All the Things You Are

by Declan Hughes

  ‘Danny, the deal is if you want me to keep looking after your kids, you have to tell me what’s going on,’ she finally said.

  Sunday night, same old, same old, Danny and Donna going at it head to head in the living room. He turned away to see them both reflected in Donna’s picture window, stretching across one entire wall. Roll back thirty years and younger incarnations of themselves would have been taking the Sunday-night blues out on each other: what to watch on TV; who didn’t help who with his homework (Donna never needed any help with hers); whose turn it was to walk the dog.

  And there they were, at it again, not in the family home off Arboretum Avenue but in Donna’s flat-roofed modernist house on the side of a hill overlooking Lake Ripley in Cambridge, Wisconsin. Danny had always wondered whether it was a Frank Lloyd Wright, or school of, if there was a school of. He had never wanted to ask Donna because if it was a Frank Lloyd Wright, she would be mad at him for being dumb, and if it wasn’t, she would be mad because it wasn’t. But that didn’t seem like much of a consideration, since she was mad as hell at the best of times and for no reason at all. Still, Danny figured there was no point in provoking her, although throughout their lives, this had been a far from reliable plan: if Donna were a country, she would have been North Korea, hugely secretive and impossible to fathom, but liable at any time to drop a bomb on you or shoot at you from over the border, just to keep you on your toes.

  She got the house as part of her settlement from the guy who was a Big Man in Computers, or Dot.Coms, or Finance, Brad, or maybe Thad; Danny only met him twice, once at the wedding, and then when he came into town on his own, got drunk at the bar in Brogan’s, burst into tears and asked Danny if he thought Donna had ever actually liked anyone. Danny thought about it, although not for long, and then said no, not really. The marriage ended soon after.

  Everything changed when Danny had kids. Suddenly there were two people Donna could definitely be said to like, not to mention love: Barbara and Irene. She started to show up at the house unannounced, which freaked Claire out, since Donna had never hidden her disdain for Claire, and never let pass an opportunity to mention some Chicago actor who coincidentally was Claire’s age and was doing really well in New York or London or Hollywood, see, here she is on TMZ with Kate Winslet.

  Eventually, Danny told her that if she wanted to see the girls, she had to either pretend to be polite to Claire or to just shut up around her, and Donna consented to a combination of these approaches, grunting helloes and goodbyes and thank yous through a fixed grin that looked like a four-year-old’s felt-tip scrawl. Because she really did want to see the girls, and they really did want to see her. And she would take them at the drop of a hat for weekends and even on week nights, letting them sleep over and dropping them the twenty miles to school the next day, and for weeks at Easter and summer. And she was nice to them, in a kind of old-school strict-but-fair way, and made sure they read their Maud Hart Lovelace and Laura Ingalls Wilder before their Meg Cabot, and taught them to sew and to knit and to cook and lots of other stuff Claire and Danny couldn’t or wouldn’t have, or didn’t have time to, using all the school-teacher skills she trained for but had never used, until ‘When can we go stay with Aunt Donna?’ became the most spoken phrase in the house. And since neither Danny nor Claire had any other living relatives, Donna’s rudeness was allowed to dwindle into an endearing piece of family mythology, because where else were they going to get such reliable child care?

  Danny looked back across the open-plan room and into the big kitchen, where Barbara and Irene sat around the table, their heads bent in concentration as they inked and colored and outlined some elaborate Manga-style comic they had created with Donna’s assistance and encouragement, drawing each other’s attention to this or that detail, laughing out loud at their work. He thought of how quickly, once they got over their disappointment at not seeing their mom, they had acquiesced in his suggestion that they stay with Aunt Donna an extra few days, an acceptance made easier by the DS games Danny had stopped off at Target to get and the new Halloween costumes he popped for at Mallatt’s on Kingsley Way, vampire for Barbara, who’s read all the Twilight and Vladimir Todd books, Kitty-Kat for Irene, who, well, likes kitty-kats.

