Some Kind of Animal

by Maria Romasco-Moore

  My sister reaches toward Savannah’s face. Savannah squeezes her eyes shut. I move forward. Before I can stop her, Lee swipes a quick finger across Savannah’s eyelid. Gently, though. She looks down at the smudge of glittery black eye shadow on her fingertip, draws a line with it on her own arm.

  “That was very rude,” I say, putting my arm around Savannah’s shoulder. “You scared her.”

  “I wasn’t scared,” mutters Savannah, under her breath.

  Lee appears unrepentant, though she’s looking at Savannah differently than she used to. Not with hate or fear. I see something else there. Curiosity, maybe. Admiration.

  * * *

  —

  The cashier isn’t paying any attention to us when we come out. She’s playing a game on her phone, the incessant bleeps and bloops audible even beneath the tinny song on the store speakers.

  Savannah walks ahead of us down the aisle, toward the counter, but stops abruptly between the slushie dispenser and the coffee machines.

  “I can’t do it,” she says, turning back to me, wide-eyed, caught between swirling neon and gleaming metal.

  “Give me the money,” I say. “I’ll handle it. Just act normal.”

  She pulls a scuffed black leather wallet out of her jacket pocket. Her hand is shaking, so I sandwich it between my hands, like the little old ladies at church, and I look her in the eyes, or try to anyway. She keeps darting glances toward the front counter. She’s worse than my sister. If the cashier isn’t suspicious of us yet, she will be the moment she lays eyes on Savannah.

  If I was Jack she’d feel safe. I know she would. If I was any boy. If I had broad shoulders and smelled like cigarettes and motor oil and Axe body spray in Tropical Testosterone or whatever. I know she’d feel safe, then, would trust me to hell and back, at least until I cheated on her.

  Boys are strong. Boys are solid. Savannah wants to lean against them, shelter beneath them in a strong wind. I want to judge her for that, but I won’t.

  Even though it’s stupid. How many families do we know in Lester where it’s the woman who pays the bills? Who works double shifts at the McDonald’s in Needle, or the graveyard at the Walmart three towns over? That’s how it works in her own family, for God’s sake.

  But Savannah still believes it. Like the tooth fairy, or the Easter Bunny. She believes in boys.

  I wish I could turn the clock back on her heart, wish I could convince her to see boys the way we both did when we were younger. As nothing special. As not so different from us.

  Boys aren’t magic. They can’t save you. The Cantrells didn’t save Mama. The pastor didn’t save her. She had to save herself. Even Grandpa Joe, as kind and wonderful as everyone says he was, just went ahead and drank himself to death and left everything behind for Grandma Margaret to deal with.

  You can’t rely on anyone else. You’ve only got yourself. I wish Savannah saw it that way, but I know she doesn’t.

  So I put on my Uncle Myron voice, the one I used to tease her with when we cut class. When we talked and laughed in the Naked Lady Room. A world away now. Back when the two halves of my life still knew their place.

  “Cheer up, sweet cheeks,” I say. “Give your poor old uncle a smile, put a little sunshine in his life.”

  It works. Savannah smiles, stifles a laugh.

  “Aw, yeah, that’s the sugar in my tea,” I say, and I lean forward and I kiss her.

  She’s still laughing as I do it, her smile going wider, and my bottom lip knocks against her teeth, but she kisses me back. Her lips are soft, her whole mouth is soft, and warm, and for a moment that’s all there is.

  Everything else falls away.

  My sister yanks on my hand and I pull back, suddenly embarrassed. Savannah laughs again.

  It was just a joke, for her.

  At least Lee didn’t try to rip her throat out. My self-appointed chaperone. Maybe she really did think Henry was hurting me, back on the bridge. Maybe she didn’t quite understand. That was a different kind of kiss. Not as soft. Not nearly so soft.

  “I’m getting a coffee,” I say, suddenly deciding. It’s a grown-up thing to do, buying coffee. I think of Brandon setting two cups on the table back in the camper.

  I try not to think about that.

