Hand Me Down (30 page)

“Fuck you, you stuck up bitch,” Terrance says calmly, his voice cocky.

“Hey,” I say. Deborah sucks in a gasp. Winston tightens his pocketed grip.

“What a big man you are,” Tammy says, letting me go. “Picking on women.” He struts toward us slowly, like he’s in control. Tammy moves in front of me. “You’re a coward,” she says.

He tsk tsk tsks. “You’re just like Liz,” he says. “Trying to turn my wife against me.” He smirks and runs his tongue under his upper lip. “Didn’t work though, did it?”

Tammy shakes her head. “You’re done hurting my family,” she says, a menace in her voice I’ve never heard before. “I will make sure of that.”

Winston hasn’t taken his eyes off Terrance and now he steps forward, too, his fingers stiff inside his robe pocket. “You need to leave this house,” he says.

Terrance grits his buck teeth and cracks his knuckles. “I’m not leaving without my family.”

Winston draws his shoulders back and puffs up his chest. “Indeed you are.”

“They’re not going with you,” Tammy says.

“I’m not leaving without my son,” Terrance says. “Where is he?”

“You’re not taking him,” I say, shifting my feet toward the stairs.

Terrance looks up to the second-floor landing. “Noah!”

“No more,” Mom says, standing up. She turns on Terrance. “I’m
not doing this again.” I wonder if she means fight with Terrance or if she means trying to save a husband who doesn’t want to be saved at the expense of all of us. Tears are still drying on her face, but her eyes are decided. She says, “Go back to the motel room. I need to think.”

“Not without my boy,” he says. “Daddy’s here!”

Mom says, “He’s sleeping.”

“Please don’t yell,” Deborah says, putting her fingers to her forehead.

Mom says, “Terrance, stop.”

“He’s the only one who hasn’t betrayed me,” Terrance says, progressing forward.

Winston inches around the side of the staircase. He says, “I will call the cops if I have to.”

Terrance is at the bottom of the steps now. “I don’t give a shit about your threats, fatty.”

Mom says, “Do you want to go back to jail?”

“Without you and Noah, I have nothing,” he says.

“You can’t go up there,” I say, almost at the stairs. “I won’t let you hurt him, either.”

Terrance scoffs. “What do you think you can do against me, you little piece of ass?” he says.

Mom gasps. “Terrance!”

“None of you can stop me,” he says, sneering at all of us like a movie demon. He looks at me and his grin widens. “I always win.”

“This is ridiculous,” Tammy says. “I’ll call the police. Where’s the phone?”

“You’ll just scare him,” Mom says, facing Terrance from where she stands near the banister.

“Noah!” Terrance shouts and starts to run.

As he lifts his foot, Mom, Tammy, and I all move toward him. He doesn’t stop even when Mom positions herself in front of him and he knocks her over onto the steps with his momentum. They both make “oh” sounds of surprise as they go down.

I reach for the back of Terrance’s tank top and get ahold of the fabric just as he falls over Mom. The cloth rips but my balance is thrown and I topple onto the bottom stair near their flailing feet. Terrance struggles on top of my writhing, screaming mother and her blue-jeaned calves kick under Terrance’s hairy legs. One of her heels flies off and hits a cabinet in the kitchen with a bang. Deborah says, “Oh, dear Lord.”

Tammy says, “Get off my sister!” and lunges for Terrance. She steps over me and grabs his arm, but he whips his fist behind him without looking. She ducks and shrieks and falls on me.

“Bitch,” Terrance spits. Mom is still screaming. Not words, just throaty wails. Terrance finds his balance and pins Mom to the stairs with one hand. “Stop,” he says, but she keeps shouting and thrashing. “Shut up!” he says and pushes on her shoulders.

Tammy gets back on her feet and tries to pull Terrance off Mom, groaning with the effort. I am trying to sit up, to see Mom’s face, to make sure she’s okay, to understand what’s happening. I’m wondering why Winston hasn’t pulled out his gun when I hear a voice that stabs me in the gut.

Jaime yells, “Stop!” louder than Mom’s howling, louder than
Terrance’s and Tammy’s grunting noises. “Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!” Jaime screams and there is so much raw power in her voice we all freeze and look up.

She stands at the top of the stairs holding a gun.
Oh, shit.
She grips a brown handle in her small white-knuckled fists; a stubby black barrel protrudes four inches past her tightly wrapped fingers. She points the gun at Terrance, her arms fully extended and already wobbling. “Get off my mom,” she says, punctuating each word like a bomb. Her finger is not on the trigger, but the sliver of space could be closed in a fraction of a second.

