Hand Me Down (5 page)

Terrance beams. “We’re going to start a band,” he says when the song is over.

“Won’t you be a little old?” I say.

“I’m not old,” he says.

“You’re right,” I say. “You are younger than some people in the car.”

“I’m not old,” Terrance says. “I’m in my mid-twenties.”

“See,” I say. “That’s younger than late thirties.”

Mom says without moving her lips, “I’d like to have a talk with you, Elizabeth.” She looks at me in the rearview mirror, eyes squinted like she’s trying to see through me out the window. I don’t know why I baited her. Noah pulls my hair and puts it in his mouth. Mom says to me, “How about we have lunch?”

“McDonald’s,” Noah says, blond strands sticking to his tongue.

Mom stops at a red light and turns around to look at me, her
green eyes like a cat before she springs. “Just the two of us,” she says.

A few days later Terrance
calls while everyone else is at school or work and says Mom wants to have lunch with me. “She felt bad about your last talk,” he says.

“Why didn’t she call me herself?”

“She’s busy and I offered,” he says. “I want my girls to get along.”

Mom’s blue Ford shows up in front of Gary and Carol’s house right on time, but as I walk across the yard, I see dark hair above the headrest and brown hands on the wheel.

I open the door. “Where’s Mom?” I say as Metallica screams from the speakers.

The smile on Terrance’s face falls. “She had a last-minute meeting. She thought we might want to spend some time together instead.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Not even to a bar?”

“Why would I want to go to a bar?”

He narrows his eyes. “Well if you’re not interested in adult entertainment,” he says, “then maybe I’ll see if Jaime’s up for a little fun.”

He takes me to a dive bar about a mile from Gary’s. It has a gravel parking lot and its weathered wooden-planked walls make up the only building in a wide field of weeds and garbage and dust. Terrance opens the solid door for me and before my eyes can adjust to the darkness, he grabs my hand and skips to a booth in
the back. He tries to pull me in next to him but I shake out of his grip and sit on the opposite bench.

“I recommend the sausage plate,” he says. “Nice and juicy.” He nods at the bartender, a dyed redhead wearing a leather biker vest over a ragged-edged tank top that showcases the red lace top of her bra. Her arms are colorfully tattooed and as she struts toward us, I see her belly button is pierced with a silver hoop.

“What’ll it be, sweets?” she says to Terrance, leaning over the table so her boobs are about three inches from his face. He doesn’t bother hiding his enjoyment.

“Two brat plates,” he says, slipping a twenty down into the bottom of her jean shorts pocket.

She jerks a thumb at me. “A little younger than usual.”

Terrance says, “Is that a problem?”

“Does he come here a lot?” I say. “With different women?” She ignores me, but the answer is obvious. Mom is so stupid.

“Not if you make it up to me,” the waitress says and I don’t know if she means sex or money. She bends forward far enough that I can see her butt cheeks and whispers something in Terrance’s ear. He sighs openmouthed and breathy, almost a moan, a sound I recognize from his late-night bed-rocking sessions with Mom. Redhead spins on her heels and returns to the bar.

“Did you sleep with her?” I say.

Terrance rests his head against the seat back and leaves his mouth half-open. “Cody told me about your night playing darts,” he says.

“Do you cheat on Mom a lot?” I say.

He says, “I love your mom very much.” He shrugs. “Cody’s a
friend of mine, you know,” he says. “He said you were mighty frisky that night. Drinking. Flirting.”

“So you’ll tell Mom about my drinking if I tell her you’re having sex with slutty bartenders?”

“Cody wanted to hang out again sometime, but I told him you were off-limits.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Are you sure about that?” he says. “
I
would never hurt you, Liz. You’re family.”

My breath catches. “Is Cody a sex offender, too?”

Terrance nods. “The best of us are so unsuspicious.” He smiles.

Cody hugged me, held my hand, put his arm around my shoulders. And he’s like Terrance. I say, “You guys should have to wear a scarlet letter.” I think I might vomit.

The waitress plops down our food and a Budweiser. Wilted lettuce sits under three fat, pale hot dogs and a pickle spear. My already churning stomach spasms. “Two brat plates,” she says. She winks at Terrance and I think of all the times he’s done the same to me. “You know how I like warm sausage,” she says and leaves.

