by Lisa Unger
“I don’t have any place else to go,” his brother went on when Josh didn’t say anything.
“More trouble?”
“Some,” said Rhett with a shrug. He shoved the eggs into his mouth like he hadn’t eaten in a week.
“Is it going to follow you here?”
Rhett offered a vigorous shake of his head. “No,” he said. “Course not. I wouldn’t do that to Ma.”
Josh nodded.
“Who’s going to hire me?” asked Rhett, locking Josh’s gaze.
Right. Who was going to hire an ex-con who went to prison for being part of an armed robbery, which wasn’t nearly as bad as other things for which he’d never been caught? Who was lazy and shifty and looked like a thug, to boot?
It took Josh a long time to understand what his brother was, and what he himself became when his brother was around. Josh took a sip of his coffee. The back door stood open, and the October air was still warm, smelling like the last stand of Indian summer, the last moment of green before brown, the last lingering of long days before short.
“There’s not a lot of work right now,” said Josh.
Rhett polished off the rest of his meal, rubbing crumbs out of his thick, dark goatee. He leaned back, ran big hands through the mass of his black hair. Sideburns made twin Ls along his jawline. It was a look.
“Ma said you might have a regular gig,” said Rhett. “Handyman on some rich lady’s restoration project.”
Josh had left them to talk last night. He shouldn’t have.
“I haven’t been hired.”
Rhett dropped his gaze on Josh, and Josh tried not to shrink from it.
“You’re still so pretty, little brother.” Funny how an innocent word like that could be a razor blade, could slice painful and small, going so deep, so fast as to draw blood. “I bet if you tried hard enough, you could get that girl to hire you.”
“She’s not looking for a date,” said Josh. “She’s looking for a handyman.”
Rhett cocked his head to the side, cracking his neck, squinting. “Dad always wanted us to work together. That was his dream, that we’d take over his business.”
Josh let out a little snort. “Dad had a lot of dreams that didn’t work out.”
“Thanks to me?” said Rhett. His voice as cool and flat as a blade. “Is that what you were going to say?”
“Don’t start.”
He hadn’t seen his brother in five years, and yet it might have been yesterday that they were boys fighting over everything from friends, to video games, to comic books, to girls. Their life together had been one long wrestling match. And yet. And yet. Beneath that antipathy ran a current of laughter, of affection. Even now. Even after everything and so much time passed. There were things they understood about each other, things no one else could see.
Josh cleared the plates, loaded them into the dishwasher feeling his brother’s eyes boring hot and mean into the back of his neck.
“You were there, too,” said Rhett. His voice was just a whisper. “Let’s not forget that. I protected you, took care of you.”
Josh shook his head but kept silent. That was really not how it went down. Not even close.
“I’ve changed,” Rhett said as Josh washed his hands, dried them on the worn dish towel. In the window over the metal sink, Josh could see his brother’s faint, ghostly reflection; he looked slouched and old, beaten. But if that’s what Josh was seeing in him, that’s what Rhett wanted him to see. All psychopaths were skilled manipulators. Words were the least of their tricks.
“I know you don’t believe it,” Rhett went on. “But I have.”
Josh turned to face his brother, who had lifted his empty orange juice glass and was peering into it.
“I can help you around here,” said Rhett. Josh looked around and saw what Rhett saw—water stain on the ceiling, rusted hinges on the door, floor that needed replacing. Dad wouldn’t be happy with the way the place looked. Never walk by something that needs repairing without repairing it. But between working and caring for Ma, the days seemed short. And there wasn’t a whole lot of money.
“Alright then,” Josh said.
He wasn’t surprised to hear the words come out of his mouth, even though he never intended to say them. He always gave in to Rhett, always did what his brother wanted, whether Josh wanted to or not. It was a compulsion, almost a biological imperative. “I’ve got some work in the shop—some shelves I have to put together, a chair that needs fixing.”
Rhett looked up with a smile. “Yeah?”
