The Roanoke Girls

by Amy Engel

  “No.” Sarah crosses her arms over her stomach, swings her eyes back to me. “I thought she would be angry, but she wasn’t. It was like she was talking to the mailman or, I don’t know, some salesperson. She didn’t even care that she was ruining my life, my marriage. She acted like none of it mattered. Especially not me. It sounds crazy, but I think it would’ve been better if she’d been furious.”

  “Allegra could be selfish,” I acknowledge, and Sarah’s face opens up, thinking maybe she’s found an ally. “But no matter what Allegra did, no matter how she acted, I’ll never take your side over hers,” I continue, shutting her down fast. I know I should feel sorry for Sarah. She’s the only truly injured party here. But my allegiance lies with Allegra and it always will.

  “I know that,” Sarah says, a trace of anger in her tone. “No matter what, Allegra always wins.”

  “When you were out at Roanoke, did she tell you about the baby?” I ask, and Sarah’s whole face caves in, which is answer enough. “Did she say if it was Tommy’s?”

  “No. But she said if she wanted Tommy, she could have him. All she had to do was snap her fingers and he’d come running.” It’s not a flattering picture of Tommy, but I can’t argue with the truth of it. “I reminded her Tommy was married now,” Sarah continues. “And Allegra laughed. That’s when she told me she was pregnant. She said…” Sarah’s voice falters and two fat tears slide down her cheeks. She doesn’t bother to wipe them away.

  “She said what?”

  Sarah steeples her hands over her nose, takes a deep breath. “She said she could give Tommy something I couldn’t. She could make him a father.”

  Ah, Allegra. Going right for the jugular. “And you never told Tommy you went to see her?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I thought if I confronted him, it would force his hand. And we both know who he’d choose, wedding ring or no wedding ring. I hoped if I ignored it, Allegra would lose interest again, and Tommy would come to his senses.”

  “Wow,” I say, “sounds like a recipe for an awesome marriage.”

  “What would you know about it?” Sarah snaps with more fight than I’ve seen from her so far. “Aren’t you divorced already?” Her own boldness seems to shock her, her eyes opening wide and her hands back to rubbing furiously against her dress.

  “Yep. And I would say it looks like you’ll be joining me there soon, except things have worked out pretty well for you.”

  Her hands stop moving. “What do you mean?”

  “You know what I mean, Sarah. Don’t play dumb. You already said you aren’t stupid. Allegra’s gone, along with the baby that might have wrecked everything for you. You’ve got Tommy all to yourself now.”

  “No, I don’t,” Sarah says. “It doesn’t matter if they never find Allegra. I’m always going to be second best in his mind.”

  When I first met Sarah, I might have said there was no way she’d ever hurt Allegra. She didn’t have the guts or the fire. But Tommy, this house, her vision of herself as the perfect wife—they’re her whole world. And most people will do whatever it takes to protect their entire world. “That’s probably true,” I tell her, “but it’s also a lot easier to live with being second best when first choice is never coming back.”

  My forced glibness must get to her because Sarah’s hands ball into fists at her sides. “Girls like you and Allegra have it easy,” she says, words trembling on her lips. “You don’t understand what it’s like for the rest of us. How we have to work for every little thing, for every scrap of attention. And you smash into the world. Take things that don’t belong to you. Knock people over like we don’t even matter, like you’re so special.” Sarah is breathless now, giving voice to her grievances sucking the air from her lungs. “Allegra always got whatever she wanted, but she didn’t get Tommy. Not this time.”

  The smell of meat from the Crock-Pot is suddenly overwhelming, making my stomach heave, heat pooling in the back of my throat. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” I say, vicious and razor-edged. I have to resist the urge to slap her, send her frizzy head flying into the cabinet behind her. To Sarah, Allegra is simply a bitch. A spoiled man-stealer. But not one single second of Allegra’s life was easy. I know the agony she lived with every day. And I understand how sometimes you have to pass the pain around in order to survive it. No matter the wrongs Allegra committed, Sarah doesn’t get to judge her. Not when she wouldn’t have lasted one day in Allegra’s shoes.

