by Jill Smith
“Bring it.”
“You said—”
“I know what I said,” Brid snaps. She closes her eyes for a moment. “That was a long time ago. It was hard, because you kept trying to drag everything you owned back and forth. Bring the easel. Bring anything you want.”
“We’ll have to ask Daddy.”
“No. It’s my weekend with you. It’s not up to Daddy, it’s up to you, and to me.”
Cena turns to Imms. “I’ll draw you in two weeks. But you have to hold still.”
“I can do that,” Imms says.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
December rolls by. Imms keeps his fingers crossed for snow, but it doesn’t come. Bridique takes him Christmas shopping. “B wouldn’t go into a mall if it was the last place on earth to get a cheeseburger,” she says.
The lights and music and the swarm of voices are a lot to take in, but Imms likes the decorations.
“Hasn’t B put anything up at home?” Brid asks.
“No,” Imms says. “He says he doesn’t know how to decorate.”
“I was being sarcastic. He hates holidays. Still, he should’ve made the effort. It’s your first Christmas, for Christ’s sake.”
“Your house looks nice.”
“Yeah. I used to work in a flower shop doing arrangements and stuff, so I can Christmas it up pretty good. We’ll get some stuff while we’re here, then sneak back before B comes home and make your house look like Christmas fucking exploded in it.”
Imms gets a lot of looks as they shop. He hasn’t been anywhere this public before. One boy approaches and asks for Imms’s autograph before his mother pulls him away. “I feel like I have a disease,” Imms says.
“Better a government-declared leper than chum in open water,” Brid says. She has two bags of toys for Cena and some gardening gloves for her mother. She helps Imms pick out some wall prints for Mary. Imms can’t find anything for B.
“He’s impossible to shop for,” Brid says. “I always just get him something stupid from the joke store. Fart sirens. A fairy-catching kit. It’s right here, let’s pop in.”
The store is called Crown’s Gags. Imms browses aisles of fake vomit, rubber spiders, glow-in-the-dark dildos. Playing cards with pictures of naked women. Edible socks. Bridique goes to look at gargoyles in the back. A silver ball hangs in the middle of the store, refracting pink, blue, and silver light. The music thumps and growls.
Imms flips through a rack of posters. Mostly big-breasted females in bikinis. A few movies and TV shows. He comes to a poster that makes him stop. It has a black background and shows the top part of a glowing silver sphere with two blue flowers on its surface. A gray, humanlike figure stands on the sphere, staring straight ahead, while a muscular human man charges up behind it with a net. The gray figure’s thought bubble reads, “The truth is out there.”
“Hey.” Bridique’s voice makes him jump. She notices the poster. “Oh. Oh, that’s tasteful.”
“I want it,” Imms says. He can’t explain why.
Bridique raises an eyebrow. “Into irony, are we, hipster?”
The young man at the cash register keeps glancing at Imms, then looking away. He bites his lip to hide his grin as he bags the poster. “Cool, man,” he says. “Happy Holidays.”
“That’s how Christmas shopping used to go for me,” Brid says, nodding at Imms’s bag. “I’d come home with all this shit for myself and nothing for anybody else.
“I don’t know what to get B.”
“I have an idea,” Brid says. “There’s a place downtown called the Potter’s Wheel where you can throw your own pottery. They’ll help you. It’s like a flat fee for two hours, plus a little more for each additional hour. You could make him something.”
“Throw pottery?”
“Basically, you use a giant rotating wheel to make things out of clay—pots, vases—it’s really like, relaxing and soothing. I’ll go with you if you want to try it.”
“Okay,” Imms says. “But what would I make?”
“Anything you want. That’s the great thing about handmade gifts—they don’t have to be useful. Just the fact that you made it will score you major points. I can make something for my friend in New York while we’re there. It’ll get broken in the mail, then she can use the shards in one of her weird-ass collages.”
“Are you going to get anything for Don?” Imms asks.
She looks at him sharply. “Why would I get something for Don?”
