The Faces of Lions (Book One - The Reset)

by Angie Morel

  A double knock sounded on the open library door, followed by Rolo’s voice.

  “Hey.”

  I looked over to where he stood in the doorway. “Hey.”

  He entered the room and plopped on the couch, turning so he could kick his feet up. A small part of me wanted to tell him to remove his shoes before he did that, but I controlled the urge. I’d become quite possessive of this room and everything in it.

  “So, whatcha think of our new guest?”

  “We need to keep our eye on her, that’s what I think. She’s cut-throat,” I said, looking at him to check his expression. He was looking up at the books.

  “Yeah, I believe you might be right on that,” he said, turning to look at me and smiling briefly. He dropped his gaze and began cracking his knuckles, reminding me of…me. “Claire told me that they haven’t seen Savannah in a coupla years. Claire’s dad cut all ties to his sister and her family. They were tryin’ to get money from Claire’s dad or somethin’. They were scammers, always tryin’ to sue for this or that, easy money, you know?” He looked at me again. “She also said that Savannah is trouble. Not in those words, but between the lines.”

  “Uh, yeah, it took me about two seconds to figure that one out,” I said before continuing my stroll around the room. “Plus she has no shower etiquette.”

  Chapter 21

  Dinner was almost ready so we made our way to the kitchen. Sitting at the table, we were in the process of teasing Claire for saying “snappitycrack” (which was her version of harsh language) because she burned her fingers on the chicken.

  “What does that even mean?” D asked, laughing.

  “I have no idea,” Claire said with a grin. “I’ve just always said it.”

  Cory rolled his eyes. “She wouldn’t say a bad word if her life depended on it.”

  “I would too,” she said, offended. A chicken leg pointed at him for emphasis.

  “Okay, say something,” Cory challenged as he leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands behind his head.

  “Uh, okay. Something.” Everyone groaned. Claire laughed. “Whah-whah,” she said before turning around and continuing her task.

  I looked at Rolo, smiling as I shook my head. He smiled back, looking at me warmly. They were something else, this family. I looked away. For some reason, I could feel Rolo still looking at me. He’d been doing that more and more lately. Looking at him again, I lifted my brows, wondering if he was trying to tell me something. He twitched a smile and turned away.

  “That was so lame,” D said.

  Claire stuck her tongue out at him and continued pulling apart the chicken.

  “So…say the F word,” Snick said, joining in. He wore a smug expression as he looked at Claire, knowing she wouldn’t say it.

  “Dude, you should talk! You say it!” Cory smacked him on the shoulder.

  “Ow,” Snick laughed, rubbing his shoulder. “Okay,” he paused, holding his breath before speaking in a rush. “Fuck-see-no-problem.” He crossed his arms.

  “Whatevs,” Cory said, shaking his head. He turned to his sister with a gleam in his eye. “Now you. Say it.”

  “Oh, come on. I’m not saying that word,” she said, using the same tone she’d use if he’d asked her to pick up the meat thermometer and jab it into her eyeball. Dismissing him, she set the stripped leg bone on the discard plate and started on the breast meat with a fork, pulling the cooked meat away from the carcass and placing it on the growing mound atop the keep plate.

  “Uh-huh,” Cory said, knowing he wouldn’t be able to goad her into it.

  “You remind me of mama and aunt. They had their own language because they didn’t allow bad words to be said in our house,” D said looking around. “They used a combination of words, you know, put together so you couldn’t really tell what they were saying. My sisters and me, though, we figured it out.” He smiled at the memory.

  We looked at him expectantly. His smile slowly dropped as he noticed the silence and our stares. Finally Cory said in exasperation, “Well? What were they?”

