Twenty-six
I’m not looking forward to seeing James. Not looking forward to confronting him about why he wasn’t at work today, sitting across from him with the words “she’s allergic to flowers” playing through my mind, or lying about the hours I didn’t actually spend at the library, either.
When he finally shows up an hour later than usual, eyes sparkling with excitement, irritation that I could have stayed in Sam’s arms just a little longer kills me. If
I
had shown up late, he would’ve been furious.
It doesn’t help my mood that, unless my brother decides to work an extra shift at the mill, I won’t get to see Sam again until Monday.
Living under his thumb is starting to get old.
Lying
is getting old.
I slam the microwave door on his cold dinner and open my mouth to tell him he has no say in what I do or don’t do with my life anymore, no matter how much I owe him.
But then I get a good look at him. Unzipped coveralls, scuffed work boots, and a white t-shirt.
A
clean
white t-shirt.
Unease flutters in my stomach. “So…how was work?”
“Great. One of the guys brought in a bucket of flowers from his wife’s garden,” he says cheerfully and holds out two suspiciously thorn-less red roses. “I grabbed these for you.”
I clipped the thorns from those stems two days ago.
Glaring at his outstretched fist, I note the lack of paper pulp that’s usually caked under his nails and in every crevice of his skin. Why would he lie? Twenty-two of the roses are missing, so obviously he gave the others to someone. Maybe he has a girlfriend and is too embarrassed to tell me?
And why did he change out of the jeans and the black Godsmack t-shirt he’d been wearing when he came into Enchanted Garden?
Unless he’s lying about going to work, too.
I nearly choke on the irrational fury burning my chest as I say, “thanks,” but don’t accept the roses. Instead, I grab a Tupperware cup from the cabinet, fill it with tap water, and hand it to him. Lying about a girlfriend is one thing, but as far as James knows, he’s our only income.
He made sure of that when he turned down Liz’s offer today.
“Oh, um, okay.” Smile wavering, he puts the roses in the cup and sets them in the middle of the table. Neither of us mention what used to sit in their place when we were kids. Back then, we never paid attention to our mother’s favorite vase—more a congealed mass of superglue than ceramic after being pieced back together so many times—and the bouquets of cheap white carnations that used to materialize as soon as the superglue set, and died as soon as the last of the water leaked away.
“You okay?” he asks cautiously. “You look really pissed off.”
“I’m fine.”
I stomp back to our bedroom, not waiting for the microwave to finish. At least the plate of food will keep my brother out of my hair long enough to figure out how I can sneak out later. Because there’s no way I’m staying home tonight.
He catches my arm just inside the doorway. “What’s wrong?”
Whirling around, I knock his hand away. “You can’t walk through the door in clean clothes and expect me to believe you went to work.”
“But I did—”
“Stop lying to me!”
In the distance, the microwave
pings
. Neither of us moves. I’ve never won a stare-down with my brother, but if he thinks I’m going to back down first this time, he’s got another think coming. I step closer, bringing us toe to toe, my chin almost to his chest, and glare as hard as I can.
He looks away ten seconds later.
“I called in sick to take care of some stuff,” he mutters. “You weren’t supposed to find out until later when I figured out how to show you what I bought.” From the back waistband of his coveralls, he withdraws a balled-up towel tied with twine. “Don’t freak out, okay?”
“Why would I freak out?”
He moves over to his bed and sets the bundle on his knee. Sitting beside him while he unties the twine reminds me of watching him unwrap birthday presents. Especially with how bright his eyes are shining and the excited smile curling up the corners of his mouth. When James gets excited about something, I usually get excited, too.
But what he gingerly lifts from the towel makes my blood ice over.
“Isn’t it awesome?”
The silver and black gun he’s holding is definitely
not
awesome. I scramble backward, off the bed and across the room, until my back collides with our closet doors. In the filigree mirror sitting on the shelved headboard behind him, my horrified self is reflected in miniature. “Why do you have a gun?”
“Relax,” he says. “Come take a look.”
There’s no way I’m peeling myself from the mirrored doors with that thing in his hands. What if it goes off? Panic roils through me at the thought of bullets riddling James’s body. “Please,” I beg. “Put it away. Get it out of here before you get hurt.”
He sighs, sets the gun on the bed, and comes over to where I still stand rigid, peeking around his shoulder at something I never thought I’d see in our bedroom. Cupping my cheeks in his hands, he forces me to look at him. “I only bought it so I can protect you,” he says. “It won’t leave the closet unless something happens. Promise. It’s not even loaded.”
That’s not good enough. I try to shake my head, but he holds me in place.
