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Authors: T. Greenwood

Tags: #Fiction, #Contemporary Women, #Family Life, #Psychological, #General

Nearer Than the Sky (26 page)

BOOK: Nearer Than the Sky
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“Do you want a scone? Peter made the maple ones I like.” She smiled.
“That’s okay,” I said.
Esmé is beautiful in a way that suggests complete ignorance of her effect on the eye. She blushes easily. She has bad posture and will not take a compliment. She is enthusiastic about everything. Trusting and eager and sincere. She reminds me sometimes of Benny, strangely, in small things she does. In her laughter. In the way she loves Peter. Benny loved me like that.
Esmé rested her head on Peter’s shoulder. My head was pounding, my legs felt weak.
“I’m going back to bed,” I said.“I have a little bit of a fever. Wake me up when it’s time for dinner.”
“I’ll come jump on the bed,” Esmé said without moving away from Peter.
As I was walking back down the hall, Peter came up behind me.
“Don’t forget the vitamins,” he said and offered me two pills in his outstretched hand. His eyes were soft and scared. “Feel better.”
 
I fell asleep and didn’t wake up until Esmé crawled in the bed next to me.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
I nodded.
She curled up next to me and hugged me. Her skin smelled faintly of cinnamon, probably spilled while making pies.
“I’m so glad I’m here,” she said. “I love your house.”
“You do?” I said.
“I’m so happy when I’m here. It’s easy, you know?”
“Really?”
Esmé sat up and pulled the covers back over me. “He loves you,” she said.
“What?” I said.
“Peter. He really loves you.”
Esmé, like Peter, sometimes knows the exact thing to say.
Chuck Moony arrived just as we were sitting down to dinner.
“I’ll get it,” I said, as he knocked on the door. I shuffled to the door in my slippers. I hadn’t bothered changing out of my jammies.
He stood outside shivering, his hands in his pockets, and his face tired. He had shaved his beard and underneath the scruff he looked younger. His cheeks were hollow and his jaw determined. “Sorry I didn’t call. I came straight from the hospital. Turkey noodle soup wasn’t quite my cup of music,” he sighed.
I grinned and ushered him in, helping him off with his jacket.
Peter had gotten a couple of sawhorses and a piece of plywood from the shed to extend our small table, and covered the whole thing with one of his mother’s tablecloths. He had set a place for Chuck next to Esmé. Chuck pulled off his boots and sat down.
Yams, mashed potatoes, creamed spinach, artichoke hearts, salad with brilliantly red hothouse tomatoes, and cornbread circled the golden turkey in a parade of colors and smells and tastes. My throat was thick with the cold, but I piled the food onto my plate.
Chuck helped himself to several scoops of spinach. One long strand reached from his plate to the casserole dish. He looked apologetic when it stained the white tablecloth. “So what are you studying in school now, Ez?”
Esmé blushed and finished chewing the piece of turkey she had in her mouth. “Still books,” she said. “Stuff nobody else reads anymore.”
Peter quietly cut another piece of turkey off the beautifully garnished bird perched on a yard-sale china platter. He offered it to me, and I accepted. The homemade gravy was thick and delicious. I ate until the chills in my shoulders had subsided. Until I felt better. Until the tickle in my throat was just a recollection.
Peter made us vanilla lattés to have with our pie. Chuck and I took ours out onto the back porch while Peter and Esmé built a fire and watched
It’s a Wonderful Life
on TV.
Outside the sun was setting, leaving only traces of pink and gold in the trees. We sat in the porch swing, resting our cups on the end of the tables Peter had fashioned out of two tree stumps.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “For that.” I motioned vaguely to the woods where I had stupidly, drunkenly kissed him.
“It’s okay,” he said. “Water under the road.”
I smiled.
“I’m sorry about the baby too,” I said.
Chuck stared into his coffee cup. “Once I bought this brand-new car. It was the only time I’ve ever had a new car in my whole life. I drove it up to Canada to go to the bars with some friends. When we came out of the bar it was gone. Just like that. I’d hardly even driven it.”
I looked into Chuck’s wide-open face, into the dark ponds of his eyes.
“Sometimes things get stolen,” he shrugged.
I nodded, and I thought about things stolen from me. I thought about the thieves I had known.
When Chuck and I went back inside, Esmé had fallen asleep on the couch with her head on Peter’s lap. Peter motioned for us to be quiet as we came in the door, shaking mud and snow off our boots and out of our hair. He had built a fire and the living room was warm, all the smells of the dinner lingering like ghosts in the air.