Terrance grabs a fork from a plastic 7 Eleven Big Gulp cup. He squirts spicy mustard onto his plate. “How’s school?” he says. I stare at him. “How’s Rachel?”

My nostrils flare but I keep my voice even. “What do you know about Rachel?”

“I take an interest in my girls’ lives,” he says, licking mustard off his fingertips. “But I don’t know if you have a boyfriend.”

“And you don’t need to.”

“Maybe I want to get to know my stepdaughter.” He dips his
sausage in mustard and bites a chunk off the end with his chipmunk teeth.

“I thought we weren’t supposed to be alone together.”

He sighs and puts down his fork. “I know,” he says. He lays his forearms flat on the table, reaching for me, but I’m too far away for him to make contact. “It sucks.”

Sweat prickles under my skin, spreading from my palms and armpits. “What if I called your parole officer right now?”

“Good luck!” He laughs. “Kayla over there knows the drill.” He sucks juice off the end of his pickle spear. “She’s supervising.” He nods at red-haired Kayla who’s drying shot glasses. “So,” Terrance says, leaning back. “Talk to me. Have you made out? Been felt up? Do you like it?”

I pull my feet up onto the booth, hug my knees to my chest like I can block his voice with my shins. He says, “Sex is awesome, but there are consequences. You should wait until you’re ready, and you should tell someone if you’re being pressured.” He eats the flesh of the pickle and leaves the dark green skin on his plate. “You can tell me anything, Liz,” he says. “I’m practically your dad.”

I would prefer to be here with my father, watering down his drinks and hiding his keys. At least I have tools for that scenario. Terrance lowers his voice. “You’re still a virgin, right?” He chuckles to himself. “Of course you are.” He raises one eyebrow and presses his lips in on each other. “I lost my virginity when I was your age.” He wriggles both hands into the pockets of his shorts and leaves them there. He says, “Do you think you might try it soon?”

His words are like worms, thousands of them, slithering across my skin, tangling in my gut, filling my mouth. I need to take a
shower. I can walk to Gary’s from here. I can call Mom. I can call his parole officer or the police. Terrance leers at me while I somersault through my options, try to swallow the writhing mass of slime and find my voice. “You’re disgusting,” I say. “I can’t believe Mom lets you touch her.”

“She loves when I touch her,” he says, tilting his head so his neck cracks. “Most women do.”

“I’m out of here,” I say, sliding out of the booth.

Terrance pouts. “But we just got here.”

Faster than I expect, he swings his body into mine before I can stand up. He pushes in next to me and I’m forced to backpedal across the cracked leather bench to the wall. He sits and rotates his chest to face me, lifting his leg to rest it on the seat. He glares at me with eyes focused like a stalking lion. He smiles with just the right side of his mouth. “We haven’t had any fun yet.”

I am suddenly scared. I know what Terrance is capable of. I know public places are his hunting ground. I know he likes to put on a show and usually doesn’t harm his victims, but I also know one of his assaults put a woman in the hospital. And there are probably a dozen attacks for every time he got caught.

“You think I won’t tell Mom about this?”

“You think she would believe you? All I have to do is kiss her and”—he raises his hands to fondle the air—“she says yes to anything,” he says. He scoots closer. “It’s like I’m magic.” He inhales deeply near my neck and I try to recoil, but I’m already flush with the wall and my bones won’t compress any further. “You smell amazing,” he says, nudging my hair with his nose. He smells like musk and rubbing alcohol.

His wet lips touch my ear as he says, “You’re beautiful, Liz.” I clench my eyes shut and wish I could melt into the wallpaper, become the grime that’s dirtying my shirt, the tacky food-and-dust-and-booze mix that’s mostly unnoticed in these dark booths where things are meant to go unnoticed, except I feel the goop sticking to my bare arms and my hair as I pretend Terrance’s body is not hovering one inch from the length of mine. “Like a sexier, younger version of your mother,” he says and his breath reeks of pork. “Just like Jaime will be,” he says.

I tense and he’s close enough to feel the contraction of my every muscle. He laughs and I wish my Achilles’ heel wasn’t so easy to spot. “Why are you doing this?” I whisper.

