All Out of Pretty

by Ingrid Palmer

  Across the phone line and the miles and the distance that is not just physical, I hear a sigh. A hint of exasperation. After a minute, she asks, “Did you get my emails?”

  And there it is—the accusation. The handful of emails Delaney sent in January reflected her progression from shocked to worried to irritated, just like this phone call. Again, I don’t have an answer.

  “I got them…I couldn’t write back,” I say, hoping she’ll assume it was a technical glitch instead of an emotional one.

  “I thought maybe you were mad. That maybe you’d heard…” her voice fades.

  “Heard what?”

  Silence. And then her words come in a rush—“I didn’t plan to like him. We just started talking about what could have happened to you and…we got close.”

  “Wait…what?” I sound so clueless because I don’t want to hear this, to believe what she’s saying.

  “Ben,” she confirms. “He’s not as boring as I thought.”

  My first thought is genuine and I voice it quickly—“I don’t care, Dee.” Because, really, why should I? Ben and I never had anything, never were anything. But my second emotion is more confusing, so much that I can’t name it except to say anguish, jealousy, and loss rolled into one. “I gotta go,” I say abruptly.

  “Well, can you at least tell me—”

  “I’ll call you later.” I hang up the phone. Immediately I regret this and pick it back up, but the connection is already broken.

  I stand in the kitchen gripping the receiver for a long time, listening to the dial tone, then the flat beep, then the nothingness, until the silence grows so large and deafening I am sure it will blow out my eardrums.

  Chapter 14

  Almost every day after school now, I trek to the pond. Secretly, I hope the girl will show up again, but she doesn’t. Today, this disappoints me so much that I walk around to the sandy side where she usually pokes her tiny head through the reeds. I collect a handful of stones and arrange them in the shape of one short word on the dirt by the pond’s edge: Hi.

  Maybe she’ll leave me a message, too, I think. I hope.

  I’m wearing the same jeans I tore when I fell out of the tree in that spectacular show of clumsiness, and the loose flap of material keeps getting stuck on bushes as I walk back to the trail.

  Looking down at the denim flapping against my thigh, I groan. I have no summery tops or shorts, and what I do have is starting to feel threadbare.

  I need new clothes, but who do I tell? I never had to ask Gram for anything. We weren’t rich by any means—we cut coupons for groceries and stuff—but she always made sure I had what I needed. A year ago I had plenty. Trendy stuff, too. Outfits that get you noticed. Back then, I liked the attention. Now, I need to blend in.

  Walking along the sun-dappled trails, I consider my options. Steal from Judd? Never again. Shoplifting is out of the question. I won’t sink to that level and besides, I can’t afford trouble with the police. Ayla is waiting until July to cash in on me, but she must have spending money because I see her wearing new clothes, and I see shopping bags in the trashcan. We are not compatible in size, but maybe I can convince her to share some cash at least.

  When I get to Judd’s, Ayla is alone in the kitchen with a cocktail tilted loosely in her hand. Speaking of new clothes, she’s wearing some items I’ve never seen—skin-tight leggings, a low-cut top, and spiked heels. Probably waiting for Judd to take her clubbing again.

  I stare at my mother, knowing she doesn’t see me in the shadows. Her dark, layered hair lays limp. She’s too thin, her pale skin scratched raw on her neck. Her auburn eyes are framed by swooping lashes on top and purple half-circles beneath. Her lips, once lush and pink, look cracked and dry. All my life, she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever known. She still sometimes looks beautiful, but the years of drug use are starting to show.

  After two months with Judd, I know I’m different, too. But no one can see my scars. No one’s even looking.

  When Ayla finally notices me hugging the doorframe, she almost smiles, but it turns into a wry sort of smirk—like she forgot for a moment—and then suddenly remembered—that she hates me.

  “Where’s Judd?” I ask, coming into the room.

  “He had something to do. Why?” she says in a mocking tone. “You miss him?”

  My scoff is impossible to repress, and I don’t try. Even Ayla laughs.

  “I can’t believe you’re with him. He’s so gross.” I take a Coke from the fridge and sip it while she guzzles her own tonic.

