by Maggi Myers
A white stucco house with red siding shines like a beacon across the darkness. I am walking up grey cement steps onto the front porch. Passing potted herbs and geraniums, my feet shuffle across the chipped green floorboards until I reach my destination. I run my fingers across the smooth, worn wood as I sit. The wind plays with my hair, sweeping the scent of honeysuckle into my senses. I let go and let the gentle rocking of the porch swing have its calming effect...
“I want to go home.” My voice is flat, lifeless.
“Beth? Oh, thank God. Honey you are home. Do you remember what happened?” Uncle Rob grabs my hand and gives it a comforting squeeze.
“Where are my mom and dad?”
His hesitation answers before he can form the words. They aren’t here. Why would they be? I have made a mockery of their perfect life. Nothing will ever be the same again and it is my fault.
Uncle Rob lets out a heavy sigh before he answers, “They took Kristy to the police station.”
Of course they did, why would they stay to comfort their lying daughter? That’s what they think. If my own mother doesn’t believe me, no one else will. I am entirely alone on my side of the battlefield. My parents, Drew and Kristy are all lined up on the other side, ready to finish me.
Except for Tommy, he protected me.
“I want to go home, Uncle Rob,” I sob.
“Baby girl,” he starts, his voice full of sorrow. I cut him off.
“No! I want to go home! This isn’t home!” I wail, “I want to go home, please!”
Tommy lifts me into his strong arms and walks into the house. He sits me on the edge of my bed and begins to idly survey the room.
“What’s coming with?” he asks. When I don’t answer him, he squats in front of me. ”Look at me, Beth,” he pleads with me, but I can’t. My breath comes short and shallow as the panic starts its ascent to the surface. An unfamiliar keen escapes from my lips and I bring my knees to my chest.
Hide.
“Beth, please let me in. You’re breaking my heart, baby girl,” Tommy’s voice cracks. My panic ebbs at the sound of his pain, and I lift my head to meet the gaze of a strung out man. Tommy’s eyes are red and puffy with tears. Hair is sticking out in a million directions from running his hands through it again and again. His shirt is torn at the seam of his shoulder and there is a bruise darkening its away across his jawline. My hand is drawn to that spot.
“I’m sorry,” I barely whisper.
“No, Beth. I don’t ever want to hear you say that again,” he says with ferocity. ”There isn’t a single reason for you to be sorry. I’m sorry that I didn’t know to protect you sooner.” Tears spill from his bloodshot eyes.
There is a palpable sadness that fills the space between us, stealing words from my mouth. I don’t know what to say to comfort him; I am completely helpless. Desperate to push away the sorrow, I assign us a task.
“The records. I want to bring my music.”
“You got it,” his mustache tips in a weak smile, “I will load them up. You pack some of your clothes while I call Pops and Ellen.” He pats my knee as he rises and walks out the door.
Mechanically, I grab my suitcase from the closet and reach blindly for things to fill it.
Pops and Gran.
My hand rubs the burrowing ache in my chest but it brings no relief. I silently pray they will still welcome me home after they find out I have broken our family. A fresh wave of panic threatens and just as I am sure it will sweep me away, Tommy reappears in my doorway.
“All set, baby girl. They can’t wait to see you, Ellen is making up your room right now.” He takes a tentative step towards the suitcase, peering inside, ”Let me help.” Soft, sympathetic eyes convey deeper meaning.
Together, we pack my clothes and records into the back of the car. Uncle Rob is finishing with the last police officer when my parents pull into the driveway. Instinctively, I take a step behind Tommy. My mom is quick to get out of the car and confront us.
“What is going on?” Confusion creases her brow. “Where do you think you are taking my daughter?”
Uncle Rob steps forward and holds his hand out to my mom, stopping her. “Casey, Mom and Dad are going to take Beth early.” He is stern. This is not a request.
“You can’t just take her! She has two months left of school!” The evening’s events are showing on my mom’s beautiful face. Her eyes are shadowed with dark circles and her face is pale. ”We need to talk as a family—there are things we need to discuss that don’t involve either of you.” She waves her hand at Tommy and Uncle Rob. My father walks up to join my mother.
