All We Left Behind (13 page)

Straw poked my legs, and I didn't know what to do after, so I said—

“I love you.”

Madeline laughed.

“Gawd!” she said, pulling that tight shirt over her breasts. “Don't tell a girl you love her unless you mean it.”

I looked away and grabbed my jeans to cover myself.

“It's just sex, Kurt.” She leaned over and kissed me, hot and wet. My hands touched her through her shirt, and she pressed into me and moaned. I thought we were about to have a second round, but she rolled off me and pulled up her pants.

“Trust me, you'll get better,” she said, before leaving the barn. “I'll tell your sister it was awesome.”

I shifted away from her and pulled off the condom. I didn't want her to tell my sister anything. I clawed through the straw and shoved the condom under it, not sure what else I was supposed to do with it, then I put on my clothes.

I went back to the party and found Madeline by the keg. She was laughing with her friends and one of the seniors from my team. I came up next to her, not sure if I should put my arm around her or play it cool, but she didn't look at me. I touched her elbow and she pulled away, dropping herself
into the senior's arms and pressing her tits against him.

I went into the house to look for that bottle of vodka my sister had given me. Most of it was gone when I found it, but I spent the rest of the night nursing it anyway.

Later when Josie was driving us home, I asked her about Madeline, if she'd said anything about me.

“No,” Josie said, looking at me funny. “Why?”

“No reason,” I lied.

“Oh my God!” She laughed. “You totally have a crush on Madeline!”

“No, I don't.”

“You do! God, you'd better get over that quick, because Madds is totally in love with Jackson. And you're cute, little brother, but trust me, you haven't got a chance.”

“I don't want a chance. I don't care.”

“Good.” Josie eyed me before reaching over and pinching my elbow. It was a weird big-sister thing, that pinch, like she knew I was lying but it was okay. “It's for the best. She'll break your heart anyway.”

I shrugged and looked out the window. So Madeline didn't want me to love her. Fine. She didn't want me to be her boyfriend or even her date. She just wanted to screw me and that to be the end of it.

And oddly, I was okay with that.

After school I head into
my kitchen and dig through a stack of papers by the phone. I find the paper I'm looking for near the bottom, yellowed with coffee stains. It's the phone tree from elementary school. Printed at the top, under “A,” is Conner Aimes. I enter his number into my cell, go upstairs, and lock my door.

I pace through my room, holding the note Conner gave me. This number is from elementary school. It probably doesn't even work anymore. But I still click open the number and hit send.

“Hello?” a gruff voice barks on the other end.

“Um, yes. Hello.” I swallow. “Could I please speak to Conner Aimes?”

There's a silence and I'm sure I've got the wrong number.

“You don't have his cell?” the voice asks, and I sit up.

“Um, no, sir. I—”

“Let me give it to you. Do you have a pen?”

“Of course, yes.” I scramble for the first thing I can find, because he's already reciting numbers.

“You got that?”

“Yes, sir. Thank—”

“Don't call this number again, use his cell.”

“Of course not—”

But he's already hung up.

My heart pounds as I stare at the number, certain I shouldn't even bother with the second call. But I type it into my phone anyway and hit send.

“Who's this?”

For a second I think I've hit redial because Conner's voice sounds just like his dad's.

“Um—” I stand up and start to pace. “Conner, hi. This is Marion.”

Silence.

“Marion Taylor,” I repeat, pressing the paper note he gave me under my fingernail.

“How did you get this number?”

I stop by the window and play with the latch, realizing how dumb this is going to sound. “Your dad.”

“My what?”

“At least I think he was your dad,” I say, backpedaling. “I called the number on a phone tree from like fourth grade. Is that—”

Conner starts to laugh and I shut up. “Marion, you are something else.”

I bite my lip, not sure how to take that.

“So, how can I help you?” he asks.

I latch and unlatch the window.

“Um, well, I was calling about this thing on Saturday.”

“Okay.”

“Yeah, so . . . what is it?”

