by Sunniva Dee
I groan again. So much for shutting him up.
“Because she’s not texting me back, and she doesn’t want to talk with me on the phone. Pandora parties nonstop, and when I’m around, I save her ass from trouble—even from inadvertently hurting herself all the fucking time.”
Now, that shuts him up.
My uncle frowns, trying to fathom the extent of what I’m saying. “So… why’re you thinking about her if she has no redeeming qualities?”
“No, Alan, she has tons of them. Pandora’s beautiful, fucking sexy as hell; she’s sassy, sweet, kind, genuine, and we—sorta clicked the first night we met. The crazy thing is, I make her feel better, and I love that.”
Alan scratches his head at the last part. He’s right—I’m not making sense. What, am I scripting a Lifetime movie?
I chuckle dryly and answer his unspoken question. “Dude, I know, but she’s got Scheuermann’s. Pandora doesn’t take care of herself, which jeopardizes the health of her spine. I’m her only therapist in Deepsilver—”
“Ah.” This Alan understands. “Right, you’re the one who can relieve her pain.” He says it like I’m the inventor of a new pickup trick.
“Yeah, neat little idea I had,” I jest, but Alan nods solemnly, taking notes.
“Well, here’s the deal, son,” he begins, clearing his throat, and I get the hunch he might be gearing up for a life lesson he wasn’t around to give me while I grew up. “You either take action or you don’t.”
I wait, sure there’s more coming. After a moment, I turn to look at him, and Alan swings toward me as well. He blinks, staring back. Then, he punctuates his words with a swift bob of his head.
“True,” I say.
His hand lands on my shoulder. “Son. I’m glad we had this chat.”
Alan follows me inside for a minute, and we wave goodbye to the neighbor I asked to “pay Grandma a visit” while we were out. Honestly, her on-and-off moments lucidity-wise seem to have no rhyme or reason. Which is why I’m still in Stowden, why I’m finishing up this semester long-distance—and why I let my uncle talk me into checking out Sunrise today.
Grandma’s watching an old rerun of the Muppet Show. She belly-laughs, and Alan shakes his head on his way out again. He’s heading off to a couple of rescheduled appointments at what he calls “the shop.”
“Can you handle this, son?” he asks, brown eyes pinching with concern at the corners. Wow. My uncle is so different lately. Finally grew up, maybe?
“Sure, she’s happy, at least,” I assure him. As I say the words, she bursts out laughing, not giving the darndest that we’re back. In this mood, she’s not running to our rescue with drinks and questions regarding food choices.
I call Christian first. He doesn’t pick up. Not that I’d expected it, what with him working and Smother being famously loud. I try Shannon even though she’s probably right next to him.
“Hello?” she answers, and I’m so fucking relieved, it’s ridiculous. I should call her more often. Surely, she’ll give me a straight answer about Pandora.
“Shannon? Hi, it’s Dominic.”
“Oh, geez—um, what are you up to?” she asks, buying time. My chest constricts, and I realize how not up for small talk I am.
“Same old. How’s Pandora?”
Shannon’s answer takes too long in coming. “She’s… good.”
“Really, Shannon? How about you pass on a couple more details?” I’m losing my cool already, which isn’t the best tactic. Then again, I have no tactic.
Shannon exhales into the receiver, loud enough for me to hear. “Dominic, I’m about to pull up to the bar—”
“Is she with you? Can you put her on?” I’m pathetic, but the thought of Pandora sitting next to her causes my heart to bang against my ribs. I want to touch her, even if it were just to run my fingers over her spine, double check those knots, and verify that Amber’s been doing a good job.
“No, she’s already at Smother,” Shannon mumbles, and I’m sure she’s hiding something.
“Shouldn’t you girls be studying instead of going out?”
“Yeah, most of us are. I’m running in to hug my boyfriend, whom I’ve barely seen all week.” She turns off the radio to hear me better.
“Most of you,” I repeat. “Pandora’s not studying, is she?”