“You chose them.” A fragile voice adds. It takes me a moment to realize that it is me who has spoken. My mother jerks back like I have hit her, bringing her hand to mouth. A tear rolls down her cheek, leaving a trail of runny makeup in its wake.
“I didn’t know,” she sobs. If I weren’t so enraged by her declaration I would’ve been struck dumb at her show of emotion. “I know you tried to tell me, I just couldn’t believe that Drew…” she stammers. “How did this happen without me knowing?” she sobs. “Help me understand, Beth.”
My father takes her into his arms, trying to soothe her. Soothe her. There are no condolences for me, not even a look in my direction. This is codependence at its finest. With a hiccup she adds, “We dropped Kristy off at their place. She is going to divorce him.”
Hooray for Kristy! Does she want a medal?
I’m unsure of where any of this is leading and shift nervously behind him.
Please don’t leave me here.
“That’s great, Casey. Do you think she gives a shit about Kristy right now? Is that all you can think about?” The vein in Uncle Rob’s neck punctuates his angry questions. My mother is about to defend herself to Uncle Rob when Tommy intercedes.
“Don’t you think Beth deserves a little space from all of this?” Tommy sounds incredulous. “You owe her that.”
She stops and looks at me, regret pooling in her eyes.
“Case, Mom will homeschool Beth the last quarter of ninth grade. Don’t let that be an issue here. We all want what is best for her—time and space is a good start.” Uncle Rob moves to stand in front of my mom and dad. “It’s a good start for you, too. You need to get your shit straight and get some help.” His tone is biting.
“Rob, you don’t speak to your sister that way,” my father chimes in. “I won’t tolerate it!”
“But you will tolerate a pedophile molesting your daughter while you do BLOW with Miami’s upper echelon?” Rob spits. “You two get your asses into a rehab program or, so help me God, I will sue you for custody.”
My parents stand in statuesque unison, gaping at Uncle Rob. They don’t appear so perfect to me now. Their pupils are slightly dilated, accentuating their glassy eyes along with tiny broken blood vessels around their noses. Tell tale.
Tommy senses me cowering behind him and grabs my hand. Without missing a beat, he pulls me forward and into a reassuring hug. “I got you, baby girl.”
“Get in the car.” Uncle Rob commands and I obey.
As I pull my seatbelt over my shoulder, I steal one last glance at my parents. They are holding each other in a tight embrace; neither of them looks my way.
Chapter 6
It’s been a month since I left Miami. I haven’t spoken to my parents since that night. My grandparents tell me that they are in an outpatient program, but I have my doubts about that. It’s just one more thing I don’t want to talk about. Truth is, I don’t talk to anyone about anything. Silence is my refuge, besides, what can I possibly say? “Hey, sorry I ripped our family in half. Want to play Gin Rummy?”
Every time I open my mouth to speak, an overwhelming fear of what I will be expected to say stops me. I realize I’m digging myself a deeper hole to bury myself in, but my fear is a powerful and all-encompassing force. With my head rested against the cool wall, I listen to them anxiously discuss what they should do for me. I don’t want to interrupt
their heart to heart but I wish they would just move on. I can’t take much more of everyone’s well-meaning intentions. I am a kind of broken they can’t fix. I am no longer the same little girl they loved.
The more Pops and Gran hover, the more alien I feel. I’ve been hiding out in my room avoiding “the look” they give each other. Their faces reflect the helpless horror that follows when you happen on a bad car accident. Well, Gran and Pops have been looking at me like I am a fifteen-car pile up on I-80. It breaks my heart that I am responsible for the lines that furrow Pops’ brow and for the shadows under Gran’s eyes. The infinitely strong made weak by my mess. I am tempted to retreat back to my room and to the security of my music when Tommy’s voice breaks in.
“Pops, she is going to have to talk to someone at some point.” He sounds tired and frustrated.
“Don’t you think I know it?” Pops harrumphs. “Forcing her to ain’t gonna do nothin’ but push her further away.”
