The Holdout

by Laurel Osterkamp

  “Sure.”

  I shake my head. “But you know you can trust Monty. I can’t imagine ever trusting someone enough to marry him.”

  She laughs. “Trust isn’t something that just magically happens, you know. At least it didn’t for me. There was no magic moment when the clouds cleared and the angels sang.”

  “But that’s what all the movies and TV shows say is supposed to happen,” I joke, even though I’m sort of serious.

  Lucy waves her hand dismissively. “You don’t believe in that stuff, do you?”

  “No,” I say, aware that my answer would cause me to fail a polygraph test. “But growing up, sometimes I wondered if I missed out on an important piece of information that my dad, sweet as he is, neglected to tell me.”

  Lucy cocks her head and squints at me. “Okay,” she says slowly, as if she’s deeply considering what she’s about to disclose. “I suppose there was one time; Monty and I had only been dating for a month, less even.” She drops her arms and her shoulders fall back into place. “I had just found out I was pregnant and things were weird between us. So I tried to break up with him. I accused him of freaking out. He didn’t get worked up or upset; he just took me back to his apartment and showed me a bag of Oreos he had bought earlier that day.”

  I scrunch up my face in confusion, and she waves her hands around expressively while she explains. “He hates Oreos and I love them, so why would he buy them if they weren’t for me? Then he got all lawyer-like, claiming exhibit “A” was proof that he wasn’t freaking out, and the defense rests, and he’s innocent on all counts.” She laughs and rolls her eyes at the memory. “He even started jumping around, like in a victory dance or something. The picture of it is still burned in my mind.” Her smile fades and she meets my gaze. “That was when I knew. Even though I wasn’t sure I could trust him, it was worth it to find out.”

  I smile. “I’m still waiting for a moment like that.”

  “Yeah…” She sighs. “But that’s just it. Simply waiting for a moment like that isn’t enough.” Lucy reaches over and squeezes my knee. “Robin, you’re gorgeous, and amazing, and I’m sure guys would be lining up to buy you Oreos and dance around their apartment for you, or whatever your equivalent of that is, but you have to be brave enough to let go a little. That’s the moment you’re waiting for, and you’re the only one who can make it happen.”

  Chapter 17: December 2012

  When I get home to Des Moines I sleep for two days. The relief of having the show over and the conversation changed is like the feeling of a bad headache going away. But on my third day back I wake up and remember I have phone calls to make and $100,000 to spend, invest, or stick underneath my mattress.

  Figuring out what to do with the money is the easy part. The phone calls are a little more complicated. So I put off making them, and before I know it Christmas is here and I’m still alone. Jack can’t say the same. He has decided it’s time for the whole family to meet Jessie, but I only learn this through a text, probably because he didn’t want to be talked out of bringing her.

  On Christmas day I’m the last one to get to Aunt Natalie’s house, so I’m greeted by a lot of noise, bustle, and sticky-handed hugs from my nieces and nephews. Everybody is dispersed throughout the house and entertaining themselves until it’s time for dinner, so I make my way to the kitchen, carrying the pan of asparagus casserole that I was asked to bring.

  And I walk right into a burning vat of tension. Jessie is standing by the sink, arms crossed and face scowling. Jack is fiddling with the food processor. Lucy is peering over his shoulder, but she looks my way when I enter. I say hi to everyone and put my casserole dish on the kitchen counter.

  “Robin!” Lucy cries, “Good to see you.” She comes over and hugs me. I return her embrace and make eye contact with Jack over her head. His expression is a cry for help.

  “What’s going on?” I ask.

  “I can’t get the food processor to work,” says Jack.

  Jessie huffs. “If the onions aren’t finely chopped then the dish will be ruined.”

  “We have a model like this at home,” says Lucy. “Let me try.”

  “I wasn’t asking for your help,” replies Jessie. “Jack?”

  “I’ll check the outlet. Maybe it just needs to be plugged in more tightly.” He messes with the cord and Lucy takes his old spot, trying to fit the bowl into place. And then somehow in a surge of power the food processor spins and Lucy screams.

