Authors: Cynthia Tottleben
Brandy snuck into my room after Mom left for work. We both listened for the crunch of tires on gravel before so much as breathing.
“Hey. You okay?” My older sister asked.
“I can barely open my eyes.” I held out my hand and Brandy grasped it.
After Mom had finally gone to bed, Brandy had been the one to take care of me. We both imagined that our parent instinctively knew this would happen and let nature play its course, for she never chastised my sister. But then again, Brandy rarely got in trouble for anything.
“You really took a whuppin’ this time. I’m sorry, sweetie.”
Brandy crawled into my bed, pushed my hair up and over the pillow. I felt a rush of relief as she spooned around me, pressed her face into the back of my neck. It amazed me how she always made me feel protected, loved.
“I think she’s getting worse,” I told my sister. “You should’ve seen the look on her face. It’s like she’s an entirely different person.”
“I know. I could hear her muttering all night. I swear it sounded like she was fighting with Dad. She said his name enough times.”
Chills raced up my back.
“What are we going to do?” I relied on Brandy to make the big decisions. She was smarter than me, had experienced a lot more. “What if she goes completely crazy?”
“You mean she’s not already?” Brandy giggled and tried to lighten the mood.
“I’m serious.”
“So am I, Luce. So am I.”
* * *
“I don’t want you to go to school,” Mom said flatly, sipping her coffee while I finished my oatmeal.
“But Mom, it’s the first day. I can’t miss that.” I knew my bruises would set off a few alarms with my teachers, but I had prepared a story about having a bike accident and running into a tree. With my face.
“No, you’re right. If you miss the first day you might as well skip out on the whole year.” Her lips left the mug, and I could see Brandy relax a bit when Mom chuckled. “I’ll tell them you moved in with your dad.”
“What?” Brandy and I asked as one. We looked at each other, then back to Mom.
“But don’t think for a minute that I’m going to let you off that easy. While I’m working I expect you to clean the kitchen, top to bottom. The oven, the cabinets. Even the walls. You know how to use the oil soap.” Mom set her coffee back on the table.
“Are you serious?” Brandy spat with disrespect and then physically retreated. I took note of how she moved back in her chair as fragile as a secret, as if she immediately regretted her bold question.
“Lucy is perfectly capable of washing the walls. Do you think I’d just let her stay home from school all day and read?”
“No, Ma’am.” Brandy stepped back into formalities. “What would you like me to tell people at school?”
“I’ve already called them. Say just what I did. Lucy has officially moved in with her father. That’s why she quit the swim team. Because she no longer lives with us.” Mom flexed the morning paper, folded it open to the business section.
I sat still as a bird. Transfixed. Transparent.
Silently I glanced at Brandy, pleaded with my eyes. Neither of us had anticipated this.
“But, Mom?” Brandy dared ask. “Everyone knows Dad is dead.”
Mom continued reading for a moment, unbothered.
“Whoever said the two of you have the same father?”
The second the car scooted down the drive, I grabbed the sponge and started cleaning. I knew Mom’s expectations.
I also knew I could never meet them.
* * *
“Keep away from the windows. You know Mom’ll freak if people see you!” Brandy warned.
I had served my first week under house arrest and was aching for fresh air. In my new regime I was only allowed to open the door in the blackest of night, and in no other situation, not even an emergency like a house fire or gas leak, but with all the inside lights off and nothing to help me see outside. Mom let me walk Tippy around our five acres in the pitch dark and only on the backside of the house, away from the road. Once I moved from under the cover of our magnolia, I was in forbidden territory.
She never had to spell out the consequences if I did not follow her directions. Misbehavior was not an option.
“Brandy, when you look outside what do you see?”
“Corn.”
“Row after row of it. No roads, no other houses. Just corn. No one will see me, not even the Hanleys,” I reminded her as I stepped forward and cracked the window. “Besides, the air in here is stagnant, don’t you think?”
Brandy had spread out her homework, ready to give me a lesson in College Algebra.
“Why do they call it College Algebra if you take it in high school?” I quizzed.
“Because it’s college level. But it’s really not that hard.”
Jealousy gripped me as I looked at my sister. She was one of the prettiest girls in her class, with long, glossy dark hair, and freckles that accentuated her hazel eyes. In the past year Brandy had developed a much more mature frame and looked at least twenty, not the eighteen she was soon to become.
“I’ve always liked math, but this isn’t so bad. Plus my teacher is really cool. You’d like him. He’s new this year.”
“Really? What’s his name?” I sat next to the open window, let the breeze coat me with its warmth.
If I closed my eyes I could see the yard I already missed worse than any of my classmates. Behind the house, our picnic table sat empty, staring at the pine trees that guarded our land. Was it covered in bird poop? Had anyone washed it? Were the frogs that lined our creek wondering what happened to me?
“Mr. Meller. Now, look at this equation. It seems really complicated with these other problems set in parentheses, but they’re all the same….”
I couldn’t concentrate on my sister’s lesson. A thousand questions filled my head as she rambled on about her classes. Had the principal cared that Mom removed me from school? Did anyone in town find it strange? Was I still considered part of the Class of 2003, or would I not graduate with the others, even if Mom allowed me back on school grounds?
“What do they say about me? In school?”
Brandy’s lip dropped open like she was going to say something and then thought better of it.
“The girls in choir were concerned about you, but after I told them about your fantastic new living arrangements, they were insanely jealous!” Brandy sparked back up.
Her energy egged me on. “Really? Who?”
