Dani pointed to the cigarettes and Courtney threw her the pack. Cigarettes were another luxury. Sometimes we’d steal a couple from Dad’s pack when he was home or from one of the farmhands. Then we’d sit out on our porch, sharing drags. We sat now on the rock edge of what used to be a nice garden running around the house. It was just weeds these days. Dani kept trying to grow vegetables in the backyard, but Dad kept driving over her patch.
Courtney passed me a cigarette, lighting it with the end of hers. I set the gun against the warm rocks and took a drag, watching to see how Dani did it, her mouth parting slightly to let the smoke out in a long, lazy exhale. I leaned back so she couldn’t see, tried blowing it out the same way.
Only the middle of July and the grass was already dead, same with the flowers we’d planted. Most of our front yard was dirt. Dad was always dragging home stuff from the junkyard, and scrap metal and wood littered the property. The house was in bad shape—in the winter we had to board up the windows—but I liked the sprawling deck on the front. I was going to ask Dad if we could paint it.
I didn’t bring any friends home, and we kept to ourselves at school. Dani was usually with her boyfriend, Corey, who was kind of cute in a redneck farm-boy way with his tanned skin, white teeth, and dimples. Courtney was always skipping or hanging out with a boy; most of the other girls didn’t like her. I tagged along with my sisters or worked on my homework during breaks. Dani put my report card up on the fridge, like Mom used to. I helped with their homework sometimes. Courtney would just get me to do hers if she could, but Dani wouldn’t allow that.
Dani moved over to sit on the tailgate of her truck. It was an old Ford, and silver where it wasn’t rusted out. She’d bought it from her boyfriend’s dad for cheap, then worked it off. It was usually broken down. She kept it cleaned out, hung a coconut air freshener on the rearview mirror, but it didn’t hide the stink of manure from our boots. I always kicked my boots on the fender, trying to get the dirt off before I climbed in or she’d yell at me.
Courtney took a long drag. “I’m going out again later.”
“You nuts?” Dani said.
“If he’s back, he won’t be home for hours.”
“You don’t know that for sure,” I said. Sometimes he stopped at Bob’s, his friend in town, and they hit the bars, but other times he came straight home.
She tugged the back of my hair. “Don’t worry.”
Courtney acted like she didn’t care what Dad did to her, but I knew she was scared of him. Mom was the only person who’d ever been able to keep him under control, but he’d still go on benders with his friends, then come home yelling and throwing stuff around, breaking dishes. She kicked him out a couple of months before she died, but he sweet-talked his way back in, sober and swearing he’d stay that way. Mom was really happy for a while—we all were. Dad stayed sober until the night we found out she’d died. Sometimes I think about how sad she’d be over what happened to us, how pissed off she’d be at Dad.
I looked down the road again, imagined his truck getting closer.
“Promise you’ll come home early?” I said. The last time Dad caught Courtney sneaking in, she hadn’t been able to sit for days.
“Promise,” Courtney said.
“He told you what would happen if you mess up again.” Dani dropped her cigarette onto the dirt, ground her heel into it. “He warned you.”
“God, you guys are paranoid,” Courtney said. “He’s not even in town.”
But I’d seen the way she glanced at the road before she picked up the rifle.
“Come on, let’s shoot some more cans.”
CHAPTER THREE
We shot cans until we’d finished the case of beer, moving each one farther away to make it more challenging, trying to distract whoever was taking aim. We were all good shots—Dad had taught us. When we were younger he liked to make us set the cans up for him—he’d shot one when I was reaching for it. I fell back, crying, and he laughed. I didn’t flinch the next time.
The rest of the afternoon we did laundry, hanging it outside to dry because the dryer was broken again, then made dinner, adding some rice to the last of the tomato soup to make it more filling.
After dinner, Courtney headed upstairs to get ready for her date.
“Want to keep me company?” she said.