“Not really. I don’t know if she’ll pass her finals.” Then her voice brightens. “But she keeps her appointments with your friend three times a week, and she works out every day! I don’t even think she’s taken any pain meds since you left.”
A pinch of relief drizzles over me. “Oh good. But… so, she’s partying, huh?”
“Yeah.” Shannon cuts her reply short. “Hey, I have to go—I’m here now. Got to find a parking spot.”
“She getting into trouble? Do you keep an eye on her?”
Shannon’s silence lingers. “We try, Dominic. Always. You know Pandora, though. You can’t save her from herself every time.” She huffs out an unamused laugh. “At least she hasn’t been arrested yet! Although that’s mostly because she’s at Smother and nowhere else.” Shannon sucks in a sharp breath like she’s said too much, even though it’s not enough for me.
“Shannon. What’s going on? Is Leon bugging her?” My chest’s tightening. I can’t have him bothering her. Dude’s fucking insane.
Shannon smoothens over her own glitch. I wish I could guess what she isn’t saying. “Hey, she’s fine, Dominic. Why don’t you talk with her yourself?”
All sorts of scenarios go through my mind, most of them directly related to Leon. The way he studied her before I left, especially while she was sloshed.
“Okay, Christian’s here—” The connection muffles during the kiss he gives her, and I picture Pandora’s lips. The plump flesh, how she giggles when I pull it into my mouth, suckling. Then, the way she stops giggling when I—
Shit.
“Shannon? Shannon. Put Christian on.”
They must be done smooching, because she hands him the phone. The conversation with her boyfriend isn’t less cryptic, though. He does confirm that Pandora spends most nights at Smother, that she even hangs out during the day sometimes.
“She get drunk?” I ask unnecessarily.
“Uh-huh, usually,” he admits.
“Have you tried not giving her alcohol,” I growl.
“It’s not an option.”
And that, right there, is what I needed to learn. If it’s not an option for Christian to deny Pandora drinks, then Leon is involved. Hard. Core.
“Christian. She really has caught Leon’s attention, hasn’t she?” I shove my fingers into my hair.
“Dude. I’m sorry.”
I have no words. I fucking don’t know what to do—what to say. I’m not even sure what to think! I’m numb. Until the jealousy rushes in.
“Fuck!” I scream.
“Dominic,” Christian says on the other end. “Sorry, man. Shannon and I gotta head inside. I’ll tell Pandora to give you a ring, all right?” This is to get me off the line. I’m sure he’s aware that she never picks up for me anymore.
“Keep her safe for me,” I demand, and the ‘for me’ part sounds outlandish. Any claim I might have had on Pandora is long gone if Leon’s talons are in her. I can only hope he tires of her before he—
I don’t let myself finish the thought. “He can’t make her one of them,” I say, my voice failing on the last word.
Of course Christian knows what I’m talking about. Leon’s broken girls. “I can only do so much,” he replies before he hangs up.
Grandma’s laughter rings out happy from the living room but I’m not focusing, because I’m busy breathing so fucking hard I see stars. I have my head between my knees on the edge of my bed.
I need to get back to Deepsilver.
My brain runs through the n
ear future, calculating. Finals start in a few days. Pandora needs to survive that one, last week in Deepsilver before she goes home to her family. The college is closed during winter break, then everyone returns in early January.
Four weeks.
I walk out into the den as Grandma’s confused haze lifts. Slowly, she shakes her head. She cinches her brows together and presses the remote to change the station to the Food Channel.
Her gaze flows to mine. “Dominic, dear? Are you okay? Sweetie, you’re so pale.”
“Grandma.” Witnessing her emerge again is the best respite I could get in this moment, considering how I can’t save Pandora.
“Should we start on dinner?” I ask, and she nods.
31. CATASTROPHE
PANDORA
Everything happens so fast. My grades come in, my parents barge into our apartment, and without as much as a “hi,” Dad starts throwing my belongings into big, plastic containers while I scream louder than I’ve ever screamed at him before. My father keeps working, impassable, like I am air to him.