  Then he tracked back past Donna’s glowering face to the window, the better to avoid replying to her question, clocking her reflection again. She was dressed in the Mid-West mufti she adopted after Brad or Thad split the scene: deck shoes and slacks and a plaid shirt over a turtle neck, her hair cut short and sprayed in place like a piece of hard candy, the Methodist minister’s brisk, no-nonsense wife. Her sleeves were buttoned at the wrist and her turtle neck nudged her chin, because her arms and chest and, for all Danny knew, much of her lower body too, were a mosaic of lurid tattoos, a legacy of the five years she spent with that motorcycle guy in Oakland. Or maybe it was those motorcycle guys. There was rehab after that, and possibly a short stay in a psychiatric unit. There were also gay phases, one as a dyed blonde (or it could have been a wig, Danny only saw photos) lipstick lesbian, one as a Goth (the piercings at least were easily removable). There was the buttoned-up secretary phase, which was when she met Brad, or Thad, who presumably found the fact that beneath her navy suit and high-collared blouse lay the body (art) of a hardcore rock chick a major turn-on. None of that evident last night, looking fully at home in her refuge in the piss-elegant bolt-hole of Cambridge, WI, with its twinky stores full of antiques and pottery and horrible paintings and over-priced chocolates. He wondered if she heard the clock ticking as loudly as before, if one morning it would be Donna who pulled yet another disappearing act.

  Danny checked himself briefly in the glass. He was looking remarkably well, he thought, for someone going through what he’d been going through: collar and tie, three-piece dove-gray double-breasted, black Oxfords, he had even remembered to shave. Keeping up appearances: that was his legacy from his parents, just as Donna’s rage was hers. Sometimes the self-assurance, the calm, the steadiness feel authentic; he knew Claire believed in them devoutly. But of course, they weren’t. He occasionally thought that, of the two, he was the better actor. He’d never shared this thought, of course. He looked again at his mask of a face, and at his twin sister’s: with their hair roughly the same length, they’d never resembled each other more. Danny may not have had an angel of death tattoo across his back, but he was equally skilled at keeping secrets.

  ‘Is there someone out there?’ Donna said suddenly, snapping off the lamp. The window crash-faded to black and Danny and his sister vanished, to be replaced by the sight of a red Ford Mustang on the gravel drive. The interior light was on, and a slender, middle-aged man with a blond pony-tail could be seen playing with a Nintendo DS console.

  ‘Danny. Answer me. Christ, is that Jeff Torrance out there?’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘What is Jeff Torrance doing here? Why are you getting in a car with Jeff Torrance? Where is your car? Where is Claire? For the third time, what is going on?’

  Donna had always had the ability to talk in a low voice but make herself perfectly audible, not to mention intimidating. Danny had had enough of intimidation, and felt he shouldn’t have to put up with it from his own sister, however troubled their relationship.

  ‘Was it the nagging that finally did for your marriage? I can see how it might have driven a man to the point of no return.’

  ‘All right then, fuck off. Take the girls and put them in the … the car is filling up with smoke. Oh my God, the skank is smoking a joint. Jeff is smoking a joint.’

  ‘Of course he is. That’s what Jeff is for. It would be weird if he wasn’t.’

  ‘Those girls are not going in that car with Jeff driving.’

  ‘Which is exactly what I’m saying to you.’

  Danny almost laughed at the way this has come out. Donna didn’t.

  ‘Hey, dickhead, are you taking this seriously? You drive up here last week and ask me to mind your kids while you, what, “sort some stuff out”,
Claire isn’t around and you need to “get your head straight on a couple things”. Now you’re back, you’re telling me less, if that were possible, then last time, and you want me to keep them indefinitely, while you take off with Jeff Torrance to … where, Danny? Vegas, baby? If this is a midlife, good luck, but count me out. Where’s your wife?’

  Danny’s eyes flashed quickly across to Barbara and Irene, but they couldn’t hear, or weren’t listening. He flicked his head towards the hall. Once Donna followed him out, he shut the glass door. There was a fountain and indoor foliage and a balcony above. Is that what they called an atrium? It felt more like a private healthcare facility than a home. He had to hand it to Donna, she had sure worked that ex-husband over good.

  ‘Where’s your wife, Danny? Have you left her, is that what this is?’

  Danny shook his head.

  ‘No. No, it’s just … I’m in a bit of trouble, Donna.’

