by Sunniva Dee
Even my twentieth birthday was a low-key affair, with eight friends coming over for a wholesome meal. “Welcome to Pandora’s Rapunzel-tower celebration,” Mica had whispered to me. “But don’t worry. We’ll make it up to you once we get back to Deepsilver.”
Sometimes, I go stir-crazy. My cabin fever inflates proportionally with the days passing, and last night, I took my heaviest Scheuermann meds for the side effect alone, intense drowsiness. I passed out at 10 p.m., dodging my urge to take off in search of fun. Or trouble.
I sleep in my old room, but I can’t use my walk-in closet anymore. Instead, I keep my suitcases propped open against the wall, clothes sprouting from them in disorganized heaps. To be on the safe side, Shannon and I have an understanding: if I don’t text back within five minutes of her messaging me, she’ll be over to check on me.
“Don’t you love the idea?” my mother prattles on. “Nancy’s always the one to bring the new, fancy stuff. I think we’ve got her beat this year!”
“Good, and I won’t have a recipe to give her either when she asks.” I smile to Mom, who slams her hands together and chuckles gleefully.
I’m pretty good at baking even though I’m not fond of it. My mother perks up with every Christmas detail I manage, so this is an easy way to keep her happy. In the meantime, I occupy myself with the countdown until I can return to Deepsilver.
Eight days.
We’re preparing for the big traditional family get-together with uncles, aunts, little cousins, the whole shebang. They’ll start invading us in a couple of hours, and I hope they plan on an extended visit, because I need the distraction more than ever; it’s the second day of Christmas, and all my friends are gathering at the pier. Even Mick and Les will make an appearance, Destiny told me, the clowns of my graduation class. I’m in dire need of a good laugh, and damn if those two aren’t going to be a blast.
Dominic still texts me every day, a one-way communication. The tenacious, handsome, too-perfect man doesn’t stop calling either, but there’s no way I can pick up.
Today, he texts, How’s Rockcastle?
I think of how futile it is with questions when you never get answers. He’s so stubborn.
So I reply this time. Ask him a question back, even.
It’s okay. Your grandmother?
Dominic doesn’t do emoticons, but at my reply, he sends me the biggest smiley-face back. It makes me smile.
Good, he writes. And then just… Pandora
I hear the sigh in his text. That deep short sigh that makes my heart soften and quiver beneath my ribs.
I send him a heart, because it’s what’s on my mind. Then, I put the phone away.
DOMINIC
I guide Grandma to the car from Harry’s Big’n Tall Men’s Clothing. She’d been a bit quiet when I climbed into the attic to grab her Christmas china, but really, I had no way of foreseeing that she’d slide into oblivion while I was up there.
My little lady’s so fast. Even in her dement state, she bounds off as if she knows she’s about to be chased down. I chuckle, impressed.
After months in Stowden, I’m not in denial anymore. My grandmother has become a twenty-four seven job, and I cannot change the way her lucid periods shrink for each day.
To be honest, her confusion doesn’t upset me as much as it did, because in Alan’s words, my grandma’s a happy senile. When he first said this, I told him to shut the hell up, but after a few weeks of first-hand experience, I had to admit he’s right.
“Sir?” Grandma says politely as I hold the car door open.
“Ma’am, I’ll take you home,” I play along. At the moment, she has no idea who I am, so I’ll be her chauffeur. The two of us might as well enjoy this.
Today, she’s not a five-year-old Pearl. Since she ran straight to Harry’s, I’m thinking she must be her elegant church-lady self, the way she was in her sixties. That’s when her cooking finally took its toll on Grandpa, to the point of making him need fat-man pants.
A sweet smile brightens her expression. “But… I should pick up my husband’s new slacks.” Her eyes crinkle at the corners while she attempts to collect some fleeting thought.
“Miss Pearl,” I say, giving a polite bow. “Harry himself will deliver them on his way home tonight. I think your husband will be satisfied with the adjustments.”