Courtney didn’t like being alone much and often asked me to hang out with her. I didn’t mind. I liked sitting on the side of the bathtub listening to her talk about her new boyfriend and watching her do her hair and makeup. We’d shoplifted most of the makeup—we figured stealing samples wasn’t as bad—but we shared what we had. It led to a few fights, mostly because Courtney left a lid off something, but usually we were okay. Dani didn’t use makeup unless she was going out with Corey, but I liked playing around with it.
Courtney was leaning toward the mirror, carefully shaping her eyebrows with an old pair of tweezers. I perched on the side of the tub, the porcelain cool against the backs of my legs. The window was open, blowing the curtains with a faint breeze, but it was still damn hot. The scent of the cedar shingles baking in the sun on the roof drifted in, mixing with Courtney’s hair spray and perfume.
“You going to see Shane?” I said.
She paused, looked confused.
“That guy with the blue car,” I said.
She made a face. “Ugh, no. I got rid of him last week.”
Courtney didn’t keep boyfriends around long. The only guy she’d ever gotten sort of serious with, Troy Dougan, had moved away in May. She said she didn’t care because she was going to move to Vancouver as soon as she graduated. She figured she could make enough money to move down to the States in a few years, somewhere like Nashville, and become a country singer. When I graduated I was going to come live with her in Vancouver—I couldn’t wait to see the ocean. We talked about it a lot, how I’d go on tour with her and take all her photos. I took one of her now, her tawny skin bathed in warm evening light from the open window that turned the side of her face gold.
I didn’t actually have any film in the camera, hadn’t had any for weeks. Sometimes Dad would bring me home a roll, same with Courtney—she stole it or got boyfriends to buy it. She liked the thrill of grabbing it right under the clerk’s nose. Dani kept telling her, “You’re going to end up in jail before you’re twenty.”
Courtney stepped back, straightening her sundress. We didn’t have many clothes, and what we did have we’d bought at the secondhand store. Courtney spent hours mixing and matching stuff, trying to make it look like pictures from magazines. Dani and I mostly wore jeans and T-shirts, but Courtney was good about lending us her things.
Courtney fluffed her hair over her shoulder. I smiled and took another photo, thinking of our mother, how I’d watch her brush her long hair in the mirror. But Mom never wore makeup, letting her freckles show. We’d still had some of her clothes until we went into foster care. Dad had gotten rid of just about all her things—even her wedding ring. I’d managed to save a couple of photos and the camera, Dani kept her recipe cards, and Courtney clung to an old bottle of perfume that was dried up now.
“Where are you going?” I said.
“Out.” Courtney usually shared more, so she was probably seeing someone she shouldn’t, like one of her friends’ boyfriends. Mom used to call Courtney her wild child, but she’d say it in a proud way. Dani was her worker bee, and I was her dreamer. I never felt like she had a favorite, more like she loved each of us for different things. She’d said we were all the best part of her, and that if anything ever happened to one of us, her heart would break.
Courtney smiled in the mirror. “Where’s your boyfriend?”
I rolled my eyes. Courtney knew perfectly well that Billy wasn’t my boyfriend—he was just the guy who lived down the road. We hung out sometimes, but it wasn’t like that, though he was always trying. I’d let him kiss me one time, just to see what it was like. He tasted gross, like barbecue chips, and his skin smelled like sweat.
I didn’t tell Courtney or Dani about it, but I liked listening to their talk. Dani had only slept with Corey—they’d been together since the eighth grade—but Courtney slept around and had told me enough about sex and what boys like that I wasn’t sure if I ever wanted to go through with it myself.
* * *
It was after midnight when Courtney finally stumbled home, smelling like cologne and cigarettes, giggling as she pulled on her nightgown in our room—we’d shared a bedroom since we were babies. Often we’d end up sleeping in the same bed, curled together like puppies, her long hair wrapping around us. On really cold nights Dani would pile in too. We’d talk about our mom, our dreams, Dani and her farm that would stretch for acres, Courtney and her music, the crowd screaming her name. I just wanted to take photos, of anything and everything. My sisters were my favorite subjects, but I liked it best when they didn’t know I was there. Dani fussing over the tomatoes, wandering among the cornfields, Courtney with no makeup and her hair messy, strumming her guitar.