“I should be getting back to the hospital,” Chuck said.
“Take some pie for Leigh?” Peter whispered.
“That’s okay. She’s still on the IV.”
“Take some home for yourself at least,” I tried. I pulled the tin foil from the pumpkin and apple pies. I pinched a little piece of crust off and popped it in my mouth. It was buttery and sweet.
“She’d kill me if she even smelled pumpkin on my breath. I’ll stop by for leftovers tomorrow,” Chuck said.
“Let me walk you out, then,” I said.
I smiled. He hopped into the truck and turned on the headlights. He rolled down the window and leaned his head out. “Don’t let Pete eat all that apple pie.”
 
By the time I went back inside, Peter had fallen asleep too, his fingers wound into Esmé’s long black curly hair. They looked alike in this light. Both tall and thin. Long fingers, eyelashes, and narrow feet. Esmé was curled up, and Peter’s head was leaning against the back of the couch. There was a faint smile on his face. I got an extra quilt from our bedroom and laid it across Esmé. Her curly hair spilled across the blanket’s edges. Jessica, after trying futilely to fit into the neat little mountain of quilt and legs and hands on the couch, gave up and followed me into my bed, curling up at my feet.
 
In the middle of the night, I crawled up into the attic study and picked up the phone. When Lily answered, I felt butterflies in my throat. Wings beating, threatening to choke me. A cold breeze blew through the cracked woodwork across my bare shoulders.
“Lily, I want to talk about Violet.”
I could hear her breathing on the other end of the line. Her throat was filled with butterflies, too.
“And I want to talk about Benny,” I said.
Lily was silent for several moments, and then she whispered, “That wasn’t Ma’s fault.”
My eyes stung.
Silence. And then, quietly, the sound of her hand brushing across the soft skin of her cheek, wiping at tears.
“You’re going to lose Violet
and
Rich because of what you’re doing. It’s the same thing. Don’t you see?”
H
ere is Benny. As tall as Daddy and wearing a pair of his rubber fishing boots. Lying on his stomach on a rock at the creek, staring into the water. He reaches deep into the current, trying to change the water’s direction with his hands. A leaf catches in his fingers. Frustrated, he shakes it loose against the muddy ground next to him.
It was July, monsoon season, and the creek was high from all the rain. Too high for swimming. Even for Benny. So instead, after Daddy went to work and Ma went to visit Lily in the hospital, I brought Benny to the creek to go fishing. I found a pole in the shed, and because of the rain there were worms everywhere in our muddy backyard. I didn’t know the first thing about fishing, or even if there were any fish to be caught in the creek. But I did know this—since Ma and Lily came home from Phoenix and Lily went to the hospital, Benny and I were better off outside the house. Inside the house, Ma’s storms were worse than any monsoon. Her anger came on just as quickly, dark clouds passing through the rooms of our house, the only warning a muffled sigh or the sound of her feet gaining momentum until she was standing at your bedroom door. But the monsoons left as quickly as they came, and the air was cleaner afterwards. There was a stillness after these storms that never seemed to come after one of Ma’s fits. Daddy said not to worry. That Ma’s head was full of concern over Lily, and that as soon as Lily came home everything would be back to normal. I didn’t remind him that there was no such thing inside our house.
This morning, I didn’t wait for the storm clouds to come. I woke up when the sky was still bright and hopeful and crawled into bed next to Benny.
“Benny, get up. Let’s go fishing,” I whispered.
His eyes popped open, alarmed and then soft. “We’re going to the creek?”
“Yeah. But you gotta get up quick while Ma’s still sleeping. And be real quiet.”
I found the pole in the shed and a rusty old tackle box. I dumped some old nails and screws from a coffee can and filled it with moist dirt and a few worms that I had plucked from the ground. Benny came outside, wearing Daddy’s gaiters, and closed the screen door softly. I smiled at him and motioned for him to follow me toward the woods.
We ran to the spot in the woods where we knew we were safe, and Benny let out a big sigh. “I didn’t make a sound. Not even the door.”
“I know, Benny,” I said. “That was good. Now come on.”
I pulled him by the hand and we continued through the early morning forest until we got to the tracks.
“Listen,” he said, dropping to his knees and pressing his ear against the ground.
