Shattered Castles 1 : Castles on the Sand

by E. M. Tippetts

  I feel like I'm intruding again on a private moment and try to think of something to say to let him know that I understand. Except, I'm not sure I do understand. I could imagine my mom angry and upset if someone took her from her pottery, but you could lock her up anywhere with a potters wheel and clay and she'd be fine with it. Losing me wouldn’t make her this sad. I try to comprehend exactly how much sadness it would take to make someone like Alex cry.

  This whole afternoon, watching a family that has so much that is obviously wrong with it, I'm shocked by the feeling that underneath it all, Alex and his mother have it fundamentally right. You're supposed to love each other this much. You're supposed to cry when you think of the other person being hurt. I wonder if my brother would cry like this if I got locked up in a mental hospital.

  I know the answer before I can even complete the thought. Yes. He would. He barely knows me, but I know that if I don't call him to tell him I'm okay in a few minutes, he really will call around Pelican Bluffs to get people to help him find me.

  “You pity me?” Alex asks. He says it with disgust, as if he's somehow beneath my regard and knows it.

  I weigh my answer carefully. “I admire you.”

  He snorts.

  “No, I do. You've dealt with this all your life on your own. It's impressive. And just now, I mean, I get why you haven't been down here. Totally understand.”

  “Do you even know how not to be nice?”

  “Sure. I call you a jerk all the time.”

  That earns me a laugh. He peers at me with one eye, still red from crying. “Yeah, but that's a compliment. I've deserved worse.” He sniffles and I pat my pockets for a tissue to give him. He takes it from me with a rueful smile. I can tell he hates having me see him like this. “This is all my fault.”

  “No, it was an accident. And Officer Li-”

  “Got her committed, but the psychiatrist evaluated her and said she's clearly not a risk to society. She could be discharged, but she doesn't have any near family to take custody. I can't have her back because I'm going to court for assaulting a police officer. She'd be home by now if I wasn't such an idiot.” He looks me in the eye. “Every time she asks me if she can go home, what am I supposed to say to her?”

  “Well, if you get community service can you have her back?”

  “Depends on whether the court trusts me to take care of her.”

  “How can they not? She obviously trusts you. You've taken care of her all your life.”

  He looks down.

  I sense he's about to resume the not talking thing, so I cast about for a way to prevent that. “Listen, can I ask a nosy question?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Your family clearly has, um, means. I mean... you live bluffside. Why is she in a state funded place like this?”

  He takes a moment to form his response. “Because we still don't know what's next. I don't know if we can bring her home again or if she'll have to be in a group home. And she's on Social Security Disability and then the family's money is in this, like, special needs trust thing.” He stuffs the tissue in his pocket. “We can't do anything without a lot of paperwork, basically.”

  “What's a group home?”

  “It's an-” he gestures at the empty air “-assisted living facility. A place where people who can't live by themselves live under supervision.”

  “So that would be a better place? Better than here?”

  He exhales a shaky sigh. “I dunno. The people who work at these facilities... I mean, it's not exactly a dream job, you know? The places sometimes have to take who they can get. People with no qualifications and no other options...”

  “So,” I say, “not to be insulting, but...”

  He looks at me.

  I bite my lip. “Is it the kind of job you could get?”

  He lowers his eyebrows, absorbing that, then looks at me as if I've just told him he won a million dollars. His posture relaxes. “Maybe.”

  “Is it the kind of thing you could do for community service? Assuming that's what you get when you go to court?”

  He shuts his eyes for a long blink, then stares out across the parking lot. “Yeah. I can always try, right?”

  “It was just a thought.”

  He nods to himself, then looks at me again. “We should get home.”

  “Okay.”

  “You need to call your brother, again?”

  I pull out my phone and dial. “He said it wasn't worth his time to kill me,” I say when my brother picks up. Alex starts across the parking lot and I follow him.

  “Okay, he's dead then. Tell him.”

  “I'm not gonna pass on a death threat.”

  Alex laughs.

  “I love you,” says John.

  “I love you, too.”

  There's a long pause. “Thanks for calling.”

  “I'll text you when I'm home.” We're at the car now.

  I hang up and turn to see Alex scooping all of the Happy Meal toys into a plastic bag. At my curious look he says, “Yeah, she just needs to sort them, and then I throw them out.” He shrugs.

  The next Monday, Kailie latches onto my arm after school. “Hey,” she says, “can I come to work with you today?”

  “Come to the library?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Sure.”

  She's fidgety, which means something is on her mind.

  “You okay?” I ask.

  “Yeah. I'm fine. It's all good.”

  But she keeps on fidgeting.

  I try to think of something to say to distract her. “Did my nails yesterday,” I offer, holding out a hand.

  “Very nice.” She glances, smiles, then looks away.

  “Did my toenails too.”

  “Cool.”

