“You just disappeared.”
“Chill out.” She tries to move past me, but I block her. She sighs and marches off to the left instead. I hurry after her. I see Lee, out of the corner of my eye, running back in the direction of our camp.
“You could have gotten us all caught,” I insist to Savannah. “You should have waited until dark.”
“It was fine, Jo. I just snuck in and got the cigarettes.”
Now who’s the liar?
“Who was that?” I demand.
“What?” Savannah turns to me, startled. She didn’t realize we’d seen her.
“You were talking to a man.”
“Yeah,” she says, reluctant. “Briefly.”
“What did you tell him?”
“Nothing.” She waves a dismissive hand at me. “He asked about the car and I said I was camping with my family. Said my parents were trying to avoid parking fees or whatever.”
She turns away and keeps walking, circling around to head back toward camp. I should be impressed, I guess, that she managed to find her way to the junkyard on her own. Although I suppose she just sniffed the air, homed in on the scent of testosterone.
I kneel and prop a stick at an angle against the base of a tree. A sign, for next time. Just in case.
“You shouldn’t talk to anyone,” I say, when I catch up with Savannah. She needs to understand. She can’t do that again.
“He saw me digging around in the car. I had to say something.” She pulls a cigarette out of the Tupperware, pops it between her lips.
“You should have just run.”
“Come on, it was fine.” She lights the cigarette with her plastic lighter, takes a thoughtful puff. “He doesn’t even work there or anything. His uncle owns it. He just likes tinkering with the cars. Making broken things whole again.”
That seems awfully personal. And there’s something about the way she says it. A buoyancy in her tone. The way she waves one hand through the air, fingernail polish catching the morning sun. My guard goes up.
“So you know his whole family history now?” I say, trying to keep my tone light, teasing. “Had a nice long chat?”
“Oh, shut up,” she says. But I can see the hint of a smile on her lips and I know: she’s been caught already, fat little squirrel, fur gleaming. She ran right up to that loop of wire, thrust her neck through with glee.
It’s Jack all over again. Are Savannah’s loyalties so flimsy that all it takes is a man smiling at her and all bets are off?
“How old was he anyway?” I ask. I don’t bother to sound teasing this time. I’m angry.
She shrugs. Older than us, I’m sure. Probably too old.
“What if he reports the car or something?”
“He said it was fine if we left it there for a few days. Said his uncle probably wouldn’t care.”
“We aren’t leaving it there for a few days, Savannah. We’re ditching it.” Does she really not get it? This is it. This is our life now. “We can’t keep driving a stolen car.”
Savannah shrugs again. “I still think we should go to New York. Ditch it there.”
I open my mouth and then shut it. You aren’t taking this seriously, I want to shout. You put us all in danger. You shouldn’t be here.
But I want her here. That’s the problem. This idiot would-be mechanic is a danger to me and Lee, but he’s a far bigger danger to Savannah. I don’t want her to leave. I don’t want her to hate me.
I still need her on my side.
Lee is far ahead of us, crouched down to inspect something on the ground. I run from Savannah, catch up to my sister, and help her pick oyster mushrooms off a rotting log until I’m calm enough to think.
* * *
—
When we get back to our camp, I build another fire. Savannah helps me, her spirits notably lifted after her visit to the junkyard. She lights her cigarette on the fire, laughs at my clumsy attempts to whittle a fallen branch to a point with my sister’s folding knife.
The fire crackles and spits. Savannah’s face glows in the light of it. Lee experiments with dropping different items into it. A pine cone, some leaves, one of the mushrooms. She watches them burn, little flames dancing in her eyes.
I try to put the incident at the junkyard out of my mind and focus instead on plans for the short-term future. Next time my sister catches a squirrel, I will make her skin it somewhere that Savannah can’t see. We will cook it out of her sight too. It really doesn’t taste so different from other meat. Perhaps, presented with the final product, but ignorant of the process, Savannah will be willing to try it.