Conner laughs again. “It's—” He pauses, clearly amused. “Look, it just means you're
in
. Don't sweat it.”

“In for what?”

“In for nothing. Just
in
.”

“What does—?”

“It's a
party
.”

I want to hang up the phone. Of course it's a party. What else would it be?

“Right,” I say, releasing the latch. It snaps back violently, stabbing my thumb.

“Look.” Conner pauses, and I put the bruised finger in my mouth. “Just come, all right?” His voice is kind, almost genuine. “Just come.”

He hangs up before I have a chance to ask about Kurt and find out if he put him up to this. I consider inviting Lilith to the party, not sure if that would be okay. It probably is, but the thought of Lilith being there feels wrong. I don't want her in my head. I don't want the advice and the sideways glances, like she's all grown up and not sure why we're still friends.

A knock clicks lightly against my door.

“Marion?” It's Dad, only his voice is soft and uncomfortable, like he isn't sure he's allowed to knock.

“Yeah?” I say, hiding my phone under my pillow, along with the paper Conner gave me.

There's a pause and then he tries the knob, but it jangles and thuds. Locked. There's an awkward pause before he tries the knob again, twisting the metal back and forth like he wasn't sure he did it correctly the first time. I started locking that door after the barbecue, not sure what I was trying to keep out or in. It didn't erase the memory of belt buckles against my chin.

“Are you okay in there?” he asks, but the question sounds more like an apology for knocking and I'm sick of him always tiptoeing around me. I swing open the door, with my throbbing finger pressed to my lip.

“What's up?”

He squints at my hand but doesn't ask. He never asks. Instead he peeks over my head like he's looking to see if someone else is in the room with me. I lean against the door so it opens.

“Just me,” I say indignantly, the room in view. It's a joke, but his eyebrows arch.

“Should I be worried about that?” he asks, his eyes focused deliberately on me, and not on what might be in my room.

I almost say yes, to see how he'll react. God, what would he do if there
was
a boy in this room? Would he see me then?

“I trust you,” he says, his voice serious, and cold reeds through me. I hate it when he says that, like it's all up to me. Did he say the same thing to my mother, before she left with that lawyer guy? Did he
trust
her? Shut the door? Refuse to see?

“I know,” I say quietly, pushing the door open completely, so he
can
look if he wants to.

“You're a good kid,” he says, stepping back and pulling off his glasses. He cleans them on the front of his shirt and looks to the kitchen. “Do you want pizza?”

Hot, sticky pizza sliding down my throat? No, not really.

“Sure,” I say, slipping past him and heading for the kitchen. I'll pick off the cheese.

I leave my door open behind me in case he wants to look and see if anyone's there. I secretly hope he
will
look. But when I glance back, he pulls the door shut.

*  *  *

A week after the Fourth of July barbecue, Dad came into my bedroom without knocking.

I didn't have a lock then.

My hair was gone, cut off and thrown in the Dumpster, and there were crumpled tissues littering the floor. The pink wastebasket next to my bed didn't smell pink anymore and my whole body ached from puking. I couldn't get rid of the taste of meat and muddy water under my tongue.

Dad's weight sank into the mattress as he sat next to me, and I pulled my vomit-stained comforter up to my chin.
Slats of sunlight peeked in through the blinds, and my broken flip-flop lay on the carpet. The thong between the toes torn free from the rubber.

“Lilith's been calling,” Dad said, pressing a hand against my forehead to check for a fever. “She wants to know if you want to go to the beach.”

I closed my eyes and felt the warmth of his hand. I didn't want to go anywhere.

“You don't have a temperature,” he said. “You should call her back.”

“I—”

“Nope,” he interrupted, removing his hand from my cheek. “I know you're embarrassed you cut your hair off, but it's time to stop pretending you're sick.”

“But—” I pointed to the pink belly of my trash can.

“No buts.” He stood up and took the end of my comforter. “This needs to be washed.”

He swept away the fabric in one quick motion and air flooded me.