Courtney pulled her blankets over her head and passed out. I drifted back to sleep.
Hours later, I woke to a crash downstairs.
I jerked up and fumbled for the lamp on my night table.
“The fuck was that?” Courtney said.
“Is it him?”
“I don’t know. Did you hear his truck?”
“I was asleep. I heard something downstairs.”
I found the light just as Dani slipped into our room, her face anxious. The three of us stared toward the door, not moving a muscle, listening. Was that the fridge opening? We heard something drop. Someone cursed.
Now heavy footsteps were coming up the stairs. I got out of bed, stood beside Dani. Courtney was sitting up, blankets pulled off, one foot on the floor, ready to run.
Dad pushed open the door. His white tank top was sweat-stained, blood or ketchup dotting the front, his shoulders covered in dark freckles and sunburn.
He gave us a big smile. “There’s my girls!”
I watched him, waiting to see if his smile would disappear and he’d start shouting insults. Dad started off happy when he was drinking, but it never lasted long.
“Well, come on, where’s my fucking hug?” He was still smiling, but anger simmered in his eyes.
Dani and I walked up to him, Courtney lagging behind. Dad crushed us to him in a hug, enveloping us in the smell of beer and sour sweat and cigarettes.
“Come on, let’s play cards,” he said when he let us go.
“It’s late, Dad,” Dani said. “Walter wants us up early, and—”
“I don’t give a shit what Walter wants,” Dad said. “I want to play cards.” Sometimes invoking Walter’s name would make Dad shut things down a little faster. He didn’t want to lose another place. But tonight he was too far gone, his blue eyes glassy, his sandy-colored hair damp on his forehead.
His eyes focused on Courtney. “Come on, Court. You’re always up for some fun—right, girl?” There was an edge to his voice, testing, like he knew something. Courtney looked terrified.
“Sure, Dad. Let’s play some cards.”
He was pissed at her. I could see that now. What had she done?
She started walking past him, but slowly, her body tense, like she was bracing for him to hit her. He pretended to lunge at her. She screamed and he laughed, his deep voice filling the room.
“You girls are a bunch of chickenshits.”
We followed him down the stairs, his broad back filling the space. He pulled one of the chairs out at the table, slapped his hand down on the wood.
“Sit your asses down.”
We all sat around him, and he gave me a grin. “How you been, Peanut? Miss me?”
“Yeah, Dad.” I felt like crying, hated the sound of drink in his voice, his phlegmy cough, his red-rimmed eyes.
He pulled a deck of cards out of his back pocket, started to deal them. When we all had a hand, he pulled a pack of smokes out of his other pocket, lit a cigarette, letting it dangle out of his mouth, one eye squinting from the smoke.
“We’ll play for cigarettes,” he said, throwing a few in front of each of us.
We all looked at each other.
“You think I don’t know you bitches steal my smokes?”
Dani said, “Dad, we don’t—”
“Save your bullshit.” He looked at me. “Get me a beer out of the fridge.”
I got up quickly, yanked a can free from the plastic ring. There were only two left.
I handed it to him and sat down. He opened the can with a loud pop, took a gulp, beer dribbling out the corner of his mouth. He didn’t wipe it off. Courtney and Dani were studying their cards. Dani’s forehead was shiny with sweat. Courtney’s eyes were still scared, flicking to Dad and back to her cards.
He caught her looking. “You trying to see my cards?”
“No.”
He slammed his fist down again, leaned over the table. “You trying to see my fucking cards?”
“No, Dad!” she cried out.
He leaned back, gave her an assessing look. “You think you’re pretty smart, don’t you?”
She shook her head. “I’m not smart at all.”
He looked around at us. “Worthless—the whole lot of you. I work my ass off for you three, and all you do is embarrass the shit out of me.”
“I’m sorry, Dad.” I didn’t know what I was apologizing for, but it didn’t matter.
His gaze settled back on Courtney. “Are you sorry?”