  “Oh my God!” she yelps, and I can see her three middle fingers have been bloodied. Thinking fast, I grab her by the shoulders and move her quickly to the sink, where I stick her injured hand under cold running water. Even with the water on at full force I can see a lot of blood pouring out. I grab a dishtowel and, squeezing her fingers together, apply pressure.

  Jack turns pale and rushes over. “Lucy, I’m so sorry. I didn’t think it could turn on without its lid. Are you okay?”

  Her face is screwed up in agony. “No! The tips of my fingers got cut off!” she gasps. “It really, really hurts!”

  Jack and I look over at the food processor, which is splattered in red. “Are they still in there?” Lucy asks, keeping her head to the side. “Put them on ice so they can be sewed back on.”

  If any parts of her severed fingers are still around, they only exist now as pulverized flesh. “I think they’re too mashed up, Lucy,” I loosen the towel and examine her hand. All of her fingernails still exist, though shorter than they used to be. “But don’t worry. Your fingertips will grow back.”

  She starts to say something, but then glances down and notices her mangled fingers and the now blood-soaked towel that was wrapped around her hand. Her eyes roll back and her whole body just wilts. Jack catches her and lowers her gently to the floor.

  Enter Monty, his timing perfect and his eyes towards the refrigerator, as if he’s simply going for a beer. When he finds a bloody, passed out version of his wife lying in the middle of the kitchen his head jerks back as if he’s been slapped.

  “What the hell?” he yells. He crouches down beside her and gently taps her cheek. “Lucy?”

  “I accidentally chopped off her fingers,” Jack tells him, his voice full of remorse. “But it’s just the tips. They’ll grow back.”

  Monty’s face looks like it can’t decide between showing rage or concern, his mouth twists and he bites the inside of his cheek as he inhales. Wanting to feel useful, I find a new dishtowel and wrap it back around Lucy’s hand, applying more pressure. “She’ll be okay.”

  “She’d better be!” Monty says this to Jack. “What the fuck, Jack? What is wrong with you?”

  Jack stands. “I said it was an accident, okay? It’s not like I was trying to cut off her fingers!”

  Monty stands as well. “Yeah, well, you weren’t trying hard enough not to!”

  “Hey!” Jessie inserts herself into the conversation. I had forgotten she was there. “He said it was an accident. Lay off.”

  I didn’t think it was possible, but somehow the tension in the room goes from half-volume to full blast. “Who the hell are you?” Monty asks with an aggressive squint.

  Jack steps next to her. “Don’t talk to her that way. This is Jessie, my fiancé.”

  Monty’s mouth hangs open for a moment before he starts to laugh, then stops abruptly. He turns to Jack. “You are so screwed up.”

  For a moment Jack is a little boy, unable to defend himself against his older brother’s taunting. His lower lip juts out, his eyebrows knit together, and his cheeks redden. Then he remembers himself, and the knowledge that he’s actually the bigger, stronger person in the room must come to him with a start. He pushes Monty squarely in the chest, and Monty’s face registers shock as he stumbles back. Monty catches himself, but just barely, and his unexpected vulnerability hangs in the air like a bad smell.

  Then Natalie comes into the kitchen and her eyes bulge. “What is going on?!” She addresses both her sons. The two brothers simultaneously
turn to their mother and shout over each other.

  “Jack cut off Lucy’s fingers!”

  “Monty’s being rude and arrogant again!”

  “Stop!” Natalie cries. She looks down at Lucy, who is still lying passed out on the floor, and makes eye contact with me.

  “Robin,” she says, like I’m the only other adult in a room full of children. “Please explain what happened.”

  “Well,” I cough. “She got the tips of her fingers caught in the food processer, and they were sliced off. Then she passed out.”

  As if on cue, Lucy groans a little and struggles to sit up. Monty kneels down next to her, putting his palm on her back to support her. “Are you okay?” he asks.

  Her head wobbles as she tries to focus. “Yeah…” she says. “Did I pass out?”

  Monty turns towards his mother. “We need to get her to the emergency room.”

  Natalie shakes her head. “On Christmas? You’ll be there all day. And if the tips can’t be sewn back on, all they’ll do is wrap her hand and give her some Tylenol. We can do that here.”

  “We still should bring her in,” he demands.