“Promise,” he repeats. When he reaches up to smooth the hair out of my face and I cringe away, his face falls and he gives up. I stay plastered to the closet until the gun is safely wrapped in its towel and tied up tight.
James sighs and leans back on his bed, hands resting on his broad chest, and regards me with a disappointed look on his face. “I was planning on me and you hanging out at the carnival tonight, but if you’re not up to it…”
Oh, I
’
m up for it. Anything to get out of this room and away from that gun. “I’ll go.”
I grab the first clean shirt I can find and I’m halfway to the bathroom when he sits up and asks, “What is
with
you today? One second you’re pissed that I got home late, the next, you’re acting like you can’t wait to get out of here. You’re making my head spin.”
If anyone’s head is spinning, it’s mine. Between nearly being caught at Enchanted Garden and him coming home late with a gun, my sanity is far too fragile to pick a fight with my brother. Not when a gun lies on the bed between us. As soon as he leaves for work Monday morning, I’m taking that thing and hiding it in our father’s shed.
“Nothing,” I lie. “I’m just sick of sitting at home all day. Are we going, or not?”
He eyes me warily for a few long moments, then rolls off his bed to put the gun on the top shelf of our closet. Giving him a wide berth, I snag my flip-flops from behind the door and hurry out of the room before he can ask any more questions.
Twenty-seven
Through sheer force of will, I manage to stick by my brother’s side for forty-seven long minutes. All I can think about is the look of awe in James’s eyes when he held up the gun and how badly I need Sam to tell me everything will be okay.
For the first time in my life, I think I need some time away from my brother.
Ten dollars worth of ride tickets and a severely queasy stomach later, we’re scoping out the game booths for the ones James knows he can win. I decide to begin my siblings-shouldn’t-spend-this-much-time-together campaign while he’s in a good mood.
Step one: Find the caramel apple stand.
Step two: Get out of the camping trip he’s been babbling about since we got in the truck.
The caramel apple stand is easy. We’ve passed it at a distance three times on our whirlwind tour of the rides, and all three times, Sam’s been inside, helping his mom and the lady from the mall gift shop hand out orders. From where we’re standing in front of the ring toss game, I can almost make out the top of his dark head at the other end of the row of stalls.
The camping trip this weekend is a different story.
“I think a day trip is far more practical than a whole weekend,” I say. “We’ll have plenty of time to swim and toast marshmallows or whatever.”
James hands the girl at the booth—a whimsical-looking redhead about his age who ogles him the same way every girl does—a five-dollar bill and accepts the handful of scratched, red plastic rings. I open my mouth to protest him spending more money than we have already tonight, but think the better of it.
His first toss plinks off the top of the narrow-mouthed glass bottles and shoots off into the back of the booth somewhere. “But that’s only one day. Don’t you want to hang out with me?”
Not when I’ve got two enormous secrets that I’m hiding from him. Especially not alone. He’s too good at getting things out of me, and I’m not ready for him to know about Sam or what our father did.
His second toss plinks off another bottle and nearly hits the redheaded girl.
“Of course I want to hang out with you,” I lie. “But don’t you think we’ll get bored? Maybe we should invite some of your friends to come along and make a party out of it.”
“You mean invite
Sam
.” The next ring flies into the bean-bag toss booth next door.
“No,” though that’s a great idea. “
All
the people you hang out with, whoever they are.”
“I’m not blind,” he says, undeterred. “I see how you look at him.”
Lying isn’t going to work this time—I can tell by the stubborn set of his jaw. Digging the toe of my flip-flop into the asphalt, I try a half-truth. “You know I’ve had a crush on him since I was a kid. Maybe if we went on a date, I’d get it out of my system.”
Instead of tossing the next ring, he throws it overhand and nearly breaks one of the bottles. The attendant frowns, his spell on her broken.
“I don’t want him touching you,” James snaps. “How many different ways do I have to say ‘no’ before you get it? We’re going camping—for the whole weekend—and we’re going
alone
.”
The next ring he tosses plinks across the first few rows of bottles and settles around the neck of one in the seventh row. Immediately, at least on his end, our whole conversation is forgotten. He beams at me and snags one of the baby blue teddy bears off the ledge beside him. “For you, m’lady,” he says, handing it to me with a little bow.
I’m still reeling from the hatred in his voice when he talked about Sam touching me. I take the teddy bear, a brittle, plastic smile rigid on my face. “Thanks.”
He tosses his last ring, misses, and decides against playing another round. When he spots the red water guns and the clowns with gaping mouths in the booth next door, my brother’s eyes sparkle in anticipation. “Don’t get too attached,” he says, nodding at my little bear. “I’m about to win you something even bigger.”