He slams the door to my bedroom, leans against the panels from the outside, trapping me while he calls the movers. The bright ceiling light doesn’t detain my panic, a roaring, howling thing that whirls and sucks me in. My fear is irrational. I know this, I know, because—
The lights are on. The lights are on.
Dad can’t dictate my life anymore, and yet my nervous system doesn’t believe. My mother cowers in here with me, eyes wide and fixed on me as I go crazy. When my fear drowns me and I don’t see her anymore, I still sense her reaching for me, and I slap her away with hands I barely control.
From within my private hell, my brain ticks off signals, telling me to get my shit together. They grow with insistence, yelling—
You need to harness this!
Slowly, I resurface. My surroundings sharpen. I see the wall with the James Dean posters. My mother’s stricken expression.
I suck air in through my nose. It saturates my lungs while my mind races and grinds on—
My father’s punishments.
They were unorthodox. His way of protecting me. They made me stay out of trouble most of the time. Who knows who I would have been, which path I’d be down in high school if he hadn’t stopped me?
But that part of my life is over. With every fiber, I know I can’t take more of his discipline. Yes, I messed up—I recognize that I did; I earned Ds and Fs across the board, but even so, I’m an adult. Not even Dad has the right to restrain me now.
“Please, Mom.” My voice is sandpaper gritty. “I need to stay in Deepsilver. I’ll pull myself together—figure things out. I can’t go back to living with you.” My pitch quivers on the last sentence, and I’m about to lose it again when my mother begins to soothe me.
“Pandora-honey, everything will be fine,” she says. Her longing look makes me think she wants to tuck away the blanket of hair soaking up my tears. I breathe in deeply, gathering control.
“Winter break is starting, Dora. I’m sure no one stays on campus, and a lot can happen over the next month while you’re at home. I’ll talk with your father.”
Mom’s the queen of wringing her hands in the background. She never seriously tries to convince Dad.
“No, you won’t.”
She straightens, the concern for me still in her eyes, but her lips thin into a line. “Pandora, trust me. I agree with you: you do need to learn on your own, and I think your father is acting hastily.”
“Fucking stop him from moving all my shit, then!”
The stunned silence from my mother merges with Dad’s in the hallway. If I were younger, if I’d lived at home, I’d be very, very scared of the repercussions. But I am not who I was. Perhaps freedom changes people.
I stride to the door and pound. The sound isn’t the panicked scratching from my first times in the walk-in at home. He’s quiet, probably biding his time. I won’t back off, though, because where would I end up if I didn’t stand up for myself? Would I even become me—the real me—the one I have the potential of becoming?
I flick a glance to my shelf, where one of my fragile little friends is on display. It gleams in the overhead light. It’s not lit, but it could so easily be lit—my sweet, silly safety blanket. I could screw it in anywhere and control its flicker. Winking with hope, the 60-watt light bulb I wish I’d had at home lends me strength.
“Dad, open up. We need to talk.”
The panic still trembling in me abates at my own demand, my emotions and common sense about to cooperate for once. It’s as if all of me grasps the milestone this moment can become.
Dad eases the door open, steely gray gaze meeting mine from an inch above. I didn’t realize how short he is, I think, randomly.
He claps his old flip-phone closed and enters my room, joining us. He sniffs and pierces me with his no-bullshit stare. “The movers will be here in thirty minutes.”
“Please call them off,” I ask while he crosses his arms.
“No, Pandora. You have clearly shown—”
I cut my dad off, and my heart skips a beat as I go against the direct orders he’s in the middle of giving. “Dad, I am not moving back into your house.”
“‘Our house!’” my mother gasps, immediately obsessing over the wrong part of the conversation. “How can you say that? It’s your home, Pandora!”
Mom diverting my attention isn’t something I’ll permit, though, because this right here, defines my future. “You guys took a big chance when you let me move to Deepsilver, outside of your… jurisdiction, and I am grateful,” I begin.