Her smile widens. “Will he now? Well, please pass on our heartfelt thank yous to Harry and tell him to plan for an after-hour cocktail at our residence.”
“Yes, ma’am. Any particular route Miss Pearl prefers?” I keep up our light exchange, causing Grandma to giggle.
“Oh, aren’t you a charmer? Harry sure knows how to choose his staff. Well, as a matter of fact, I wouldn’t mind driving by the golf course. It is quite pretty there at this time of year.”
I can’t help laughing in earnest. The storeowner has never had other employees than his wife, and the golf course is at its winter worst in December. Grandma’s excited, though, which is all that matters, and soon—I hope—she’ll revert to her lucid self, our little exchange forgotten.
Back at the house, she makes herself a glass of hot milk with honey and goes to bed. I shrug. At least I can relax during her impromptu, odd-hour naps. Until she’s up again, she can’t bail in another creative errand.
I call Pandora to hear her outgoing voicemail.
“Hey, you…” she begins, her voice silky and intimate. I sink down on my bed and shut my eyes. She whispers into my ear from the pillow next to me. “Are you there?” her voicemail breathes, like she can’t hear me.
Pandora’s outgoing message is meant to be funny, but it’s not. Not at all. I’m a creeper, and my dick hardens every time. I’ve beat myself off after ‘checking in on her’ this way. If I were the good kind of friend, I’d have told her she’s collecting stalkers instead of laughs, but I can’t. At least not until I’m back in Deepsilver. I need these “chats” with her.
“Ahhh, well,” she pouts to me, and I picture her plump lower lip jut out, ready for me to taste it. “If you don’t want to talk to me, I’m just gonna hang up. Or you can leave a message after the beeeep!”
I do chuckle at the beeeep, though, because she twists up into Smurf register and sings it out in a vibrato on speed.
I’m hanging up when an incoming call from Alan rumbles through. “Dominic.”
“What?”
“It’s happening.”
And suddenly, my heart bounces up into my throat.
33. SURVIVAL INSTINCT
PANDORA
My suitcases are all packed and ready to go. Tonight, I’m not popping pills to fall asleep early like last night. I can’t take the pent-up energy anymore. I steal a glance at my door, but it’s just Rocky, my sweet Pomeranian boy. I wish I could put him in my purse and bring him along. As if he understands, his fan-shaped tail wiggles rapidly on top of his back when our gazes meet.
My parents chat downstairs, pans clanging in the kitchen. All of our guests have left, and I—
Have too much time left of the night.
My phone.
It’s telling me everyone’s there. The party has started, and I’m suddenly fifteen years old again. Aside from the eight friends I invited to my birthday dinner, I haven’t seen these people in what feels like forever.
I take the backstairs down with my suitcases. Bustle them outside and hide them behind the hedge that covers our trashcans. This is preemptive, but I leave as little as possible to chance. I took out the kitchen trash earlier, so there should be no need for anyone to come out here tonight.
I run through my plan. Nod to myself.
Yeah. I got it.
The sand is freezing under the pier, but no one cares. We keep the bonfires low so as not to alert neighbors and authorities. Over a hundred of my closest friends—and their closest friends—are here, and I cannot be
lieve how great I feel.
Mica passes me a bottle, tip barely sticking out of a brown bag. I crack up because by now I’ve already had my share and everything is so, so funny.
Robbie—or Bobby—God, who cares, wants to dance. I have no problem with that, and he whirls me around to some song about “good girls going bad.” Laughing, I spin fast, and I’m finally—finally free again.
Fuck this Christmas.
We zigzag home well before the sun begins to rise. The smoke from the bonfire and a cigar I inhaled on a dare impregnate my lungs and clothes. My laughter is an exhausted, gruff sound because I’m so tired, and yet I am happy because I craved this so much.
Yes, I’m drunk, but even so, I register that it’s too late for Dominic to call when he does. We’re in the same time zone now, and I watch my screen light up, realizing how late it is for him too. Destiny and Mica, linked one to each of my elbows, stare at my cell, then at me with twin questions in their eyes.
