Paint My Body Red

by Heidi R. Kling

  Two knocks.

  Two more knocks—louder this time.

  “That’s four knocks,” I said, opening the door. “What do you want, Ty?”

  He eyed the Alice in Wonderland T-shirt I bought at Disneyland a few years back. “Nice shirt.”

  It was more like a half-shirt now—a half-shirt that used to come to my knees. After our talk, I wasn’t expecting any more late-night visitors. I hug my arms around myself, concealing the parts I don’t want him to see. “What’s up?”

  “Is that an innuendo?”

  My voice hardened along with my firm stance in the doorway. There was no way I was going to allow him in. I eye the blue and white Italian vase on my dresser. If I had to, I’d use it on his pretty face. “It wasn’t meant to be. What do you want?”

  “Mom and Dad aren’t home.”

  “So.”

  “So? I was thinking…” He tried to nudge past me with a little sashay like we were dancing.

  I reached out my arm, palming the wood along the door opening, blocking him from entering. “I meant what I said, Ty. We need to move past the…other, and reestablish our relationship as stepsiblings, or just don’t talk at all. Honestly, I’d prefer the latter.”

  “Reestablish. You sound like the shrink now.”

  “I’m serious, Ty.”

  “I’m serious, too. Seriously horny.”

  Ugh. “You’re disgusting. Are you drunk?” I leaned in just close enough to smell his breath. Pretzels, not alcohol.

  “No.”

  “Stoned?”

  “May-be.”

  I folded my arms. “On what?”

  “Why should I tell you?”

  He was definitely on something. His pupils were dilated, and his body was all mushy, like Gumby. I could take him if it came down to it. Not that I wanted my parents to arrive home with Ty’s blood on the carpet surrounded by broken pieces of Italian ceramic, but if he came one step closer… “This is my final warning. Get out of here, Ty.”

  I eye the vase. It would take only a second to grab it and smash it over his head. In fact, I kind of wanted to. Go ahead, Ty. Take a step closer.

  He leaned in. Tried to kiss me. I shoved him forward, and as he fell against the hallway wall, I slammed the door shut and locked it.

  Heart pounding, I grabbed my cell and called my mom.

  “I’m heading into the tunnel, Paige. What do you need?”

  She sounded bothered. Like I was disrupting something more important. “Oh, n-nothing.”

  “What? I can’t hear you. You’re breaking up.”

  “It’s okay. Are you coming straight home?”

  “Yes. If traffic isn’t too—What are you doing, you jackass? A Prius just cut me off. And they say BMW drivers are the assholes. I’ll be home as soon as I can, okay?”

  “Okay. See you in an hour or so,” I said, my voice cracking.

  Click.

  I slumped against the wall. Maybe Ty would leave me alone long enough for Mom to get home. Maybe if we all sat down together, he’d—

  My phone pinged.

  You’re such a tease.

  Shit. He wasn’t going to leave this alone. Worse, he could easily open my door with a bobby pin. I’d done it myself once. I tossed my phone on the bed and shoved my dresser in front of the door.

  You can’t open your door dressed like that and expect me not to want you.

  I know you’re reading these.

  Answer me.

  You’re never going to believe me about that girl, no matter how many times I tell you it wasn’t true. You see me as a monster. So just do it. Tell me you hate me and I’ll leave you alone. I’ll leave you alone forever.

  He was never going to listen.

  He would never respect my “no.”

  So standing there shivering in my Alice in Wonderland shirt, I dredged up his slobbery kisses and his mushy condoms and his cheap-beer breath on my face, and I shoved down everything that used to be good, the parts of Ty that I loved.

  I told him something I meant at the moment. The three words I’d live to regret, live to churn over and over and over again, words that haunted me night after night. Words like the sound of a hysterical train.

  I hate you, I typed, and then I pressed send.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Now

  I know my time in Jackson is running out, and I hate it, but the truth is, summer’s almost over. When Mom emails me a return ticket to San Francisco, I ignore it. But Anna (wisely cc’d—smart move, Mom) sees it. She prints it out and brings it to my room. I tuck it into a drawer like it’s a fortune cookie warning of impending doom.