“I thought you were friends.”
She shakes her head. “I can’t be one of those people who buys shit for the neighbors, the mailman, my hairdresser…I’d go broke.” She stops walking. “Who’s telling you stuff?”
“No one. I just—he came to Thanksgiving. And he’s kind of your friend, isn’t he?”
“Well, I’m not going to get him a present. My mom can do that, if she’s so inclined.”
They are in the center of the mall, next to Winter Wonderland, where children wait in line to sit on Santa’s lap. Enormous, sparkling packages rest on mounds of cotton snow. On the far end, a plant dangles from the ceiling. Couples pose beneath it, lips locked, while someone dressed as an elf takes a picture.
“What’s that?” Imms asks.
“Mistletoe Junction,” Brid says. “They started it a few years ago, but had to stop for a while because too many teenagers—and adults—were kissing less than chastely. Now it’s back, but there’s a set of friendly rules to follow. No tongue.”
They watch as a young couple, both dark-haired, press their lips gently together. The man’s eyes dart toward the camera, and the woman starts to giggle. The elf snaps the picture. “Beautiful,” says the elf. “Merry Christmas. You can pick your photo up at the Holly Table.”
“Want to do it?” Bridique asks.
Imms turns to her, startled.
“Just for fun.” She tugs him toward Mistletoe Junction. “Come on. You need to experience Christmas in all its commercial, capitalist, gag-me-with-a-snowman glory.”
He follows her. They wait in line to kiss.
*
After shopping, they stop at B’s so Imms can drop off his loot and pick up Lady. Then they drive to Brid’s. Dave is home for winter break, so after saying hello to Mary, Imms and Lady head over to the Welberts’. The smell of smoke is heavy, and the sky is already fading to black, even though it’s barely dinnertime. Imms is surprised to see a thick clump of orange flame hovering in the twilight in the Welberts’ back yard. He picks Lady up and holds her close, staring at the fire.
Don steps out from behind the flames, a beer can in one hand, poking at the fire with a stick. The fire is in a steel barrel, Imms sees as he comes closer.
“Hi,” Imms says.
“Burning trash,” Don says. “Not really supposed to around here. But Mary don’t mind, and there’s no one on the other side to complain.”
A flurry of sparks shoots up, and suddenly Imms is back on the table in the Byzantine lab. Joele holds the glass rod in the flame until it glows red. Lady growls against his chest.
“That’s a cute little dog,” Don says. “I never get to see her. You boys always hog her when she’s over.” He steps closer, hand out, and reaches for Lady. His beer can pops. Lady growls again, then snaps at Don’s hand.
“Ow!” Don pulls back. The can falls to the ground. “She bit me.”
The lab disappears. Imms can breathe again. He tries to look at Don’s hand. “She’s never done that before,” he says, feeling Lady tremble against him.
Don mutters something Imms can’t quite hear. He catches the word, “Bitch.”
“She was scared,” Imms says.
“Of what?” Don holds his bitten hand close to his chest, the way Imms is holding Lady. “She knows me.” He walks back toward the fire. “Gonna have to call animal control.”
“What?”
“She bit me. Got to report it.”
Imms starts to panic. “She won’t do it again.”
D
on looks at him with something like pity. “I know she didn’t mean it. But once an animal shows signs of aggression, it’s real likely they’ll go for someone again. And what if it’s a kid next time?”
The look is not pity. The look is careful, deliberate. It’s a grin behind a wall. This is not about the dog. Don remembers exactly what happened the day he wouldn’t leave Mary’s.
“What’ll animal control do?” Imms asks, holding Lady so tightly she whimpers.
“It’ll be a strike against her. Two strikes, three strikes, I forget. Then they put her down.”
The back door opens and Dave comes out, jacketless. “What’s going on?” he asks.
“The dog bit me,” Don says.
Dave laughs. “Lady? You must’ve really wound her up.”