“She’ll come around. You boys need to give her some room to blossom,” Gran adds in.
“I don’t know, Ellen. I just don’t know.” Pops sighs with defeat.
My heart sinks with guilt. I don’t want them to worry over me but I can’t talk to them. They are better off not knowing certain things, or next time Tommy won’t stop at breaking Drew’s ribs.
Drew.
Drew, who walked away scot free in a bargain not to press charges against Tommy for assault. The violent thud of my heart punches hard against my chest at the thought. Who said life was fair?
I will myself to focus on Tommy and what he risked that night. The more I think about how he beat Drew senseless, without regard for the consequences, the less it hurts. Tommy came to my rescue when no one else bothered. He will always be worth more than vengeance.
“Psst. Snoop much, Beth?”
My eyes dart toward the source of the sound.
In the shadow of the front door is Ryan, Tommy’s nephew. He is grinning his cocky “caught you” smile, which sends waves of red to my cheeks. He is the one person who will take the most joy out of taking me down a peg. For as long as I have spent my summers here with Gran and Pops, Ryan has been spending his with Tommy. At the beginning, Ryan treated me with cool indifference. When he realized that Tommy had a soft spot for me, all bets were off. A primordial need to beat his chest and get territorial manifested into an unrelenting need to torment me. Catching me eavesdropping is like reaching the summit of Mt. Everest.
I square my shoulders and hold my chin up to shake off the embarrassment of being caught. Ryan cocks an eyebrow at me and nods toward the next room where Pops, Tommy and Gran are still talking. He’s baiting me and I don’t bite. Pushing off the wall, I march toward the front door, stopping momentarily to shoot Ryan the stink eye. Bewildered, Ryan steps out of my way just in time for me to storm out the front door.
That’s right, jerk. Get out of my way.
Hot humid air hits me the moment I set foot outside. The soles of my flip-flops slap the sidewalk with purpose as I make my way around the side of the house and into the back yard. My body moves forward, already knowing where it is going, as I grab a basket and move into the shade of the cherry tree.
Muscle memory propels me upward and I disappear into the thick green canopy of leaves. Settling into my nook between the tree trunk and a low branch that faces the deck, I take a quick scan of the yard. I seem to have shaken Ryan.
“Thank God," I whisper to myself.
I need a few moments of peace without Ryan waiting in the shadows to judge me or condescend to me. He is two years older than I am and has an uncanny ability to make me feel like a total dork with one look. I never expected us to be best buds, but I never thought he would take such a keen interest in torturing me either. I groan to myself thinking about Ryan’s hijinks last summer.
***
“Hey girls, can you keep a secret?” I pop my eye open at the promise of gossip. Ryan is smiling down at my cousin and me as we’re sunbathing on the dock.
“What?” I stutter, caught off guard, trying to recall the last time Ryan acknowledged my presence.
“A secret, dummy. Can you keep a secret?” His eyes twinkle with a kind of mischief that smacks of no good. I look over at my cousin who is pretending she is asleep, rather unconvincingly. Coward.
“I guess so. What is it?” I sit up.
“You two are going into ninth grade this year, right?” he leads.
I nod my head and try to hide my sheepish grin. He knows what grade I am entering. The thought makes me giddy.
“And I assume there is a boy crush worthy of your attention.”
He winks. I flush.
Shaking my head and sputtering nonsense, I finally eek out, “No! Psshhaw. Whatever.” I am tempted to dive off the dock and into the water. Ryan’s laughter only enhances my desire to jump overboard.
“On the off chance a pimple-faced, metal-mouthed loon wants to ask you out, you want to be ready.” His laughter has simmered to a condescending chuckle. “Don’t you?”
“I don’t need to know your secret, Ryan. You are a jerk.” I start to stand up when my cousin rouses from her fake slumber.
“Wait. I want to be ready. What’s the secret?” she asks. I try to slink off to the side and into the inviting water, but she grabs my foot. “Come on, Beth. It can’t be that bad.”