  Donna looked at Danny with raised eyebrows, her pert mouth and pointed little nose flexing in what resembled contempt, but was actually what Danny recognized as Donna’s own strained quality of concern.

  ‘That’s the first time in my hearing that you’ve ever admitted a weakness, little brother,’ Donna said, making it sound not altogether like a sneer.

  ‘You sure make a lot of those seventeen minutes, don’t you?’ Danny said.

  They looked each other in the eye.

  We haven’t spoken this much in years, Danny thought. Not since I told Dad to leave her alone, and when Dad said, ‘Or what?’ I showed him. I showed the bastard what.

  ‘You look like you could do with a drink,’ Donna said.

  ‘You have no idea. But I’m traveling with Jeff, so one of us needs to be sober.’

  ‘You’re right, I have no idea. But before we get to that, just tell me: what are you doing with that dope-addled buffoon?’

  ‘I couldn’t take either of my own vehicles, too easily identifiable. Jeff … well, simple as, I don’t really know anyone else I can call out of the blue and say, “Hey, wanna take a trip?” and know the reply will be, “Sure,” no questions asked, destination unknown. What else was he going to be doing anyway?’

  ‘Waiting for his mom to die, so he can inherit the Torrance house.’

  ‘Hoping his mom doesn’t die, otherwise who’s going to run the cleaners and the cook and the rest of the crew who keep the Torrance house going? Jeff’s all right. Don’t worry about Jeff.’

  ‘Where’s your wife?’

  ‘Claire is … I guess she’ll be home by now.’

  ‘You guess. What, have you not spoken to her?’

  ‘I’ve … left her a sign.’

  Donna waited for her twin brother to explain; when he didn’t, she snorted and her small brown eyes flared.

  ‘You left her a sign? What is this, the Olden Days? The Streets of Laredo? Why didn’t you call her on, you know, the telephone?’

  ‘Donna, and I don’t expect this to satisfy you, and I’m sorry, there’s a lot I can’t tell you, but someone is blackmailing me. Someone from my past.’

  Donna laughed out loud, a mirthless, mocking affair.

  ‘You? And your sinister past? Give me a break.’

  Danny’s face was set, his own small eyes glinting, as close as he came to confrontational.

  ‘I know about the bikers and the rehab and the breakdown. Why don’t you use that imagination of yours, which I know is still working overtime if the evidence of all those stories and comics you and the girls cook up together is anything to go by—’

  ‘That’s all their own work. And I did not have a breakdown.’

  ‘Well, that’s my point. There’s loads of stuff I don’t know about you, isn’t there? We hardly know a thing about each other, haven’t done for years, isn’t that so? So just imagine what I might have got up to.’

  ‘But all you’ve done is stick around. I mean, in town. You’ve run your daddy’s bar, you got married, you had kids.’

  ‘The End.’

  ‘Pretty much.’

  ‘Just imagine, Donna. Stuff that’s happened to me that you know nothing about.’

  ‘What “stuff”?’

  ‘Stuff I’m not going to tell you about. Because if you don’t know, you won’t be able to tell anyone else.’

  ‘I won’t be able to tell anyone else – like who? Guys who break in to the house and try and torture me? The Agency? Please.’

  ‘Someone is … on my trail. Which is why I can’t call Claire, in case our phones are traced. And it’s not just the blackmail. There’s … some money I borrowed. And I got into trouble paying it back.’

  ‘How much money?’

  ‘A lot of money. I was able to pay it. And then suddenly, I needed more time. And as it turns out, maybe I ran out of time.’

  ‘Danny, what are you saying, you borrowed against … what? The business?’

  ‘No, the business is fine, the business is solid. You’ll always get a drink and a steak at Brogan’s.’

  ‘The house?’

  Danny turned away from his sister and stared through the glass door. He could see the tops of his daughters’ heads in the warm orange light of the kitchen, their dark hair seeming to glow. When he turned back to speak, it felt to him as if he had borrowed another man’s vocal chords. A man who had the strength he feared he lacked.

  ‘Things look bad now, but I’m sure they’re going to be OK. I know they’re going to be.’

  ‘What will I say to Claire, if she calls? When she calls?’

  ‘Try and put her off as long as possible. Maybe send her a message. Don’t tell her the kids are here.’