  I grab a cup and go straight for the black coffee, dark roast, night sky. Savannah follows my lead, though she goes for mocha vanilla caramel instead. Lee stands at my shoulder, watching the dark liquid piss out of the little machine. She puts out a hand to touch the stream, but I pull my finger off the button.

  “It’s hot,” I say.

  She scowls, mad at being treated like a baby, I guess. I grab a handful of little flavored creamers, stuff them in my pocket. My sister catches on quickly, loses no time shoving some into her purse. She takes sugar packets too. Napkins. She grabs a package of tiny chocolate muffins from a rack beside the coffee, but I snatch her wrist before she can put those in her purse as well.

  The cashier gives us a tired look when we come to the counter. She’s not that much older than us. Dakota’s age, maybe. I smile at her and stand in front of Lee, blocking both of them from each other’s view as much as I can. Savannah wasn’t lying about the cash. When I open the wallet, I see fifties. An actual hundred. I’m thinking maybe Jack was lying about his real source of income, but who knows. I dig out some twenties, pay for the coffees and the package of chocolate muffins and gas on pump four.

  Savannah walks too fast to the door, pushes it open, gives me a look like Hurry the fuck up, but I take my time. I stride, acting casual, leading my sister by the hand.

  Before we even get to the truck, Lee tears the muffin package open with her teeth and pops three of the muffins into her mouth at once. Savannah laughs and then slaps a hand over her mouth.

  But my sister doesn’t pay any attention. She licks the top of the fourth muffin, nibbles a chocolate chip off, then pauses. Reluctantly, slowly, she holds it out to me, offering to share.

  “That’s okay,” I say, pushing her hand back. She hesitates, considering.

  And then my sister, miracle of miracles, extends her arm toward Savannah, shoulders hunched, muffin offered up on an open palm. Savannah gives me a stricken look. I shrug.

  “Uh, no thank you,” Savannah says, overenunciating the words. It’s the first time, I think, Savannah has spoken directly to Lee. It’s progress.

  My sister relaxes, pops the final muffin in her mouth. Chews with her eyes shut, content.

  * * *

  —

  A few miles on we hit a stretch of road with trees rising up on both sides. We’re rushing through the forest, going so much faster than we’ve ever gone before. Lee squeezes my hand hard again, as if she means to crush all the small bones. I let her, despite the pain. It feels like the least I can do.

  We are farther from Lester now than Grandpa Joe ever dared go his entire life. Farther than Aggie has ever gone, farther than Mama.

  The picture of Mama is still in my pocket. I can feel it, light as it is, bending slightly against my thigh as I shift in the seat.

  Somewhere back there, deep in the woods, Brandon is opening his eyes. He’s climbing to his feet. I know he is.

  And Mama is standing there. She’s holding out her hand. She’s forgiving him, maybe, or thanking him, or just offering him a little comfort. Offering to lead him through the forest she knows so well.

  I hope he’s telling her about me. I hope she’s listening, hope she’s realizing that she was wrong, all those years ago. I hope that she’s sorry. But also, just maybe, a little proud.

  I’m hers.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  In the dark, in the cold, in the backseat of a stolen car, with the scent of pine and smoke, with the lights of little cities whipping by like islands in an ocean of darkness, with my sister humming something tuneless, more like the
drone of an insect than a song, with Savannah stubbing cigarette after cigarette into the cupholder, with whatever little scrap of calm and reason I have left, I do my best to make a plan.

  We have two hundred eighty-four dollars and sixty cents. I counted. We have a Tupperware of cigarettes, though that’s emptying out quick. We have the clothes we’re wearing and this car and whatever is in my sister’s little plastic heart purse and that’s it.

  Which isn’t so bad. We have a car. We have two hundred eighty-four dollars and sixty cents. That’s more money than I’ve ever had in my whole life.

  We hit the river, which marks the end of Ohio, sooner than I expected. I’ve only been this far south once in my life, for a track meet in seventh grade. All the towns along the river are broken, split down the middle by the water, with one half in Ohio and the other half in West Virginia.

  We pass through the Ohio half of one of these towns, and cross the first bridge we come to. Directly ahead of us, across the river, is a Walmart Supercenter, filling our view like the squat white end of the world.