Terrance lifts his hands slowly, Tammy plops onto the carpet, and Mom rolls onto her stomach, wheezing. Jaime’s nightgown vibrates around her legs and her cheeks quiver, but her eyes are resolute. “Leave them alone,” she says.

“Jaime,” I whisper, my eyes watering. The gun barrel bobs left and right as she looks at me, the dark round hole at the tip jiggling in space. “Jaime, what are you doing?”

Tears stream down her face. “Liz,” she says, and her voice cracks. “I wanted to save you.” She glances at Terrance, who stands on the bottom step with his hands in the air. “From him.” Her arms drop a bit with the weight of the gun and it shifts in her hands as she struggles to keep her aim level. “I heard what you said. I heard what he did to you.” She jerks her arms forward and retrains the barrel at Terrance’s chest. “What he wanted to do to me.”

There are claws in my throat and I fight to keep my voice even. “This isn’t the answer, Jaime,” I say. “He’s not worth it.”

She says, “But he ruined everything! He stole our mom and
made us leave. He hurts women.” Her blue eyes squint at him. “He deserves it.”

“I know he does,” I say, taking a small step forward.

“If he’s gone, he can’t ever hurt you again,” Jaime says, her shoulders starting to twitch. “Or me or Mom or Noah or anyone else.”

“I know,” I say. “But it’s not your job to protect us.” Mom gags and covers her mouth with her hands. I say, “I’m supposed to take care of you, remember?”

Jaime’s whole body shakes now, and I don’t know if she can see through her tears. “I love you too much to let you ruin your life over him,” I say. “So put down the gun, okay?” She’s nodding and crying and the gun trembles with her. “Terrance will leave, and we’ll be fine,” I say. She bows her head and her arms collapse at her side. Faster than I would have thought possible, Winston is up the stairs, jumping over Mom, and taking the gun from Jaime’s limp hand.

I rush toward Jaime and swoop her into my arms on the landing as her knees buckle. “It’s okay,” I say as she folds into me, blubbering. I say, “We’re all okay.” I wrap my body around Jaime’s like a shield as she dissolves into giant heaving sobs, and we sink down onto the tan carpet and cry.

Winston holds the gun he took from Jaime at his side, his other firearm deserted in his pocket. “Terrance,” he says. “I am a crack shot. Do I have to ask you again to get the hell out of my house?”

I close my eyes and hug Jaime’s head to my chest. I hear shoes on tile, rustling clothes, hushed voices, doors opening and closing,
but I tighten my arms around my little sister and she squeezes me back and we press so close together I can’t separate our tears or breaths or hearts and I don’t want to. It’s like we’ve crawled back into each other’s skins, which is exactly where we’re supposed to be. It feels like returning home.

Jaime sleeps next to me
in the dark, her face nestled into the green nylon of her sleeping bag. I lie awake, staring at a starless ceiling and listening to her familiar breathing, deep inhalations through her small nose, a consistent in and out of flowing air. I memorize the rhythm; try to match my breaths to the rise and fall of her lungs. I’ve watched her sleep so many times that even though I can only see the outline of her face, I know her skin and muscles are relaxed, her jaw loose, her hair mussed. When she has a bad dream her face contracts, but if I kiss her forehead, the tension in her body releases. When Jaime smiles in her sleep, I always smile, too.

We’re on the floor of Ashley’s room, using the same squishy sleeping bags we used at Christmas. Dad isn’t here, Terrance has left, and the guns have been locked back in their metal box, but I don’t feel safe yet. As usual, Jaime gets to rest while my brain refuses to take a break from worrying, churning what if scenarios into thick knots inside my head. Tammy and Mom are staying in the flowery guest room, “talking things out,” and I chew my fingernails into ragged stumps for hours while I imagine the decisions they’re making “in my best interest.” I suck the blood that
pools in my shredded cuticles and try to convince myself that Tammy is my biggest ally and won’t let me down.

I blow a kiss at Jaime’s face as I pull my green journal from one of the big pockets in my cargo shorts and stand up. I whisper, “Sweet dreams, little sister,” as I head out to the bathroom.