  “Oh! Duh! I wondered why you were all looking at me. Well, let’s see, one of them was “Foushee” which means fucking shit,” D said the last part in a loud whisper as if his mama was in the other room and might hear. “Another one was “Doob-a-loo” which we figured was doushebag-asshole-loser ‘cause those were the types of people they were talking about when they said it. And then there’s “Hump-a-lumps” which are guys that will have sex with a bunch of different girls, you know, the cheatin’ kind. Gurl, you gotta stay away from that one, he’s a hump-a-lump,” D said that last part in a gruff falsetto while shifting his head side-to-side with his hands on his hips.

  “I gotta tell ya D, that was spot-on for your mom,” I said. Not only was he was spot-on with her voice, but her mannerisms as well.

  “Doob-a-loos and hump-a-lumps, are you sure you’re not talking about Dr. Seuss characters?” Snick said.

  “I know, right?!” D laughed as well. He shook his head and took a big gulp of Gatorade. Suddenly he jerked forward, spraying the drink out in front of him.

  “Dude!”

  “Hey!”

  The protests came from Cory and Snick, who got the worst of the misting.

  D started choking, like some of it went down the wrong pipe. I looked at him, ready to go pound him on the back, until I realized that he was trying to breathe and laugh at the same time. Since he was the only one directly facing the opening to the kitchen, he was the one that witnessed Savannah’s approach.

  “Holy shit!” D managed to cough out, extending his finger and pointing past us. “I didn’t know this was dinner night at the country club!” He continued to cough and laugh.

  All of us swiveled around to see what he was talking about.

  Savannah was poised by the wall, frozen in place by D’s comment. She had selected one of her aunt’s floor length tube dresses—the kind that could fit anything from the size of a snake to the size of an elephant—to wear. It had teal and bright pink swirls around the boob area where the stretchy elastic was, and an elegant flower print decorating the loose billowing fabric below. Over that was a white waist-length long sleeved shirt that was open in the front.

  In addition to her wardrobe choice, I was also getting a good look at the freshly showered girl whose face was covered in overly-applied foundation, dark eye make-up, and red lipstick. Who would bother applying all that crap in the present circumstances? Or dress like that, when everyone else wore sweats and jeans, for that matter.

  And then it hit me.

  It was an attempt to show superiority. A failed attempt.

  The make-up didn’t conceal the flaming anger creeping up her face. “Fuck off!” she yelled, the venom in both her voice and eyes directed at D. She grabbed the front of the dress around the thigh area and spun, fleeing down the hall and up the stairs.

  “Wait! Wait! I’m sorry!” D shouted after her. “Come back! Come back and eat with us…Cinderella!”

  “D,” I said quietly.

  “Well come on, really? I mean look at us, why would you dress up like that? She had, like, make-up on her face and everything.” He had his shoulders up and his hands out in the classic what the hell look.

  “I’ll go get her. I doubt she’ll come back down though,” Claire said as she finished distributing the pulled apart chicken evenly throughout seven plates. After brushing her hands off briskly, she shot a look of disapproval at D. “Actually I think I’ll just take a plate up to her.”

  D looked chagrined. “Sorry. I guess that was kinda mean.”

  “No foushee,” Claire tossed out with only the tiniest bit of hesitation as she continued out of the room.

  “Oh, that was good,” D said, nodding his approval. “That was good. Perfect delivery.” He brought his hands up and cupped them around his mouth. “Remember, you love me!”

  We were patting our full stomachs and chatting about silly things, like Snicks ability to wiggle his ears a
nd Cory’s talent at saying the alphabet backwards, when Claire came back with a t-shirt and jeans-clad Savannah. Her face had been scrubbed clean.

  Claire looked pleased as they approached.

  “Hey guys, Savannah would like to start over.” Claire looked sideways at her cousin, an expectant and encouraging expression on her face.

  Savannah looked up and then back down again, the scowl from earlier carefully removed from her face. Her hand made its way up to her chin, scratching and picking at it nervously. I studied her now that she was both dirt and make-up free. If Savannah could quit picking and popping and allow the constellation of tiny scabs on her skin to heal, she’d be pretty in a bland, cookie-cutter type of way. The type of girl I imagined filled suburban high school halls and classrooms—a place where I’d stand out like a dirty rock among white, polished stones.