“If you want to get started on those, I’ll follow up with that other job.”
“The Bishop place,” said Rhett. He pinned Josh in a dark stare. “That’s what Ma said.”
“Look. We’ve been all through this,” said Josh, lifting his palms. “There’s nothing there.”
Rhett’s eyes had the hard glint of bad ideas. Josh understood then—why Rhett was back. The Bishop place under renovation, the phone call, the other news. That tight knot in Josh’s throat expanded. Rhett hadn’t changed, not one bit.
But then Rhett leapt up and took Josh into a hard hug. “You won’t be sorry, man. You’ll see. Let me get another cup of coffee and I’ll get right to it.”
Josh would be sorry; he knew that. He was already sorry. He had spent a lifetime being sorry for doing things his brother had asked him to do. Josh had the strong urge to call his sponsor, Lee. One of Lee’s big things was staying away from the people and places that reminded you of what it felt like to be high, to do wrong, to lose yourself. Some relationships are like pythons: they wrap around you, slowly squeezing until you can’t breathe. Josh wondered what Lee would say when Josh told him Rhett was back; he could already feel the air being pressed out of his lungs.
six
In the damp, sunny morning that followed, the drama of the night before seemed far away.
“Just—” Claudia said, trying not to lose her patience before nine in the morning. “Can you push the hair out of your eyes?”
A sullen eye roll, a toss of her head, then a careless brush of bangs. Big fake smile. Claudia had never touched Raven in anger, not a spank on the bottom, not that angry arm grab she’d seen too many times on the playground. But lately she thought about it sometimes. She really did. Wasn’t that horrible? Sometimes Claudia just ached to smack that teenage, know-it-all look right off her face. But not really. It was extremely annoying, though.
She snapped a picture instead. Could you say “snap” when you took a picture with your smartphone? It wasn’t a snap exactly anymore, was it, even though the device issued a facsimile of that noise? The photo was a good one with that morning light coming through the trees, catching Raven’s hair and making it shine purple. Her smile didn’t look fake at all. It was radiant, like the natural flush on her daughter’s cheeks, the shine in her eyes. Raven leaned cheekily against the barn door, which was leaning against the structure now that Claudia and Raven had pushed it upright. Teamwork.
“Do you ever feel bad about exploiting me in your blog?” Raven asked.
“Uh,” Claudia said, putting a finger to her cheek and glancing up as if considering. “No.”
She filtered the image. “Chrome” was her favorite. And it was perfect—bright and moody at the same time, heightening colors, lightening lights.
“You’re the one always going on about internet predators,” said Raven. “What if there’s someone out there, trolling for pictures of nubile young girls in any context?”
It struck a chord, as it was no doubt intended to do, opened a cold place in her belly.
“Uh . . .” said Claudia brilliantly.
She’d done some thinking about this subject, some discussing with her new agent and with Martha. But ultimately they’d decided that since Claudia’s blog was about home renovation, rebuilding, single parenting, and life in general, the occasional photo of Raven (just called “R” online) was not a violation of her personhood. Claudia had never revealed the address of
the house, the town they were in. Since she used a different name for her blog—Claudia Davidson, her mother’s maiden name—their identities were protected. Of course, if Raven didn’t want to be a part of it, that was another matter.
“I don’t have to use it,” said Claudia, lowering her phone and looking seriously at her daughter. “I mean, if you don’t want to be a part of this, it’s totally fine. We’ve talked about this. You know that.”
Raven glanced over at the door, then back at Claudia.
“No,” Raven said. “It’s okay. I like doing this with you. It’s fun.”
They locked eyes for a moment and then both started to laugh.