  “Don’t hear you complaining about the perks,” she says pointedly, eyeing my Coke and the box of raisins I’m opening.

  There’s no point in explaining that avoiding starvation is not what I consider a perk in life. Instead I ask, “How’d you meet Judd anyway?”

  She jiggles the ice in her glass. “An old friend introduced us. We partied a few times back in the day.” Her voice sounds wistful and I can’t bear to imagine what her ‘happy’ memories must look like. “Judd always took good care of me,” Ayla adds softly.

  I want to scream. Judd fed her drug habit while Gram worried sick about her, helped her when she binged too hard, begged her to go to rehab, never turned her away! It’s infuriating. Especially since not once in my life have I ever heard Ayla speak with such tenderness or gratitude toward Gram.

  “What about the orders?” I ask, changing the subject before I lose my temper. “Judd said there was a lot to do tonight.”

  “We got ’em ready earlier. I helped.” She tosses her hair like it’s this big deal.

  I can’t believe I am going to get out of work! I was dreading another long night of packaging. The pressure on my chest lightens and the only thing that concerns me is how Ayla said she’d helped Judd. What if Judd decides he doesn’t need me anymore? What if he wants me to disappear?

  Then I remember who does need me—Ayla. For Gram’s trust.

  Emboldened, I take a breath and ask for the money.

  I expect to be shot down, but Ayla is half strung-out content. She sighs and sips her drink. “What do you need more clothes for, Bones? You’re done growing.”

  “Yeah, but everything is worn out. I look like a freak at school.” I realize this could backfire. What if she says I don’t need to go to school anymore? “People are starting to notice,” I press before she can think about it too much. “Teachers are asking questions.”

  “We don’t want that.” She frowns, puts down her glass, and reaches for her purse.

  I watch her unzip it and start counting out bills. She hands me two hundred dollars in twenties, and I am stone-cold shocked. First, that she’s giving it to me. Second, that she has so many more twenties in her hands, so many that she’s now stuffing back inside her purse. Where did she get all that money?

  “Thanks,” I mumble. Backing away, I tuck the bills inside my jeans pocket and scurry to the attic. I sit on my bed and count the money three times. A day ago, I would’ve given anything for just one twenty dollar bill. Now I’m holding ten of them!

  When Judd’s tires crunch up the gravel drive, I pull the string to darken my room and scramble around for a good hiding place. I end up laying the money flat inside a children’s Bible that I find on the bookshelf by my bed, a remnant from whoever occupied this room before me. No chance Judd will ever open that.

  Judd collects Ayla quickly, not bothering with me. I watch from my hexagonal window as they speed away, kicking up a fine mist of dust.

  Breathing easier, I think of the money hidden inside the pages of the Bible, protected by God’s own words. I consider all the things I could do with it and thoroughly enjoy the imagining. Really, I’ll just buy the clothes I need and maybe keep a little for treats. It’s not enough to run away with. Still, it feels so good to have that money, that possibility, that power, at my fingertips. I almost feel free…like a
girl who would swim in a secret pond.

  Chapter 15

  I’m sound asleep when Judd and Ayla stumble into the house, making all kinds of noise. I squint at Gram’s watch—3:00 AM—and flop back onto my pillow. Downstairs, the lilt of Ayla’s laugh is followed by the clomp of Judd’s feet. I wonder if he ever wears anything but those horrible boots.

  Judd is describing the island paradise where he wants to retire, and Ayla is eating it up. They are like schoolchildren with their fantasies, but I guess it’s no worse than me dreaming of the Ivy League. Eventually they settle down and talk in lower tones until there is an abrupt silence that permeates the house. Judd says loudly, “You what?” Ayla’s response is muffled, but I figure she flirted with someone at the bar again. After a moment, everything goes quiet and I slip halfway back to dreams.

  I’m almost asleep when feet pound up my narrow stairway. I bolt upright as the door crashes open, my blockade useless. Judd’s hand wraps around my throat before I can blink. He heaves me out of bed and shoves me against the wall, furious. My skull crashes into the wood three times until I don’t know which way is up, and then he is squeezing my neck and his whiskey breath is in my nose. I sputter, prying at his iron fingers.