  The girl was definitely full-figured. I wouldn’t know anything about that considering the bumps on my chest barely qualified as breasts. I was okay with that. I’d take muscles and strength and a boyish figure any day over soft curves, large breasts, and unwelcome interest. Let girls like Savannah have the womanly bodies that boys and men crave.

  Savannah cleared her throat. “I’m sorry for my behavior earlier, I’ve just, you know, had a really rough time and I took it out on you guys.” She looked up and skimmed her gaze over the group, rearranging her mouth into a smile.

  Uh-huh. Yeah. I didn’t buy it for a second.

  Chapter 22

  A quick double knock sounded at my door as I was changing. It was Rolo, he was the only one that knocked like that, every time. Pulling on my sleep shirt, I said “Yeah?”

  “You gotta minute?” he asked through the door.

  “Yep.”

  After I unlocked the door, he stepped into the room and said “Hey.”

  The room I slept in, when I didn’t sleep on the couch in the library that is, was the extra-large guest bedroom on the main level. It was decorated in frothy cream colors with splashes of burnt orange, autumn red and sunny yellow catching the eye throughout the room. The accent colors were placed perfectly; balancing the room with just the right blend of neutral and bright. And like most of the other rooms, it had a peaked ceiling, exposed beams, and bead board walls.

  I’d often wondered if Cory and Claire’s mom did the decorating for the entire house herself. If so, she was one talented lady. More than likely, they hired a professional decorator. People with their bankroll usually did. Well, that’s what I assumed. Whoever did it sure knew what they were doing. There was no way I could even think to put some of these colors together, let alone know how to place furniture and decorations so they looked like they belonged.

  “What’s up?”

  He wandered over to the bed and sat on the orange and cream striped down-filled comforter. “I was just thinkin’ that we need to get lists from everyone of things we need when we go into town.”

  After Savannah came back and we got past the required awkward moments of unmeant apologies (spoken from both sides) and the gee golly so sorry you had a rough time tell us all about it bullshit, we began discussing the need to restock supplies and food as soon as possible, and shop for clothing and such while we were at it.

  “We need to figure out who’s going and who’s staying too,” I said, sitting beside him, leaving a couple of feet between us. My knee poked out as I hooked my foot behind the leg that touched the floor.

  “Oh hey, before I forget to tell you, I had another dream last night. You said to keep you posted.” The green bridge dreams were coming more frequently, and each time I got closer.

  “Same dream? Just walkin’ towards the bridge or bangers chasin’ you?”

  “Actually, in this one I got close enough to read a sign on the bridge. It said The People of Iowa Welcome You. And then I stopped and looked downriver. There was a water tower that had a symbol of some sort on it. I think it was a white star inside of a brown rectangle. Oh, and circling above it were five bald eagles, for some reason. There was also one of those big, uh, wind turbine things by the water tower. That’s it, no one chasing me,” I smiled. He smiled in return. Clearing my throat, I looked away. Why was it feeling so awkward with him lately?

  “Anyway, enough about that. As for the supplies, Claire said there was a mall and something called Sam’s Club close by each other in town, so we should hit both of them…” I trailed off, still feeling his gaze on me. I couldn’t stand it any longer.

  “What’s up with you lately?” I blurted out, glaring at him.

  Did a frightened look just flash across his face? It was gone an instant later as his hands came together in his lap. He dropped his head and studied his fingernails. When he spoke, his voice was low. “You probably didn’t know this, but I’ve always, you know, held you up high, like you were this perfect, unreachable girl, back before this happened. I respected you. I mean I respect you now, too. Shit. I’m not good at this.” He blew out a breath as I held mine, a sick feeling growing in my gut like the time I ate a bad turkey sandwich that my mom had prepared with expired meat.

  He looked at me then. With growing dread, I was unable to look away.

