The Book of James (33 page)

looked over, surprised to see a body next to mine. Dylan’s hand on mine.

He pulled me on top of him. I straddled him, both of us mov-

ing very slowly together. Both lost in ourselves. What started out soft and slow ended in as much intensity as before. I slid off and lay next to him. Dylan said nothing. My head against his chest, I listened to the rhythm of his beating heart. He smelled like soap 272

ELLEN J. GREEN

and oranges. I felt so comfortable. I could have just stayed like that forever and forgotten everything else.

“Come here,” he said, kissing the side of my head. And he

pulled me even closer.

We woke tangled together. Cool air came in the window. Dylan’s

arm stretched across me. I moved slowly so I wouldn’t wake him.

My shirt was cold and damp and made me grimace when I slipped

it on. I stuffed my bra in my purse. Dylan woke as I was putting

on my jeans.

“Are you running away?” he said. Half of his face was still in

the pillow. I leaned over him.

“No, but I do have to go.” His arm reached out to me. I sat on

the edge of the bed.

“Stay,” he murmured. His hand ran up my arm and pulled me

to him.

“I can’t.” I kissed the side of his face and got up. “I’ll call you later.” He watched wordlessly as I left the room and shut the door behind me.

I ran the six blocks back to Cora’s, taking deep, gulping breaths as I went. Once inside, I turned on the shower, stripped off my

damp clothes, and stepped under the torrent of hot water. I cried deep heaving sobs as the water washed the tears from my face. I

leaned against the tiled wall and cried until my insides were empty.

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ELLEN J. GREEN

My emotions were a tangled mess. Eventual y, because I had no

other choice, I stepped out and dried myself with a towel. The mirror reflected my movements, and I was forced to take a good look

at myself.

My skin was fair and slightly freckled, but it was glowing. I

dropped the towel and inspected my body. I had definitely lost

weight since I’d gotten here. I was thin. The outline of my ribs was just visible; my hip bones were easily located. My stomach was flat, and my breasts, although never huge, seemed smaller and more in

proportion to the rest of my body. Maybe not quite ready to flaunt myself in a thong in Rio de Janeiro anytime soon, but all in al , it wasn’t too bad.

I had always been unsatisfied with how I looked. I wasn’t

pretty enough, I wasn’t thin enough, I wasn’t tall enough. I just wasn’t enough. Period. Strange that in the midst of all this insanity, staring into this mirror, I was more at peace with what I looked

like than I had ever been before. As I bent to pick up my clothes from the floor, I held my shirt up to my nose and caught a whiff of Dylan’s cologne. I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn’t notice Cora standing in the doorway of the bathroom, watching me.

I screamed and fell against the wal , pulling the towel around

me. Her eyes held both anger and cold, icy amusement at the same

time. Her arms were folded in front of her, her face twisted into an expression I hadn’t seen before and couldn’t read. She blocked the bathroom door with her body, and for the first time since coming

here I was truly afraid, scared for my physical safety.

“Where were you last night?” The words were flat, command-

ing. I leaned against the tiled wall and clutched at the towel with both hands.

“My friend’s in the hospital. She was hit by a car, run down in

the street.” It didn’t answer the question, but it’s what came out of my mouth. My lips trembled a little.

“So you were at the hospital? All night?”

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“She’s not in great shape. They’re watching her for signs of

brain swelling.”

“Such a good friend.” Her voice was edged with sarcasm. She

moved from the bathroom door back into the bedroom. “I came

looking for you last night, but you weren’t here. Then I saw you

running across the yard a little while ago. I thought something was wrong.”

“Something is wrong. My friend, who I’ve known my whole

life, was hit by a car.” I clambered careful y to my feet. The bathroom was a cage, and I instinctively repositioned myself in the living room, edging toward the French doors.

“And you love this friend that much?” she asked.

“Of course I do. We’re like sisters.”

“Ah. Like sisters. And it’s very painful to see her hurt?” I only nodded. “Then imagine if she were dead.”

