Boys and Burlesque

by Ripley Proserpina

  Then one day, as Betsy brandished a stick and fought Wes and Josh on the bow of their pirate ship, I decided I’d had enough.

  I leapt from my spot, grabbed one of the stick swords she’d knocked out of my friend’s hand and climbed up the jungle gym to fight her.

  Back then, I was the tallest of the four of us, and the strongest. When I did battle with Betsy that day, I went balls-to-the-wall. She was a skinny little thing—still living with her parents then—and wearing a too-small jacket she’d had to borrow from a pile of extra outdoor clothes the teacher kept in a garbage bag next to the door.

  The sleeves were too short, and her arms were blue from cold, and you’d think that I could have seen that this girl just wanted friends and had a hard life and I’d take it easy on her. But I was a rat, and I knocked the stick out of her hand and then walloped her right on the wrist.

  The second it happened, I felt sick. She sucked in a breath and drew her injured arm against her chest. I expected she’d scream for the teacher, but she didn’t. Staring at me like I’d betrayed her, her eyes filled with tears. They spilled down her face as her shoulders shook, but she didn’t make a sound.

  It was one of the worst days of my life, and I was glad when Westin pushed me off the jungle gym and I got the wind knocked out of me.

  Seeing her now with that same look on her face was like someone reached into my chest and squeezed my heart.

  I pulled her onto my lap and buried my face against her. She smelled like coconuts, and her hair was still wet, half falling out of the bun she’d wrapped it into. “She tried to talk to me, and I just blew her off.” Clutching my arm, she went on. “She knew about us. I don’t know how, but she did.”

  I shook my head. The other guys were so certain that we could keep everything quiet and under wraps, but I’d known this would happen. From the second we decided we were all going to be with her, this was inevitable. What did I care, though? I didn’t have anything to lose. I planned on going to South in Mobile. My entire future didn’t hinge on keeping us a secret. My parents would shit a brick, but so what? They’d get over it.

  Or they wouldn’t.

  I’d be fine either way.

  But I didn’t say any of this to Betsy. She’d feel worse, or stupid, and I’d cut out my own tongue before I did that to her.

  “Had she been sick?” I asked her. The last time I’d seen Miss Laura, she looked the same as she always did.

  “When we were arguing, I had the thought that she looked older. And her hands were so thin and cold. But she hadn’t been sick. She did the same thing every day, and she didn’t complain.”

  The door to her bedroom opened, and Pastor Morehouse walked inside like he had every right to be there. “Why don’t you go downstairs, Brant,” he said. “Give a call to the school and Mrs. Morehouse, she’ll activate the prayer chain.”

  Activate the prayer chain. Swallowing my sarcastic response to that, I shook my head and stated, “I’m good.”

  The man didn’t like that reply. He was used to people jumping at his beck and call and practically genuflecting when he walked in a room, but if he expected that from me, then he would be waiting a long fucking time.

  That’s right. I glared at him. I know all about you, fucking asshole.

  Betsy glanced between us, letting out a breath before she tried to stand. I kept my arm around her, holding her in place while I continued to stare at Wes’s dad. “My friend needs me right now.”

  Peering over his shoulder, Morehouse stepped more fully into the room and shut the door behind him. Hands on his hips, he studied us. “Elizabeth, your grandmother is dead, and I’m certain she wouldn’t want you getting up to anything that would embarrass her.”

  This motherfucker.

  Her entire body shook, but the girl who’d morphed from a pirate to a ballerina was still tougher than anyone I knew. “She’d never be embarrassed of me,” she replied in a quiet voice. “And Brant is right. I need him right now.”

  “Just like you need my son?” Red-faced, he strode toward us.

  That was enough.

  Helping Betsy to sit next to me, I stood between her and the pastor. “Now who’s embarrassing themselves?” He looked past me at Betsy, and I moved more fully between them. “You got something to say, say it to me.”

  Spinning on his heel, Pastor Morehouse opened the door. He yanked it open but stopped and threw over his shoulder, “Your mother is going to be hearing from me.”

  His threat didn’t merit a reply. My mother heard plenty about me, none of which surprised her.

  As soon as the door closed behind him, Betsy stood. “He hates me.”

  “Who cares?” I replied. “He hates everyone.” I took her in my arms, loving the way she didn’t hesitate to curl into me. “It’s going to be okay. You can stay with me if you want. Or I’ll stay here.”

  She twisted until she could look up at me. “You’d do that?”

  Was she really surprised? All I wanted was to be with her. “Of course.”

  Standing on her tiptoes, she gave me a soft kiss on the lips. “Then yes. Please.”

  Nine

  Betsy

  After Gram died, everything changed. First, my uncles came home. There were three of them, and they brought with them their wives and children. The house was packed to the gills, not only with them, but with well-wishers.

  Uncle Rick was the eldest of Gram’s kids, and when he, his wife, and two daughters arrived, they put their suitcases in Gram’s room. I’d made her bed, changed the sheets, and tidied it up, but it was strange to me the way they walked right in. But I supposed it was his house when all was said and done.