  I brush past Sarah, out of the kitchen and to the front door before I do or say something I can’t take back. She follows behind me, hovering over my shoulder. “Are you going to tell Tommy?” she has the nerve to ask. “That I know? That I talked to Allegra? Please don’t,” she pleads. “I can’t lose him, Lane. He’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

  I stop and look back at her. “Hard to lose something you never really had,” I say, just to watch her flinch.

  —

  After our one failed attempt at a family dinner, there have been no more formal summonses for me to appear in the dining room. As far as I know, Sharon is still making her dubious creations, but I either forage from the kitchen after dinner or, more often than not, meet Cooper in town. Tonight, though, Cooper has to work late, and I’m rummaging through the fridge, not willing to choke down Sharon’s leftover tuna casserole if I can help it. I throw together a quick sandwich and take it out on the front porch, my footsteps slowing when I see my granddad has already claimed the porch swing. I didn’t expect him. The porch swing is usually where Gran roosts on warm summer nights, and never until later.

  “There’s room,” he says, looking up at me with a smile.

  I’m dismayed by how much my body wants to keep moving in his direction, sit beside him, and rest my head on his shoulder. “I’m okay over here,” I tell him, dropping down to sit with my back against the porch pillar. The June bugs are already out in force, throwing themselves against the window screens with a sound like popping corn. I wave a few away from my head, their hard shells bouncing off my fingers.

  “Sharon made plenty of dinner earlier. You could have had a real meal with us.”

  “I wasn’t in the mood for something hot.” And not in the mood to sit around the table staring at my grandparents and Allegra’s empty chair. “A sandwich is fine.”

  “You’ve been eating in town a lot,” Granddad says.

  I take a bite of my sandwich. “Yep.”

  “With Cooper Sullivan?”

  “Yep.”

  The sun is sinking in the evening sky, and I hear Charlie around back calling for the dogs, who bark joyfully in response. Granddad leans back in the porch swing. He’s got a beer bottle balanced on his knee. “Not surprised, you know,” he says with a little smile. “About you and Cooper starting up again.”

  “We’re not starting up again.”

  Granddad cocks his eyebrows at me. “Boy never did get over you.” He pauses. “You sure left a string of broken hearts when you went away.”

  I put my sandwich down, no longer hungry. “Stop it.” My voice is harsh, ugly, but my granddad doesn’t drop his eyes and the expression on his face doesn’t change.

  “Cooper. Allegra.” He takes a quick swig of beer. “Me.”

  I bark out a laugh. “How come nobody’s concerned with my broken heart?”

  “Was your heart broken?” he asks, voice quiet.

  My throat burns, and I’m glad I set my dinner aside already so I don’t choke on a swallow. “You know it was,” I say. “It still is.”

  “I’m sorry,” my granddad says. And he sounds like he means it, which only makes it even more unbearable. “I’m so sorry, Laney-girl.”

  “Don’t call me that!” I suck in a deep breath. “You know, I thought I’d escaped this place. The only one who ever did with only minor damage. That’s what I comforted myself with when I was scared or lonely, which was most of the time.”

  Granddad looks like he’s abo
ut to get up and come over to me, but I stop him with a single glance. “But in the end, none of it mattered, because here I am again and it’s like I never left. This place never let go of me. I’ve carried it all these years. Like a disease. Like a tumor.” My voice breaks and I drop my gaze. “It’s killing me.” I look back at him. “Did it kill Allegra, too?”

  Granddad shakes his head, the muscle in his jaw thumping.

  I point at him with an unsteady finger. “You shake your head all you like. But I’m going to find out what happened to her. I’m going to find out what you did. I’m going to know.”

  “I didn’t touch one hair on her head,” Granddad says in that tone of voice that means he’s had about enough. “I would never hurt her.”

  “You hurt her every goddamn day of her life!” I shoot back.

  Granddad sighs, rubs his eyes with one hand. “You want to make me a monster? Pretend you hate me, Lane? Go ahead, if that makes it easier for you.”

  “I do hate you!” I say, voice rising.

  He drops his hand, lifts his eyes until they stare right into mine. “No, you don’t.”

