by Ania Ahlborn
“It was my first time.” His throat was dry. His words brittle. “I didn’t know we were goin’ until we were goin’.”
“But when you knew you were goin’, you coulda told him to come back and pick me up . . . but you didn’t because you didn’t want me there. You wanted to be alone with that girl. What’s her name, anyway?”
He hesitated. Something about saying Alice’s name aloud inside that house felt wrong, as though a piece of her would be trapped inside those walls forever if he did.
“You ain’t gonna tell me?”
“I don’t wanna talk about her,” he said. “I just wanna go to sleep.”
Misty rolled away from him. He waited for her to get up, to leave his room before someone discovered her. But she spoke up to the ceiling instead. “I ain’t really your sister, you know.” She turned over to look at him again. “Not by blood anyway, and that’s all that matters. If you wanted to try things . . .” She paused, considering her words. “Just to see if she’d like ’em, it wouldn’t be no sin.” She gave his hand a forward tug, placing it on her breast. Michael yanked it away as though she were made of fire. Hurt flashed in her eyes. She narrowed them, spinning pain into anger. “You and Ray run off every other day, goin’ with girls so pretty I’d just about vanish next to ’em, and I’m left here by myself. You say you’ll never let Momma hurt me, but you’re so busy runnin’ around with Ray that you wouldn’t be able to stop somethin’ bad from happenin’ even if you wanted to. Because I’m always here, and you ain’t. You already forgot me. I’m nothin’ to you.”
He stared down at the crumpled sheets between them, guilt weighing down his heart. She was right—he hardly wondered what was going on back home when he was with Alice. Momma could lose her temper and lock Misty in the basement, or worse. All while Michael was busy fighting the butterflies in his stomach, his heart swelling every time Alice touched his hand.
“You sorry about it?” she asked.
Michael nodded, not looking at her.
Before he knew what was happening, Misty Dawn’s mouth was against his. He drew in a sharp intake of air, instinctively pushed her away, and skittered off the bed.
Misty sat up stick straight as Michael darted across the room, needing to put distance between them. She stared at him through the darkness, her green eyes wide and wounded. Michael knew she was lonely—she had it worse than him. Misty was allowed to go into town only a few times a year, and that was under strict surveillance. For some reason or another, Momma was convinced that the moment she let Misty off her leash, she’d pull up her skirt and invite any passing guy to give her the love she was so desperate to feel. Michael had never believed Misty would act that way. But now, standing with his back against the wall, he wondered if Momma had been right all along. Maybe all that romance stuff Misty was so fond of reading had gone to her head, had twisted her up somehow.
“I know you two are breakin’ the rules.”
The acknowledgment made him tense. A flash of heat burned his cheeks, making the already hot room spike by a few hundred degrees.
“But I ain’t said nothin’ because I love you. I want you to be happy, but what about me?” She pressed a hand to her chest, imploring him for an answer. “Sometimes I think you like Ray better. You two have secrets, adventures, and what do I got?” Staring down at the mattress, she shoved a few tangled strands of hair behind her ears. “I just want it to be like it used to be. You remember?”
Michael remembered.
After Lauralynn had gone off to North Carlolina, he and Misty huddled together for companionship. That huddle had lasted more than a decade, but age tore them apart. Misty retreated into her Harlequin novels; Michael’s stakeouts got longer, the girls more frequent. Momma got hungrier, Reb got more demanding, Wade became more ambivalent. Michael had always lived with the threat of abandonment hanging over his head, lived in constant fear of it happening. It became one of Rebel’s mantras: Do what I tell you or I’ll leave you for dead. Misty was right—Michael said he would protect her, but he had been preoccupied with his own survival for years.
And now there was Alice, a girl who had Michael fantasizing about taking off to faraway places, living some other person’s life. It was a life he knew he’d never fit into, but one that he wanted anyway. In the back of his mind, Misty was always there with him, but that was just it—she was in the back of his mind, not the forefront where she ought to be, where she had been for so long. Michael had the luxury of riding around in the Delta, staring out the window and daydreaming, but what did Misty have beyond this house? What would she have if he disappeared and never returned?