  “Pull in there,” I tell Savannah.

  * * *

  —

  In the Walmart parking lot, my sister and Savannah are both nervous wrecks. Lee clings to my sleeve, twisting the rope strap of her plastic heart purse with one hand, shrinking away from the cars. The parking lot is less than a fourth full, but it’s so big, an ocean of asphalt, that even this is more cars than I would have hoped. At the gas station, we were the only customers. Savannah pulls the hood of her jacket up, hunches her shoulders, scowls.

  “Come on,” I tell Savannah as we head toward the store entrance. “This will be fun. A shopping spree. We can pick out new clothes.”

  “I don’t know,” says Savannah. She’s looking sideways at Lee.

  “Just think of it as a weird forest,” I tell my sister. An apocalyptic forest, maybe, the trees petrified white, the sun gone cold. She managed better than I could have hoped at the gas station, but this place is at least ten times the size of that. It’s one of those enormous Walmarts that has swallowed a grocery store. There will be so many colors and lights and sounds and, worst of all, people. I’m thinking maybe we should just leave her in the car, risky as that feels.

  A car door slams several rows over and Lee drops to the ground, nearly dragging me down with her. She’s crouched, looking ready to run. There’s no way she’ll agree to stay in the car. Savannah is burrowed so deep in her hooded jacket I can barely see her face, but the set of her shoulders says enough.

  “Okay,” I say to Lee, “okay. How about we play a game? Close your eyes. Keep them closed.”

  I coax her back to her feet and, after some more convincing, get her to close her eyes. I wish I could tie something over them. Maybe give her earplugs, too, but we’ll probably look weird enough as it is.

  “This seems like a bad idea,” says Savannah, and part of me agrees, but I can’t let on.

  “Nonsense,” I say, striding toward the entrance. “This is going to be fine.”

  My sister startles as the automatic doors whoosh open ahead of us, flickers her eyes open and then shut again, but she’s keeping it together. Before we left the car, I allowed her to stuff both her pockets full of pine needles.

  Once we’re inside, I grab two red baskets, shove one into Savannah’s hands.

  “Okay,” I say, “food first.” Lee has opened her eyes. She’s staring at the ceiling. There’s a small bird up there, perched on one of the metal rafters.

  “Close your eyes,” I say. She ignores me.

  The doors whoosh open again behind us. Lee whips around. An elderly couple is shuffling in. She tries to run. I grip her hand tight with both of mine and drag her away. She reaches for the plastic tubs of candy stacked near the entrance as we pass them, manages to knock one over. Savannah replaces it, casting paranoid glances around as she does. Great. Really keeping a low profile here.

  My sister is straining toward the bright mounds of fruit in the produce section, but I want to get farther from the doors and the registers, though it seems like only two are open at this late hour. I pull her by the wrist toward the back of the store. She reaches for every bright new thing she sees, eyes darting rapidly like at the gas station. Savannah shuffles along behind us.

  “What should we get?” she asks.

  “I don’t know. Bread. Peanut butter. Stuff that won’t go bad.”

  With a sudden burst of strength, my sister yanks her wrist out of my grip and darts down the breakfast aisle. She goes not for the cartoon-mascot-adorned cereal boxes, but for one of the big discount bags of knockoff stuff down near the floor. Fruity Gems. Before I can reach her, she’s grabbed a bag, ripped it open. In her excitement, she rips too forcefully. Cereal scatters, a rainbow cascade. Lee drops to her knees, scrabbling frantically after the little colored balls, snatching up handfuls, shoving them in her mouth.

  Savannah is laughing her head off.

  “It’s not funny,” I say, exasperated.

  I crouch and try to brush the cereal back into the torn bag. At least the store is mostly empty this time of night. No one saw, I hope. Lee is chasing a few pieces that rolled down the aisle. Savannah fishes some out from where they went beneath a shelf.

  “Hey,” she says, “here.”

  It takes me a second to understand that she’s not talking to me. She’s talking to my sister.