“Yeah, Dad, I’m really sorry.”
“Then get your sorry ass over to the stove and make me a fried egg sandwich.” He laughed, then started coughing, choking on cigarette smoke.
Courtney got up and turned the stove on, set a frying pan on the burner, got eggs out of the fridge.
“We don’t have any bread,” Dani said, her voice calm, but her hand shaking slightly on the cards.
Dad snatched the cigarette away from his mouth. “You don’t have any bread?”
“We didn’t have any money.”
“Where’s the money I left you?” A hundred dollars. The three of us had stood in the store, studying the prices on the cans and boxes. Apples were on sale—we’d bought a big bag.
“We used it all,” Dani said. “We needed groceries.”
He was shaking his head now, a slow, dangerous movement. “You fucking useless bitches. A man comes home from working for weeks and he can’t even get a decent fried egg sandwich?”
Courtney was frozen next to the fridge, waiting.
“I can make you scrambled eggs, Dad,” she said. “I make good eggs.”
He turned and looked at her. “You make good eggs?” He laughed. “At least you can do something right.”
He was watching her now, staring as she cracked the eggs into the bowl with a shaking hand. She kept giving him nervous looks. He took another hard drink of his beer, sucked on the cigarette, almost biting it with his teeth.
“You better make sure that pan is good and hot.”
“It’s hot, Dad,” she said.
“Really hot?”
“Yeah.” She gave him another scared look.
My heart was up in my throat, and I was getting that sick feeling of dread. Something was going to happen. I could see it in my dad’s face, the way his hand was gripping the beer, his boot tapping under the table.
“What’ve you been up to, Courtney? You working hard?”
“Yeah, every day.”
“What about every night? What’ve you been doing then, Courtney?”
I saw the fear on her face.
“Just hanging out,” she said. Some of the eggs slopped out of the pan and hit the burner, filling the air with the smell of scorched eggs. She frantically tried to brush the crumbled egg away from the burner.
I looked at Dad, who was still watching Courtney. I waited for the explosion, but he was silent, just took another drag of his smoke. She turned the burner off, scraped the eggs onto a plate, then got a
fork out of the drawer.
She walked over, carefully set the plate in front of him, and sat in her chair again. We all watched as he took a bite, pieces of egg falling off his fork and landing on the table. His cigarette was still burning in his other hand, the smoke drifting into Dani’s eyes. She didn’t move, didn’t cough.
Dad grunted, gave a nod, then took another bite.
I felt Courtney’s body relax a little beside me, heard her take a breath.
He stopped chewing, got a disgusted look on his face, then opened his mouth and let the whole mouthful slop back out onto his plate.
“These are fucking rotten!”
“We just collected the eggs yesterday!” Courtney said.
“It’s true!” Dani said.
“Maybe you’re the rotten egg,” Dad said, staring at Courtney, his eyes raging. “Everything you touch tastes like shit.” He picked up his plate and threw it at her. She jerked her body to the right, making the chair topple over, spilling her onto the floor. The plate shattered behind us. Dani and I leapt out of our chairs.
Dad took a lunging step toward Courtney, his huge body towering over her. Dani pushed me behind her as she reached for Courtney, but Dad was already grabbing her arm and hauling her off the floor.
Courtney screamed and tried to pull away. He dragged her toward the stove. I tried to go after them but Dani held me back.
“Do you know what it’s like hearing that shit about my kid?” he roared.
Courtney was begging, “What did I do?”
“Bob calls me in camp, tells me my good-for-nothing daughter’s screwing a married man!”
Dad had Courtney close to the stove. She was screaming. I was sobbing and yelling, “Dad, let her go!”
Dani released my arm and ran for the rifle, pulled it out from under the couch, grabbed the box of shells.
Dad picked up the frying pan, held it close to Courtney’s face. She squirmed, frantically trying to get away. I threw myself at his back, pounded against him, clawed his neck, any flesh I could find. He hit backward with his elbow, catching me in the jaw and sending me to the floor.
Those Girls Page 2
