Shattered Castles 1 : Castles on the Sand

by E. M. Tippetts

  “Tatiana did.”

  “Well, now you know another reason I don't do girlfriends.”

  “So you can hook up with both me and Tatiana?”

  “No. No way. I'm not like that. Tatiana thinks I should date her because she's all into this idea that black people should only date black people and so any white girl who hits on me is encroaching on her turf. Between her and my parents not wanting me to date at all...” he shrugs. “Tatiana and I have been over for months. I helped trash her locker.”

  “So when you say you don't want a girlfriend, what does that mean? Do you see other people or-”

  “Who cares what he means? He's wasting your time,” says a voice from up on the sidewalk.

  I look up but the sun is in my eyes so I don't see who it is until he jumps down. It's the missionary, wearing jeans and his pea coat, his name tag still affixed to his breast.

  “Hey,” he says to Jean-Pierre, “I'm her big brother.”

  “Um, hi,” I say. “What are you doing here?”

  “Got a ride from Bishop Montrose. My mission's over and I've got an hour before I need to leave for Sacramento to catch my flight home.”

  “This is your brother?” says Jean-Pierre. “You've got a brother who's a Mormon?”

  “Well... yeah. It's kind of a long story, and I don't actually know it.”

  “I'm John,” says Elder Britton.

  “You're a racist, cultist fanatic is what you are,” says Jean-Pierre.

  “I am not a racist.”

  “No, just your religion is. Are filthy black people allowed in your temples?”

  “Yes, actually. That's why we've built some in Africa.”

  “Oh that's riiiiight. 1978. Keeping up with the times. The whole Civil Rights movement looked like it might catch on?”

  “What are you guys talking about?” I ask.

  “Ask your brother.” Jean-Pierre shoots him a look of pure loathing.

  “Yeah, okay,” says Elder Britton, “can I just ask what exactly you were saying to my sister when I got here?”

  “Mind your own business.”

  “I'm her brother, so it is my business.”

  “Ooooh, the protective vibe.”

  “Yeah, something like that. I see my sister with two black eyes and you saying you don't want her for a girlfriend, I'm gonna want to know what's going on.”

  “This is between me and her.”

  “Did he hit you?”

  “No.” I spit the word out. “How stupid do you think I am?”

  “Yeah,” says Jean-Pierre.

  “I had to ask.”

  “No you didn't,” I say.

  “Madison, I'll catch you later.” Jean-Pierre clambers up onto the sidewalk and heads back towards campus where his car is in the parking lot.

  Elder Britton glares after him. Then turns to me. “Okay, sorry if I came across the wrong way.”

  “You came across like you think my life is your business and I need a protector, which I don't.”

  “What happened to your face? Please tell me.”

  “He didn't hit me.”

  “I heard that. Who did?”

  “What was all that stuff about racism?”

  At that my brother scuffs his foot in the dirt. “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints didn't ordain blacks for a while. If you want to dig deeper into all of that, I'm sure I could find you some articles and stuff to read. But the thing is, God is not a racist, and we operate by revelation from God, so whatever His reason was for that, we can only guess. Black people being inferior is clearly not the reason.”

  Yeah, I think, that doesn't sound crazy... “Revelation from God, huh?”

  “Yeah. You get that we're a religious organization, right? I thought we were pretty up front about that.”

  “I need to go to work.”

  “Can I walk with you?”

  “I don't know, can you?” I climb up to the sidewalk and he follows me. From the way he behaves, I know he'd follow me no matter what I said.

  “Who did that to your face?”

  “I did. Walked into a door.”

  “I don't believe you.”

  I shrug. “Then don't.”

  “I care about you, okay? Please, is there anything I can do for you?”

  “Stay out of my love life.”

  “Not a chance. Anything else?”

  I pick up the pace.

  “Madison, listen, that guy's bad news.”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “Speaking as another guy, him mocking me for wanting to protect you-”

  “I don't need protection.” I round on my brother and glare. “I don't even know you, so don't just show up in my life and tell me what to do.”

  “You got your face mashed in. You aren't a poster child for 'I can take care of myself.'”

  I turn my back on him. He's just wasting my time.

  “Listen, sister I only just found and am already having an argument with...”

  I keep walking. The sound of running footsteps behind me only makes me walk faster.

  “Wait. Slow down.”

  I speed up.

  “Just... I wanted to talk to Mom too. Can you tell me where to find Mom?”

  “She won't like that.” I stop and turn.

  He blinks as if I've jabbed him in the nose. I have to remind myself that for him, Mom is a close relative he remembers. For me, it's different. This guy telling me off might as well be my eighth cousin. Related, but who cares? I take a deep breath. “She doesn't want you to go back to your father with all your judgments about how we've done since she left.”

  I watch my brother process that. “I don't talk to... our dad. He'd be your father too.”

  “I'm a Lukas. I would guess that means-”

  “No, I know we've got the same father. It's obvious. Mr. Lukas has dark hair and olive skin-”

  “You know him?”

  “Mom's old art teacher. He was my high school art teacher and I am really glad I didn't know you had his name. I have no idea what went down all those years ago, I just remember the fights and you and Mom leaving. His name came up, but I guess I didn't really think about what that meant at the time. I was too little.”