  “Nuh uh,” Lucy mutters, stronger now. “I don’t want to miss Christmas. No emergency room …I’ll be fine.”

  “Let’s get her to the upstairs bathroom, where we can wash out the wounds and bandage her up.” Natalie says, with enough authority that nobody argues.

  Monty puts his hands under Lucy’s arms. “Can you stand?”

  Gingerly he helps her up and Jack looks on with a stricken face.

  “I’m so, so sorry, Lucy,” he says, tears caught in his throat. “About everything.”

  Lucy tilts her head towards Jack, and her mouth creeps out of its frown. “It’s okay,” she sighs, before turning away. Monty and Natalie take her upstairs and Jack grabs some paper towels to clean up all the blood. I help while Jessie just stands there.

  “Jack, I think we should go.” Jessie taps her shiny black shoe and it makes a clicking sound.

  Jack doesn’t respond; he just continues to wipe the floor.

  “Jack, seriously. If this is how your family is going to act, then I don’t want to stay.”

  Jack scrubs away at the beige linoleum, slowly making the streaks of pink disappear. “I just cut off my sister-in-law’s fingers, Jess. People are bound to get upset about that.”

  Jessie throws out her hands in frustration. “It was only the tips!” Jack keeps his head down. “Fine.” Jessie pulls at the edge of her red Christmas sweater and tucks her hair behind her ears. “I’m leaving. I strongly suggest you come.”

  She storms out of the kitchen and Jack looks past her. His whole body is slumped with defeat.

  “I think you should stay,” I tell him.

  He sighs. “Of course you do,” he replies. “You’re not afraid of being alone.”

  He gets up, throws the wad of soggy pink paper towels in the garbage and walks away. I hear the front door open and close.

  §

  Somehow we continue with Christmas. By the time we all sit down at the table I’m starving, and as we pass around dishes of green beans, mashed potatoes, and my cheesy asparagus casserole, it’s a challenge not to heap my plate too high.

  When everyone has served themselves to their satisfaction, my dad proposes a toast. “To another year of health and happiness,” he says. “May we always be so blessed.”

  He looks in the direction of Ian and Eddie’s new daughter as he raises his glass, and we all lift our glasses and say, “Hear, hear.”

  Then Ted gets up and goes to the kitchen. When he returns he’s carrying a tiny covered plate. “Speaking of health and happiness,” he says, “what sort of family would we be if didn’t honor our super-star?” He places the little platter in front of me. “Robin, this is for you, from all of us.”

  He’s smiling broadly as he sits, and I look at all of them in question. Are they seriously honoring me?

  My brothers and I rarely exchange gifts. “You got me a present?” I try not to gush. “That’s so nice.”

  “Go ahead, Robbie,” says Ian. “Open it up.”

  I lift the lid. Underneath lies a milky-gray and shiny shipworm, which is every bit as big and disgusting as the one I tried to eat on the show. The only difference is it’s not alive. I laugh, ramming the sting of disappointment down, away from my unaffected facade.

  “Do you know how hard it is to find one of those things in December?” says Ian. “Ted had to call around all over the place.”

  “So you’re going to eat it, right?” says Monty. “Don’t lose this chance to redeem yourself.”

  “That’s right,” chimes Ted. “Now you can prove how tough you really are. Show us you’re not still the whiny little girl who cries when a seagull poops on her head.”

  Everyone is laughing. I look at the shipworm, and I know there’s no way I can eat it. I know there’s no way I should have to.

  “That’s not funny!” Lucy cries. Her bandaged hand is resting against the table, and her eyelids look heavy. “You guys should be ashamed of yourself!”

  Monty and Ian stop laughing, but Ted still has on his smirk. Lucy uses her good hand to point at Ted. “You. I know about you. You cheated all the time in economics class. Nobody wanted to sit next to you, and when Mr. Simonson called you on it, you cried.”

  Ted’s jaw snaps shut, but he opens his mouth quickly again, to defend himself. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, but whatever; it was years ago.”

  “Oh no. You know.” She leans forward, drawing out her words. “You know. And I know you know.” Everyone at the table is a rapt audience member, including me. “You talk about being tough, Ted, but you were a big ol’ crybaby in high school.”