“It’s fine, Benny. One just passed. I heard it when we were in the woods.” I was eager to get to the creek. He looked at me suspiciously and then scrambled to his feet when I stepped over the tracks and wooden ties to the other side.
“You should be more careful,” Benny said.
“I know,” I nodded. “Let’s go.”
The sky was bright and sunny. It was early in the morning, though, and the air was still, clean, and cold. By the time we got to the creek, the sun was warm on our backs and I knew it was going to be a hot day. Benny wiped the back of his sleeve across his face. He was sweating in his flannel shirt.
“Why don’t you take your shirt off, Benny?” I said.“You’ve got an undershirt on, right?”
He nodded and unbuttoned the heavy flannel shirt and pulled it off. He hung it from a tree branch that was jutting out over the rock where I was sitting. Then he stretched out across his stomach on the flat rock.
“What kind of fish are in there?” he asked, staring into the water.
“I don’t know,” I said, opening the lid of the tackle box.
“I ate a fish once that was rotted inside.”
“Hand me the pole?” I said, motioning to the pole I’d left leaning against the tree.
He reached for the pole and handed it to me. “I took one bite and I almost barfed.”
“It wasn’t rotten. It was just frozen still. Remember? It was a fish from the grocery store.”
“I hate fish sticks.”
“I know,” I said.
“I really hate ’em.”
I found a hook in the tackle box and tied it to the end of the fishing line. I didn’t really know what I was doing, but it seemed like it would work okay.
“Can you pass me the coffee can?”
“What’s in here?” Benny asked, peeling back the plastic lid.
“Worms. Now give it.”
“Gross. Worms!” Benny squealed and shoved the can toward me.
“Shush,” I said, looking up toward the overlook to make sure there weren’t any early-morning tourists spying on us.
I’d never put a worm on a hook before. It wasn’t as easy as you’d think. The first one was wriggling so hard it slipped right out of my fingers and fell into the water. I was able to do it the second time around, though, and then all we had left to do was to wait.
Here is Benny. Leaning into the creek, staring at the way the water changes the shapes of his hands. The creek is so full of sun that it could be colored glass. He is quiet here. Quieter than he has ever been. When he closes his eyes the sun is warm on his eyelids.
I knew we wouldn’t catch anything. But that wasn’t why we were here, anyway.
“Want to see what I found?” Benny asked.
“Sure,” I said.
He stood up and went to the tree where his shirt was hanging. He reached into the front pocket and pulled something out.
“It was on the floor to my room this morning.” He opened up his hand and sitting in his palm was a moth. It was one of the big ones that came in at night if somebody left the screen door open. They were clumsy, beating their big wings against the walls, looking for light. Sometimes there were six or seven of them hovering near the bare bulb that hung over the back porch.
“I’m gonna give it to Lily when she comes home from the hospital. She likes butterflies.”
“That’s not . . .” I started and then stopped.
He was looking at the moth in his hand and stroking its papery wings with one of his large fingers.
“That’s nice, Benny. She’ll like it.”
“She’s very sick,” he said, looking at me. “She might die.”
“She’s not going to die,” I said.
“She
might,
” he insisted, and I let him.
“Put it back in your pocket,” I said. “You don’t want to lose it.”
Benny returned the moth to his shirt pocket and sat down next to me on the rock.
“I don’t think there’s no fish in there,” Benny said, shaking his head.
I shrugged.
Benny wanted to go swimming, but the current was too strong and the water was too high. “Put your feet in if you want,” I said. “But we gotta wait for the water to go down before you go swimming.”
“Will it go down today?” he asked hopefully, tugging at the rubber gaiters.
“Not today.”
After a while I gave up. I looked at my watch and saw that it was 11:30. Ma would be leaving for the hospital any minute. We could go home soon.
“What do you think?” I asked. “Call it a day?”
Before he could answer, thunder cracked above us. Like a slap. Benny’s hands flew to his ears.
“Let’s go,” I said. I yanked the pole out of the water. The worm was gone. I could see it being carried away by the current, white and limp, several feet away. I closed the tackle box and thunder rumbled deep and insistent. Closer and louder this time. It was a warning.
But before Benny had even pulled the giant rubber boots back on, rain began to fall in hard sheets. Guillotines of water sliced through the tops of the trees. Benny stumbled, falling forward onto his hands. When he stood up again his hair was already plastered to his head. He opened his mouth and let the hard rain fall into his throat.
I scurried to my feet and pulled his hand. “Come on, Benny.”