Now, in the bright morning sun, the night before seemed funny. Wasn’t that always the way? Nothing ever seemed as bad when the sun came up. She and Raven huddled on the stairs, the earnest young cop, Claudia catching sight of herself in the mirror, seeing what a crazed middle-aged wreck she looked. Then lying awake all night worrying. The French call them les pensées qui viennent dans le nuit, “the thoughts that come in the night.” Most nights, Claudia fell asleep hard and fast, almost as soon as Raven was asleep. But often she would wake around three, usually with a start, thinking that she heard something. She’d shuttle over to Raven’s room, where the girl was always sprawled across her bed, arms thrown wide, mouth agape, sound asleep.
Claudia would return to bed and entertain the parade of fears, dark imaginings, wonderings about death. That’s what happened last night after the door fell and the police officer had left. She just lay there for hours. Sometimes, even now, she still thought about “it,” the event that divided her life into before and after. Sometimes, she still remembered that night in vivid detail, moments flashing back on her—his flat, empty eyes, the hard, mean grip of his hand on her arm, the smell of him, his odor. He was dead now. She never thought “before” that she’d ever wish anyone dead. But she had wished it, and he was dead and she was glad. But that moment, it was alive and well. Her shrink said that it was normal. Some things don’t leave us, he said. We just learn to live with them better. And those memories, they do fade some. They will—some.
“So are you going to call that guy?” asked Raven. Claudia posted the photo on Instagram. It was pretty and bright, Raven a dark-eyed angel in the golden morning sun. That door finally fell off. Time to get started on the barn. #needahandyman
She was gratified to get three likes almost instantly. Validation in the palm of your hand.
“Who?” asked Claudia absently, moving toward the car.
“The hot one,” said Raven. “From yesterday. I think he liked you.”
“The handyman?” said Claudia. “Don’t be silly. He didn’t like me. He wants a job.”
God, but yes, he was hot. Again that dark thought presented itself. Would he have come over and pried off that door, just so she’d call? No. Who would do that?
“Are you going to give him one? A job.”
Claudia glanced over at her daughter, who was smiling slyly. Was her fifteen-year-old being filthy? No. No. At fifteen Claudia had had no idea about anything like that, of course, she didn’t. Certainly, Claudia had never discussed it with Raven. They’d talked about sex, about how it worked, about boundaries, about treating her body with respect, protecting herself on all levels. They’d had talks about biology and all its implications; they’d talked about disease, about pregnancy. But they hadn’t talked about pleasure, giving and receiving. No, that wasn’t part of the dialogue. Certainly not. Claudia was positive that Raven was still a virgin. Positive. No way Claudia wouldn’t be looped in on that.
“I don’t know whether I’m going to give him—work,” said Claudia impatiently. “I have to check his references. Did you do all your homework?”
“You should know,” said Raven. “You checked it last night.”
“Right,” said Claudia. She put the truck in reverse and swung around to head up the long drive. “And moving forward, are you going to try to keep it together?”
“I’ll try,” said Raven, sullen again.
“What people think of you,” she said. “It doesn’t matter.”
Raven blew out breath. “Trust me, Mom. It matters. What if you had to go somewhere all day where you knew no one? Where everyone else has known each other forever, and look at you like you’re some kind of freak? If you had no one to sit with at lunch.”
“I’d hold my head up high, focus on my work, and bring a book so that I always had something to do. You’ll make friends. You’ve only been at this school for a few weeks. You’ll find the cool people. Or they’ll find you.”
“There aren’t any cool people,” said Raven. “We live in a town called Lost Valley. Cool people do not live in a place with a name like that.”
Guilt, worry, anxiety—the three furies of motherhood. They swirled around the car, shrieking and laughing. You never should have brought her here. What if she never does meet anyone cool? Maybe she’s marked by what happened to you. Maybe . . .
“I want the test,” said Raven. “I’ve been talking to Dad about it. Ella thinks it’s time.”
“Ella thinks it’s time?” said Claudia, slamming her foot on the brake and bringing the vehicle to such a sharp halt that it jerked them both forward. The name was like acid in her throat. “She is not part of this conversation.”
Raven lifted her palms, widening her eyes. “Okay,” she said, as though she were placating a crazy person. “Oh. Kay.”