For the first time in months, I don’t hesitate. I drop my hold on them and answer. “Dominic?” I rasp out.
“Pandora?” he says, incredulous. The relief in his voice causes my heart to sting. I don’t want to be the emotional drunk, but my eyes fill with tears, and I… I—
“Crap, Dominic! What are you calling me for?”
“I always call you, babe, remember?” he says. I hunker down on the road and let my messy mane cover us, Dominic on my ear and me talking with him. We need privacy.
“Yes, but I picked up this time,” I sob out.
“I didn’t think you would. I’m sorry.”
From within my drunken stupor, I shake my head slowly. I pull my fingers through my hair because I need something to do while I’m with him like this. It’s been so fucking long! When I don’t answer, he speaks again.
“How are you, Pandora?” He accentuates the “are” part, and even hampered by the connection, his question is so real. Dominic’s concern slices into me, the hoarseness of his morning voice evident, and my stomach surges as he triggers memories from the mornings we woke up together.
“Shit—I… Sorry,” I muffle out.
“Are you drunk?” he asks, his tone gentle.
“Yep.” I restrain the “p,” not letting it out until the lump in my throat is under control.
“Shannon with you?”
“Yes, Shannon, Mica, Destiny. Everyone’s here. I’m safe, Dominic,” I whisper. He doesn’t answer.
“How are you feeling?” I ask quietly.
“Great, Pandora,” he sighs out. “And I’ve got news I hope you’ll like. I want you to remember, though. Tomorrow?”
“Okay…” I try to picture him in my mind. I want to check for myself that he’s fine. Touch him. Read the light in his eyes.
Surrounded by asphalt, I sink down, legs crisscrossed, at the centerline. I don’t have anything else to say—it’s overwhelming to be with him. I breathe into the phone, listening to him breathing back. The girls mumble about potential traffic, about literally carrying me to the side of the road.
“Do you ever miss me?” he finally asks, and I can’t stop nodding. Of course he doesn’t see me, and it’d be better if I didn’t tell him. In the end, though, right before I muster the strength to hang up, I say it anyway.
“All the time.”
I sneak into the house quietly, the way I used to when I was in high school. A hand shoots out and grabs me from the dark, and Dad’s anger rolls off of him like smoke.
“Unbelievable,” he growls. “You did it again, after everything we discussed? I knew I couldn’t trust you.”
A small, optimistic part of me gave him this second chance, only the rest of me was right the whole time. God, how I wish he’d proven me wrong. “No, you did it again, Dad. You failed my test. You’ll never accept who I am, will you?”
He doesn’t care about my words—they are nothing to him. I twist my arm in his grip, but he’s not letting go. He’s not turning on the light either, as he clasps my elbow and shoves me up the stairs.
“Help!” I scream. “Mom…”
Rocky’s muffled barks clap out from their room. Of course, Mom’s awake. She’s not going to rescue me, though—she never did.
“You can’t lock me in,” I tell him, my pitch already lower, adjusting to my fate the way I had to do to survive in this house.
“Oh, watch me. You’ve been out all night, you reek of alcohol, tobacco, and God knows what else you’ve been doing.”
“I’m fucking twenty years old, Dad. Let. Go. Of. Me.” My words are clear, convincing, but the delivery is feeble because I am weakening, unable to back up my statement.
My father stares me down, gaze powerful and unwavering. “And you swear. You’ll have some good hours to think about your behavior now. I’ve got your closet all set up. Pillows, blankets. Do you want the toilet first?”
“I want to never be locked up again. Not by you, not by anyone,” I hiss as he pushes me into the walk-in. Slow tendrils of fear curl in, but I hold on to sanity. To my plan.
“Knock if you need to go.” In the experienced way of a police officer, he makes sure I’m stripped of my phone and not carrying anything else that could bring light or a connection to the outdoors into my grim existence. Then, he shoves the deadbolt in place.
