The Tattered Gloves

by J. L. Berg

  “I want you to know, before the other day, I hadn’t heard from my sister in years. I know you must look at me and the life I have and wonder what kind of person am I to let you grow up with a woman like that when I was just a few hours down the road. But I didn’t know, okay? I didn’t know about you, just like you didn’t know about me. If I had, I would have done… something,” she huffed out. “But all of that is behind us now. I can’t even begin to know what kind of horrors my sister unloaded on you over the years. I’m sorry I didn’t find out about you sooner. And I’m sorry I couldn’t fix her for you. Lord knows, I tried. But, sometimes, certain people are beyond your help, and as much as it hurts, you just have to walk away… and hope they figure it out for themselves.”

  My eyes squeezed shut as her words resonated.

  She was right.

  My mom was damaged goods.

  But how soon would it be until Addy realized I was, too?

  “Now, why don’t you go get ready?” she suggested in an obvious attempt to lighten the mood. “We have an appointment at the high school in a couple of hours. Figured I’d give you a day to adjust, but tomorrow, you’ll need to get into the swing of things around here, and that includes an education.”

  I nodded silently even though every molecule in my body was groaning at the idea of attending another school.

  There were people there.

  I generally didn’t get along with others, especially those my age. Even growing up in the crappy part of DC, where every kid in my grade had just as much baggage as me, I had still been referred to as the weird girl because I didn’t talk enough. Even kids in the hood had friends.

  Except for me.

  But talking and friendship didn’t solve anything.

  It didn’t make the darkness go away.

  STARING INTO THE wide bathroom mirror that was still covered in a fresh coat of steam from my shower, I brushed back my golden-blonde hair. It was the one physical trait I must have inherited from my father, something my mother hated to be reminded of. She was constantly dying her dark brown roots, trying to maintain that perky platinum-blonde persona she swore her clients preferred.

  Honestly, I doubted they even noticed.

  But it wasn’t something I was going to tell her.

  The bright blue eyes though? Those, I got from her — or the family at least. My aunt sported the same blue irises as my mother and me, and I wondered who else on our side of the family had carried the trait.

  Not that I’d ever find out.

  The three of us were all that was left of the mighty Fairchild lineage.

  I quickly finished braiding my wet hair to the side, not bothering with makeup. I never did. A dab of moisturizer and a change of clothes, and I was ready to go.

  Not knowing exactly what my aunt was doing with the mystery man, I kept myself occupied in the craft room, as far away from the two of them as I could get. Finding a cozy chair, I curled up under a blanket and flipped through old craft magazines until it was time to go.

  About an hour later, Addy came looking for me, still dressed in her tie-dye and overalls outfit, asking if I was ready to go.

  “I guess,” I replied.

  “Well, let’s go. Don’t want to be late. After we get you registered, we can go get a bite to eat for lunch, and I’ll show you around town.”

  “Okay.”

  I followed her out of the house, taking another look around. The washed-out plants I remembered from last night were suddenly bright with every color under the rainbow as they soaked up the last rays of the dwindling summer heat. Even the ninja gnome looked happier at his post in the middle of the garden, surveying his crop.

  Everything was better in the daylight. Safer.

  “So, do you know anything about Sugar Tree?” my aunt asked as she opened the driver’s door, not even bothering to unlock it.

  If you left a car unlocked in my old neighborhood, you’d return to find nothing but an oil spot the next day. I resisted the urge to stand there, dumbfounded, at her abundance of trust, and instead, I followed her lead, opening the passenger door and climbing in.

  “Um, no,” I answered.

  As we pulled out of the dusty gravel driveway, I continued to peer around my new neighborhood with mild curiosity. Most of the other houses on the street were similar to my aunt’s. Small one-story brick ranchers. Nothing fancy, but everything was neat and tidy.

  “This is the newer section of town. New is a relative term here in Sugar Tree. These houses were built a few decades ago, but when you drive closer to the center of town, you won’t find a building that isn’t at least a hundred years old — with a few exceptions,” she said, shrugging. “We’re proud of our history.”

  She’d said we as if she were a native of this place. As if she’d sprung up out of the ground one day and put down roots in this pint-sized town in the middle of Virginia.

  Maybe she’d found a way to forget her past, just like my mother.

  “I’ve been trying to get ahold of one of these buildings down here for a while now,” she continued, pointing to the left. “I cut hair. I don’t know if I made that clear before. I mean, with the gentleman in the house.”

  Her eyes briefly met mine, and I nodded.

  She hadn’t, but I was glad she was doing so now.

  “I have a salon out in the garage. Most of my clients come during normal business hours, but I sometimes stretch those hours to accommodate some of the neighbors. The man who came today lives down the street. He has two little boys and another on the way. He’s been working double shifts, trying to earn up a little extra before the next one arrives. So, I fit him in when he has time.”

  A part of me was relieved.

  Relieved my aunt wasn’t like my mother. Relieved I wasn’t in a house like hers again.

  But the idea of random strangers running in and out of the house at all hours of the day made my skin crawl.

  “We’ll figure it out,” she said, as if she could somehow read my thoughts.