Michael turned to his desk and pulled out the drawer. He shifted pens and markers around until his fingers found what they were looking for and held the gold chain with the cursive M pendant up to the moonlight. Misty gaped at it as he stepped across the room, unclasped the chain, and draped it around her neck.
Taking a seat next to her, the mattress creaked beneath his weight. Misty plucked the pendant from the hollow of her throat and inspected it in the darkness.
“It stands for ‘Misty,’” he told her. “See? I didn’t forget.”
She gave him a sad smile.
“I think it stands for ‘Michael,’” she said, then got up, drifting into the shadows at the far end of the room. Slipping through the door, she left him alone in the dark.
• • •
It was well past four in the morning when Michael heard the Delta pull up to the house. He had hardly slept, his thoughts bounding from Alice to Lucy to Rebel to the responsibilities Misty had reminded him of. As he crawled out of bed to see whether Reb was alone or whether he had brought someone home, he still couldn’t shake the dread he would feel at seeing Lucy slide out of the passenger’s seat. He supposed it would have been better for Misty if Lucy were dragged to the cockeyed, weatherworn monstrosity that was the Morrow farmhouse. It would have given Momma something to do, distracting her from the daughter she didn’t seem to want. But Michael pushed the notion from his head. No, Lucy couldn’t come anywhere near this place, no matter how much it would placate Momma’s appetite. But that thought only confirmed Misty Dawn’s accusation that she was fading from his thoughts. He was forgetting about her, when he was the only person she had.
But, as it turned out, all that worry was for nothing. Because Reb was alone.
• • •
Michael woke to a stern knock on his bedroom door. Shielding his eyes from the sun, he squinted as Rebel filled the doorway. “Get up,” he said. “We’re going to town.”
That was when Michael realized just how difficult keeping Misty safe and happy would be. These endless excursions were pulling him from what was important. They were forcing him to break his promise. He dressed quickly, and by the time he got his boots on, he knew what he had to do.
Misty was still sleeping when Michael ducked into her room. He pulled Alice’s record off the turntable and slipped it into its sleeve, then snuck out of the room like a thief. When he finally made his way across the backyard to the car, Reb already had the engine idling. Michael slid into his seat, secured his seat belt, and lay the record across his knees. Reb gave the record a momentary stare before shifting into reverse. They didn’t speak until they were a few minutes shy of town. Reb was the one to break the silence.
“What’re you bringin’ that for?”
Michael looked down at the picture of the forest in his lap.
“Ain’t we goin’ to the Dervish?” he asked.
“Yeah, so?”
“It’s a loan,” Michael reminded him. “I told Alice I’d bring it back.”
“You gonna get another one?”
Michael didn’t bother considering the idea, shaking his head in response as soon as Reb posed the question. Rebel didn’t like the reply. He kept pulling his eyes from the road, casting glances at Michael and the record as if mulling something over. At first he held his silence—it wasn’t Reb’s style to giv
e much of a damn about anything—but he lost his patience sooner than expected.
“What do you mean no?” he asked, sounding aggravated. It was strange hearing that tone come out of him—so close to a whine that, for a brief moment, it transported Michael back to their childhood. There was ten-year-old Ray, exasperated by something Michael had said or done.
“I’m just not gonna get another one,” Michael murmured, not sure why this was any of Reb’s business anyhow. What did his brother care if Alice let him borrow another record? Reb hated it when Michael sat in Misty’s room, so what was the point of encouraging him to pick up more music that he could only listen to with his sister anyway?
“Well, why not?” Reb prodded. “Not like you gotta pay for it. You just bring it back later.”
“It ain’t a library, Reb,” he said. “I don’t wanna bring it back later, and I don’t wanna get Alice in trouble.” His chest felt constricted, and the heat inside the car wasn’t helping. He was trying to keep his intentions hidden. But Reb had a knack for picking up on things that were out of place. It was strange for a man like Rebel to have a flair for empathy. Of course, he was only observant when he had something to lose.