We ran up the slippery embankment. Benny’s boots made sucking sounds on the wet grass and mud. By the time we got to Highway 79, we were soaking wet and covered with mud. A couple of cars whizzed past us, their headlights shining through the darkness.
“I don’t got my shirt,” he said.
“That’s okay,” I said. “We’ll get it later.”
“I gotta get Lily’s butterfly.”
“We’ll find another one,” I said. His face was fallen, serious. “I promise.”
Benny hit his temples with his fists. His undershirt was so wet you could see his ribs through the ribbed cotton.
“Stop it,” I said.
Another car whizzed past us, splashing cold water close to our feet.
“It’s the only one I had,” he cried, pulling the hair at his temples.
“I said
stop it,
” I said, angry now. The rain beat and beat, like a thousand small fists pounding my skin.
Here is Benny. Standing at the edge of the road in rubber gaiters, in a tired undershirt drooping like a second layer of skin. Fourteen years old and as tall as Daddy. Crying like a baby. Tugging at his hair. Through a passing car window it might not make sense. Through rainsplattered glass you might think he was a man instead of a boy. Only when you slow down can you see that he is only a child. Only when you roll down the window can you see that the rain distorts things.
The woman was wearing a baby-blue shirt with embroidered silver flowers on each pointy collar. Her lips were the color of peaches. She smiled when she rolled down the window.
“You okay, honey?” she asked Benny.
Benny kept crying and tugging at his ears and hair.
“He’s fine,” I said.
“You sure?” she asked. “He doesn’t look okay to me.”
“He’s fine. I’m just taking him home.”
“Maybe I should drive you home,” she said, shaking her head. Her hair was frosted. White streaks on top of dark curling iron curls.
“That’s okay,” I said, blinking away the rain that had settled in the corners of my eyes. “We live just over that way.”
“You’re Indie Brown, aren’t you?” she asked then, reaching her hand toward me. “I’m Starry’s Aunt Cathy. Remember? I met you once when you came over to spend the night at the A-frame.”
I remembered her now. She and Starry’s mom were planning a Tupperware party that night. She was the one who showed Starry how to use liquid eyeliner. She also gave Starry a brand-new record player for Christmas last year.
“Oh, hi,” I said.
“Let me give you a ride.”
Benny was tugging at my elbow now. “Let’s go see Starry,” he said softly.
“No Benny,” I said.
When lightning split the sky in two, Benny covered his ears and started to twist his body back and forth.
“Thanks anyway,” I said and turned to Benny. “Let’s go.”
“Okay then,” Cathy said and started to roll up her window. “See you later.”
“I said
let’s go.
”
Cathy’s car drove away and I walked ahead of Benny all the way home. And after we were inside the house again, I didn’t offer him a clean dry shirt from the pile of clean laundry I found on top of the dryer. And I didn’t drag a clean towel across the top of his wet head. I just locked myself inside the bathroom and ran a hot bath. I would stay there until Ma came home. I would stay there until my skin was loose on my bones.
I turned the water on full blast and as hot as it would go. I stared at my face in the mirror until it disappeared behind a film of steam. I opened up Ma’s drawer and found her favorite bath crystals, the pink ones that smelled like roses. I dumped them into the running water and watched them melt at the bottom like hard candies.
I turned the portable radio on as high as it would go and peeled off my wet clothes. I put one foot into the tub, yanking it out when my skin turned bright red with the heat. Then I put it back in, biting my lip. Enduring the heat. I sat down and let my body get used to the water. The tub filled almost to the rim because Daddy had filled the drainage holes with caulking when we got a leak last year. Then I leaned my head back and went under.
On the backs of my eyes I saw the frosted tips of Starry’s aunt’s hair. She looked a little like the lady in the tube top at Rusty’s who had lost the tournament to me. I squeezed my eyes shut tighter until both of them disappeared. I imagined them rising like steam. Only transparent ghosts now. It was so hot inside the bathroom, it was almost hard to breathe. But I didn’t want to stand up to open a window. I didn’t want to get out of the water. I sunk deeper, the edge of the tub sharp against the bones of my shoulders. The water was cool enough now that it didn’t burn when I opened my eyes. Through my watery lenses I saw Lily’s sequinned costume. Silver sparkles and her baton slicing through the air like a sudden streak of lightning. I saw the silvery wings of the moth that Benny found, dead and dusty on his bedroom floor.
BOOK: Nearer Than the Sky
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