  I try to hold his gaze, but my eyes slide away first. One of the barn cats sneaks out from underneath the steps, stalking my abandoned sandwich. I pull out a piece of turkey and toss it to him.

  “Did you know about the baby?” I ask. The cat snatches the turkey from the ground and disappears back under the porch.

  “No. If she was pregnant, she hadn’t told me yet.”

  “What makes you think she was planning to?” I look at him again. “How do you even know it’s yours? It could be Tommy’s. Or some random guy’s, even. Outside sperm probably have more of a fighting chance, don’t you think?”

  My granddad doesn’t have any visible reaction other than a slight shrug of his shoulders. “Wouldn’t have mattered to me. Would have raised it like one of my own.”

  “What if Allegra didn’t want that? What if she wanted Tommy?” I know in my gut this isn’t true. Allegra would never have chosen Tommy over Granddad, but I want to push him, see if he cracks.

  “You think I killed her to keep her from leaving me, taking the baby, is that it?” My granddad snorts, amused rather than angry. “Are you forgetting your mama took off, once upon a time, and I didn’t stop her?”

  “That was different. You still had Eleanor. But Allegra was the last Roanoke girl. If she left, that would be the end.”

  “Your logic is failing you, Lane. If I killed Allegra, I’d be in the same boat as if she left. No more Roanoke girls.” He hesitates, tips his beer bottle in my direction. “Except for you.”

  His words slam into my body, violent as punches, and I struggle for air against the rising tide of my heartbeat. Except for me. Why didn’t I see it before? One Roanoke girl gone and another fitted seamlessly into her spot. Dread zips along my spine. “So Allegra’s missing, and here I am,” I manage to say. “I came home like you wanted.”

  “You came home,” my granddad agrees. He smiles, slow and easy. “Right where you belong.”

  The breeze picks up and carries the faintest hint of his cologne. And in an instant I’m transported back to all those mornings with him in the barn, when we’d work together feeding the animals. Probably the only time in my entire life I felt loved. I bite down hard on my lip to keep from screaming, taste the warm tang of blood on my tongue.

  Run Lane. Run.

  —

  I spend the early evening hours getting single-mindedly drunk out on the screened porch. Each sip is a mercy, leading me further into oblivion. Every swallow makes it easier to forget. I work my way through a bottle of wine I found in a kitchen cabinet. Follow it with a shot of vodka and a couple of beers for variety. Finish with a heel of stale bread to keep it all down.

  So it’s fair to say I’m not at my best when I wander through the door of Ronnie Joe’s long after dark. It’s more crowded than last time. There’s an overflow of bodies packed onto the tiny dance floor. They sway in rhythm to a song, heavy on the nasal drawl, warbling from the jukebox in the far corner. The air is thick with smoke and the stench of armpit.

  Cooper is seated at the bar, hunched over his drink. His grease-stained fingers hold a cigarette smoked almost down to the filter. I elbow my way through the throng of people near the door and swing up onto the empty stool next to him.

  “Hey,” he says with a smile when he turns and sees it’s me. “What are you doing here?”

  I shrug. “Needed to get out.” I signal the bartender by pointing at whatever Cooper has in front of him. Whiskey, maybe, straight up. “What’s the deal tonight? Isn’t it a little crowded for a Tuesday?”

  Cooper’s eyes roam over my face. “Dollar draws. On Tuesdays.”

  “Tuesdays are big days around here. Tacos and beer. Osage Flats—home of the fat and drunk.” I laugh, a sloppy, liquid gurgle. “Sounds like an appropriate slogan.”

  The bartender brings over my drink, and I start a race to the finish line. The cheap whiskey flames on the way down; I can picture blisters coating the lining of my throat.

  “How much have you had?” Cooper asks, eyes back on his own drink.

  “Not nearly enough,” I say. “But don’t worry, I didn’t drive. Charlie dropped me off.”

  Cooper’s knee nudges mine underneath the bar as he stubs out his cigarette on the pockmarked bar top. “Think maybe you should slow down?”

  “Nope.”

  He nods at that, spins his half-empty glass between his hands. “Wanna talk about it? We could go back to my place. I’ve got whiskey there if that’s what you need.”

