Boys and Burlesque

by Ripley Proserpina

  The fort smelled like sex and sweat, but Landry looked like a god. Hard, carved muscles. Square jaw. Blonde hair, blue eyes. He had the sort of face that turned heads and broke hearts.

  And he belonged to me.

  “I love you so goddamned much, Betsy.” He pushed my hair back from my face and kissed my forehead. “Look at you, lying here in the moonlight. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.”

  I snorted in a very unladylike way. “Have you looked in the mirror? I expect a Greek goddess to fly out of the heavens and challenge me to some game of wits for you.”

  “She’d probably turn me into a stag or something,” he replied, and I laughed.

  “I can’t wait to see what you do,” I said. Landry was so smart, so incredibly smart, and he loved writing and history. I thought, maybe, it was his passion, but one he hid behind the fact that he excelled at math and, for his father, participated in Future Business Leaders of America. “Maybe one day I’ll be reading a book you’ve written about Greece. I wouldn’t be surprised.”

  “I’d love to be a professor,” he said quietly, still playing with my hair. “I’d lecture about history and literature, and I’d stride across campus smoking a pipe.”

  “We’d live in some ivy-covered town. The girls fall in love with you, but you ignore them because your head is in the clouds. You lecture all over the world.”

  He took up there. “In cities where you just happen to be dancing. So it’s perfect. Josh and Wes are easy, because as long as they have a gym in the hotel, then they’re happy. And Brant—”

  I laughed. Brant. What would Brant do? “Brant is probably infiltrating terrorist organizations or evil corporations who are melting our polar ice caps.”

  “Either way, he’s able to take a break to go to watch you dance at Palais Garnier.”

  I lifted my head to study him. “How do you know about the Palais Garnier, Landry Shaw?”

  “I know everything that has to do with dance,” he whispered. His blue eyes roamed my face, and he smiled. “I used to look up all the best theaters and dance companies, just so I’d know what you were talking about when you went on and on about Misty Copeland and Sergei Polunin.”

  Of course he had. That’s what Lan did. He dove into subjects with his whole and complete heart. He never did anything half-assed.

  He loved fully and tirelessly.

  “I love you, Landry,” I whispered. “Thank you for coming to my window like Romeo.”

  Lan chuckled. “Oh, we’re going to have a way better ending than he got.”

  Stomach clenching, I forced myself to laugh. “We’ll have the happiest ending.”

  I crept into the house after using the key Gram hid inside a false rock. The sun was starting to come up, and I only had a little time before she woke up. Gram liked to be up when the sun was and not waste her day.

  She’d retired from her job at the post office not too long ago, and she took full advantage of retirement. To me, it seemed as if she was busier than she ever was, but she was also happier.

  Gram deserved happy. She’d worked hard her entire life, raising my mom and her brothers on her own after her husband died. And then she’d had to raise me, a fully-formed opinionated human who was dropped on her doorstep by the state.

  The house was old and the stairs creaked, so I was careful to tiptoe. I almost made it. But Landry and I had lingered too long saying goodbye. One more kiss. Then another. And that final kiss led to touching and sighs and my body lighting up like the fourth of July.

  Gram’s door opened, and she froze on the threshold. “You’re just like your mother.” As the words came out of her mouth, her eyes widened and she slapped her hand over her lips. “Elizabeth. I didn’t mean that.”

  My stomach clenched so hard I bent at the waist. Everyone in town knew my parents made bad decisions—Mom was still in jail after stealing money from her job, and my dad died in an ATV accident when he tried to jump a creek. But before that they’d been part of a rowdy crowd who raced cars down Main Street and got into screaming matches outside of bars in the early morning hours.

  “I just meant she snuck in, too.”

  I heard her explanation through a haze, and I understood what she’d been trying to say. What I was doing right now reminded her of what my mother had probably done at my age. But I wasn’t her. I wasn’t out drinking or doing drugs. I wasn’t getting into trouble.

  “I know.” Somehow I was able to reply to her. “I know what you meant.”