  After the time with Jake in the hayloft, I’ve been going over and over in my head what we said, what passed between us. I don’t know a lot, but I know I’m not ready to go. I don’t want to even think about leaving or moving away from here.

  When I arrived, I couldn’t think of anything worth living for. Everything felt numb, tasteless. I felt frayed, broken. I wasn’t sure the jagged pieces of what was left of my life were worth putting back together, but Jake, and Anna, and Dad—they felt otherwise. Together they helped move around the pieces, reshape the edges.

  They were starting to fit again.

  And I was so grateful to feel myself healing.

  Every smile, every sunset, every time I tip my head back and catch a glimpse of this blue, blue sky, I am thankful to be alive. And I owe it all to them.

  Being here with Dad, getting to know Jake, even Anna’s careful watch and healthy meals that relentlessly came at me until I accepted them, changed me.

  I’d be lying to myself to say they weren’t. To be totally honest, I was tired of lying to myself. It didn’t work, anyway. I was scared to leave and face my mother again. To face the home I fled. To face the ghosts that waited for me in my old bedroom.

  So I try to wish the return ticket away and focus on the time I have left. Savor it, because like all fleeting, beautiful, seemingly undeserved moments, ripped up pieces of a whole picture wafting on the wind, it would end soon, no matter what I wanted.

  Three days before I’m set to return home to pack for college, pre-rodeo festivities envelop the town.

  American flags hang in front of every storefront. Rodeo Jackson is more pro-cowboy than usual (if that’s even possible). If you’ve entered the rodeo, then you get half off at most of the eateries in town and are basically treated like a celebrity, so when Anna and I drive into town that afternoon to shop for my rodeo costume, we get the royal treatment, too.

  “If it isn’t Gus Mason’s daughter! Back to win the Freestyle competition I hear?” The owner of the Buck-N-Bronco greets us at the steakhouse entrance. We’re blasted by the smell of charbroiled meat so sweet, it makes my stomach growl. “How’s it feel to be back in the saddle after all that time in the big city, sweetheart?”

  He puts a hefty arm around my shoulder and pulls me into a bear hug.

  “That’s why I decided to bypass the saddle. Too tricky,” I say. He laughs, his big eyes sparkling like fireworks. His laugh booms similarly.

  “We’ve got a live one,” he announces to everyone within hearing distance. “Just like her daddy.” When he turns to Anna, his expressive face shifts to one of sorrow. “How is ole’ Gus?”

  “Hanging in, Pete. It’s not easy for him.”

  “I reckon it isn’t,” he said awkwardly, like the conversation shifted to an unpopular president when you don’t agree on politics. “We miss him around here. Bring him by soon, will you?”

  “You can come visit anytime. You’re always welcome at the ranch, and he’d love to see you.” Anna’s tone is clear and concise.

  “Patty and I plan to get out there, we sure do, but with the business and the kids and all this—you know how it is.”

  Pete grabs two menus and, avoiding Anna’s eyes, leads us to a table by the window.

  “Thanks,” I say, scooting into the brown vinyl booth. You could cut the tension between Anna and t
his guy with one of the steak knives sitting on the red, white, and blue paper napkins. As soon as he rounds the corner, I lift an eyebrow at Anna.

  She sighs. “Pete is, was, one of your daddy’s best friends. When Gus was first diagnosed with ALS, Pete and his wife Patty came around a lot, helping out on the ranch and visiting for supper. But about a year ago when Gus lost most of his physical faculties, their visits tinkered off. Gus doesn’t say anything about it, but I can tell it hurts him.”

  “Why don’t they come?”

  I’m asking a question I already know the answer to. They’re freaked out. They can’t stand to look at him like that. They’re in denial. Like Mom was, maybe. Facing things head on for exactly what they are is hard. Like looking in a Windex-clean mirror when you’re used to a steamy reflection.

  “You learn a lot about a person’s character when something like this happens. You see Pete, he’s larger than life and a good ole’ cowboy, one of your dad’s oldest and dearest, but he can barely look at your dad.”