  “What I’m tryin’ to say is—I care for you. No, I mean, it’s more than that. I…I love you.”

  I couldn’t speak…or move…or breathe. I couldn’t even blink. He was moving though, leaning his body towards mine, his hand reaching for my cheek.

  “Corazón,” he said softly.

  My fist flew before I could stop it. It arced out like it was someone else’s arm, someone else’s knuckles moving towards his face. He jerked back but I still managed to clip him.

  I shot up from the bed.

  “What are you doing?!” My fists were clenched and cocked, ready to swing again if I felt threatened. Threatened? What was happening? What was he doing?

  He slowly brought his body back to where it had been. He was staring at the spot I’d vacated a moment ago, perhaps wishing for that girl to still be there—not the angry one that was standing now, tight and pissed off.

  What was he doing? Why would he ruin it? Romance was the last thing I was interested in. Ever.

  “I know that bad shit happened to you when you were young, so I get it—“

  “Get out! Get the fuck out!” It was the only thing my mind could think to say to get him to stop talking. What was he even talking about? A flashing started inside, a strobe light pulsing through the inky blackness of my mind, and in it words were being whispered, skittering through my head like sand crabs racing across a beach made of glass. Stop! He needs to stop! the voices said, clicking and frantic.

  “Get out!” I said again, bringing my fisted hand up and pointing at the door, my brain not capable of coming up with anything else to say or do to emphasize the point.

  His hand came up to his mouth. He slowly swiped his index finger across his bottom lip, and then pulled it away, looking at it. A small smear of blood was visible. His thumb and finger came together, rubbing the blood until it disappeared. Body rigid, I stared at him, transfixed by his action and the irrational fear I was feeling.

  “Yeah. Okay.” That was his quiet response as he rose and walked out of the room without a backward glance. The door didn’t make a sound when it closed behind him.

  Dropping my hand, my body remained frozen in place as my eyes continued to stare at the door. I blinked. How long had I been standing like this? After forcing my fingers to unclench, the blood returned to my hands. Taking two steps to the bed, I sat on it, not feeling the softness beneath me.

  “What the…what the hell?” I asked the empty room.

  Chapter 23

  “…that’s how it’s always been, my aunt and uncle completely dismissing my family. When we needed help they were nowhere to be found. We had to go on food stamps for God’s sake…”

  It was hard to contain the eye rolls as Savannah droned on and on about how unfair life had been to her and her family. How Cory and Claire’s parents had the
nerve to not share their self-made wealth with them. This girl had no idea what hard times were. Not a clue. But this conversation was initiated with a purpose in mind. Just as I predicted, by adding a tinge of envy to my voice when mentioning how rich her cousins were, it gave Savannah the opening she needed to vent, revealing what she really thought of them. I said the appropriate lines when we were two minutes out and she took the bait and had been talking since.

  And was it ever enlightening. There was no doubt about her true feelings now. At some point she’d morphed into a rant about how everyone had wronged them, so I tuned her out.

  My thoughts returned to the mess that happened last night. What the hell had Rolo meant when he’d spouted the nonsense about bad shit happening to me when I was young? Was he talking about something specific—or just bad shit in general? It had to be a blanket statement, because nothing stood out in the mass of bad experiences that I could recall. In fact, the most upsetting thing that happened to me wasn’t tragic at all. When I was six, a severe sickness kept me in bed for a couple of weeks, and the only reason I remembered it was because we moved right after that. I was upset because I liked my kindergarten teacher and didn’t want to go to a different school.

  But that was it. All the other stuff ordinary people would think horrendous was normal for me. But then again, Rolo wasn’t ordinary, and the shit that happened to him was worse than what had happened to me, so…

  I discarded his words—they had to have been a general observation.

  But the other stuff he said, and then how I yelled at him? How could I face him? Talk about overreacting. What was wrong with me? It was his fault, though. He freaked me out when he said he loved me and then tried kissing me. Why would he do that? Did I give the impression that I felt that way about him?