  She started toward me, and I wanted to step away, but the stairs were right behind me. Taking my hands, she drew me into her bedroom. “Sit down, please.”

  I found my favorite spot in her room on the cushioned seat of an antique vanity. My grandmother’s room had always been a place of magic for me. It was utterly feminine and ladylike with billowing curtains and a white metal bed. She had worn a uniform to work every day, but she always took the time to curl her hair and put on her perfume, lipstick, and pearl posts.

  When I was seated, she sat on the bed right in a beam of sunlight. It wasn’t kind to her. Gram was an energetic woman, but she looked tired. Her white hair was messy from sleep, and her skin seemed paler than normal.

  She rubbed her face and eyes and sighed. “Elizabeth, I love you.”

  “I love you, too,” I answered.

  “But honey, you’re not being smart right now. It’s my fault for not being more honest. I’ve danced around this topic all your life. It’s not fair, but you have to work harder and be on your guard because of who your parents were. People in this town, they have big hearts, but they have narrow minds and long memories, and when they look at you, they see your momma.”

  My throat closed. It wasn’t fair. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “Not in your heart. You don’t have a mean bone in your body, but you also don’t have a deceitful one. And all this running around and hiding—I’m going to be blunt, Elizabeth—it’s clear to anyone with eyes what you and those boys are up to.”

  “They’re my best friends.”

  Gram slid off the bed, hands outstretched to catch mine. I took them, feeling how thin they had become and how her skin was dry and papery. We had the same eyes, she and I. Blue-green. Almond shaped. It was the only thing I’d inherited from her. Gram was taller than me, thinner, and delicate. And she looked more delicate, almost sickly, than I’d ever seen her look before.

  She took a deep breath. “I know they are. And I know they tell you they love you, honey, but they can’t. Not all of them. At your age, the world seems full of endless possibilities. And loving your four best friends, that feels natural to you. It probably does to them, too, but if it was natural, then why do you have to hide it?”

  Staring into her—my—eyes, I struggled with whether or not to be honest. She knew what was happening, so did I admit to it? Or did I keep up the ruse?

  Her gaze implored me for honesty, and if anyone was owed that, it was her.

  “We have to hide it until we leave. We have a few more months in this town. Then we move on with our lives. Together. I know people won’t understand it, but to us, Gram, it’s natural. It’s the way we’ve been all our lives. It’s been the five of us, and I want it to be that way forever.”

  Shaking her head, she took my other hand and brought both to her face. She kissed my knuckles. “My poor girl. Elizabeth. They’re never going to marry you. Once those boys leave here, they’re gone. Not gone from Shawville, but gone from you. Wes and Josh… they’ve got positions on that football team that will set them up for life. I know Mr. Derry is up in arms about Josh going, but he’ll let him. And Pastor Morehouse will send Wes to Samford with a ticker-tape parade he’s so proud. But you know what will happen next?”

  I did. Next they would be recruited by the NFL. They’d spend the next decade playing ball, and then they’d retire, and we’d figure out the next step from there.

  Gran let out a sad chuckle and shook her head. “And Landry. He ain’t
going nowhere. He’ll come back. For goodness sake, his name is on the sign welcoming people to town. People like the Shaws weren’t built to be big fish out in the big sea. He’s gotta come back to this little pond.”

  At some point in her lecture, I’d started to shake my head. I pulled my hands from hers and stood, unable to stay seated when she was pulling down my dreams one at a time.

  “You don’t know them.” I did. I knew their hearts. I believed what they told me. She hadn’t looked in their eyes when they held me and loved me.

  I couldn’t listen to any more.

  Hurrying toward the door, I ignored her when she called me back. I went into the bathroom, closed the door behind me, and turned on the shower. The sound would drown out her voice and let me think.

  I stripped out of my clothes. Of all the ways I thought I would end the night with Landry, it hadn’t been like this. The potential of being caught had always been out there, but I really really thought we’d been careful.