  I shake my head. I can’t stand that he’s being kind to me, can’t stand the ache spreading through my chest that being near him brings. Can’t stand all the things he makes me remember, when I’m trying so hard to forget. It makes me want to hurt him, just because I can.

  Something hits me hard in the shoulder, and I stagger forward on the stool, throwing one arm out to catch myself against the bar.

  “Oh, whoops, sorry!” The guy behind me steadies me with his hand. I turn to get a better look at him. He’s around my age, dressed in jeans and a light green T-shirt, a Kansas City Royals baseball cap on his head. His neck is pinpricked red with razor burn.

  “I’m David.” His small huddle of friends, all male, watch our interaction with hungry eyes, leering into their beers.

  “Lane,” I say.

  He grins at me. His eyes are glassy, and beer fumes waft off his skin. “Wanna dance?”

  “Maybe,” I say, as I turn on my barstool, a little lilt in my voice. I glance over at Cooper. He’s watching me, waiting to see what I’m going to do.

  David shifts his body until he’s between Cooper and me, cutting off our eye contact. His fingers dig harder into my arm. “Whadya say? One dance?”

  “Okay. One dance.” I let him pull me off the barstool and onto the dance floor. I don’t look back at Cooper. The jukebox is not playing a slow song, but David drags me into his arms anyway, holds me too close. “God, you’re gorgeous,” he breathes against my cheek. “Way hotter than any of the other girls around here.”

  I fix my gaze somewhere over his shoulder. I have to concentrate as we spin in slow circles to keep from getting sick. The mirror behind the bar reflects my flushed face on every pass, my eyes wide and unfocused. Cooper never once looks in my direction.

  After a while, it could be five minutes or an hour, my brain isn’t keeping track very well, one of David’s friends cuts in with a fistful of shot glasses. Tequila, not my drink of choice. But it turns out the old lick, drink, suck routine comes back easily, like riding a bicycle. When I pass over my empty shot glass, David ducks his head and kisses me. His tongue burrows into the back of my mouth, his teeth clanking against mine. Lime and salt burn on my lips. I pull away, but not as fast as I should.

  David puts his arm around me, tight and overly familiar. He leans into my ear. “You wanna get out of here?”

  I look over his shoulder
and see Cooper’s empty barstool. I push away from David, stumble over his feet, and crash into a couple still dancing. “Excuse me,” I mumble. “Sorry.”

  I ignore David calling my name and slam out through the door of Ronnie Joe’s. It’s no cooler outside, but at least the air is clean and clear. The full moon pokes through a tear in the black clouds and illuminates Cooper’s back as he disappears across the parking lot. I inhale deeply, the sick swirl of my head fading into the background.

  “Hey, wait!” I call. “Where are you going?”

  “Home.” He doesn’t stop or turn around.

  I hurry after him, not running—I don’t think my stomach can handle it—but quick, fumbling steps. “Don’t go. Wait!”

  He slows only when he reaches his truck and shifts to greet me with a sigh. “What?”

  “Why are you leaving?”

  “Because it’s late and I have to work tomorrow.”

  “We could have one more drink.”

  “You have one more drink and you’re gonna pass out on the floor or end up spread-eagle in the backseat of that guy’s car.” His eyes are like flint. “Thanks, but no thanks. Either way, that’s a show I don’t need to catch.”

  “Cooper.” I reach out and grab his hand, the skin rough and warm under my fingers.

  “Don’t you ever get tired of your own bullshit?” he asks, yanking his hand free. “What in the hell do you want from me? You want me to go back in there and beat the shit out of that guy? Pound him the way I used to? Find some girl to fuck so we’re even? So you won’t have to feel guilty?” Cooper is breathing hard, his hands curled into fists. “You want it to be like old times, is that it?”

  I throw myself forward, pressing my body against his, and Cooper chokes out a sound that’s not quite a swear. I think there’s better than even odds he’ll shove me away, but he spins us around instead, slams me back against his truck, his hands touching whatever part of me they can reach. I work a hand free and pull on the driver’s door, opening it far enough that Cooper can push it wide with his hip, toss me onto the bench seat, and climb in on top of me.