I felt a lump in my throat. Cora stepped toward me. “And then

multiply that by a hundred.”

“What are you saying?” Tears filled the corners of my eyes.

Cora’s face was right in mine.

“That’s what you should be feeling for Nick.” Her eyes flashed

hard and livid. “Multiply it by a thousand, and that’s how I feel about losing my son.” I flinched, preparing to be hit, but it didn’t happen. Instead, Cora’s voice softened with a mixture of disgust

and shame. “Get dressed. It probably wasn’t right for me to barge in like this.”

She almost sprinted from the room. I held on to the wall to

steady myself. It took me almost a full half hour to calm down

enough to get dressed. Cora was slowly losing control. She wasn’t exactly psychotic or delusional, but her grasp on reality was slipping. Her emotions were unstable, unpredictable, paranoid.

And underneath it all a seething, stewing anger. A very dan-

gerous combination.

Samantha’s eyes were closed. Her broken leg was propped up on a

pillow. The IV was out, and she looked better. I sat down near her bed and took her hand. Cora’s words resonated through my mind.

What if Samantha had died
, she’d asked. I couldn’t even imagine it. The memory of Cora’s face as she said those words sent a chill through me. Pure anger and hatred. Toward me. A few more days

and I’d be out of there. Just a few more things I needed to do, and it would be over.

Samantha opened her eyes. Just a little. Enough for me to see

the gray-blue peeking through her lashes.

I smiled and squeezed her fingers. “Hey.”

“Mackenzie,” she mumbled. I stood and poured water into the

plastic cup and dropped in a straw. I raised it to her lips.

“Drink,” I said. She took a couple of sips. “You’re looking

better.”

“It must be my accessories.” Her fingers reached for the ban-

dage on her cheek.

“It’s going to be fine. Trust me. Hardly a scar.”

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“Liar.” Her eyes blinked a few times and then closed. “Not that

I’m shallow or anything, but it’s going to be bad.”

“How do you know?” I asked.

“The nurse changed my bandage this morning. It looks like a

huge, zigzagged, swollen caterpil ar across my face. She told me

the wound was pretty deep. I must have sliced it against the pavement when I fel , but I don’t remember.”

“Do you remember any of what happened?”

“The police were here earlier asking the same thing. I left the

house to walk to the little minimart up the street. The Wawa. I was walking past that old fire station when it happened.”

I leaned in toward her. “What did you need at the store? You

were on your way to bed when I left.”

She looked embarrassed. “Cigarettes.” She looked up at me.

“Don’t look at me that way. I hadn’t had any in three days. I was sitting out in the back on the glider and I had the urge for one. I was just going to have
one
. So I walked up the street a little ways and then started to cross.”

“Did you see the car?”

“Only the headlights. It came out of nowhere. I didn’t even

have time to move.”

“Do you remember anyone getting out of the car? Coming up

to you?” I asked. She shook her head.

“Those letters I gave you? Were they still in your purse?”

She frowned. “Yeah. I was going to give them back to you.

Why?”

“They’re gone.”

“How?”

I shrugged. “That’s the question. But I’m glad you’re okay. I

was so worried.” I chewed my lip. “I was here when you were in

the ER. And I came back the next day. They kept telling me that

you were stable, but I didn’t believe them. I don’t know what would have happened if . . .”

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In her eyes I could see all the feelings she had for me. “Nothing happened to me. I just have a little more character now.” She

touched her face again.

“Samantha, we can go to a plastic surgeon when you’re all

healed. We’ll find the best surgeon on the East Coast. I promise.

You’re not even going to see the teeniest scar when they’re done.”

She looked up with tears in her eyes. “Promise?”

“I promise. If it takes every penny I have.” I wasn’t going to

tell her she should be thankful she was alive, and what was a little scar anyway, because I knew it was going to be bad. This had all

happened because of me, and I wasn’t going to rest until I fixed it.