  “Well, anyway-”

  “I'd like to see her, even if it'll upset her. I don't want to upset her, but I haven't seen her in fifteen years and, I just want to. Nothing will get back to Dad. I haven't spoken to him in three years. Didn't even call him on Christmas. We're estranged.”

  I know it's low of me to dump him on Mom, but he really is annoying me. “Thursday is when Mom does her deliveries to the art gallery and stuff. She'll be somewhere between our house and the Pelican Sky Gallery.” I point to Ridge Road. “You know where that is?”

  “I'll find it. Not exactly a lot of winding roads in this town.”

  “Okay, well... I gotta go to work.”

  “I'll come find you after. See you soon.” He waves and jogs off towards Ridge Road.

  I walk the rest of the way to work. Siraj looks up from where he sits behind the circulation desk. “How was school?”

  “Fine.” I sit down, put my backpack under the desk, and log into my computer.

  At four, Kailie strolls in. “Okay, your long lost brother is hot.”

  “Where'd you see him?”

  “Standing outside Jacksons, having a screaming fight with your mom.”

  “Oh.”

  “What's this?” says Siraj.

  “Madison has a long lost brother who just showed up in town.”

  “Was this before I asked you how your day was?”

  “Yeah,” I say.

  “What does it take to be noteworthy in your life? This falls under, 'fine', as an answer?”

  “I found out about him days ago,” I say.

  “I'm pretty sure I ask you how your day is every day.” His eyes grow serious, though. He's joking around, but I can see he's grasped that this is what upset me on Saturday.

 
“What are they screaming about?” I ask.

  “He says she's a bad role model. She says he's a cultist.” She pauses, and scans her eyes in the air as she goes over her memory. “I think that's pretty much it. They just use different words for the same stuff over and over.”

  “How long did you listen in?”

  “For all of it. You can hear them from Ridge Road.”

  “Great. So the whole town's gonna be filling me in?”

  “Pretty much. But back to him being hot.”

  “I think he's older.”

  “Like, how much older?”

  I realize I have no idea. “He remembers me being one?”

  “Oh, that really narrows it down.”

  The door swings open and Elder Britton strides in, cheeks flushed. At the sight of Kailie, he bobs his head in greeting, then turns to me.

  “How old are you?” she demands.

  “Twenty-one.”

  “See, way older,” I say.

  I now understand why the panel of wood at the front of a desk is called a kickshield. But for it, Kailie would've kicked me in the shins, hard. “Elder Britton-”

  “John,” he corrects me.

  “John, Kailie, Kailie, John.”

  “How long you in town for?” Kailie asks.

  “Approximately twenty minutes.”

  “Madison, go,” says Siraj. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

  Even though I am not really grateful, I say, “Thank you.”

  “No, thank you. You keep things interesting around here. What's next? Someone going to ask for a book other than Fifty Shades of Grey?”

  “Just order a copy and put it out on the front table,” I suggest.

  “This is a public library. We do have standards. I'm not ordering porn.”

  “Glad to hear someone's taking a stand,” says John.

  I do not want to spend another minute with this guy, let alone twenty, but I pack up my things and follow him out.

  Once we're outside again, we stop and look at each other. I can still see the resemblance to my mom, now made stronger by his beaten down, spent demeanor. “I completely screwed this up,” he says. “I've been acting like Dad, bossing people around. I'm sorry, okay? I don't want to be like him.”

  I fold my arms across my chest.

  “I'm gonna start over here. Madison, it is amazing to see you again. You remember Black Bear?”

  “No.”

  “Your favorite teddy bear?”

  “I don't have a teddy bear.”

  “I know, you gave him to me. The night before you left I was crying over your crib and you handed me Black Bear and gave me a big hug. You couldn't even talk, but you were so sweet. It was your favorite teddy bear but you were adamant that I keep him. I brought him on my mission, even.”

  “Did you get mocked for it?”

  “Not when I told people the story, no. I've prayed every morning and every night for fifteen years to find you, and when I finally do, I come tell you off. I'm sorry.”

  I shrug. “It's fine.”

  “Please tell me what happened to your face.”

  “A girl at school kicked me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she claims we were seeing the same guy.”

  “The guy you were talking to when I showed up?”

  “Yeah.”

  He nods. “Okay, so what happened after she kicked you?”

  “I stayed home from school a couple of days and then when I went back today, JP wanted to talk so we were talking and you showed up.” My heart gives a little flutter when I use his nickname. It's the first time.

  “Please tell me you aren't going to be involved with him.”

  “Mind your own business.”

  “I want to, but for what it's worth, he gave a real bad impression.”

  “You sure you're not racist?”

  “Yeah. Seriously, the guy could be fluorescent blue for all I care. It's that he mocked me for being protective of you. He should've shown some respect.”

  I roll my eyes.

  “It's a guy thing.”

  “What, a territorial thing?”

  “No. Like I said, it's a respect thing.”

  “Fine.”

  “And the not wanting to call you his girlfriend...”