  “Was Jake ever like that?”

  “You know he wasn’t. Not for a second.”

  I smile. I can’t help it. “He’s amazing.”

  “He’s a good kid, that’s for sure.”

  “The best.”

  We both sip from our water glasses, my throat thick with feelings I’m losing a fight with. We look over our food-stained menus. When the waitress comes over, I order a mixed greens salad and a half turkey sandwich on wheat bread. Anna orders a tuna sandwich with sprouts on pita bread. She spoons three tablespoons of sugar into her tall glass of iced tea.

  “I don’t want to leave, Anna. Can I stay? Please. Please can I stay?” I blurt out of nowhere. I have a ticket home. I’m going home to pack and then I’m leaving for college. But I can’t help it. I don’t want to go and Anna is my only hope.

  “This is your daddy’s ranch, Paige. This is your home. You can stay as long as you’d like. Forever if that’s what you want.”

  Forever.

  My anxious lungs deflate. I’m hungry again. “If my mom calls, can you tell her that?”

  “I sure can, or you can tell her yourself. You’re eighteen, and as far as the law of the land states, you can make your own decisions.”

  Anna. All knowing and all wise. No wonder my dad fell in love with her. I can stay. The choice is mine. What if I could stop running from ghosts, stop chasing the future, and just stay in this…comfort? It seems like the obvious choice. I can’t wait to go home and tell Jake.

  Our sandwiches arrive and we eat in silence until Anna orders two floats. The root beers arrive in the original Sarsaparilla bottles. After we topple the scoops of vanilla ice cream with foamy soda, Anna raises a thick glass mug to mine and we cheer to Scout and Daddy and Eight Hands Ranch, but what I’m really toasting is the hope of forever.

  “Are you sure about this?”

  After lunch, I’m playing fashion show and literally dressed head to toe in silver: A silver button-down bodysuit complete with silver sequin stars on the shoulders, and shooting stars on straight collars, cuffs, and back, is tucked into silver flared-bottoms riding pants.

  “Try them with the boots!” Anna says, obviously delighted with the results.

  I tuck the flared-bottoms into silver cowboy boots.

  “Seriously?” I repeat when Anna’s response is tucking here and snapping there. I wiggle around. In the full-length mirror, the body suit looks and feels ridiculous. I look and feel ridiculous.

  “It’s perfect,” she says, her word muffled by the safety pin between her teeth. “You don’t want your shirttail flying out behind you on the course.”

  I tug on the crotch. “It’s like one of those baby things.”

  “A onesie? Yes, I know. It’s a very practical design.”

  I groan. “I look like—”

  “A cowgirl? Good that’s what you’re supposed to look like.”

  I squint at my reflection. I don’t want to ride Scout into the arena in this outfit. I don’t even want to exit the dressing room in it, but I also don’t want to disappoint Anna.

  “Isn’t it a bit”—How do I put this graciously?—“much?”

  “Nope. Hot pink spangles on your chaps and hat ribbon, and a clown on your belt buckle might be too much. But this isn’t. This is a classic look. Clean. Simple.”

  Simple? I look like C3P0 tagged with glittery silver spray paint.

  But since I knew nothing about rodeos and the proper attire for participating in them, who was I to argue? It’s a costume. I’m competing in an event, and I need to maximize my chances of winning. Like an Olympic ice-skating event, style counts. I’ll think of it as a play.

  “Everything fits okay? We don’t want your pants splitting during your routine.”

  “We certainly do not want that,” I say, sucking in my stomach. Not going to lie, the pants are pretty tight, but they’re a stretchy material and do fit. “I’ll have chaps covering most of it anyway.”

  “Just the bottom half of your leg.”

  I check the price tags and gasp. The shirt is $330, the pants $120. The boots were at least $200. And we still haven’t shopped for a (certainly silver) hat.

  “Anna this is way too much to spend.”

  “It’s average. Really. We’ll…just put it on the card.”

  Heat crawls up my skin and spreads out like roads on a map. I can’t let them invest so much into something I’ll probably screw up. “I’ll get my mom to reimburse you.”