“Oh, that loud girl with the freaky glasses. And her funny friend who belches all of the time. I can’t remember their names. Freshmen…who cares who they are?” My sister tried to act cool, but then stopped.
We both realized that if I weren’t confined to the house I’d be a freshman, too.
“Becky? Becky asked about me?” I screeched with excitement. “What’d you say?”
“I told them you’ve gone to France to stay with your father for a while….”
“France?” I was surprised.
“Tours, more directly. He works for the University there, you know.”
“Of course. And what exactly does he look like?” I played her game.
“Tall. Extremely tall, for a Frenchman. He has reddish hair and a little moustache that he combs and curls up at the side.”
We started laughing at the image of my mystery parent and couldn’t stop. When the tears came I crawled into my sister’s lap and shared with her the terror that gripped me constantly. Her hug lent me camaraderie, but even the slight touch made me yelp in pain.
“Maybe he’s my father, too. You never know. Just because I don’t have red hair doesn’t mean a thing.”
Four minutes before Mom came home, the table was set and dinner ready to come out of the oven. Brandy and I decided that we would never give her another opportunity to lash out at me again.
* * *
Sundays were the worst for me. I had always loved church. Well, maybe not so much the sermons, but the music and the picnics and the activities of our youth group. Mom didn’t allow Brandy and me to go out with friends very often, but she never challenged the leaders of the First Methodist and gave us free rein to attend almost every get-together they had.
Now, instead of Sunday afternoon skate parties or our Thursday trips to the nursing home, I was in charge of preparing a family meal and having it on the table by the time Mom and Brandy arrived home.
I loved setting a formal dinner table. In the past Brandy had done most of the cooking. We always relied on Mom for clean-up duty, as each of us took our turn with one segment of the chores, and quite frankly she was much better at scrubbing the pans than getting them dirty in the first place.
But since I had moved in with Dad, I had taken over all of these responsibilities.
I still enjoyed table setting. Last Christmas Mom gave me several books on napkin folding and building center pieces that she found at a yard sale. Every Sunday since I have used one book or another to create my very own masterpieces.
Looking at my presentation, I was pleased with the autumn assortment I had picked out of the linen closet. Pumpkin was my theme color and also the flavor of our meal. Brandy and I had baked pumpkin bread on Saturday afternoon. Now Mom’s favorite pie sat cooling on the kitchen counter, the crust delicate yet as picture-worthy as the one on the cookbook cover.
Even so I couldn’t help but be nervous. Mom and I hadn’t had an episode since the one over the swim team, and I could feel it brewing in the air. As I glanced at the mashed potatoes growing cold on the stove and again at the clock, I worried about the condition of our main course. Mom liked to amble in the back door, put down her purse and jacket, and then take a three-minute break in the restroom before sitting down to eat. She performed like clockwork. She expected everyone else around her to do the same.
Which translated into having a hot meal ready to be moved to the dining room table the moment she entered the house. Usually I poured the side dishes into serving bowls as soon as I heard the car approach. Brandy would follow Mom into the house but immediately start carrying food so there was no delay.
But not today. I wondered if the congregation was sharing lunch or if Mom and Brandy had had some tragedy coming home. Since we no longer used a house phone, I couldn’t call. Plus I would never be able to explain why I was calling Mom from France to see why she wasn’t home for dinner.
I stood vigil by the stove and waited. While the buns warmed with the ham in the oven, I contemplated rolling the potatoes into balls and blasting Brandy with them when they finally came home. Tippy and I had a good laugh over this, but we both knew it would never happen.
Instead I refolded the napkins, did cleanup work, wrapped saran around the pie after it had cooled. When my family was two hours late, I cut a bit of meat for myself and gave Tippy a couple of scraps. She was overjoyed at the treat, and I had grown incredibly hungry while waiting.
At 4:30 the car sounded warning, crunching up the gravel drive.
Tired and not knowing which way to jump, I kept my post by the oven. The meal was ruined, although the meat and rolls were still salvageable. Mom would be furious, either that I had wasted food or that I had eaten part of the ham without permission.
I had no idea how to proceed.
Brandy’s voice drifted into the kitchen as they hurried from the car. Mom was even laughing! I desperately wanted to run open the door or pull aside the curtains and wave at my family.
But this was forbidden.
“Hey, Luce.” Brandy smiled at me as she hurried through the kitchen and then caught sight of the table. “Oh, wow. That looks fantastic!”
For an instant I was offended by Brandy’s happiness. The fact that she hadn’t wasted hours, emotionally spent, waiting for the disaster that lurked behind the kitchen door. My sister could have hurled one of the potato balls at Mother and fallen over in hysterics as the food fell out of her hair while Mom chased me for the outrage it caused.
Life was not fair. It was not a circus, either.
Mom entered the house and glared at the inedible food. I could feel goose bumps marching up my arms in double time.
“What is this all about?” She waved her hand at the stove.
“I kept trying to keep it hot for you, but I think I’ve cooked it too long. I’m sorry.”
I watched Mom’s hand hover in the air. But instead of hitting me, she put it to her side.
“Well, I’m not surprised. You certainly can’t cook like your sister.”
“No, Ma’am, I can’t.” I lowered my eyes.
“Clean it up. We’ve already eaten.”
Brandy reappeared and rolled up her sleeves. She started to draw dish water and made herself immediately comfortable working around Mom and me.
The woman continued to glare. My skin grew hot with tension.
“Here you go, Luce. Let’s scrape these for the compost bin and I’ll run that out in a second….” Brandy stepped in front of Mom and gave me a chore list.
I hopped to it.