  I turn my gaze to Wilkstone Drive and the little gift shop across the way that sells postcards and knickknacks.

  “How do you feel about that?” he says.

  “Like I don't know. This is all new to me.”

  “Okay, so are you dating him right now?”

  “I don't know.”

  He holds up his hands. “All right. Well, if you ever want to talk to me about this, please do.”

  I can't imagine I ever would. I've already said more than is any of his business.

  “Can I have your phone number?” he says.

  “I guess.”

  “I don't have one yet. I'll text you when I get one.” He hands me a piece of paper and a pen to jot mine down, so I do.

  “And... can I hug you?”

  I'm not much of a cuddler. Mom's a very hands off kind of person, but I remind myself that John will leave in a few more minutes and he has waited fifteen years to see me again, so I guess it's only polite. “Okay.” I step forward, put my arms around him, and pat him awkwardly on the back.

  He pulls me in, rests his cheek against my forehead, and holds me for a long moment. “I've missed you so much, you have no idea.”

  The hug isn't as uncomfortable as I feared. In fact, it feels pretty nice. “I'm probably a lot different now.”

  “Sure, but you're still you. You're still my little sister.”

  I sense he's about to get condescending again and pull away. He lets me go without protest.

  “I'm sorry I didn't email you earlier,” he says. “I didn't want to just bombard you with a million questions, but I want to know everything about how you've been, what's happened as you've grown up, everything.”

  “I'm not that interesting.”

  “To me you are. And howabout you? There anything you want to know about me?”

  “Um, I'm still trying to come to grips with you existing.”

  “That would make sense, yeah. You want me to send you pictures of our brothers and stuff like that?”

  “Okay.”

  “And anything else, just ask.”

  I nod.

  He presses his palms together and touches them edge on to his lips for a moment, just like he did a few days ago when he stood on my doorstep. “It really is amazing to see you again. I love you so much.”

  No guy has ever used the l-word with me. It sounds strange and more than a little stifling.

  But he doesn't seem to need me to say it back. The MAV drives past and pulls into Jacksons.

  “That's my ride,” he says.

  “Carson's taking you to Sacramento?”

  “To the bus stop.” He smiles. “Bus to Sacramento, spend the night there, fly out tomorrow.”

  “Well, have a good trip.”

  “Thanks. Bye.” He says it like it's hard to say, like he's worried he'll never see me again.

  Annoying as he's been, I walk with him to Jacksons, where Carson looks up at us from the gas pump and nods. “Hey, Madison.”

  My brother looks back and forth between us.

  “Hi Carson. Bye John.”

  “Bye. Hey, listen. It's a miracle that I found you.”

  That's nice, I think.

  “But then again, our God is a God of miracles.”

  Yeah, that's what I was afraid of, that he'd get all preachy. I give him one last hug, which he seems to truly appreciate, and then head for home before he can say anything else.

  That evening Mom comes in with a preoccupied air. She washes her hands in the kitchen sink, which she never does because the clay can wreak havoc on the plumbing.

  “So,” I begin, “I'm sorry that I sent John to find you. He was asking all these questions and-”

&
nbsp; Mom reaches into the cupboard and pulls out a small box, which she tosses onto the table. Condoms. “You bring boys in at night, you use those. I don't need another mouth to feed around here.”

  I stare down at the box, unsure what to say for a moment.

  “And don't ever send your brother around to bother me again. He's dead to me. I don't need him criticizing how I live my life.”

  “What did he do? Preach?”

  “He didn't like me buying those. Said that having overnight guests set a bad example for you. So I told him they were for you-”

  “You told him you bought these for me?”

  “Mhm.”

  “Was this during the really loud fight outside Jacksons?” My cheeks burn with embarrassment.

  “No. It was before that part. But you will use those and not get pregnant. We clear?”

  “Mom, I am not ready for anything like that.”

  “I was eighteen when I had my first baby, so don't give me some silly excuse about not being ready.”

  “I didn't mean-”

  “I'm gonna hit the hay.” She walks off as if she hasn't even heard me and goes to her room.

  I go back into my room and put the box of condoms in my desk drawer, then wonder if I should have one on me at all times, as random as that sounds. It's what they tell us to do in health class. Knowing me, though, I'd pull something else out of my pocket and it'd go flying and probably hit some cute guy in the forehead. Best to just leave them where they are.

  A couple of hours later, a tap on my window wakes me up. No, I think, not now. Whoever it is, I don't want to see them.

  “Madison?” It isn't Kailie's voice, or Jean-Pierre's. I glance at my clock and see that it's only ten thirty.

  “Who is it?” I say.

  “It's Carson.”

  I get to my knees, pull the curtain aside, and flip the window latch. Carson stands in the rock garden, his hands in the pockets of his khakis, looking like a total preppie, which he is, I guess. Our school is well funded enough to be almost like a prep school. “How’s your nose?” he asks.

  “It hurts,” I say.

  “Yeah, I can imagine.”

  I touch my face, gingerly, then fold my arms.

  “John told me the gist of what happened. Maybe it's time to get a new best friend?”

  “You don't know the whole story.”

  “Nobody deserves what you got. Did you report her to the police?”