  What if she’d spoken about this with other people? What was it she said, anyone with eyes? I refused to believe that. Anyone with eyes would see Landry with Emerson and Brant with Violet. That was what they’d see.

  I scrubbed my body and my hair, and stepped out of the shower much calmer. One thing I was certain of was that no one understood my relationship like I did. Gram had wisdom, yes, but she couldn’t fathom what loving four people was like.

  And being loved by them.

  By her early thirties, my grandmother had four children. Then my grandfather had died when my mom was barely a year old… Had she really had time to even know her husband the way I knew my boys?

  Times change and all that, but the heart of the matter was my grandmother didn’t know how much they loved me, and she didn’t know that I had every confidence in them. In us.

  I padded to my room and got changed. My hair was still wet, so I pulled it back into a bun rather than spend the time drying it. A little mascara. Lip gloss. I was ready to go.

  “I’m leaving!” I called out when I got to the bottom of the stairs. I picked up my backpack from the bench near the door and slung it over my arms. “Gram? I’m going to school!”

  She didn’t answer. Feeling guilty, I walked to the kitchen. “Gram. I’m sorry. I lo—” Everything else I was going to say died on my lips. A pool of coffee crept across the floor, steam lifting off the white tile.

  My grandmother lay on her stomach, hand stretched toward the shards of a broken mug like she’d gone to her knees to pick up the pieces and then fallen flat.

  Everything closed in on me. Later, I would recall calling 911 and rolling Gram to her back to start CPR. I’d remember the volunteer firefighters rushing into the house to take over for me and falling onto my butt into the coffee.

  There was nothing they could do for her. I sat, knees to my chin, watching as they lifted her onto a gurney and covered her with a blanket. One question ran through my mind: was this my fault?

  Eight

  Brant

  “Yo. Get to your girl’s house.”

  I should never have answered my brother’s call. I glanced at Violet who sat in the seat next to me. She’d asked me to pick her up and take her to school, so that was what I did. Now she droned on and on about something, still talking even though she saw me on the phone.

  “Violet’s sitting right next to me,” I told Clay.

  “No man. Your real girl. I’m on my way there now. Got a call about her grandmother.”

  I dismissed what he said about my real girl, and shoved my foot down on the gas pedal. “Brant!” Violet screeched. “Slow down!”

  I was driving my dad’s car today because I wasn’t putting Violet on the back of my bike. I didn’t want her arms around my waist or to feel her pressed up against me. This way I had a gear shift and a console between us.

  “I’m taking you to school, and then I have to go.”

  “What?” She grabbed her seatbelt with one hand and the door with the other. “Why?”

  “That was Clayton. Something happened to Betsy’s grandmother. I need to go there.”

  Snorting, Violet crossed her arms. Apparently, her temper tantrum overrode her fear of my driving. “So, why do you have to go?”

  “She’s my best friend.”

  Violet was a pretty girl, and lots of guys glared at me when I walked into school with her. With her sun-kissed brown hair, bright blue eyes and freckles, she was country music, apple pie, all-American-girl hot.

  But she wasn’t for me.

  And right now, with her nose wrinkled, lips mashed together, and eyes narrowed, she wasn’t pretty at all. “You can walk me into school, Brant. If your brother is there, so is an ambulance. Slow down and relax. It’s not a big deal.”

  Of all the mornings to give in to Violet’s pleading. Ignoring her, I spun into the parking lot and squealed to a stop at the sidewalk.

  “I’m not getting out without you.” She faced me. “You might as well park.”

  “Get out of the car, Violet,” I said. “I’m leaving.”

  Violet’s face paled and then flushed bright red. “Do you know how humiliating this is? Everyone thinks you’re with her. Everyone. And I stand up for you. ‘Why would he ask me to Final Fling if he’s with Betsy? Josh is with Betsy, Brant would never do that to his best friend.’ If you don’t park this damn car right now, and walk me inside, I will know for certain those rumors are true.”