“The apartment, the tuition you pay, how I haven’t had to take out any student loans. Yes, Dad—I’m a freshman who hasn’t figured things out yet, but I’m learning. After Christmas, I—”
“No, Pandora. Next semester you’ll be continuing your studies back in Rockcastle,” Dad explains, modulating his professor persona perfectly. “Now, let’s get this place packed away.” He jerks his head in the direction of the other rooms down the hall. “I’ll give your friends a month’s notice.”
Strange how my father laying down Dad-law solidifies my resolve and calms me further. He’s not listening, like he’s never listened, only I’m done submitting to his will.
Thinking back, what caused me to obey was my dark, dark, walk-in closet. I let myself consider this for a nanosecond before I shield myself from the thought.
“I’m sorry, Dad. You can throw me out of this apartment, but we’ll find another place to live. I’ll take out loans—”
“Of course.” Dad puffs out a cold laugh that takes me by surprise. “You’ll need a cosigner for loans. You have no credit, Pandora.”
My mother’s words, repeated too often over the years, float back to me: “He’s so strict with you because he loves you.”
Problem is, I can’t stomach his way of loving me.
“I’ll find a cosigner, Dad. Don’t you worry.”
I straighten my back and stare right into the flint of his gaze. My fists must have clenched, because my nails bite into the skin of both palms.
This is all so much. My lower lip begins to quiver, but my determination isn’t affected. Mom might be silent out of shock—the only believable reason, really—while Dad assesses the raw emotions I am in front of him.
He shakes his head slowly. His stare gains a flicker of something new, and yet I’ve seen it before, just… where? It was a long time ago, that much I know. I sniffle. I whip the back of my hand up to dry my nose. Then, I remember.
At archery camp the summer I was twelve, he picked me up and caught the final showdown in my age group. Fifteen kids, one after the other, missed the target altogether, while I—his daughter—won the trophy by hurling my five arrows straight into the center.
Back then, he grabbed my neck in an approving squeeze. Pride soared through me as
his mouth curled up the tiniest bit when the few words he let out said everything: “Look at you.”
His gaze now holds surprise and respect. “Pandora,” he starts. “Darling, we only want the best for you.”
“In that case, give me my freedom so I don’t have to take it. I need to do this on my own, Dad, and I will, with or without your blessing.”
“Dora, you’re only nineteen,” Mom blurts out, and I send her an incredulous glare. Minutes ago, she was speaking warmly of me making my own mistakes.
But then, the strangest thing happens. My father raises his hand, drapes his arm around my mother’s shoulder in a silent command to be quiet. As always, she follows his orders.
I continue. “This isn’t only about me either. I’ve moved my three best friends all the way across the country when they could have stayed at home. They deserve to finish the programs they started here, Dad.
“Mica’s major isn’t even offered at home, and I know for a fact that she and Shannon can’t pay for dorm rooms if they have to leave our apartment. While I’ve been screwing up this semester, the others have done really well. I don’t want to be the one to blame for their interrupted education.”
I am to blame. I did this.
I snuff out the voice in my head because I can’t afford to psyche myself out. My father’s forehead furrows. Suddenly, he looks tired, older than his years, and Mom registers the change too.
“John?” Her hand flutters up to her twentieth-anniversary necklace. The thing could pay for Mica’s college education outright. Now she fingers the biggest diamond nervously because my mother didn’t marry my father for his indecision.
“Just… I can’t, Dad,” I finally whisper. “That’s all.”
32. CHRISTMAS
PANDORA
“Dora, honey, they smell amazing! Aunt Nancy will be asking you for the recipe,” Mom gushes at my cinnamon-and-cranberry cookie creation in the oven.
Since we returned to Rockcastle a few weeks ago, I’ve been on my best behavior. My father promised to leave the apartment in Deepsilver intact on a probationary basis, which is why I’m fighting so hard to be good.