We can find more mushrooms. Savannah refused to eat those too, claiming they were probably poisonous. But she’ll come around. We can cook the mushrooms. Maybe we can find some dandelion greens or berries. I’m not sure if it’s too late in the season for those or not. Maybe walnuts. I think the wilderness book said that if you soak acorns in water for a while you can eat those, too.
My sister knows things about the forest, knows which leaves won’t make you sick, which mushrooms, which berries. She’ll gather resting grasshoppers from leaves in the morning, crunch them up like chips. I’ve seen her shimmy up a tree to pluck bird eggs from a nest. She pokes a hole in one end with her knife, sucks the yolk out raw. I suppose some of it she learned from experience, some from Brandon, maybe some from Mama. I know Grandpa Joe would take his daughters hunting with him when he was still alive. Aggie used to say it was a pity he wasn’t around to take me. Margaret hunts, too, but she never took me with her. I wish she had now.
I honestly think Margaret hated me, still hates me. I was painful to her, a reminder. Of the daughter she lost. The daughter she failed.
I pop open the can of biscuits from Walmart and shove a ball of sticky dough onto one end of the pointed branch. I hold it over the fire, turn it slowly.
Despite my best efforts, the dough catches and burns black as coal. But when I pull the little biscuit cinder from the branch and take a bite, I find that it is delicious. Warm and soft and buttery in the middle, the burnt skin only enhancing the delicacy of the inside.
There’s no use rationing them, since we can’t very well store the raw dough, so we run through the whole can of biscuits. Savannah finds her own stick and manages, through extreme patience, to cook the dough without burning it. Lee, on the other hand, delights in setting the balls of dough on fire and then running around in a circle, waving her stick, blowing the small flames out like birthday candles.
When the biscuits are done we pass the orange juice jug around. Lee watches Savannah and me carefully and when it’s her turn she copies us, taking a delicate sip, licking her lips, checking the jug to see how much is left. She’s been a bit cool toward Savannah since the junkyard incident. Not that she’s said anything, but she hasn’t been looking at her as much.
I shake the jug. It’s nearly empty. “Tomorrow, first thing, we need to find some fresh water.”
“We could just drive to a gas station,” Savannah says. I glare at her. She rolls her eyes. “Fine, whatever, no car.”
“Water,” says Lee.
“Right,” says Savannah encouragingly, turning to her with an exaggerated smile, “very good.”
“She’s not an idiot,” I snap.
Savannah shrugs.
“Use full sentences,” I tell Lee. “Stop being lazy.”
She scowls at me. “Water,” she says. “To drink.”
“That’s not—” I protest, but before I can finish, she snatches the juice jug out of my hands and bolts.
“Wait!” I shout after her. “Where are you going?”
But she’s already gone. I can’t even see her in the gathering dusk. I guess she found water earlier. I guess that’s good. But I’m tired of still being caught in the middle here, halfway between Savannah and Lee.
“She’s so weird,” says Savannah. She shoots me an apologetic glance. “Sorry, I mean—”
“No, it’s okay,” I say. “You’re right. She’s weird.” No use pretending.
I let the fire burnish my cheeks and warm my hands. Savannah smokes another cigarette. We sit in silence, listening to the crackle of the branches, the hum of the heated air, the distant calls of birds, the rustles and grunts of squirrels.
“I guess it’s kind of nice out here,” says Savannah.
“Yeah,” I say, heartened to hear her say something positive for once. She’ll learn to love the forest, surely, the way that Lee and I do.
Savannah turns to look at me. “I was so miserable those times you made me wait out in the yard.”
I’m surprised to hear her say that. I try to remember if Savannah seemed unhappy those nights, back at Grandma Margaret’s. I remember how reluctant I was to give up and go inside, sure that any moment my sister would appear. Maybe I never much noticed, or cared, how Savannah felt. I will have to try to do better now.
“I just wanted you to meet her,” I say, lamely.
“I thought you were the biggest liar.”
“Well,” I say a little more sharply than I intend, “now you know I’m not.”