  “That’s nice, but I get the feeling she is less than enthusiastic about this whole venture of yours. Don’t worry about the cost. If you look good, you feel good.”

  I know for a fact that’s not true. I’ve often looked just fine but felt like the floor of Scout’s stall before we’ve raked it out.

  “We’ll need a blazer, too. Do you prefer white, pink, or black leather?”

  “Pink leather is a thing?”

  Anna gives up and sics me on the sales clerk, who says, “Magenta, yes. It’s very popular this season.”

  The “magenta” is tailor-cut to fit the female body, and with embroidered butterflies on the back and down the sleeves, it’s very in-season, apparently.

  The white leather is the least gaudy and the beaded sequins match my onesie, so I suggest that one. Anna is happy with the choice and barters a deal with the sales clerk.

  As we exit the shop with giant bags, I’m so happy to be back in my jean cut-offs and tank top I’m practically floating through the air…until she suggests we better do something about my nails.

  “What’s wrong with my nails?”

  “What’s right with them?”

  I survey my fingers, which, admittedly, have some dirt under the close-trimmed nails. “A lot?”

  “Wrong. Come with me.”

  As soon as we get back to the ranch, I call my mom from the red landline in the kitchen.

  “Mom?”

  “Paige! How are you? Did you get the return tickets? You’ve been avoiding my phone calls. You haven’t emailed… Honey, I’ve been worried.”

  “Sorry. How are you? How’s Phil?”

  “As good as can be expected.”

  I can feel the weight of what this means through the phone. “Yeah.”

  “How are you?”

  “I’m good. I’m actually good.” I twirl the old-fashioned cord around my fingers and stare at a particularly large strawberry cookie jar on the counter. “You were right about me coming here. I feel better in so many ways. And I…I want to stay.”

  “Stay?”

  “Stay here and help Dad and Anna and the ranch.”

  “You can’t stay, honey. You have to come home and pack for college.”

  “I want to postpone. Maybe just for a semester.”

  “Postpone? No.”

  “Mom. Yes. I need to be with Dad. He’s not doing well. I want to be here. I don’t want to leave them.”

  She pauses. “We can talk about it when you come home, okay?”


  “No! You’ll just say no.” I pull out the big guns. “I’m eighteen—You can’t stop me.”

  She sighs. “If this is what you really want, I’ll think about it.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. I love you, Paige. I just want you to be happy.”

  If only making someone happy were as easy as saying the words.

  After the phone call, I fill in Anna about the possibility of me staying on. She tells me I should talk to my dad. He’s napping after our long trip into town, so I promise to talk to him later.

  Jake is outside working with Scout. I stand on the porch and watch him for a while. I can’t wait to tell him the news. This will change everything.

  My heart swells as I slowly approach the corral.

  He looks up at me with a grin. “Hey there.”

  “Hi,” I say, unable to shake my giddy little smile.

  “You look like you had a good time in town.”

  “I did. And I might have some good news to tell you later.”

  “Oh, really? I like good news.”

  I chuckle. “What’re you doing?

  “Trying to get Scout used to weight other than you on her back. See this saddlebag full of rice? I’m trying it out. She loves it, as you can see.”

  She bucks it off before he can even tie the strap, then bucks into the air so hard and fast, Jake has to dive out of the way to avoid a rear-hooves-to-the-face scenario.

  “I don’t think she likes your idea, Jake,” I say.

  Snatching his hat off the dirt, he sets it back on his head. “I think you may be right. Want to give it a try, hot shot?”

  “No thanks. I have to keep her in my good graces. With the rodeo coming up and all.”

  “Probably smart.”

  We head in for dinner. I think about Pete and wonder if Anna is going to bring up the fact that we saw him. She doesn’t. She rattles on about this and that. Dad listens and she feeds him, wiping off his chin gently. The evening sun shines through the window as I tell Dad what I talked to Mom about.

  “I’m thinking about staying on at the ranch for a while, Dad. Is that okay with you?”

  Finishing his sip of green protein and vegetable smoothie concoction, he types, For a few more weeks? It’s more than okay, kiddo. I would like that very much.