  “You have to let me do yours sometime.”

  “Yeah. Okay.” She is so distracted, though, that I'm not sure she even really hears me.

  So I give up. We walk past Alex and the rest of his slacker friends and I wave to him. He nods back.

  That gets Kailie's attention. “Um, what?”

  It looks like Alex's friends feel the same way. They all look at him like he just keyed their cars. Apparently we each crossed some uncrossable social barrier.

  I shrug and keep walking.

  There's an email from John when I log into my computer.

  Hi Madison,

  Just checking in on you again. You need anything? How are things with Mom?

  I love you,

  John

  I click open the reply box.

  Hi John,

  Things are okay, except yesterday we got a letter from our landlord saying we're three months behind on our rent. I don't know if we're going to get thrown out or what. I don't want to ask Mom about it because she hates talking about money stuff.

  Love,

  Madison

  A chat window pops up.

  John: Mom's got financial problems?

  Madison: Yeah, always.

  John: You need help? You need money?

  Madison: Honestly? I have no idea. How long can you not pay before they throw you out? Should I be worried?

  John: Depends on the landlord, but I think legally they could right now.

  That comes as a shock. Mom's had financial problems my whole life, but they've never made us starve or become homeless.

  Madison: Oh...

  John: You want me to send you some money? How much is your rent?

  Madison: No. I don't want to take your money. Rent is $300.00 a month.

  John: You mean $3,000.00

  Madison: $3,000? No way. Three hundred.

  John: You're kidding, right?

  Madison: No.

  John: $300 a month for a two bedroom within walking distance of the bluffs? SERIOUSLY? YOU probably make enough to pay off the rent balance.

  Madison: I have taxes and stuff to pay, so I don't know.

  John: Okay, listen, clearly you've got a landlord who isn't interested in money, or the house
is on a nuclear waste dump or something. I can totally pay off the rent balance if you want me to. Get me the address to send the money and I'll do it. Mom never has to know.

  Madison: I don't want to take your money.

  John: $900 so my sister doesn't end up on the streets? That's nothing. What's the address?

  I fidget for a moment. How can I find out the address? I look at Siraj, who is reading a flyer. “You need something?” he asks.

  “Would you know the address of my landlord? To send rent to? I forgot to get it but I need it and-”

  “The Wilkstone Foundation is easy. One Wilkstone Drive, Pelican Bluffs, you know the zip code. But they have a drop box,” says Siraj. “You don't even need to mail the letters to them.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  Madison: I think I can afford it, actually. I'm gonna send the money in.

  John: You sure?

  Madison: Yeah. I'd feel bad about taking any of your money.

  John: I love you. Don't feel bad. Consider it rent for Black Bear. I'm YEARS overdue with that.

  I giggle.

  Madison: Thanks. I'm gonna write a check right now.

  John: Anytime. I guess Mom is not selling a whole lot of pottery?

  Madison: I guess not.

  John: Yeah, it's been a rough month. My Etsy store's taken a hit.

  Madison: What's an Etsy store?

  John: Mom sell online at all?

  Madison: No. We don't have internet.

  John: Well... let me send you some links and stuff. Meanwhile, I shouldn't be distracting you at work.

  Madison: Thank you.

  John: I love you.

  Madison: Love you too. Bye.

  I glance up and see that Kailie sits by herself at a table in the corner, tapping on her phone. I wonder if she's allowed to have it or she stole it, and if she's going to get in more trouble this evening after the library closes, but she's so absorbed in what she's doing I know better than to try to talk to her. I get up to empty the reshelving cart.

  When I return to my place behind the desk, Siraj flicks his gaze in Kailie's direction. “She okay?”

  “I don't know,” I admit.

  “I wish I had a better opinion of her parents, but my contact with them has been almost all negative.”

  “You mean fighting with them to keep funding the library?”

  “Yeah, they're a couple of control freaks, and after what happened to her older sister, I worry about her. She’s the sort of person who reacts to discipline by acting out, isn’t she?”

  “I really don't know what's going on.”

  Siraj gives her another speculative look, then returns to sorting through the fliers set out on the counter.

  The next day, as Kailie and I step onto campus, Alex stands at the edge of the parking lot, waiting. With a glance at Kailie, he draws me aside.

  It's a bitterly cold morning, but the sky is the kind of gray that promises a warm afternoon. My lungs sting a little every time I inhale. Alex, as always, just wears his dad's military jacket and doesn't seem to mind the temperature at all.

  Everyone, and I mean everyone in the parking lot turns to stare at me and him. Kailie shoots me a knowing smile and struts on across the parking lot towards the school.

  “So, yeah,” says Alex. “A lot of people got text messages yesterday saying you and I hooked up.”

  “Oh,” I say. “Well... whatever.”

  “What's going on?”

