “Because Andy doesn’t know.”
“I know he doesn’t remember, but if he’s thinking that we were together, then he must have some idea—”
“No,” Gabe said hoarsely. “You don’t get it. It’s not just that he doesn’t remember. It’s that...he doesn’t know. The truth. And he can’t know, okay? He can’t ever know.”
She thought of what Gabe had said upstairs, how he’d asked her what she thought about what had happened. If she’d believed it. That it had not been an accident, which meant it had been on purpose.
Gabe had shot his brother on purpose.
“So...what is the truth?”
But if he’d meant to tell her earlier, the moment had been lost. Gabe let go of her wrist and stepped away. He shook his head.
There was no way she could keep her voice from shaking this time, and she didn’t even try. “That’s it?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Not sorry enough,” she told him.
Then she went inside.
FORTY-SIX
Then
MICHAEL—HE DOESN’T LIKE being called Mikey anymore, not even Mike—sips at the beer and makes a face. “Bleah.”
Andy, on the other hand, is already finished with one and halfway through another. He keeps tapping his fingers on the side of the bottle until Gabe wants to strangle him to get him to stop. He’s nervous as hell himself, and the clink-clink of Andy’s class ring on the glass is driving him nuts.
“Where is she? She’s not coming.” Michael looks as if he’s ready to bolt.
“Shut up. She’ll be here. She said she would.” Gabe moves in front of his brother as if he means to stop him, and Michael steps back. “Stop being such a pussy.”
“Maybe she lied to you.” Andy tosses the bottle into the woods, where the glass shatters on a rock. He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet now. Sweating.
“Jesus, Andy. Calm down. She’s never going to get into this if you look like you’re nuts.” Saying it out loud, Gabe wishes he hadn’t said it like that, but Andy doesn’t seem to notice. He pulls another beer from the cooler and cracks the top. “And slow down. You’re gonna be too wasted to do anything.”
“She’s not coming,” Michael says again, then sits on one of the logs around the fire.
Gabe spits to the side. “She’ll be here. She’s a girl. They’re always late. She’s probably fixing her hair or something. Or she had to do something for her grandma.”
“Maybe she got lost.” Andy is up again, pacing, kicking at the dirt so small stones clang against the metal tire rim they use for a fire pit. “Maybe she got...she got abducted by aliens. Or Bigfoot.”
Now he really sounds like a lunatic. Could be the beer talking. Could be that other stuff, those things that have led Andy to write all those letters and poems that have worried Gabe so much. Lots of shit has been going down, but Gabe would rather believe it’s just the booze and not his brother’s brain.
There’s a crackling in the leaves, a snapping of branches, and a minute later, she’s there.
She’s taken the time to do her hair and makeup, that’s evident even in the fire’s shifting light. Her clothes, too. She’s made a real effort for this, and though he doesn’t want to let it, jealously shoots through him. She’s never made an effort like that for him. He can tell himself he likes her better with her hair soft and her face clean, and it would be true. But this Janelle is scorching hot, and it’s not for him.
But it’s too late now.
“Hi, guys.” Her voice is lilting, breathy. She points at the cooler. “Got one of those for me?”
If she’s nervous, she doesn’t show it. Her hair’s grown long enough now for her to flip over her shoulder. It’s such a girlie move, so flirty and not like her at all, that Gabe takes a step back. She’s not looking toward him.
“Yeah. Here, you can have mine.” Andy holds out the bottle to her.
> Janelle puts her hand on his wrist instead of taking the beer. She pulls him a little closer and has him tip the bottle to her mouth. Her eyes never leave his as she takes a swallow. As she licks her mouth. “Mmm.”
Gabe wants to punch something. Hard. He settles for curling his fingers tight into his palm, where his nails cut into his flesh. He did this, he reminds himself. He asked her to do him this favor, to help his brothers. He told her it’s because Andy’s depressed about their dad calling him gay, that anything she does for Andy she had to do for Michael, too, because they’re like that. He told her he’s worried Andy might do something to hurt himself if he can’t prove to himself he’s not what their dad called him. It’s not a lie, not exactly, even if the story Gabe told her isn’t the whole truth.
So, he can’t be jealous and angry that Janelle looks so beautiful and that she’s willing to mess around with his brothers, because he asked her to. She said yes. She’s doing this for him, because he asked her.