He hands the tall guy manning the booth another five-dollar bill and takes the stool next to two little boys who are pretending to shoot each other with their water guns. Just before the round starts, something brushes against the small of my back.
“I’m in,” says a voice that both horrifies and excites me.
Knowing I shouldn’t but unable to stop myself, I look up at Sam. There’s no way my brother will miss the heat in his eyes or how I sag on weak knees when I feel Sam’s gaze caressing my lips in a visual kiss. There’s so much
want
in how he’s looking at me, I almost forget that he hasn’t been interested in doing it since our first time a week ago.
“Finish this while I kick your brother’s ass, will you?” He holds out a half-eaten elephant ear fritter. “My mom made way too much batter. I’ve eaten, like, ten of these things.”
“Game’s already starting,” my brother grumbles. “Wait until the next round.”
“I’d rather play against you.” Sam shoves the fritter into my hand and manages to catch my eye for half a second before I look away. As if challenging my brother wasn’t bad enough, he adds, “Sarah needs something bigger than a teddy bear, don’t you think?”
James scowls at him, then spins around on the stool, his back to us.
I grab Sam’s arm and hiss, “What are you doing?”
The challenge I see flashing in his eyes makes me dizzy. “I’m not doing anything.”
“Why don’t you guys invite me anywhere anymore?” a familiar voice says behind us. “You’re giving me a complex.”
My brother shifts his glare to Alex and the group of friends clustered around him, but Sam grins and gives him their slap-slide-punch. “You’re an annoying bastard, that’s why. But you already knew that.”
The booth guy has already pocketed Sam’s money, and the little boys are getting antsy. “You guys playing or what?” the older of the two complains. “We don’t got all night.”
“C’mon, Sarah,” James grumbles. “I’m done.”
Alex bursts into maniacal laughter. “Seriously? James O’Brien is afraid of getting his ass handed to him in front of a couple kids?”
I want to hit him, but the guys hanging out with Alex think this is hilarious. James doesn’t budge.
Ignoring my protest and James’s glare, Sam takes the stool right next to my brother and grins at the boys. “You ready to lose?”
“Yeah, right,” the younger boy says with a grin.
I figure out how the game works pretty quickly. Whoever gets the most water into the clown’s mouth using the ridiculously overpowered water guns wins. As James and Sam take a clear lead over the two boys, I watch the clowns’ cheesy rainbow hats rise higher and higher.
I know Sam’s going to win three seconds before the lights in the booth flash and his clown lets out a terrifying computerized laugh.
“
Now
, we’re leaving,” James growls.
With a triumphant hoot, Sam ruffles both boys’ hair, then snatches the blue teddy bear from my hands and gives it to the booth guy. “She’ll take one of those,” he says, pointing at the worst possible prize—a giant, stuffed heart with
Kiss Me
scrawled across the front in cheesy, white embroidery. Handing it to me, Sam murmurs, “My heart.”
I’m torn between the urge to stuff the stupid heart under my arm and slap him for flaunting our secret in front of James and all of their friends, and my earlier desperation to wrap myself around him like a blanket. If my brother hadn’t been onto us before, he’s going to be now.
James grabs my arm. There’s no way I’m going to let him drag me away in front of everyone. Sam’s gaze is challenging, daring me to do something about the way my brother is treating me. If I don’t, I know he will. And that will be disastrous. Keeping my eyes locked on his, I say the first thing I think of. “James and I are camping up at Mack Lake this weekend. If you guys wanted to come, we could make a big party out of it. We’re heading up tomorrow.”
“Wait—Sarah—no,” James stutters. “It’s too short notice. No one’s gonna be free.”
“I’m free,” Sam says.
“So am I,” the short guy next to him says.
“Us, too.”
I recognize the dark-haired guy who chimed in. Jesse Morgan is standing with his curly-haired girlfriend, Melinda. All last year, I witnessed their daily cuddling session from two seats away in fifth period Civics. Neither of them ever looked in my direction, let alone smiled at me like Jesse is now.
“Hell, yeah!” Alex cheers when another three of his friends confirm that they, too, can come. “There’s no way I’m missing this. We haven’t done shit this summer!”
All the plotting and planning going on around me is lost to the screams of people on the Tilt-a-Whirl, and the computerized laugh of the clown behind us as one of the boys beats the other in round two. I almost don’t hear Melinda’s quiet voice. Only her fingertips brushing across the stuffed heart Sam gave me and the scent of vanilla when she leans closer alert me to our “conversation.”