  Heat blasted up the back of my neck. I grabbed the hat off my head and flung it onto the dashboard before facing her fully. “Get out of my goddamned car.” I didn’t raise my voice. I didn’t have to. She was going to get out, or I was going to go around to her side and pull her out. Studying me, she must have seen how serious I was because she huffed a laugh and opened the door.

  From the corner of my eye, I saw her turn, ready to lean into the window to give me one parting shot, but I peeled away. Violet Harris wasn’t taking up one more second of my time.

  A few minutes later, I came up on flashing blue lights and fire trucks parked along the side of the road. There was no room for me to get down the driveway, so I pulled off to the side of the road, threw the car into park, and took off.

  “Brant!” My brother was in his turnout gear, but had his helmet in his hands. “Brant. Wait.”

  Jogging toward him, I called. “What happened?”

  “Miss Laura died,” he said, glancing down the driveway. “Heart attack probably.”

  My throat closed. Betsy’s only family—only family that cared about her—was her grandmother. This would wreck her. “Where’s Bets?”

  “Still inside, but Brant… be careful. Pastor Morehouse is in there and he’s on the warpath.”

  His words made no sense to me. I wasn’t surprised Wes’s dad was here. I knew he was a son of a bitch, but he lived for public moments where he could be seen as godly and kind. He kept his true nature hidden, reserving his hatred and rants for Wes, and only when no one else was around.

  “Yeah,” I replied, striding backward away from my brother. “Got it.”

  Betsy and her grandmother lived off the beaten path. Their little house was outside of town, tucked away in a little lot with lots of trees. Miss Laura’s pride and joy was her garden. Her azaleas and roses were in full bloom and filled the air with their sweet scent. None of the beauty of the morning fit with what was happening.

  Pastor Morehouse’s car was parked behind Miss Laura’s, and I had a moment of wondering if he’d brought Westin. It would be the right thing to do. He knew as well as anyone that as best friends, Wes would want to be here.

  I took the steps two at a time and burst through the front door. From there, I could see Betsy’s backpack on the floor. Taking a deep breath, I strode toward the kitchen. The house was full. I recognized some of the volunteer firefighters waiting in the living room and waved. Some of them nodded at me as I walked by, others ignored me. I was used to that. As Clayton’s little brother, I’d made it my life’s w
ork to annoy and antagonize a good portion of those guys.

  “Bets?” I called out as I got into the kitchen. Pastor Morehouse sat at the kitchen table, a Bible open in front of them and glared at me when he made eye contact. “Where’s Betsy?”

  “Brant?” Betsy stood, her hands full of stained towels from behind the kitchen island.

  A puddle of coffee and broken shards of glass were at her feet. She’d been cleaning. I glared at Wes’s dad as I hurried to take the mess from her. “What are you doing?”

  Her gaze was watery and her eyes more blue than green today. I took the towels and flung them into the garbage, then I took her hands and led her away from the pastor’s narrow-eyed stare.

  “There was a spill. I didn’t want it to get tracked everywhere.” Her voice was lost.

  “Come on.” I wasn’t used to seeing Betsy like this. Empty. She stared right through me, but followed me upstairs and into her room. I shut the door behind us and pulled her into my arms. “Betsy.”

  She stood frozen for a moment and then shuddered. I felt her tears wetting my shirt, but she didn’t make a sound, just held onto me.

  “I got you.” I wouldn’t leave her alone. “I got you.”

  Her breath hitched and her body shook, but she stayed upright and held on so tight. I stroked her back, rubbing gently and whispering into her ear. “It’s going to be okay.”

  “It’s my fault, Brant,” she said. Her voice was hoarse like she’d been yelling, and I suddenly remembered the first time I’d seen her cry. It had been right before Christmas during kindergarten. I’d successfully ignored her way longer than my friends could.

  And goddamn, I’d been jealous of them. Betsy came up with the best stories. My friends were pirates and soldiers and knights. They tortured each other for information about treasures.

  It all looked like so much fun, but I refused to play with a girl.

  So I sat my ass on a swing and watched the fun.