“Lunch is in the kitchen,” he said, crumpling the blanket into a ball and heading for the door. “I expect you to join me in ten minutes.”

Something caught his foot. He looked down and a yellow clump of fabric was wrapped against his shoe. My skirt. The one with embroidered daisies along the hem. Drenched daisies that dipped in and—

Rose hips caught in my throat.

Did he recognize it? It was the same yellow fabric that had stuck to my legs. Flip-flop broken. Meat wrapped in foil.

He clutched the puffy-white comforter in his hand, the fabric pillowing through his fingers like dough.

“Ten minutes,” he repeated, shaking the yellow fabric off his shoe. “You're not sick and this is the last I want to hear of it.”

He kicked the yellow skirt under the bed, into the dark, and after that day he never once barged into my room again. In my mind I could see that man at the barbecue smiling, with my kiss hidden under his tongue—

Where no one could see it.

It's dark when I drop
Vanessa off at her house and drive home. I pull up to find Dad's truck parked diagonally across the driveway. I park by the curb and think about the unemployment form I saw sitting on the counter this morning. It answers the big question. The fact that his truck's moved means at least he got off the couch.

On the front step, I pull out my keys, but my practice bag hits the door and it inches open. Unlocked.

That isn't like Dad. That's a Mom thing to do. I cringe at his carelessness and wonder how long this unemployment bullshit is going to last. How I'm going to put up with sharing this place with him.

“Get off me!” a woman's voice shrieks from inside the house, and my stomach drops. “Get your fucking hands off me!”

I drop my keys and I throw open the door. Voices argue, but everything's dark, and I can't tell where the voices come from. There's a rushing sound, like the shower is on, or a
pipe's busted. A dim light glows down the hall and a scream pounds my stomach to my throat.

I run toward the light, shadows slashing against the wall.

“Come on! You have to—”

It's Dad's voice.

But the woman shrieks and drowns him out. The noise is feral, like an animal. And then there's a
crash!

I speed forward.

“Dad?” The word shoots out of me like vomit and the yelling stops.

“KURT!!!”

Her
voice curdles the silence.
Josie's
voice—tearing through me like a thousand razors.

She can't—

This can't—

It's not possible.

But what I see through the door frame tells me different.

The bathroom mirror is smashed. The shower head roars and beneath it is my sister. Hunched over. Fully clothed. Wet.

Behind her is my father, clutching her wrists, holding her under the water with all his weight. He's fully clothed too, and it almost looks like he's hugging her. Almost.

I don't move. Not sure what to make of this.

Josie's black eyes glare at me, mascara streaking her cheeks, and when I don't come to her rescue she starts to buck against my father. She screams, trying to dislodge him, and that animal noise—
it's her
.

“Help me!” my dad hisses. “She's detoxing, Kurt! Get over here and help me hold her down.”

Josie's hand slips from his grip and she claws at his face. “I hate you,” she screams. “I fucking hate you! I hate
both
of you!”

Her palm smacks his nose and red smears over Dad's cheek.

I'm moving now.

Josie swings at me, but I wrap myself around her, pushing down with all my might. Dad does the same. I'm half in the tub and half out when she screams. Bites my ear.

Hot pain flashes through me.

White pain.

“Jesus fuck!” I stumble, but I don't let go.

Water thrashes. Pounds over us. It floods the floor and the tile and the hall. We don't stop. We squeeze tight and hold. Hold all that we have.

*  *  *

The lights are off in the hallway. Dad's in the bathroom mopping up the water from holding Josie down, and I'm on the floor, sitting across from Josie's room.

The screaming has stopped. Even after we got her to calm down in the shower, she started again. Made sounds behind that door like there were bugs hatching out of her skin. Sounds I won't ever forget.

Light creeps up the hall and Dad steps out of the bathroom, two bloodstained tissues hanging from his nostrils.
I'm surprised he isn't holding a cigarette. I consider getting him one, but I don't dare leave this door. He glances at me from the door frame and I can't tell if he's angry or sad. Mostly he looks tired.