But damn it, does she have to make it look as if she wants it so much herself?
She tugs Andy just a step closer. His eyes are wide, his mouth a little wet and open. He looks like a moron. Gabe doesn’t want to watch his girlfriend kiss his brother, but he can’t look away. And she’s not really his girlfriend, is she? He’s never taken her on a date, she won’t even sit with him on the bus, in school they pass each other in the halls and barely say a word.
But he can’t stop thinking about how she tastes and smells, and how her body clutched at his when they did it. Just last week, and they haven’t fooled around or anything since. But he can’t get out of his mind the feeling of how she moved under him, so even though his palms ache and burn and bleed, he keeps his fists clenched tight to keep himself from hitting anything.
Michael’s watching with wide eyes, a mirror of his twin’s. Janelle looks down at him. Holds out the hand not gripping Andy’s wrist. Michael takes it, and stands when she pulls him. He doesn’t move away when she leans close to kiss him, but he doesn’t quite kiss her back. More like he just stands there and takes it.
Janelle looks at Gabe over her shoulder. He doesn’t know if it would be better if she looked scared or nervous, but anything would have to be better than this settled, assessing gaze. It’s like she’s asking him if he’s sure he wants her to go through with it, and though he isn’t, not at all, Gabe nods at her. If something flickers in her gaze it’s gone so fast he can’t be sure he saw any hesitation in her at all, and then she turns back to both his brothers and he can’t see her face.
She laughs low, saying something he can’t catch. The fire shifts, sending up sparks. He can’t really see them clearly. She’s leaning in, first to one, then the other, urging them both to sit side by side on the log. She stands over them, blocking Gabe’s view. She shakes her hair again. Her hips move from side to side.
He can’t watch. He can’t stand it. He asked her to do this because he thought it might be the only way to help his brothers, both of them, because even though it’s Andy with the problems, anything Andy does, Michael does, too. It’s been like that since they were babies—poke one, the other cried. Andy’s the one their dad likes best, though. Andy’s the one with the razor blades. Mikey’s just along for the ride.
She kisses one and then the other. Back and forth. She doesn’t hesitate or fumble. The light trickle of her laughter floats toward Gabe over the crackling of the fire.
It’s too much.
Away from the fire, the woods are so dark he stumbles and falls. Branches scratch him. His knee hits a rock and pain hurtles through him, so sharp it makes him want to vomit.
Gagging, on his hands and knees, Gabe heaves into the dirt. Sour beer puke, nothing worse than that. He hasn’t eaten all day, his stomach too twisted to handle food. He heaves again and brings up only spit. He gets to his feet, kicks dirt over the mess, and blinks up at the small glimpses of night sky he can catch through the trees. He has a flashlight in his pocket, but he doesn’t want to use it.
Instead, he sits with his back to a tree and listens to the faint sound of laughter become silence.
Not long after that, the bushes rustle. Andy barrels past, stumbling like Gabe did on the same jutting root, but catching himself before he can fall. Gabe shines the light, but Andy puts up a hand to shield his eyes, and barks a curse. He pushes past his brother and deeper into the woods, heading for the path home. Michael’s behind him by only half a minute, his own flashlight gripped tight in one hand.
“Andy! Wait up!” Michael cries, his voice thick. “C’mon, Andy! It’s okay!”
“What happened?”
“Fuck you, that’s what happened.” Michael never swears, so the curse coming from him is extra foul. “Just...fuck you, Gabe.”
Then he’s off, after Andy, leaving Gabe in the dark. He makes himself count to ten, then to twenty, before he starts back to the fire. He’s afraid he’ll find her naked, sprawled out, maybe even with a self-satisfied, cat’s-got-the-cream grin. It will kill him.
But Janelle’s not smiling. She’s fully dressed, sitting with her arms wrapped around her legs, chin resting on her knees. Tears have streaked her black eyeliner. Her hair’s a mess. She has a small, purpling bruise on one cheek.
Gabe goes to his knees in front of her. “Which one did that to you? I’ll kill him—”
“Shut up.”
He obeys.
Janelle draws a shuddering breath. Her eyes are bright with tears, but she’s not crying now. She rubs at her face, pressing lightly on the bruise. Her pupils are wide and black, swallowing the blue of her eyes.