  Ted’s nostrils flare. “We didn’t know each other in high school. You’re thinking of someone else.”

  She shakes her head vehemently and curls spray from her head. “Uh uh. It was you. Like that time you asked that cheerleader to prom at a pep-rally; she turned you down and you cried. And that time you lost the track meet, I wasn’t there but the next day everyone said you cried.”

  I’d give anything if this were true. I pass my eyes across the table, hoping to find another witness to back up these claims, and they rest on Monty. Every muscle in his face is fighting laughter. He can barely contain himself as he looks at Ted and then at Lucy, and back and forth again. He rests his hand on her shoulder. “Honey, maybe you should…”

  She turns on him. “And you!” She emphasizes every syllable as she invades his space and he tilts himself back. “I should tell everyone the story about how you peed your pants on an airplane.”

  Nobody says anything; we’re all waiting for her to go on. “It was in Africa,” she says to us all. “He was on a little plane with super-bad turbulence, and Monty was so scared that he peed his pants, and everyone noticed the huge wet spot in his crotch when he got off.”

  Monty chuckles as he tries to deflect the situation. “If you all had been there you’d understand. It was really intense.” Lucy snorts and he turns to her. “Fine, you’re right,” he says gently. “I’m not that tough. But we were only joking with Robin.”

  “Yeah,” says Ian. “It’s nothing to get upset about.”

  Lucy’s head was beginning to droop, but she snaps back to answer Ian, and her voice gets thicker, like she’s sipping peanut butter through a straw. “Of course you thin that,” she says, slurring her words. She takes a sip of her wine. “It’s easy to tay a joke when isn directed a you.” She drops her head in her hands, and cries “Ouch” when it hits her injured fingers.

  Natalie eyes Lucy and her half empty wine glass. “Maybe you should lay off the wine,” Natalie says. “Especially since you’re on codeine.”

  Lucy’s mother, who had been looking at her daughter in concern, speaks to Natalie. “What? That can’t be right. Lucy wouldn’t take codeine. She doesn’t like painkillers.”

  “Well, she took codeine today,” says N
atalie. “I should know. I gave it to her.”

  Lucy raises her head in a moment of lucidity. “You said it was Tylenol.”

  “I said it was Tylenol 3. Which everyone knows, means codeine.”

  “Mom!” Monty yells. “Not everyone knows that. Obviously Lucy doesn’t, or she wouldn’t have taken it.”

  “Well excuse me for trying to help.”

  Monty slaps his hand against the table. “I can’t believe this. What’s next? Is someone going to bash her in the head and finish her off?”

  “Don’t feel well…” Lucy mumbles. “I think I need to lie down.”

  “Are you all right?” Monty asks, his anger turning to unease as he watches her struggle.

  “… be fine. Eat dinner. Just need to lie down for a minute.”

  Monty starts to get up, but Lucy’s mother stops him. “I’ll go with her,” she says, and she helps Lucy stand. “Come on; let’s go into the other room.”

  Then Abby starts to cry. “Is mommy going to die?” she wails.

  Monty shifts his gaze from his wife to his daughter and places a hand on her head. “No, no, baby. She’ll be okay.”

  But Abby only cries louder. The noise spreads like a virus to her younger brother, and in moments he’s crying too.

  “Come on,” Monty says with resignation. “I’ll prove it to you both. Your mother is still alive, for now at least.” He raises one eyebrow and smirks. “But I wouldn’t let Uncle Ted anywhere near her; he might poison her pumpkin pie.”

  “Making jokes like that is only going to scare them more,” Natalie scolds. Monty just glares at her as he and his father-in-law hoist the children out of their seats and take them into the living room.

  Those of us who remain at the table hesitate to speak. But Ted breaks the silence.

  “Obviously Lucy is strung out. I didn’t cheat and cry all the time in high school.”

  “Seriously?” I can feel my body temperature rise. “That’s what you’re worried about? Who even cares, Ted?”

  He gives me a twisted, condescending smile. “I was just trying to set the record straight. Don’t get so excited.” Ted turns to Dad. “Did you see the business section the other day? It sounds like a big merger is coming…”