  I went into the attic and found twin mattresses to drag downstairs. Their youngest was my age, and thought staying with her parents was gross, so all the girl cousins piled into my room. The boys stayed in Uncle Rick’s old room.

  The next day Uncle Mike and his wife showed up, and they took the last remaining bedroom, which made the middle brother, Kevin, pissed when he got there later in the day. He glared at me when Rick told him the girls were staying in my room, like I didn’t deserve a room and I was taking up space never meant to be mine.

  My mom called collect from jail. She talked to her brothers but didn’t ask for me. I wondered if she even knew I was here.

  The cousins were noisy, talking late into the night, but I didn’t mind it. Their voices kept me distracted from what was going on. I’d suddenly gone from Gram’s closest relative to someone who had no place. No role. My uncles chose her laying out clothes and casket. They chose the hymns for her service and the stone for her plot.

  The times I came downstairs, the three couples sat with their heads together, talking in low voices they’d cut off as soon as they saw me watching.

  “Go on, Betsy. This doesn’t involve you.”

  I must have heard that a dozen times over the next week, but I still didn’t feel like I could go on with my life. Unlike my cousins, who were happy to go to the movies on a rainy day or drive the hour to Birmingham, I wanted to stay close by in case I was needed.

  The boys were with me as much as possible, but they still had school. Brant had skipped the day Gram died, and later on the others did too because they showed up as well.

  “This house is too small for four extra people,” Kevin told me when the boys showed up one evening. My cousins were in Birmingham, and my aunts had gone out for dinner, leaving my three uncles sitting on the couch, drinking beer and watching a baseball game.

  The house was quieter than it had been all week, so I stared at them, confused. “We’re going to my room.”

  Kevin chuckled. “I don’t think so,” he said. “You may have been able to pull the wool over my mother’s eyes, Miss Sass, but we know what you’re up to.”

  I cursed my pale skin and the blush I knew rose to my cheeks. Wes opened his mouth to retort but I shook my head. Gram’s funeral was two days away. We just had to get through this and then they’d be g
one.

  Or so I thought.

  The day of her funeral passed in a blur. I sat in the second row in the parlor of the funeral home, watching her friends shake hands with my uncles and wives.

  My cousins sat away from me. Over the week, they’d become quieter around me, watching me from the corner of their eyes. I didn’t know what was going on, and I was too sad to care.

  But sitting alone here, away from the boys who were a couple of rows behind me and away from the family who was supposed to accept me, hurt. Gram had been more of a mother to me than my own had been, and somehow, that had turned into a black mark against me.

  I didn’t hear a word on the drive from the funeral parlor to the church, and I didn’t hear a word Pastor Morehouse uttered during her funeral service.

  My head spun and I clutched my hands so tightly in front of myself that my fingers ached.

  “Laura Belle Bartlett was a pillar of this community, and she was a loving mother to her children Sarah, Richard, Kevin, and Michael. When they got married to their spouses, Emily, Julie, and Tiffany, she was overjoyed to accept three new daughters into her life. But nothing brought Miss Laura more joy than her grandchildren Laurel, Addison, Trace, Madelyn, Lily, Charlie, and Sam.”

  I heard the names, processing them slowly. Laurel, Addison, Trace, Madelyn, Lily, Charlie, and Sam.

  Lifting my head, I met Pastor Morehouse’s gaze. He held it for a second then blinked slowly and looked away.

  Someone coughed behind me, the sound jarring me, and I startled. My cousins were watching me from their place across the aisle. Laurel and Addison, Uncle Rick’s daughters, frowned, confused, but Kevin’s girls, Madelyn and Lily, seemed unsurprised.

  Why? I turned away from my cousins toward Pastor Morehouse. What in God’s name was the purpose of all of this? It seemed unduly petty, and having never done anything rude or hurtful toward my family, I didn’t understand it.

  When we buried Gram, the sky was blue and the heat sticky. Sweat trickled down my neck, soaking the back of my black dress. My fair skin was hot and tight, no doubt burning as I stood just outside the tent set up over the hole in the ground.

  Just outside.

  Just away.

  Just alone.

  A shadow merged with mine as I stared at a spot on the grass. Wes stood next to me, his pinky curling around mine. A second later, Landry appeared on my other side. He held my hand tight, palm-to-palm. Then came Brant and finally Josh. The four of them surrounded me, supported me, and something inside me relaxed. I wasn’t alone. Even though I hadn’t seen them, they had been with me. Only the good manners and the unspoken rules around funerals kept them from being right next to me. But today, right now, they decided to do what they wanted.

  I leaned against Wes, pressing my shoulder into his arm. He wore a suit, and his face was flushed, but unlike me, there was no sweat rolling down his temples. A muscle jumped next to his ear. That flush was from anger, not the heat.

  I spun my hand until I could hold his, and then I squeezed it twice. He glanced down at me and I smiled. I’m okay.

  And in that moment, it was completely true. But only because of them.

  After the funeral, I stayed in the kitchen for the most part. I took it upon myself to wash the casserole dishes and salad bowls my neighbors had brought, mentally listing everyone who would need a thank you note when this was all over.