“He couldn’t do it,” she says.
He knows she means Andy. Gabe sits back on his heels. “Shit.”
“Michael... He was... He could’ve. He didn’t, but he could’ve. But Andy...he tried. But he couldn’t do it. Any of it. I mean, I tried, but he was just... He couldn’t...” Janelle shakes her head. Then she buries her face in her hands. Her shoulders tremble.
He should touch her. Put his arms around her. He should kiss her and tell her it’s okay. He should tell her that he loves her.
But all Gabe can do is get up and walk away.
FORTY-SEVEN
“SO, HOW IS she?” Bobby asked this quietly, so Nan wouldn’t overhear. “She looks good.”
Janelle wished he’d ask Nan herself how she felt. She wished all of them would stop tiptoeing around the fact their mother, mother-in-law, grandmother—whoever she was to them—had cancer. It would kill her, sooner rather than later.
“She’s been better these past few days. She’s tired a lot, of course.” Janelle bent to pull out the pan of lasagna from the oven and set it on the stove. She swiped her hair off her forehead, which was sweaty because the house had become an oven itself with all the people in it. She pulled out the pan of garlic bread, too.
Laughter rose from the living room. Deb came into the kitchen to help with the food, followed by Betsy and Kathy, and there wasn’t any more talk about how Nan was doing.
Dinner was great. Family sitting around the table, the kids at TV trays on the couch. Nan had her usual spot at the table, and it was the most animated Janelle had seen her in a long time. She had a plate piled high, though she wasn’t eating much of it. Or any of it, really. Nobody else seemed to notice, or wanted to notice, but Janelle did.
After dinner, there were birthday presents. Books of number puzzles, new pairs of slippers. Nan oohed and aahed over everything, beaming. There was cake, ablaze with eighty-four candles Nan needed help to blow out.
“Bring me my pills, honey,” Nan said when the plates had been cleared, hers scraped into the trash, and the aunts and cousins in the kitchen bringing out slices of cake and ice cream.
Janelle brought the pill bottles on the tray. “You didn’t eat very much. Do you want some cake?”
“Oh, no, honey, bring me an English muffin with a little peanut butter, okay?”
“Mom, we just had dinner.” Joey said, overhearing this.
“You want a muffin now?”
“She needs to eat with her medicine,” Janelle explained. “Or she’ll get sick.”
He nodded as if he understood, but really didn’t. “I’ll get it for her.”
If anyone else noticed Nan picking halfheartedly at the muffin instead of digging into the gorgeous, homemade pineapple upside-down cake, they didn’t say anything. But what was there to say? Nan tore the muffin into small pieces, tucked a bit of peanut butter onto each one and feigned eating it without even a hint of joy.
“Sure you don’t want some cake, Nan?” Janelle sliced off a piece, thick with sugary syrup, and pushed it toward her grandmother. “It’s good. You should have some.”
“Should she?” asked Kathy, sounding a little shocked.
“Yes,” Janelle said firmly. She pushed the cake even closer. “She should.”
Nan smiled. “Thanks, honey.”
But Nan only picked at the cake, too, tearing it apart with her fork without eating more than a bite or two. The room filled with laughter as someone brought out the cards. Nan moved to the couch, where she could watch and listen and enjoy the company of her family.
It was like old times, Janelle thought as she slapped a card out of her cousin’s hand during a particularly heated round of Uno. Like the visits she’d made with her dad when she was a kid.
“This was wonderful,” Donna said as they were leaving. She took the time to take both Janelle’s hands in hers. “Thank you so much.”
Janelle squeezed her aunt’s fingers. “For what?”
Donna looked a little embarrassed. “For making us all get over here. But a birthday is a good reason, huh?”
They shouldn’t need a reason, Janelle thought. “You all came tonight. That’s what matters. It was fun.”
Donna smiled sadly. “Yes. It was. I think she looked good, didn’t she?”
Janelle thought of Nan dissecting her food, eating only because she had to and not because she wanted to. If she ever got to the point where not even eating brought her any sort of pleasure, Janelle thought she’d rather die, but there was no point in telling this to her aunt, who looked so sincerely hopeful. “She’s been feeling pretty good, I think.”