I sense his hands drifting over my waist, my thighs, close enough that I feel their heat but not their weight. I think of Jaime trying to get my attention, waving her hands a centimeter from my face and chanting, “I’m not touching you.” I want to cry but I’m aware he’s testing me, measuring my resistance, how much I’ll do to keep Jaime from moments like this.

I feel the wind from his moving lips on my mouth as he says, “Because I can.” He laughs and exits my personal space. “And I like to win.”

I inhale and open my eyes. I peel myself away from the wall, shoulders slumping. “Mom never wanted to have lunch with me,” I say and it’s like a bee sting on burned skin.

“Your mom always talks about how smart you are,” he says, sipping his beer.

I say, “What do you want?”

“Just to spend time with you, Liz.” He pulls his plate closer and takes a bite of his sausage. He’s smug as he wipes mustard off his chin. “Are you ready to have a nice family meal now?”

I take a deep breath and nod. “Good,” he says.

Mom calls later and she sounds happy. “I’m so proud of you,” she says. “Terrance said the two of you went to lunch today to try to make peace and foster a better environment for our future as a family.”

“Uhh.”

“He said you had a really nice talk. That you agreed to make less of a fuss, and let us have this time to restore our relationship.” I shake my head, impressed by Terrance’s strategy. “I really appreciate it,” she says, sounding genuine. “I wanted to call and thank you for being so willing.”

If she hadn’t chosen this monster of a man over me, I might feel bad that he’s sleeping with who knows how many skanks like Kayla. I want to crush her with the news but I know Terrance is right. She would never believe it if it came from me. “Sure,” I say, glad she can’t see the tightness in my jaw, the rigid line of my lips.

Mom says, “I know how hard that must have been for you and it’s that kind of sacrifice that’s going to make it easier for you to come home.”

My heart shrivels. “I really want us to come home,” I say quietly.

“I know,” Mom says. She hesitates. “Was it…did he…” she stammers, and it’s not like her. “Did you have an okay time?” she says and there’s a hint of worry in her voice that makes me consider telling her the truth.
It was one of the worst afternoons of my
life.
She twitters her nervous laugh. “I mean, not that there’s any reason for you not to.”

I say what she expects to hear. “It was fine.”

Gary is the manager of
the parts department at a car dealership and works until six on weeknights. He came home early once while I was watching
What’s Eating Gilbert Grape
. That was right after I’d moved in, when cheesy Lifetime specials and Kodak commercials made me cry for hours, but that scene where Gilbert and his siblings stand thigh-deep in a field of waving grass and watch their dead mother burn up with their house ripped sounds from my throat I didn’t know I could make. My face was soaked and my swollen eyes reduced my sight to slits, but I could see Gary’s face when he saw me breathing in shallow gasps, red-faced but trying to calm down, and he was ashamed.

He didn’t say anything, but when he sat down next to me on the beige couch with his usual Jack and Coke, he handed me a glass as well. I didn’t look over at his beer gut or his round dark cheeks as I sipped my drink. The fire in my belly eased the flames in my head, and I tried to take deep breaths. When the credits rolled across Gary’s big-screen television, he leaned forward, picked up the remote from the coffee table, and cleared his throat.

“You know, Liz,” he said and dropped his head into his hands. His gold wedding band forced the surrounding skin to puff out around his finger. His nails were dark black under the tips. “I know my brother is a fuckup,” he said, looking at the beige carpet. “I know this has got to be hard for you.” He glanced at me and I was
glad that aside from the coloring, he didn’t look like Terrance. “You don’t expect to have a flasher in the family, but…” Gary kind of laughed. He ran his black-tipped and calloused hands through his dark hair. “I just want you to know you have a home here,” he said, and I think he meant it.

So when Mom tells me that Gary and Carol have decided to have a baby and that I am ruining their mojo—though that’s not what she says exactly—I understand why Gary didn’t tell me himself. This was supposed to be temporary.

I’ve been given until January
to decide if I want to live with Dad or move in with Mom’s sister, Tammy, in Utah. Mom thought it would be a good idea to spend Christmas with Dad to help my “decision-making process.” The woman whose worst threats used to include sending me off to stay with him was now saying things like, “It will be good for you to spend more time with your father.” As if I really need a weekend with Dad and Crystal to understand how impossible it would be for me to survive in their two-bedroom trailer. What I need to decide is how well Jaime will survive without me.