Ryan wastes no time waiting for my answer. He gleefully continues, “All the popular girls already know this trick, but I am sharing it with you two as a charitable act.”
I fold my arms over my chest and stick my chin out in defiance. He ignores me and keeps talking.
“To get the boys to notice you, you have to do this one thing every night before you go to bed.”
My cousin’s eyes widen; she is so gullible.
“What? What do we need to do?” she urges.
Ryan leans his head toward us, his blond hair falling into his green eyes.
“Tweak your nipples,” he whispers, “it makes your boobs grow bigger.” He is biting the inside of his cheek, trying not to burst at the seams.
My cousin is seriously mulling this over. Idiot. I can’t stand the embarrassment another minute. I turn to face Ryan.
“You. Are. A. Moron.”
To punctuate my statement, I take a running leap off the end of the dock and let the cool water take me under. When I surface a moment later, Ryan is peering down from the edge.
“I was only trying to help, Beth.”
For the rest of the summer, I did my best to ignore Ryan. It didn’t work. Wherever I turned, there he was tweaking his nipples and winking conspiratorially at me.
***
I wanted to hate him, I really did.
I grab my basket from the branch below and get down to business.
One for you. I toss a cherry into my basket.
One for me. I smile in satisfaction as the sweet red fruit bursts on my tongue. I repeat the process until the basket is full, my face and hands stained.
This is the best part of summer, right here.
"You going to save some of those for Gran's cobbler?"
I jump at the sound of his voice, sending the basket tumbling to the ground.
"RYAN!" I yell.
Horrified, I scramble down the tree to refill my basket.
“Aha! She speaks, after all.” His tone is suspiciously gentle. I cock my head and look at him quizzically.
“Yes,” I offer hesitantly. “I speak. I just don’t have much to say.”
“Oh, I doubt that,” he sighs, lowering to his knees to help.
The hair on the back of my neck rises in defensive awareness. This is why I don’t talk. Every time I open my mouth, someone takes it as an invitation to get me to “open up.”
“I don’t need this crap from you, Ryan. You don’t know a thing about me,” my words bite.
Ryan looks at me wearily but continues like I didn’t just rip off his head.
“I hear you are a big music fan.” He
turns his attention back to our task. “There are some great bands coming to the Iowa State Fair this summer.”
Sitting back on my haunches, I watch him place the last of the cherries back in the basket. Where is the sharp-tongued tormentor I am accustomed to? He catches me sizing him up, trying to figure out his angle.
“I’m not going to talk about anything else, Beth.” He reaches over and I flinch as he pulls a leaf from my hair. “We will only talk about the things you want to talk about, okay?”
I cast my eyes down, unable to look at him. I don’t want him to see tears and almost make a run for the house.
“Why?” my voice is small and pitiful.
“Because, you could clearly use a friend. If we can convince the masses that you aren’t as fragile as they’re thinking, we may just see the shore of Lake Panorama sometime this year.” He rolls his eyes dramatically and it makes me laugh. It feels so good to laugh I don’t bother with a defensive retort.
“Trust me,” he pleads, and there is sincerity in his tone that has me believing him. With a faith I didn’t know I still possessed, I lift my head and smile.
“Ok, Ryan. I’ll trust you.”
Chapter 7
We enter the house through the kitchen door with our cherries, carrying on about the Iowa State Fair concert series. As I make my way to the kitchen sink, a trio appears in the doorway. I know it’s Tommy with Pops and Gran, but I ignore them and keep talking to Ryan.
“Don’t you think they should have stopped at the last tour?” I ask while I busy myself with washing cherries. “What’s that line? It’s better to burn out than to fade away.”
“Go Beth! Way to quote one of the greatest hair bands of the ‘80s,” Ryan shoots his hand up and down invisible frets, while strumming his fingers across his stomach. Air guitar quickly turns into head banging. I watch him thrash around the tiny kitchen.
“Oh my God, you are such a tool!” I giggle, throwing my dishtowel at him. It lands with precision on top of his head, covering his face. Howls of maniacal laughter rip from me, and I grip the countertop to keep from keeling over.