  “Kailie. Another one of her games.” I try to figure out what she's retaliating against me for this time, and come up blank. I was nice to her yesterday when she wanted to come to work with me. Now I remember her tapping away at her phone. Apparently this is what she was doing.

  “What?” says Alex.

  “She does this. Told me JP was cheating on me, trashed my Facebook page-”

  “Why?”

  “Because she's like that.”

  “I thought you two were friends.”

  “We are.”

  “So how, exactly, do you define the term, 'friend'?”

  “She's having a rough time right now.”

  “Still.”

  “Look, I'm sorry. Really.”

  He shrugs. “My friends are all jealous of me now. Your friends say you hooked up with the senior class psycho, while mine say I totally hit the jackpot.”

  I laugh, my breath steaming in the air, my cheeks flushing warm. “I thought you said never to use that term.”

  “I'm quoting.”

  “I'll talk to Kailie.”

  “How long do I have until your brother hears it and comes to kill me?”

  “At least an hour.”

  He smiles and looks down at me with the same unreadable look in his eyes that he had over dinner with his mother. After a moment he says, “I'll see you around.”

  “Yeah. See you.” I make it about ten more steps before I run into Carson, who looks like I just punched him in the stomach.

  He stands with his arms folded across his chest. “Mom doesn't want you to date Mormons, or you just don't want to date me. He's still investigating, you know. He's talking about getting baptized.”

  “I am not dating Alex,” I say. “He's a friend.”

  “Does he know that?”

  “It's another of Kailie's pranks, okay? Ignore.”

  This doesn't calm him down, though. “It's not the text messages that bother me,” he says. “What was that?” He waves an arm at the place where Alex and I stood. “The two of you off talking?”

  “He's a friend,” I repeat.

  “Since when?”

  “I dunno. Try talking to him sometime. He's actually a nice person.”

  “To you. Of course he is.”

  “Listen, please don't give me a hard time. I helped him go visit his mom on Saturday. We did not hook up.”

  “Because you don't want to? You're not interested in him?”

  “See you around.” I push past him and keep walking, irritated even though I know that Carson's hurt. He's got the wrong idea, so I know he'll get over it.

  When I arrive at work that afternoon, I don't even wait for Siraj to ask.

  “My friend is sending around nasty text messages telling the whole school that I'll do sexual favors for anyone.”

  “So in other words, your day was fine?”

  “Yes.”

  “Explain to me why this person is your friend?”

  “We've been friends forever. Since we were little.” I sit down at my computer and boot it up.

  “So, habit, not because she deserves your friendship.” He swivels my chair so that I face him and not my computer. Despite his initial joke, his expression is grave.

  I think over what to say, and decide to just tell him everything. “First she told everyone I hooked up with this one guy, and then when that didn't bother anyone, she started saying I'll hook up with anyone.”

  “Madison, there comes a point when that sort of thing isn't just cruel. It's illegal. How many messages has she sent?”

  “I don't know, but I don't want to talk to the police. It'll blow over.”

  “Do you think anyone might do anything because of those messages? Do you have a boyfriend who might get jealous?”

  “No. The person most likely to get hurt is her. I guess the last time she did something like this-”

  “She the one who altered your Facebook page?”

  “Yeah. People were real mean to her.”

  “Sounds like she deserved it. I didn't say anything when you got two black eyes, but I can't just sit by while-”

  The glass doors sweep open and Ryan storms into the library. This, I feel, is a historic moment. Ryan in a library. Wordlessly, he holds his phone out to me. On the screen is a message that says that I will do something very lewd to him if he ever wants. He just has to come find me.

  “From Kailie?” I say.

  “Yep.”

  “I'm not going to-”

  “No. No, I know that. I just
thought you should see it.”

  “Madison,” says Siraj, “that is quite serious, what she is doing.”

  “You don't know the whole story.”

  “Does anything justify this?” says Ryan. “Look, it's me, and I think this is excessive. I kind of want to go punch her lights out.”

  “Leave her alone,” I say.

  “Leave her alone?”

  The doors open again and in walks Alex, wearing a suit and looking furious. “What are you doing?” he says to Ryan.

  Who in turn holds his hands up in the air.

  “Whoa,” I say. “Hold on. Ryan's not doing anything.”

  Siraj clears his throat. “My usual jokes aside, things are getting too exciting in here. This is a library, not a televised courtroom. Madison, I would like to report your friend to-”

  “No. Don't.”

  “Why are you protecting her?” says Ryan.

  “Can I have a moment?” says Alex.

  “Dude, you're, like, talking,” says Ryan.

  I get up and beckon Alex back to the conference room. Once we're both inside, I shut the door. “I'm sorry,” I say.

  In a suit, Alex looks at least twenty-five. His bearing is all adult ease and confidence, even while he's angry. “You have nothing to apologize for.”