Savannah turns back toward the fire, her eyes glittering in the light. “It was so scary. Waiting out there.”
I snort. “You weren’t scared.”
“I was. I tried not to let on, but I was terrified. The woods were so dark. And I was scared that your grandmother would come out of the house and catch us. She always seemed mean.”
“She was,” I say quietly. You have no idea. I almost tell her about Brandon then, but it’s like saying it out loud will make it too real. If I don’t talk about, don’t think about it, I can pretend it never happened. “She still is.”
I close my eyes. I can see the headlights again, from the two trucks. See the dust drifting slowly through the beams, swirling in lazy eddies. I can hear the gunshots.
“Did she know?” asks Savannah.
“About my sister? No.”
“What about Aggie?”
“No. Nobody knew.”
“Someone had to know, though.”
Someone did, yes. He’s gone now.
“You did,” I say instead, teasing. “I told you. You just didn’t believe me.”
“Yeah, but I mean how—like when she was a baby—who took care of her?”
The fire is burning low, coals pulsing with a deep orange glow. I could just say it. Brandon Cantrell. And Mama.
“Wolves,” I say instead.
Savannah laughs. “Goddammit, Jo. You really are the biggest liar in the whole world.”
“I doubt that,” I say.
I should tell her everything, I guess. She deserves it. But I can’t make myself. I can’t even open my mouth to start. Mama, Brandon. Even the words are like broken glass. I’m afraid my tongue would bleed.
I change the subject instead. We talk about school, about all the things we don’t miss. About the teachers who thought we were stupid. About the boys Savannah didn’t love. About the girls who made fun of us, who called Savannah a slut for the way she dressed, who called me a prude or a dyke for the way I did.
“Fuck everybody,” says Savannah. “I’m glad we got out.”
The sun drops lower. Lee isn’t back yet, which makes me a little nervous. But that’s stupid. I used to see her for only a few hours out of the day. Less than that even, most of the time.
Savannah says she’s getting cold and retreats to the tent. I get up and kick dirt onto the fire until it seems like it’s out, then I hear the sound of the tent unzipping behind me. I turn to see Savannah reemerging. She shoves her hands in her jacket pockets and walks away.
“Where you going?” I ask, thinking I’ll tease her about forgetting her roll of two-ply quilted leaves.
“I’ll be back in a bit,” she says, and there’s something about the way she says it. Like she’s trying too hard to sound casual. My stomach sinks.
I run over and catch hold of her arm so she’s forced to stop, forced to meet my eyes.
“Where are you going?” I ask, trying to keep my voice neutral.
She wrenches her arm away. “You’re not in charge of me, you know.”
“Where the hell are you going, Savannah?” I give up trying to sound calm. My anger is rising. I think I know where she’s going, think on some level I’ve known it all along, though I still hope I’m wrong.
“It’s none of your business.” She turns away, scuffs the toe of her sneaker against some moss.
“It is my business,” I insist. “You’re putting us at risk.”
Savannah snorts.
“It’s not the same for you,” I say, moving around so I’m in front of her, so she has no choice but to look at me. “You can go back. If you get caught, it doesn’t matter.”
“That’s not true.” She looks hurt. “I stole a car.”
“You could blame me for the car. Everyone thinks I’m an insane criminal anyway. I wouldn’t mind.” The corner of her mouth quirks up in a smile when I say that. Encouraged, I go on. Maybe she really doesn’t understand. Maybe I just need to make her see. “You could go back to your life. But if we’re caught we can’t go back to our lives. If they get ahold of Lee, they’ll lock her up. Study her. Try to force her to act normal.”
“Maybe that would be a good thing.”
Savannah barely gets the last word out before I slap her.
I regret it immediately.
“I’m sorry, Savannah,” I say, rubbing my palm, which stings. “I’m so sorry.”
Savannah has her hand to her cheek. There are tears in the corners of her eyes, the moonlight catching on them. I think of Aggie. How she looked after she hit me.