  To my disgust, she holds out the dust-covered pieces to Lee, who, after only a moment’s hesitation, takes them and pops them into her mouth. Savannah laughs again.

  From somewhere nearby, maybe the next aisle over, comes the high-pitched squeal of a squeaky cart wheel. Lee flinches.

  “Stop it,” I say. “Both of you. We’re going to get kicked out or caught.”

  “Sorry,” says Savannah. She stands, dusts some cereal flakes off her jeans.

  My sister is reaching for another bag of cereal. Nutty Chocolate Spheres. I knock her arm away, grab her by both shoulders, shake her.

  “You can’t touch anything,” I tell her, but she won’t even look at me. Her eyes are fixed on the shelves behind me, flitting restlessly from item to item.

  There’s someone else in the aisle, I realize. A man. He’s reading the ingredients on a box of instant oats. I hadn’t noticed him before. He must have just arrived. I hope he just arrived. Did he see Lee spill the cereal? Did he see her acting crazy?

  He isn’t looking at us, and I don’t want to give him a reason to. He’s just some guy, in jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, but he makes me uneasy.

  “Okay,” I say to Savannah, quietly, urgently. “You get the food, I’ll get some clothes, and you can meet us in camping stuff.”

  Savannah looks miserable, but I give her a big confident smile. This is fine, this will be fine. I put my arm around Lee’s shoulders and steer her forcefully down the aisle, away from the man, away from the food. We weave through the clothing section. Lee trails her free hand along the racks of shirts, stops short in front of a sweater display.

  I grab a purple sweater to appease her, and pull on her hand, but she won’t move.

  “Come on. What’s wrong with you?”

  She picks up a sky-blue sweater, rubs the fabric against her cheek, eyes closed again. She’s acting too weird. People will notice. I spot another shopper a few racks over. A man. No, the man. Same one as before. A coincidence? He’s looking at some jeans. My sister hasn’t noticed him, I don’t think.

  I have to imagine this from her perspective. She doesn’t understand stores or money. All her life Brandon and I have just given her things. She’s spoiled.

  But she must be overwhelmed, too. The lights and colors. The noise. An onslaught on all fronts. She should have just listened to me and kept her damn eyes closed.

  I drop my voice. “There are hunters in this forest,” I say, “so we hav
e to be quick, okay?”

  I yank the blue sweater out of her hands and shove it in the basket. Lee drags her feet, but allows me to pull her away, through the workout section and into the little kids’ section, her free hand still trailing out, touching everything.

  We get about five feet before she jerks away from me and makes straight for a rack of sequined skirts.

  “Goddammit.” I run after her.

  She yanks a skirt off the hanger

  “Stop it, Lee. You can’t just grab things.”

  My sister shakes the skirt so it sparkles in the light. I catch movement out of the corner of my eye and turn to see the same man from before. He’s a few feet away, sorting through a stack of kitten T-shirts. I almost point him out to her, but stop myself. What if she attacked him? Or even just started running wildly?

  “Put it back,” I tell my sister. “That won’t even keep you warm.”

  Lee ignores me, pulls the skirt on over her dress, does a little shimmy to make the sequins flash. The man has moved slightly closer to us, is now thumbing through a rack of flouncy dresses. He’s a stranger. I’ve never seen him before in my life, I’m sure of it. And yet there’s something about him, maybe just the way he holds himself, that reminds me of the pastor. Does he recognize us? Is he looking for us?

  “Listen,” I say, desperate. I grab my sister’s head, turn it so she won’t see the man, so she has no choice but to look me in the eye. “This is an evil forest. Some of this stuff is poison.”

  She narrows her eyes at me, frowning. She isn’t a baby. She isn’t dumb. But she is different. She thinks differently.

  “Some of it is safe, but you can’t tell just by looking at it. I’ve been here before so I can tell, okay? That”—I point at the skirt she’s wearing—“is poison.”

  I make sure to keep my expression dead serious, though I’m already certain this won’t work, certain that walking into Walmart was the worst decision I’ve ever made. Any moment now she’s going to freak out, start climbing shelves, throwing things. Store security will be on us in a second.