“No, she got me good. Look.” Don thrusts his hand at Dave, who comes closer to the fire to see. “All I did was try to pet her.”
“Oh, yeah,” Dave says. “’Bout tore your pinky off, huh?”
“She drew blood.”
“Like, a drop.”
“I’m gonna call animal control.”
“Bullshit you are. I’d bite you, too. You smell like a hobo. Come on in, Imms. I’ve got something to show you.”
“What if she bites a kid next time?” Don demands.
“A kid’s not going to stagger out from behind a barrel of flames like fucking Gigantis.”
“You’ve got no regard.”
“I know Dad. Come on,” Dave says to Imms. Imms follows him inside, still unsure whether he and Lady are safe.
Dave shows Imms his new mountain bike, a red twenty-one speed. “Early Christmas present.” Dave doesn’t say from whom. “You learn how to ride a bike yet?”
“No.”
“I’ll teach you. Then you can use my old one—it’s a good bike, but nothing like this one—and we can go riding in the state park. There’s great trails there.”
“Cool,” Imms says.
“What’s up, man? You look freaked out.”
“Is he really going to call animal control?”
Dave snorts. “He’ll forget all about it after a couple more beers.”
That’s what Dave said before, that Don would forget about Imms grabbing his wrist at Mary’s. But Don hasn’t forgotten.
*
B is on the couch reading when Imms gets home. He has been dark lately, quiet and unhappy and restless. But tonight he seems calm.
“Hey,” he says. “There’s coffee.” Lady races for the couch and leaps onto his lap. “Hey, little Lady.”
Imms sits beside B. “She bit Don.”
“Really?”
“There was a fire, Don was burning trash. I was holding her, and she could tell I was…I didn’t like the fire, so when Don reached out to pet her she snapped at him.”
“She draw blood?”
“Just a teeny bit.”
“Was Don upset?”
“He wanted to call animal control.”
B rolls his eyes. “Good grief.”
“Dave stopped him.”
“He’ll forget all about it by tomorrow.”
“I think he’s still mad at me about something I did.”
“What’d you do?”
“It was when I was sick,” Imms says. “He was in Mary’s house. I heard them arguing. She kept telling him to get out, but he wouldn’t leave. So I grabbed his arm.”
“You grabbed his arm?”
“Yeah, his wrist. And I squeezed. I wanted him to listen.”
“Yeah? How did you feel?” B seems more curious than anything.
“I don’t know. My scars hurt. Mary said not to tell you.”
“Because she knows I have to report it.”
“When you write about me for NRCSE?”
B nods. “If you felt anger or something like it, the NRCSuckers will want to know.”
“How many strikes do I get?” Imms asks quietly.
“Strikes?”
“Don said Lady would get two with animal control. Maybe three. Then they’d put her down.”
B sets his mug on the coffee table and draws Imms down so they are lying side by side. Imms breathes the familiar smells of the couch, of B. Lady lies on top of both of them. “Well, they’re not going to put you down. But my mother’s right. NRCSE’s on the hunt for reasons to get you out of here and into their facility. I’m sure they would have found some way of turning that around, saying I’m providing inadequate supervision or guidance, or whatever bullshit.”
“Are you going to report it now?”
“I’m going to pretend I never heard about it.” B pauses. “But let me know if that happens again, okay?”
“Okay.”
“It’s incredible, isn’t it? I mean, a few months ago, you couldn’t feel anger at all.”
“I don’t want to feel it.”
“Earth’s rubbing off on you.”
“Don’t say that.” Imms settles his head on B’s chest.
“What’s wrong with that?”
It’s strange how quickly B’s embrace can become a barrier. Imms is no longer held—he’s cut off from B and from that humans-only place of quick, uncapturable feelings. Lady hops off the couch, heading for her food dish. Imms takes a breath. B’s arms relax around him. “Did you live somewhere else? Before here?” Imms asks.