I guess it’s true what they say, about becoming your parents. No matter how hard Aggie tried not to become like Margaret, ultimately there was no avoiding it.
But Aggie isn’t really my mother.
Mama.
Is that who I’ll become? She pushed everyone away. They called her wild because she didn’t act the way she was supposed to, but she was more than wild. She was crazy, I think. And if she really was crazy, then they should have helped her, but nobody did, except Brandon, and he couldn’t give her the kind of help she needed.
Maybe there’s no help for me, either.
“You don’t give a shit about me,” Savannah says. “You didn’t even want me to come. You just needed a car.”
“That’s not true.”
“Of course it’s true. You said it yourself.”
“No.” I reach for her arm, but she flinches, shoves her hands deep in her pockets, walks away fast.
It’s true and it’s not true. I hadn’t planned to bring her with us, and she’s putting us at risk, but the thought of her leaving now makes me want to cry. I need her. Need somebody to talk to, somebody who understands how much I’ve left behind. Without Savannah, I’d fall apart. In a way, I’d be alone. Even with my sister here, I’d be alone.
Mama had Brandon, after all. Savannah can be my Brandon. I run to catch up.
“I’m glad you’re here,” I say, breathless, as I speed walk alongside her. “I really am. I’m sorry I told you not to come. I was just worried you wouldn’t be able to handle it.”
Savannah stops, shoots me a disgusted look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“No, shit, I’m sorry,” I sputter. “That came out wrong. I just meant that it was a lot to ask of you.” I stop, trying to pick the right words. Savannah’s watching me, face set, daring me to say the wrong thing. “I knew it wouldn’t be fun. We’ve got to stay hidden.”
“So?” she says. “I know that. I don’t want to go back, either.”
“You—” I start, and then stop myself. “My sister,” I say instead. “I have to take care of her. I’m all she has. She’s weird, like you say. But it would kill her if the state took her or they sent her to a mental hospital or something. I know it would. You’ve got to understand. I can’t let that happen to her.”
Savannah wipes her eyes with a sleeve. Her expression has softened. She understands, I think.
“Clayton and I agreed to meet up again around ten,” she says.
“Clayton,” I say dully.
“The guy you saw. At the junkyard.”
“You’re going to see him?” I know the answer. I just want to hear her say it.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
She shrugs, as if it’s not a big deal at all.
I can’t help myself. The anger comes washing back over me. “Are you going to fuck him or something?”
Savannah wheels around, marches away through the woods.
“Wait.” I chase after her, fear washing in just as quickly as the anger did. If she hates me she might not come back. “I’m sorry I said that. Just be careful, okay?”
“He’s really nice,” she says, stopping short. “You’d agree if you met him. He’s going to bring me a Big Mac.”
I snort. “How romantic.”
“Shut up,” she says. She’s smiling, though, and I think she doesn’t hate me after all. Maybe this will be okay. Maybe it isn’t a total disaster. Clayton isn’t Jack. Clayton is…well, it doesn’t matter who he is. He doesn’t matter. She’ll get tired of him. Right? She’ll get this out of her system. One final goodbye to her old life. I can’t stop her or I’ll be no better than all the people I ran from.
“Don’t tell him about us,” I say. “Please, promise me, not a word.”
“I promise.”
“You’ll come back?” I almost add to me at the end of the question, but I stop myself.
“Yeah,” she says. “Of course.”
She reaches out, gives my hand a squeeze, and then she turns and walks away into the dark.
* * *
—
I lie awake in the tent for a long time, straining to decipher every little sound outside. Being alone makes everything sound threatening. It makes the ground harder, the air colder. I become aware of how badly I smell, like sweat and dirt, find myself longing for a hot shower, a real bed. I suddenly miss Aggie, her sporadic cooking. I imagine her tapping on the flap of the tent. Time to wake up, Jo. Get your ass out of bed. Time for school. I imagine this so hard that I can almost smell the pancakes cooking in the kitchen. How long ago was that? A week? A year? Forever?
Some Kind of Animal Page 29