  I’m able to breathe, just enough, but it hurts. Judd is calm now, patient. He’s practiced at this. He waits until I realize I am trapped, my toes scarcely touching the floor. He waits until the tears are pouring down my cheeks, unabashed. He waits until I show all my fear.

  Then he rumbles, low and noxious, “Did you forget who owns you? You don’t ever ask your mama for money. You come to me for everything. This is my palace, girl. Not yours. Not your mama’s.”

  I nod. Okay, I got it. Just let me go! His mouth is inches from mine. For an instant, I think he might kiss me like Charlie did, and revulsion sweeps through me. Instead, he gives my head one more crack against the wall before releasing my throat. Too hard, I think as I slump to the floor and watch the room turn splotchy. His boots echo down, down all thirteen steps. Everything fades to black. Curtain closed.

  When I wake, every muscle in my body aches from sleeping crumpled, half on the floor, half against the wall. My neck is sore, my head blasting discordant notes. I manage to crawl to my bed and collapse on the pillow. I’m too worn for tears.

  I lay there, waiting for my head to feel right again. Part of me is in shock over this. I wouldn’t put anything past Judd, but Ayla had to know, had to hear him…breaking me. Yet she sat downstairs and did nothing.

  It shouldn’t surprise me, I know. All my life, she treated me like I was invisible—until she needed my piggybank money for her next score. Then I was her best friend. I think of Gram’s trust fund and realize that nothing has really changed.

  The crazy thing is, I might forgive Ayla.

  After all, she was only fifteen when she got knocked up by some pimply-faced boy, and I’m only here because Gram found out and raced to the abortion clinic before they called her number. And I only know this story because Gram believed that if you were old enough to ask a question, you were old enough to hear the answer. Even if the answer wasn’t pretty. That day at the clinic, she promised Ayla a thousand dollars to go through with her pregnancy and let Gram raise me. The bribe was enough to sway my mother. So here I am. I’ve always been nothing but cash to Ayla, from the beginning.

  In my earliest memories, Ayla is a ghost flitting in and out of the picture, wreaking havoc on my life with Gram. The year I turned eight, she showed up on Christmas without a single present. She was trashed, of course, and ended up knocking over our tree, breaking ornaments and everything. I was boiling mad. Ayla got a big bloody gash on her forehead from the fall, but she just laughed. I remember screaming at her for ruining Christmas. I remember Gram holding me while I cried but also scolding me for thinking of the tree instead of Ayla’s well-being. And I remember begging Gram not to let Ayla come home anymore.

  Ayla wasn’t home most of the time, but every few months she showed up dog-tired and sorry as sin. Gram always let her in. Often, Ayla didn’t last the night before slinking off in darkness, her pockets full of cash. Other times she stayed for days, getting sober, eating a ton of food, giggling and playing games with me one second, glaring like I ruined her life the next. And then leaving again without ever saying goodbye…

  Lying on the pale pink sheets in the drug dealer’s attic, I clasp my palms around my throbbing head. Rage bubbles against my throat.

  When I leave Ayla, I vow, I won’t say goodbye either.

  Soon Judd calls for me, and I remember it’s Saturday. Delivery day. I squeeze my eyes shut. When he hollers a second time, I lift my head and call back, “Be right down.” I hate how my voice shakes.

  Satisfied, he stomps away and I begin to pull on my clothes. When I shuffle downstairs, Ayla is at the kitchen table sipping coffee. Or maybe vodka in a coffee cup, who knows? When she glances at something on the TV, I see that she’s sporting a black eye. At first I feel vindicated that I wasn’t the only one who got a beating for nothing. Then I feel sick for having such a horrid thought. What kind of monster is Judd turning me into?

  I head for the car. There’s no reason to eat with them, and no point in waiting for Ayla’s eyes to find mine and blame me for this. I stare at the pretty green forest behind Judd’s house and think of Gram in her coffin. It’s disgusting that I’m envious.

  When Judd slides into the driver’s seat, I shrink against the passenger door. He looks at me like I’m the biggest nuisance, then his arm shoots out. I pinch my eyes shut and brace myself for whatever he has planned. But his hand lands lightly on my shoulder. He doesn’t even squeeze. “Got my money?”