“What the hell is wrong with you today?” Reb asked, his gaze still bouncing between the windshield and Michael’s face. “You sick or somethin’?”
Michael felt sick, but the sensation wasn’t related to any illness. He imagined anyone would have felt the same in his position. He was minutes away from giving up something he genuinely wanted but couldn’t have.
“I’m okay,” he said, hoping it would be enough to make Reb drop it.
“Bunch of bullshit,” Reb grumbled. “You look like hell, and you’re actin’ weird.”
Michael shut his eyes and took a deep, nerve-soothing breath. He tried not to think about the inevitable—the way the little bell would ring over his head, the scent of sweet smoke, the way Alice would raise her hand and smile. He had no idea what he would say to her, whether he’d offer any explanation at all. Maybe he’d just slide the record across the counter and walk out. Maybe he’d hand it to her and say I changed my mind—I hate it after all.
He opened his eyes when the Delta slowed, rocks popping beneath the tires. Reb guided the car off the highway and onto the shoulder. He shoved the gearshift into park and stared intently at the steering wheel. After a while, he shot a look at his passenger and posed a question.
“Why don’t you stop playin’ games and tell me what’s goin’ on before I bust your head in?”
Michael swallowed, his nerves roiling up his windpipe like a swarm of wasps. Alice, he could handle. She’d smile and say Hey and he’d just turn away and leave; but Rebel was a whole other matter. Reb always got what he wanted. And even though Michael couldn’t figure out why he was so hell-bent on Michael and Alice being together, he knew enough to see the storm coming.
“I don’t wanna go to the Dervish anymore,” he said.
The words felt disembodied, as though they hadn’t come from him at all. He felt the hairs on his arms, his neck, even the ones on top of his head, stand on end—a cat in a corner, back arched, fur electrified. He hoped Reb wouldn’t push this time, afraid that if he did, Michael would finally lose his composure and lash out.
This was about Misty Dawn.
Things had to change.
Michael had promised her she wouldn’t be so alone anymore. He was determined to keep his word this time.
“What the hell are you talkin’ about?” Reb asked. “What happened?”
“Nothin’.” Michael stared down at the record in his lap, then looked out the window, tired of those spooky, neon-white trees on the cover. “I guess I’m just”—he searched for a word that would be at least halfway convincing—“bored.”
“Bored?”
It was the wrong word.
Reb pushed himself against the driver’s seat and emitted an exasperated laugh.
“This was always your idea,” Michael reminded him. “I don’t know why you care. Either way, I’m done. I’d rather stay home.”
They sat in a silence so heavy that Michael was sure they’d both suffocate if they sat there long enough. It didn’t matter that the windows were rolled down. He wiped a hand across his face. The cicadas buzzed in the trees along the sides of the highway, growing louder by the second. It took all his effort not to clasp his hands over his ears and scream for them to shut the hell up.
“You’d rather stay home,” Reb said flatly, still trying to digest it. “You find a girl you like—a girl who likes you back—and you’re done.” He shrugged like it was nothing. “Just like that. I guess we just gotta chalk it up to you bein’ pathetic. That’s why you’re turnin’ your back on the only girl out there who gives a shit about you, right?”
Michael gritted his teeth.
“The only chick who gives half a damn about you, and you’re gonna turn around and tell her to screw off, ’cause you’re better than her.”
Reb’s eyes darted to the record again.
“Hey, Alice,” Reb said, raising his voice as if calling out to the Dervish miles away. “Michael fuckin’ Morrow is better than you. You ain’t got shit on this hillbilly. He’s got big plans. He’s gonna see the world!”
Suddenly, words were tumbling out of Michael’s mouth.
“Misty gives a shit about me.”
It was reflexive—an involuntary spasm that had come in the form of a sentence rather than the jerk of a knee or the twitch of a muscle. Michael watched Rebel’s expression shift from belligerent to deadly with understanding, and he immediately regretted saying anything.