Ella, Ayers’s girlfriend. Ella, who was everything Claudia might have been if not for the night that shattered her life with Ayers. In the years since their divorce, there had been other women in Ayers’s life, one or two men in Claudia’s (no one serious enough to introduce to Raven). But never anyone who was around for very long. Ella, tall, gorgeous, publishing executive, childless by choice, faultlessly kind yogi, who loved Raven like her own, had been dating Ayers for two years now. She was more or less living at his apartment, though she still maintained her own. Claudia would have to be a small, mean person to hate the lovely, sweet Ella—who truly had only ever been kind to Claudia and Raven. But she did. Why was it only Claudia who could see beneath that perfect façade to the vain, vacuous, self-serving bitch beneath? Claudia rested her head on the steering wheel, listening to the birds sing outside the window. They were going to be late for school.
“Have you thought about it?” asked Claudia into the space between her arms. Then she looked back at her daughter, who stared sulkily down at her nails. “You want the test and I get why you do. But have you really thought about how the results would affect you?”
“I have thought about it,” said Raven, sounding far older than her years. “I want to know. Either way, I want to own who I am.”
Raven turned to look out the window, the sun and the green of the grass, and the autumn golds and reds casting her in silhouette. She had Claudia’s button nose. Though her eyes were deep black, Claudia always thought that they were Ayers’s eyes, almost but not quite almond shaped, heavily lashed. Raven was lean with delicate features—long fingers, high cheekbones—like Ayers’s mom Sophie. She had Martha’s rock-solid faith in her own abilities. And yet, she was just Raven, someone unique in all the universe, part of them all and yet all herself.
“But you can do that without the test,” said Claudia. “You are who you are right now. Nothing will change that.”
“Then let me do it,” she said.
Claudia put the truck in gear and started driving. She pulled out of the drive and onto the road. She didn’t have the right answer for this. But she could feel her resolve on this topic weakening for the first time. It was all well and good to make decisions for your children before they had opinions of their own.
“In less than three years, I’ll be eighteen,” said Raven. She tilted her chin up. “You won’t be able to stop me then.”
Was she counting the years until she owned herself? The thought made Claudia unspeakably sad.
“Where are we going, an
yway?” Raven asked.
“Hel-lo?” said Claudia. “We’re going to school.”
“I’m not going today. Remember?” she said. “Principal Blake wants me to regroup, start fresh on Monday.”
Again, Claudia brought the truck to a stop. Of course. Claudia was the queen at blocking out the things she didn’t want to remember. Raven was right. She was absentminded, distracted. A flake, Claudia’s own mother would have said. Her mother was also gone, just two years after her father. Claudia was an orphan. A divorced orphan. She almost tripped into the abyss of self-pity and added single mother.
“What’s in your backpack, then?” she asked.
“My clothes,” said Raven. “I told you I wanted to go to Dad’s this weekend. You said I could.”
The prospect of the weekend alone in the house was bleak. On the other hand, there was a lot she could get done without Raven lurking around, complaining. She wouldn’t have to make proper meals, or monitor her daughter’s screen time, or suggest that they go to the gym or make a picnic to keep the kid from vegetating in front of the computer all day, texting with her friends in the city.
“What time is he expecting you?” she said, trying to stay light.
“He’s taking a half day,” Raven said. “Ella’s going to be away. She has a yoga retreat.”
Of course, she does. How nice for her. Don’t be catty, Claudia. It doesn’t become you, Martha would surely say. Then Martha would say something even cattier. Not catty. Biting, scathing, so close to the bone that even Claudia would cringe. If Claudia was a kitten, bearing her little claws now and then, Martha was a lioness. With a single effortless swipe, she could cut your throat.
“So run some errands with me, and we’ll do breakfast,” said Claudia. “Then I’ll take you to the train.”
“Okay,” said Raven. She was looking at her phone, tapping with her thumbs.