  “No, it’s upstairs,” I breathe, opening my eyes.

  “Go get it.”

  I stumble into the house to retrieve the money from the Bible, which did not protect it—or me. Back in the car, Judd shoves the cash inside his jacket, shifts the car into gear, and takes off.

  Judd goes with me into the apartments today, pushing me up the steps and yanking me through doors. I am never fast enough for his long legs. When he drives through Kentucky Fried Chicken for lunch, he doesn’t order me anything. The smell of the food and the sound of him smacking his lips together about drive me crazy. I get mad when my stomach rumbles—should have eaten breakfast. My mind takes me far away from this misery, mostly to the pond. Then I daydream about running away with Doug the hot dog vendor. With him, I reason, I’d never go hungry.

  Judd’s mood improves as his payouts increase, and by four o’clock when the deliveries are done, he’s smoking and tapping the steering wheel to the music. Some hip hop crap. It’s not bad, though. I might even like the music, if Judd didn’t.

  I assume we’re going home so I rest my forehead against the warm window, feeling every dip in the road. I even shut my eyes, but they snap open when Judd makes a sharp turn into Walmart. He parks in the back, extracts the money I returned to him earlier, and thumbs through it. Silently, I count along. It’s all there. Chewing an unlit cigarette, Judd elbows me to get my attention. When I turn, he holds out the wad.

  What is this, some trick? I’m supposed to take the money, then get backhanded? I don’t move.

  Annoyed, he slaps the cash into my palm. “Go and buy what clothes you need. Bring me the receipt, and don’t take too long.”

  I stare at the bills, confused. Why would he beat the piss out of me for taking this money from Ayla, only to give it back? Why would he pound on Ayla for doing the same thing he’s doing now? It doesn’t make sense.

  Sighing, he removes the cigarette from his mouth and explains, “See, I take care of my girls. S’long as they remember who they belong to. You won’t forget again, will you?” He pulls out his lighter, flicks the flame, lights his cigarette, and then snaps the lighter closed in front of my face.

  “No,” I whisper hoarsely because my throat is so dry. I squeeze th
e money and open the door.

  Walking into Walmart feels like stepping inside a circus tent. I haven’t shopped at a superstore like this in months, and I’m not sure where to look first. My stomach decides for me, as the smells of burgers and popcorn waft out from a small cafe near Customer Service. The idea of ordering food makes me insane with desire, but Judd told me to buy clothes, and he’ll check every penny against the receipt I bring him. So instead of ordering a hot dog or fries, I grab a paper cup from the stack by the register, fill it at the fountain stand, and gulp water until my stomach doesn’t feel so empty. Then I head to Juniors.

  Gliding through the aisles, I grab several boxy T-shirts in neutral colors, a few pairs of shorts, a bohemian style skirt, and some sturdy sandals. I do the math in my head. I’ve spent a little over a hundred so far. Perhaps I should quit there and return the rest to Judd. But who knows when I’ll have this opportunity again? Besides, I’d love to see the look on his face if I handed him a receipt for two hundred dollars on the dot!

  After adding a pair of jeans, underclothes, deodorant, a toothbrush, and a lightweight cardigan to my pile, I linger near a rack of bathing suits. My mind drifts to the pond, though it seems silly to spend my last $25 on a swimsuit I might never wear. Then again, nothing else in my life makes sense. I select three suits to try on, and the bright orange one with a swirly yellow sun on the side wins—the only splash of color in my monochromatic wardrobe.

  While I’m changing, I take a moment to study myself in the dressing room mirror. My legs are toned from all the walking I do. I’m skinnier than ever, but still curvy up top. Just what the boys like, Delaney always said. My body shape is exactly like Ayla’s, I realize, but in miniature. I’m not sure how I feel about that.

  I take my loot to the checkout and am elated when the total comes in at $198.17. In a moment of last-minute exhilaration, I throw a pack of gum on the counter. Judd might beat me blind for buying that gum, but I pop a stick into my mouth and decide, as the fruity flavors explode against my taste-buds, that it will be worth it. Besides, I like my new total better: $199.22.