I fill my lungs with air, breathing out slowly through my teeth. For good measure, I test the switch too. No light. Things don’t change around here. I run my fingers down the walls. Every shelf, every corner of this space is etched into my memory. At the back of my shoe rack, I find the retro pumps I bought for a Halloween costume and feel inside the left shoe. The keychain flashlight I hid there before I went out last night hasn’t been removed.
I groan with relief as I watch the strength of the beam, how it brightens the space around me even better than I’d dared to hope.
Please let the battery last long enough.
My phone rattles against the desk in my room. I hold my breath. Experience assures me that my parents can’t hear the sound, but I won’t relax until Shannon arrives.
The minutes tick by slowly. Shannon and I talked about this, how Dad would need a while to go to sleep, but the wait is so painful. I’m glad I’m still buzzed, because the alcohol numbs my fear of this tiny-tiny light bulb dying on me.
Shannon’s footsteps are so faint they’re barely audible, but finally she’s right outside in my bathroom. Neither of us speaks as she opens the door for me. We just hug each other for a second. There’s no time for tears.
As we’d discussed, she drops the spare key she used to enter the house in my drawer, and I leave a note on my desk. The last thing I take from my childhood room is my phone. This house holds nothing else that I’ll miss.
Strange how quickly my mood has changed. It just took the short ride to the airport, the early morning light seeping in, and a latte in my hand to make my spirits soar. Shannon’s brown gaze glitters with mine as we sit here, waiting. I feel like I’m going on vacation and not back to a place where I thoroughly failed at everything last semester.
“Pandora, I’m telling you,” Shannon tries again. Like she did yesterday. Like all my beautiful friends did. “You’re welcome at our house for the rest of Christmas. This is a whole week, Pandora, and you don’t even like to be alone.”
“Hey, I’ve got Christian!” I wink at her.
She snorts and rolls her eyes.
“And you know my dad. He’d drag my ass back to the fortress so fast your mom’s head would spin. I need to be far away when he discovers that I’m not home.”
“You’re an adult. Really, he has no right…”
“I know, I know. Just easier this way. I’ll make sure to stay busy.”
“Shit, you and staying busy…”
I ignore her retort. “You sure you’re not coming along?” I ask instead.
“Believe me, I’m dying to board with you, but my parents would kill me.”
“Good thing mine won’t.”
She laughs at my dry sarcasm. “And good thing your father isn’t crazy,” she retorts.
The Rockcastle airport is tiny and comfortable. Shannon’s mother has the day off, but a colleague of hers lets Shannon through security to wait with me. She stays until we’re sure my standby ticket gets me on the early flight. When I walk down the gangway, I throw my hands up in a “really?” gesture at the way Shannon’s chin trembles with the farewell.
“I know,” she mouths, rolling her eyes at herself, because she’ll be in Deepsilver on New Year’s Eve. “Hug Christian for me.”
I’m not safe until the plane takes off. I keep checking my watch, and the bliss swells in my throat once we start rolling down the runway.
If Destiny were here, she would have told me in her quiet, wise way: “It was meant to be.” Really, I’m starting to believe in fate too, now that I see what Shannon and I accomplished in mere hours. We met no hitches, no resistance anywhere. Even the standby ticket I bought at the airport worked out.
In half an hour, at eight sharp, Dad will get up. He’ll meticulously go through his morning routine. Then, since I’m not knocking on the wall to use the toilet, he won’t approach my room until after he’s put in some hours in his home office. After which, shit will hit the fan.
Twelve hours later, I stand outside my building in Deepsilver, looking up. I must have jinxed my luck by thinking about the lack of obstacles I ran into, because I forgot my jacket—with the apartment key in it—in Rockcastle.
The keyless lock gives me access to the building, so I leave my heaviest suitcase inside. Then, I take a cab to Smother.
34. VISIT
LEON
Smother hops during the winter break. While the college students traipse back to their little hometowns, the tourists swarm in and take over the hotels and campground to experience Christmas with a capital “C.” Deepsilver is more picturesque than exciting, which leaves my place and the few others open as the only options for the youngsters in need of a diversion from their boring family holidays.