She had to keep cleaning. Clean and read the Bible. Those were the only things that would help her now.

The water was so hot Cora thought her skin might melt off her

bones. The hotter, the better. Her mind ached. She scrubbed the

kitchen floor again on her hands and knees, then stood to pour

more hot water from the kettle into the bucket.

Over and over, she replayed the scene in Mackenzie’s room.

The girl, standing in a towel, confident, defiant, arrogant. Cora had wanted to grab a handful of her hair and rip it straight from the roots, but the girl had the upper hand right now. Information.

Control over Nick’s body. That was that rational voice that had

seeped in at the last moment and prevented Cora from punishing

her for being with that McBride boy, for forgetting Nick.

In frustration, she kicked the pail with her foot. Soapy water

spilled around over the floor. Steam rose into the air.

She caught the flash out of the foggy corner of her eye. The two

boys scampering near the clearing of the woods. Nick led the way, a stick in hand, swatting at the brush in his path. James followed behind, his uncertain gait making him topple every few steps. Nick 280

ELLEN J. GREEN

turned to say something to him. She could see the smile on his

face. Cora’s mouth settled in a thin line. Nick was defying her, and such defiance had to be controlled, measured, or at least concealed.

She marched outside to the clearing, but they were no longer there.

She could hear sounds of laughter coming from the woods.

Nick was sitting on the ground, James kneeling next to him.

They were lining up small stones and pretending it was an army.

Nick was telling James all about the Union army, about the uni-

forms. About how their great-great-grandfather had hid slaves in

the tunnels.

Cora came upon them silently and grabbed Nick’s hair, yank-

ing him to his feet. He cried out. James cowered and put his head to the ground, covering it with his arms.

“Did I not tell you that I don’t want you playing with him?”

She released Nick’s hair.

“He was sitting in the kitchen. Mary left him and he wanted to

play. I’m sorry.”

Cora smacked him across the face. He started to cry. “You

defied me. I don’t want the two of you together. I don’t want you anywhere near him.” She looked at the small boy, still folded into the ground, shielding himself. “Your grandfather can’t protect you anymore.”

She leaned over James, hooking her arm around his neck

and pulling him up. She had him in a choke hold; he struggled to

breathe. “You know better than to go anywhere near Nick. Don’t

you? Don’t you?” Her eyes searched the ground for a branch, a

large stick, anything to hit the child with, to release some of the rage in her gut.

Nick had backed up against a tree, watching. He blinked sev-

eral times, trying not to cry again. Cora stared at him. If she saw even a hint of a tear at what she was going to do to his brother, they would both suffer equal y.

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“You are making me do this, Nick. I would rather he”—she

shook James slightly—“didn’t exist, but you’re forcing me to do this because you didn’t listen. What did I tell you?”

Nick covered his eyes. “I know.”

“I told you never to look at him. Never to talk to him. And

never, ever to play with him.” She squeezed her arm tighter around James’s neck.

“Mother, no.” He put his hands down. “I won’t do it again. I

just saw him sitting there. I won’t do it again. Please?”

She took a step toward him, forcing James to step with her.

“Please what, Nick? Please what? Don’t hit him? Don’t make him

suffer? Does that bother you? Even though he’s brought me noth-

ing but suffering. The fact that he’s alive makes me suffer. Don’t you care about that?”

Nick shook his head. “It doesn’t bother me that you hurt him,

Mother.”

“Real y? Then I want you to stay here and watch. See what I

do.” She released James; he fell to the ground and grabbed at his throat. “Don’t move. Either of you.”

She walked a few feet into the woods and ripped a slim, sup-

ple branch from a young tree, then removed all the leaves. She

whipped the branch and heard it crack when it hit the ground.

“Take his clothes off.” Nick’s face twisted. “Take his clothes off,”

she repeated.

“Mother, I won’t have anything to do with him again.”

She reached for Nick’s arm and pulled him toward her. “So it