I sit cross-legged on top of the terry cloth–covered toilet lid and unclip my favorite pen from a small inside pocket of my shorts. I know going back to Tammy’s was my decision, but I still feel like my life isn’t really mine yet.
Mom was right though
, I write.
I am stronger than her
. I fill fifteen pages of my journal with my small, tightly curled green-inked cursive until my fingers and wrist ache and weak purple-blue sunlight starts to filter in through the bathroom window. I write,
You are not your parents,
and promise myself I never will be.

“Liz?” Jaime says, knocking. I uncross my legs and close my book. My knees crack as I move. “What are you doing?” she says as I let her in and shut the door behind her.

“Writing,” I say.

She yawns. “I have to pee.”

“I can get out,” I say. Her sleep-lazy eyelids droop and her skin shines faintly in the low light. I say, “How are you feeling?”

She shrugs. “I think I’m probably in big trouble.”

“Thanks for standing up for me,” I say.

“It was my turn,” she says and my lungs pinch.

Thousands of questions run through my head. I want to ask if she understands the magnitude of her actions, what it felt like to hold the power of Terrance’s life in her hands, if she thought she
could really pull the trigger. As much as I wish Terrance would disappear from our lives, I’m almost certain I couldn’t.

“I’m proud of you,” I say. “That took courage.”

“I wish I could have helped more,” she says, running her fingers through her bangs and showing off her scar.

“You did great,” I say, and smile.

“I’m glad you get to go back to Tammy’s,” she says. She turns to the mirror, checking her chin for blemishes under the surface of her perfect skin. “Now we’ll both be okay.”

I nod. “I think things are better for me there.” I look at her. “And you don’t need me anymore.”

Jaime stops scrutinizing her face. “I’ll always need you, Liz,” she says and my chest constricts like a tiny bird clenched in snake coils. Our ocean-blue eyes lock in the mirror, our faces reflected back like two interpretations of the same portrait. When we were little, people thought we were twins.

Our likeness smears in my sight and Jaime leans over and hugs me, plunks her chin on my shoulder. I lay my face against her head and we anchor our forearms around each other’s backs. We stand on the bathroom floor as the sun rises outside and hold each other, rocking back and forth in the semidark like we’ve done so many times before it feels like habit, like a tradition that may be over.

I kiss the top of her head and let her go. “I will always be here for you,” I say and she rolls her eyes like
of course
. “I love you,” I say.

“I know,” she says. “I love you, too.” She pushes at my shoulders with a stronger force than I remember. “Now get out.”

White clouds glide past the
windows as our plane starts its descent into Utah. The Great Salt Lake is the color of baby-blue spring skies in the gold of the setting sun and in this bird’s eye view it’s ringed by green-and-yellow hillsides with orange-dusted earth peeking through the vegetation like solid sand dunes on a beach of grasses. The plants fade into coffee-with-cream-colored stretches of muddy shorelines against the ancient lake. The mountains are muddled black-brown peaks in the distance, but I can still see their white caps, and I feel sorry for the parts of the rocky summits that never get warm.

Tammy tells me what she and Mom discussed last night at Deborah’s. “I promised not to let you run wild and to more carefully observe your book choices,” she says. “But I wouldn’t promise to take you to church.”

“Thank God,” I say.

“She says you’re harboring uncontrollable rage.” Tammy looks at me, her blue eyes squinted, the skin at the corners wrinkling. “But you look controlled to me.”

I think about the whirlpools in my chest, the storms that grow in my throat. “I might have said some things,” I say, but there is no reason to rehash them. Putting thoughts and events into words in my journal is working I guess. It seems easier for me to look forward.

“Your mom wants you to come back for Christmas,” Tammy says. “She invited both of us.” I try to imagine our traditional Christmas Eve finger-food dinner with all of us together. It’d be a
chance to share stocking finds with Jaime again, to spend time with Mom and Tammy, to start new holiday rituals with Noah.

“Will you come?” I ask and Tammy nods. I say, “What about Terrance?”

“She said she missed you two last year.”

“She’s not going to leave him, is she?” I say. “Even after what happened.”

Tammy purses her lips. “I guess we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” she says, but we both know Mom stayed with my dad for ten years. At least Terrance doesn’t hit her.

“Thanks for letting me come back,” I say.

“I was kind of hoping you would want to,” she says.

“I was worried you would say no.”

“Why would I do that?” she says and hugs me. Her clean lavender scent fills my nose and I collapse into her shoulder and take deep breaths like I’ve been starved of oxygen for months. I close my eyes and tighten my arms. “I missed you,” she says. “The house was too quiet while you were gone.”