“Misty.” Their sister’s name slithered through Reb’s teeth. “She the one who packed your bags and took you on this guilt trip? Made you feel bad ’cause she’s cooped up in the house and”—Reb gasped dramatically, pressed a hand to his chest and batted his eyelashes—“oh no, she’s lonely. What else did she say? Or, maybe I should ask—what else did she do?”
“Nothin’.” Michael shook his head, insisting.
“Like what she did when I had to pull her offa you? That sort of nothin’? Like what she did when I had to shove her across the room and smash your stupid face in?” Reb leered at him. “You know that’s why Claudine hates her, don’t you? She’s sick, Michael. That girl’s a whore.”
“She didn’t do nothin’, Reb, I just—”
“You’re just lovin’ on Alice one day and want nothin’ to do with her the next.” Reb nodded, satisfied with his conclusion. “Oh, I get it. Now I get it. You’re just tryin’ to protect your sister. That’s real sweet.”
Michael nearly recoiled when Rebel patted him on the arm.
“Real sweet, you watchin’ out for the family and all. But like I said—Misty? She’s sick. And when you’re sick you need some medicine. Who better to give you medicine than your own sweet momma?”
The air left Michael’s lungs.
He opened his mouth to speak, to scream, to beg Reb not to do this, but all that came out was, “I need to talk to Alice.”
Reb gave him a sad sort of smile and shifted into drive.
“Yeah, you do,” he agreed. “And you will. But not today. We gotta get back home. Somethin’ just came up. Somethin’ I gotta take care of right about now.”
21
* * *
MICHAEL LEAPT OUT of the Delta before it came to a stop, ran across the backyard, and took the stairs three at a time. Misty Dawn’s bedroom door swung wide and slammed against the inside wall. It vibrated in its frame, the doorknob knocking a crescent-shaped hole in the old wallpaper. A few paperbacks toppled over with the impact, spilling to the floor from the two-by-four Wade had nailed to the wall as a makeshift shelf. Misty yelped when Michael grabbed her by the arm and pulled her out of bed. She’d still been asleep despite the hour and her hair was wild and matted.
“Get up,” he said, but he hardly looked at her as she found her footing. He was too busy shooting glances over his shoulder, sure
that Rebel wasn’t far behind. “We gotta get out of here,” he said, but he had no idea how they were going to escape the house or where they would go once they did.
Better to hide in the woods than die inside those rooms.
“Michael, what . . . ?” Misty’s words trailed off when a bang sounded from downstairs, like someone upending a table. Reb yelled from one floor down, a bellow that made Michael’s blood run cold.
“Here’s Johnny!”
Michael spun around and looked into his sister’s confused face. She was toeing the edge of fear, trying to keep it together, because she didn’t have the facts, had no idea what was happening. He could see her fighting against an onslaught of panic. The muscles of her face twitched. Her face flickered through expressions like a cheap TV: apprehension, anxiety, cowardice, dissent.
“What—is that Ray? Who’s Johnny? What’s goin’ on?” But there was no time to explain. Michael grabbed her by the hand and rushed into the hall. Other than taking the stairs straight down into Reb’s arms, the second-floor windows were their only option. Michael’s window was above the back porch. If they hopped on the roof, they could shimmy down one of the gutters and book it into the trees.
There were footsteps on the stairs, but Michael could hardly hear them over the pounding of his heart. He dragged Misty behind him as he bolted for his bedroom door.
“They’re coming to get you, Barbara!” Reb yelled from down the hall. Michael didn’t know who Barbara was, but he wasn’t going to stick around to find out. He lunged for the window and struggled with the latch, but it was rusted in place. Michael hadn’t opened the window in years despite the heat. None of the windows had screens, and Michael didn’t like the bugs. He spun around, searching for something he could use to smash the glass—his desk chair. He let go of Misty’s hand to grab it, hefted it up in his arms, ready to swing.
“Michael?!” Misty’s eyes were wide. She was waiting for direction, pleading with him for some means of flight. Before Michael could smash the glass, Rebel filled the doorway and gave them both a strangely upbeat smile.