“Jesse and I can bring a bunch of hot dogs and hamburgers. He bags groceries at Shop Mart and they let the employees take home any meat that’s past its expiration date.” She gives me a shy smile. “It still tastes fine, so why waste it?”
Someone is talking to me? Planning with
me?
“Oh, um. That would be great, actually. Thanks.”
“Do you think it’ll get really cold at night? Jesse only has one sleeping bag, but maybe I can borrow one…”
The worried expression on her face draws my attention to how worn her shorts and tank top look against her tanned skin. Every few seconds, she folds the frayed hem of her tank top in on itself. I see why when it comes undone almost immediately—a hole the size of my thumb. Melinda must live in the neighborhood behind the mill, which is even crappier than my neighborhood. Only a kid from the south side would be caught wearing holey clothes in public.
If things were different—if I were different—maybe Melinda and I could’ve been friends. I return her shy smile from earlier and wonder if maybe things will ever be different enough. “You know, I think we have an extra sleeping bag. I’ll make sure James packs it with ours.”
“Thanks!”
Jesse slides his arm around her waist and she melts into his side. Anyone looking at them would see the love in his eyes when he kisses the top of her head and murmurs something about tents. My heart aches for the openness Sam and I can never have.
Sam’s watching me from where he stands barely an arm’s length away. Even surrounded by all these people, I feel the pull between us, the draw I haven’t been able to ignore since the night James parked in the gravel outside of Leslie’s and I saw him standing in the dingy green light.
Miss you
, he mouths.
I hug the stuffed heart to my chest and try to suppress the smile that breaks across my face.
“Well, if anyone wants any caramel apples or elephant ears or anything, you know where to find me,” he says to everyone else before looking back to me. “Looks like I’ll see you all up at the lake tomorrow?”
Several confirmations and a few slap-slide-punches later, he heads back to his mom and the line of hungry carnival-goers twisting through the crowd like a snake. Taking a shaky breath, I turn back to James, ready to face my fate.
Just in time to see him shove his way through the last of the crowd in front of the two-story “haunted” funhouse at the edge of the parking lot.
“See you guys tomorrow,” I mumble before dashing after my brother. When I get to the funhouse entrance at the top of a tall ramp on the second floor, I fish my last ride ticket from my pocket and hand it to the scary-looking man guarding the door.
He waves me in with a grand gesture. “Watch out for beasties…”
The idea of ghostly lights and freaky Halloween costumes doesn’t bother me, but I can’t stand funhouses. My sense of direction is horrible, and what good could possibly come of wandering around in a dark maze of mirrors that make me look even worse than I already feel?
Three turns, two guys in zombie costumes, and a narrow hallway later, I’m lost. Which is ridiculous even for me because the place can’t be very big if it’s crammed into the mall parking lot with a Ferris Wheel, a vomit-inducing spinning ride, concession stands, and all the game booths. What if there’s a fire? A natural disaster? I’ll die in here with all the cheap plastic spiders before I find my way out. Feeling a panic attack coming on, I swat away a guy dressed as a vampire and rush further into the maze, up and down ramps, and shout James’s name.
No answer—just more of the crazy creepy carnival music. Cobwebbed mirrors taunt me with hundreds of disfigured reflections that laugh at me, sounding exactly like Sam’s clown when he won the game.
Scared,
they whisper
. Unworthy. Weak
.
I am never setting foot inside a funhouse again.
Somewhere up ahead, someone grunts and James curses. Maybe he punched the annoying vampire? I dash around the next bend and run smack into his hard chest. He’s breathing hard, and when he grabs me by the arms and wrenches me against him, I see our father in his eyes. Frantically, I search the ground behind him, expecting it to be littered with bodies. If he hit someone, whoever it was is gone.
“How could you invite them?” he demands. “Shit, Sarah—did you even stop to think how I’d feel about it? I’m all fucked up about Mom and needed to get away, just me and you!”
My stomach churns with guilt as I stare up at my hurting brother. I hadn’t cared why he wanted to get away. Why he only wanted me there. I was only thinking about me, about the gun in our bedroom closet, and Sam. Wasn’t this exactly what I realized James and I needed when Sam took me to the river?
I’m so very selfish.
The stuffed heart falls to the ground when I throw my arms around his neck, to hell with the consequences, and hug him as tightly as I can.
“I’m so sorry,” I tell him. “I’ll tell them we changed our minds or cancel altogether and go somewhere else by ourselves. To the coast, maybe, like you wanted.”
James buries his face in my hair and groans. “I wish we could, but we can’t.”
“Yeah, we can. Just let me—”
He doesn’t let me finish. Hands holding me tight to his chest, he brushes his lips across mine. “No. We’ll go with my friends.”