  ‘Why can’t I bring them back to her?’

  ‘Because I don’t want them in any danger.’

  ‘What does that mean? Is she in danger?’

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t think so. I hope not. But whatever happens, I want the kids kept safe. They’re not safe with me, and they … may not be safe at the house. If you have to talk to her … tell her they’re fine, they’re with me, not to worry.’

  ‘And the blackmail. Is that connected to the debt?’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe. I can’t really tell you any more.’

  ‘Any more? You’ve barely told me anything in the first place.’

  ‘Well. We all have our secrets.’

  ‘Reasons.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘The line is “We all have our reasons”. It’s from a French film.’

  ‘You sound like Claire. Everything’s a quote from something. I like “we all have our secrets” better. Besides, it’s what I mean.’

  Donna looked at her brother closely.

  ‘Do you ever visit their grave?’ she said.

  ‘Whose grave?’

  ‘Our parents’.’

  ‘Why would I want to do a thing like that?’

  ‘I don’t know. I suppose I always felt … it wasn’t as bad for you. As it was for me.’

  ‘I had it easy.’

  ‘I don’t mean that. Or, who knows, maybe I do. Also, I always thought you’d sell the house. Couldn’t figure how you stuck living there.’

  ‘You lived there. When Mom was still alive, and after.’

  ‘That’s true. Can’t really figure that out either.’

  ‘Lots of people had a tough time with their parents and shit. They seem to make a go of their lives, not let the past drag them down.’

  Donna chewed her lip. ‘That’s true,’ she said. ‘But you know what the problem is? We can’t be lots of people, can we? We can only be ourselves.’

  ‘Most of the time, it’s hard to manage even that.’

  Danny saw Donna’s eyes flicker. That was at least a smile, maybe even a laugh, in anyone else’s terms. He looked at his watch. ‘I’ve got to go. There are people … I need to track down.’

  ‘Track down? What are you now, a detective? A bounty hunter?’

  ‘No. You’re right. I’m just a married guy. A bartender. A suburban d
ad. That’s all. But I have to do this. I’m sorry I can’t tell you anything more.’

  ‘You’re a secretive prick. You always have been. I just never thought you had anything worth being secretive about.’

  ‘Just because I don’t wear it on my sleeve. Or even beneath my sleeves.’

  ‘Go say goodbye to the girls.’

  Danny went in and sat with his daughters and told them he had to go.

  Irene said, ‘Is Mom going to be an actor now?’

  Barbara said, ‘Yeah right. I don’t think so.’

  Irene said, ‘I miss Mom.’

  Barbara said, ‘Yeah, but we get to stay at Aunt Donna’s for longer.’

  Irene considered this, nodded, and returned to her coloring.

  Danny hugged them both as hard and long as he could manage without freaking them out, and when each patted him on the shoulder to indicate that Dad should go away now, that’s exactly what Dad did.

  Ralph’s Book

  1976

  What happened was it was Halloween, or the run up to Halloween, and most kids were on a longer leash than usual, running around at night, even on school nights. Danny was running with his buddies, Dave and Gene and Ralph. The Bradberrys lived over on Schofield, east of Lake Monona. They shouldn’t have been at Jefferson in the first place, only for their father had gone there or something. The bullying didn’t happen except when they were at school. Danny had a reprieve that summer, and then it all kicked in again in September. But at least he had the nights, and the guys were all saying they had to do something, they just couldn’t let it continue the way it had been, and it was decided to stage some kind of Halloween prank over at the Bradberry place.

  It was Dave Ricks, Danny thinks, who had the idea. Because the house was beside, or backed onto by, the Catholic church there, and so they could get over the wall or swarm in through the trees and they wouldn’t have to go squat in someone else’s yard, they could wait there and bide their time and watch for the right moment.

  So they decided they would burn big skulls and spiders into the lawn with gasoline and set them ablaze, make a Halloween spectacular. The only thing was, they wanted to be around to see the fun. They wanted to see how absolutely shit-scared they could make, not just Jackie, and Eric and Brian, but all twelve Bradberrys, the whole family, or at least, apart from the two who’d left home. Fourteen, if you count the mom and pop.