“Grew up about twenty miles north of here. Mom and Brid and I lived in this tiny duplex with a treehouse out back we couldn’t use because the floorboards were rotted.” He rolls onto his back. “When Brid and I were teenagers, we’d both blast our music at the same time in our rooms. I’m surprised mom didn’t kill us. Or herself.”
“You don’t mean that.”
B laughs. “No. But it must have been rough on her. The walls in that house were about as thick as my finger.”
“Did you and Brid fight?”
“Nonstop. She used fists. I was a gentleman. I used words. And superglue.”
“Superglue?”
“I may have put superglue in her pockets. Once.”
“Why?”
“She squirted water on my computer. What choice did I have?”
“Diplomacy,” Imms suggests.
B’s laugh fills the room. Makes Imms smile. “Would never have worked with her.”
Imms lets his fingers drift to a button on B’s shirt. He pinches it. “What happened? When you glued her hands?”
“She had to go to the ER. I was shut in my room while they were gone to ‘think about what I’d done.’ I spent the whole time wishing the house would catch fire. I’d stay in my room like I’d been told and die, and then they’d be sorry.”
“Why would you wish that?” Imms asks. He moves his hand from B’s chest.
“I didn’t really. Just a stupid thing people think when they feel someone’s been unfair to them. ‘If something awful happened to me, they’ll feel bad they treated me that way.’”
“But you’d be dead. You’d be burned.”
“That’s why it’s so ridiculous. Like it’s worth dying to teach someone a lesson.”
“Oh.” Imms laughs, too loudly, but his throat is still dry.
“See?”
“Kind of.”
“I was so pissed they left me there. I wasn’t thinking about Brid, wasn’t even worried about her.”
“Did she get revenge?”
“Dismembered my favorite action figure. And hid the limbs all over the house.”
Imms grins, softening against B once more, “I like hearing stories like this. About you.”
B is silent for a moment. “You have any good stories? About your family?”
Imms shakes his head. “Silvers are nice to be with, but they don’t love like you do.”
“Is that the moral you get from that story? That I love my sister?”
“I know you do.”
“Yeah. I guess so. She’s nuts, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“What about your father?”
“What about him?”
“Mary says he’s gone, but he’s not dead.”
“Might as well be.”
“Where is he?”
B doesn’t reply for a long time. When he does, he doesn’t answer Imms’s question, and he speaks quickly. “They moved while I was in college. The people who bought the old house painted it blue and had a boat. Mom and Brid moved into the house they have now. I was never gonna come back to this town, ever.”
“Why did you?”
“Because it’s home, and that’s the easiest place to run to when you’ve been fucked over.” He holds his hand up, flexes his fingers. They’re both silent until B says, “I’m not an idiot. I know you miss it. Your home is where you make it, but it’s also the place you grew up, the place you can’t shake, that’s got its head buried in your skin like a tick.”
“I do miss it sometimes.”
“I know.”
“But I like it here.”
“It’s not so bad.” B pauses. “Here, I mean. I hated it for so long, but it’s not so bad.”
“What did you want?”
B looks at him.
“Instead of here?”
“I just don’t want to be trapped.”
They’re quiet a while. Then B continues, “Sometimes I want to know what I’d be like stripped of everything. My home, my family, my job. Kind of like you, I guess, when you couldn’t go back to your clan.”
“Why would you want that?”
“I don’t fit anywhere. And I want to go somewhere I don’t have to fit.”
“You want to be forgotten?”
“I want to be lost for a while and have that be okay. I don’t want to think about what’s coming next.”
Imms understands. B wants to close his eyes. He wants to be told it’s okay to sleep, that someone else is standing guard.
B shifts, and Imms isn’t sure anymore. Isn’t sure about anything at all. B clears his throat. “That’s why I think moving might be a good idea. We can make a home together, somewhere neither of us has been.”
“What about Mary and Brid?”
“We’ll visit. And they can visit us.”
“What about NRCSE?” Imms has asked this before, but he needs to hear what B will say now. “What if they need to ask us more questions about the fire?”