  I was blessed with the gift of not having to respond as the car slowly pulled up to the high school. I lifted my head toward the large sign that proudly displayed the name Sugar Tree High School.

  It sounded like a school for the Oompa Loompas in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. The whole town did.

  I mean, seriously, who thought up the name Sugar Tree?

  I took a deep breath, looking out at the sea of student cars in the parking lot, wondering which of the owners would be the first to make fun of the weird new girl. Who would be the ones to whisper behind my back, and which brave souls would do it to my face?

  While the inner turmoil was going on inside my head, I stepped out of my aunt’s late model Honda Civic and followed her into the brick building — one that she’d said was, “one of the newer buildings in town.”

  It had been built when Kennedy was in office.

  We both stepped up to the long row of glass doors, stopping to press the buzzer, where we waited for permission to enter. I guessed, even in a small town, trust only stretched so far when it came to people’s kids.

  A chipper female voice crackled through the speaker. “On your left,” she instructed.

  Addy grabbed the door handle and pulled, smiling slightly when it easily gave way. “Here we go!” she said brightly.

  My stomach lurched at the thought, but I woefully trudged on.

  The old saying, Same shit, different day, came to mind as I took my first glance around the old building. It wasn’t that unlike the school I’d left behind. There were no metal detectors at the doors, and it lacked the grime and edge I was used to, but the bland coat of paint on the cinder-block walls felt the same. There were also those stereotypical posters plastered everywhere, warning us about the hazards of underage drinking and drug use.

  That was all oddly familiar — and not in a comforting sort of way.

  The polished white linoleum floors led to a glass door to the right of the main entrance. A sign to th
e left told me we were here — the main office. I followed Addy inside, taking note of my surroundings. The entire office was surrounded by glass, like a square little fishbowl. I guessed it made it easier to watch and observe the natives.

  Since class was already in session for the day, the hallways around the fishbowl were quiet. I thanked whoever was listening above for this tiny little favor.

  I needed just a few more hours before the staring and pointing began.

  Just a few more hours of being safe and invisible.

  “May I help you? Oh, Addy! I’m sorry. I didn’t recognize you outside of the salon! Is that a new cut or color?” she asked, pointing to my aunt’s short brown locks.

  “I just styled it differently. Yours is looking like it needs a trim, June,” Addy greeted the tall blonde behind the desk with a wink. “This is my niece, Willow. She’ll be living with me for the foreseeable future, and I wanted to get her registered for school, if that’s possible. I believe we have an appointment.”

  The perky young thing nodded before looking down at what I could only assume was a calendar. “Yes! I see it. One of the students must have written it down. Sorry about that. Do you have her transcripts from her previous school? And immunization records?”

  I turned to Addy, waiting for her admission of failure.

  Maybe we could go home. Maybe I’d be able to postpone this whole miserable adventure for another week or so.

  “I’ve got them right here,” Addy replied, giving me a sideways smirk.

  Dang. How’d she manage that?

  She handed them across the counter, and the woman smiled, taking them in her hands.

  “I’ll be just a moment. I need to key these into her record. You can have a seat.”

  Addy nodded, and we both turned toward the waiting area. It was empty, thankfully. No unruly kids to awkwardly avoid. We took two of the chairs that faced the door and sat in silence.

  There were no magazines, like at a doctor’s office, and unlike most people my age, my cell phone was only used in emergencies since I didn’t have money to buy more data. But, in that moment, I completely understood the need to bury oneself in a mindless device. It was far better than the alternative — sitting around in uncomfortable stillness while you waited for time to pass.

  Just as my eyelids were starting to waver, I heard the same voice that was used to greet us moments earlier echo in the old speaker. “On your left.”

  My attention piqued, and I watched to see who might come through the door.

  Carrying his backpack on one shoulder, like he wasn’t fully committed to the idea of this place yet, I observed the tall stranger as he made his way to the office. Clean-shaven and dressed nicer than any boy I’d ever seen, he waltzed in this fishbowl of a room like he owned it.

  “Sam Shepherd! What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in class!” the tall blonde nearly gushed, rising up from her computer. Although her words had a note of authority to them, the way they were delivered had the opposite effect.

  The boy, Sam, set his backpack down on the ground, placing his elbows on the counter. Giving the woman a dreamy smile, he had her wrapped around his finger in a matter of seconds.

  “I’m sorry, June — Mrs. Carrow, I mean. I was helping my father this morning, and time got away from us. You’ll forgive me, won’t you?” he said, his words dripping with honey.

  “Of course, darling. But, you know, I’ll need a note from your daddy.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of blonde hair. I moved slightly in my seat. Outside the door, ducked down neatly behind the portion of glass where the large side of the counter rested, there was a girl.

  A beautiful, normal… about-to-be-in-a-heap-of-trouble girl.

  Her eyes caught mine, and I could see her gaze wander over me, trying to place me. When she couldn’t, her finger went to her lips, begging for my silence.

  “Do you think I’d show up here, late for school, without a note from my dad?” Sam went on, leaning against the desk. His smile deepened, and soon, he had the entire office captivated.

  Oh my gosh, they are working together!

  He’d snuck her in, and now, he was carrying on, flirting with the staff and distracting them with his good looks so that the girl could get past undetected.

  I didn’t know whether to applaud the pair or turn my head away in disgust.

  There must have been some sort of signal I’d missed because, as soon as Sam reached into his pocket to procure the note, he was rambling on, and when all eyes in the office were focused on him, the girl ran out from her spot and darted down the hall.

  None the wiser.

  I saw the corner of Sam’s smile turn upward.

  “Here you are, Mrs. Carrow. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some learning to do.” He tipped his head, pulling at an imaginary hat on his head, as he delivered a cocky grin to the ladies behind the counter before bending down to grab his stuff. Then, he quickly pivoted toward the door, swinging his backpack on his shoulder in one fluid movement.

  “That Sam Shepherd, quite the gentleman,” the young lady behind the counter said as she typed away at her computer, hopefully doing something related to me.

  I would like to leave this place while I still had the option.

  “Too bad about his mother though,” someone in a nearby desk chimed in. “A boy that age needs a little motherly love, you know?”

  “Oh, I’m sure he’s seen plenty of motherly love pass in and out of the house over the last few years.” June snickered back.

  I tried not to stare, and Addy audibly cleared her throat next to me.

  Was this how small-town life was always going to be?

  I had already been a freak in a city of a million. How would I possibly survive a town of a few thousand where everyone knew everything about everybody, down to their shoe sizes and mating habits?

  This office might look like a giant fishbowl, but it turned out, I might be the only fish out of water in this school.

  “YOU’VE BARELY TOUCHED your food,” Addy pointed out as we sat, eating lunch at a little cafe in the middle of town.

  After registering for classes, she’d made it a point to make sure I got to know my new home, driving back down the main streets before finding somewhere to park. It was a typical September day in Virginia — hot — and as we’d ventured down the sidewalks, tiny beads of sweat had begun to form around my temples while I listened to her describe each place we’d passed.

  I knew I was being rude by not listening.

  I knew I was being rude by not eating the food she’d bought me, but my mind was somewhere else.

  “Is everyone here like that?” I finally asked after my mind circled a million times around the conversation I’d overheard in the office.

  “Like what?” she asked. She casually dipped one of her French fries in some ketchup, waiting for me to reply.

  “Nosy? I mean, those women in the office… the way they spoke about that kid after he left. Does everyone do that?”

  She sat there, her French fry midway to her mouth, staring at me. I realized it was most likely the most words I’d strung together since I’d been here, so she was probably a little overwhelmed.

  Yes, Addy, I can actually speak like a human being.

  Surprise.

  “I wish I could say no, but I think small-town life is going to be a bit of an adjustment for you. June…” She hesitated. “June is maybe an example of an extreme case. Honestly, that woman should have been fired long ago, and I swear, the only reason she and the old bat of a woman work in that office is because the gossip keeps them from dying of boredom.”

  “It was unprofessional — what they said,” I responded, nearly interrupting her.

  “It was,” she agreed. “And I’m not discounting that. Especially with a student in the room.” She paused once more, this time taking a sip from her nearly empty coffee cup.

  I’d never seen anyone drink coffee with their lunch be
fore, but Addy was currently on her third cup. If I had that much caffeine during the day, I thought, I’d be levitating by now.

  “What you heard, it’s common knowledge around town. So, in June’s mind, it’s not gossip; it’s just a fact. Doesn’t make it right, but that’s how she sees it. However, whenever there is a crisis, those two crazy women are always first on the call list to offer assistance. So, you take the gossip with a grain of salt. Or at least that’s what I do.”

  I didn’t say much after that, instead choosing to focus on my meal. Part of me was relieved to hear the women in the office had a giving side to balance out the gossip they’d been slinging in front of me.

  But I wondered how far it reached.

  If they knew where I’d come from, what I’d been through, would they be the first to offer a hand in my aid? Or would they turn their backs on me, like everyone else in my life?

  Looking up at my aunt, I couldn’t help but ponder over the same sort of questions when it came to her.

  Would she be there for me? If she knew?

  THE NEXT MORNING, no strange men were in the house. No early morning haircut. Just the intoxicating sweet smell of bacon.

  My stomach recognized the scent almost immediately.

  Stretching my long legs on the old couch, I sat up to find Addy in the small kitchen across from the living room, dancing around with a spatula in her hand. Tiny earbuds were attached to each side of her head, letting me know she at least wasn’t crazy. Although, judging by her wardrobe, the jury might still be out on that.

  Today, she’d chosen a geometric-patterned pair of leggings with a long striped top. Perhaps, if you looked at it sideways, it could match, but overall, it made my eyes hurt.

  “Oh, good, you’re up!” she hollered, obviously talking over the music in her ears. Realizing her error, she pulled the cord at her neck, popping the white buds free. “Sorry, I didn’t want to disturb you,” she said at a normal volume. “I wasn’t sure what you’d want to eat, so I’ve made a variety of things. I wanted to make sure you had a good breakfast for your first day.”