  The boys wanted to come home with me, but I assured them I was fine. Tomorrow, my uncles were leaving and I’d have my house back. It would be too quiet and too empty without Gram, but I actually welcomed it after the noise and chaos of the last week. Gram and I lived—had lived—a pretty routine, unassuming life.

  “Betsy!” Uncle Mike called from the living room. “Can you please come in here?”

  Surprised, I shook off the plate I’d been washing and placed it in the drying rack. Wiping my hands on the dish towel, I stared at the threshold to the living room. My stomach had been in knots, and hearing my uncle’s voice made it cramp harder.

  “Sure!” I replied, threading the towel over the bar along the stove.

  My feet didn’t want to propel me toward my family. The past week my uncles had done nothing but keep me on the outs. What could they possibly want me for now?

  “Betsy,” Rick said when he saw me hovering. “Have a seat.”

  I perched on the edge of an armchair, noting that my aunts had taken up spots next to their respective husbands. They all watched me, faces serious but stoic, not giving anything away.

  “Is everything okay?” I asked. I hadn’t done anything.

  Kevin shook his head. In the week with Uncle Kevin, I’d grown to like him less and less. He was a bitter, sarcastic man who for some reason, acted like he was entitled to something he’d never gotten. I couldn’t figure it out, and I did my best to stay out of his way.

  Now it seemed I wouldn’t be able to avoid him.

  “No, it’s not,” Kevin said. “We have a problem. A pretty big problem.”

  Aunt Tiffany touched his knee. “Kev.”

  “The thing is, Betsy,” Rick cut in, “you’re seventeen for another month and can’t live on your own. You need a guardian.”

  “I’m eighteen right after graduation.”

  “Let him finish,” Kevin growled, and I closed my mouth with a snap.

  “You weren’t adopted by my mother, and remain a ward of the state. They’ve contacted us, hoping one of us could take you, but we aren’t in the position to handle you.”

  “It’s three weeks,” I whispered, knowing I was repeating myself. “I’m eighteen in three weeks.”

  “My mother’s will is clear, she wants you to stay with us, but the state makes the ultimate decision. Given what we’ve learned and seen this week, I think you’ll best be suited to go to a girl’s home until your eighteenth birthday.” Rick sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers under his chin.

  “What you’ve seen?” What had they seen? “I don’t understand. What did I do?”

  Rick glanced at his wife, and Sarah scooted forward in her chair. “We talked about this and we all think this is the best solution for everyone. You’re going to New York after the summer, and we have a lot to do to get this place ready to sell.”

  I shook my head from side to side. Stomach roiling, I had to shut my eyes against the sudden nausea. I breathed through my nose until it was under control and then opened my eyes. “I can help here. I could stay and pack. Paint the house. Whatever you want. I know you have busy lives, but I can help. Please don’t send me away.”

  Kevin snorted, and Sarah shook her head. “We can’t leave you here.”

  “And if you think I’m trusting someone like you in this place by yourself, you’re crazy.” Kevin’s eyes narrowed. He studied me from head to toe, stripping me to the bone like he could see right to the heart of me and didn’t like what he found. “You’re going into the state’s care and that’s final. What you do after that is none of our concern.”

  “I go to Juilliard in July,” I said, my voice lifting shrilly. “It’s only two months.”

  “I know this seems harsh, but it’s the best thing for everyone. You need more supervision than what we can give you, and you’ll get that.” Rick stood. Apparently, the conversation was over.

  I stared at the carpet, my mind still struggling to make sense of what I’d learned. I had to go. They wanted me out of their lives. I hadn’t even been in their lives and they wanted me out. “How long?” I asked quietly. Someone paused in front of my chair. I thought it was Uncle Mike as I stared at his shoes. “How long until I have to go?”

  “Tomorrow afternoon,” Mike replied. “You’ll have the day to pack. Your social worker will be here before dinner.”

  So that was it then. No more dance. No graduation. No summer with the boys.

  I pushed out of my seat. This can’t be real. Without glancing at anyone, I climbed the stairs to my room and opened the door. My cousins were inside, huddled on one of
the mattresses, and glanced up from their whispers when they saw me.

  They must have known. Everyone must have known. And they were all fine with it.

  I had nothing to say to them, and so I picked my way silently to my bed and took my phone out of my pocket.

  “They’re sending me to a group home run by the state,” I wrote in a group text to the boys. “I leave tomorrow afternoon. I don’t know what to do.”

  Josh was the first to reply. “I’m on my way. Pack a bag.”

  A choke burst out of me at the sudden relief. They’d help me. I jumped off my bed, grabbed my backpack and stuffed my toiletries and a change of clothes inside it while my cousins watched.

  “What are you doing?” Madelyn asked finally.

  “My dad wants to check your bags before you leave.” Lily was Kevin’s daughter, and her words sliced deeper into the wound my uncle had inflicted on me.

  I caught sight of my reflection as I packed and didn’t recognize myself. Deep shadows rested under my eyes, and the curve of my jaw and cheekbones seemed harsher. I looked older. Tired. A week ago, the world had been at my fingertips and I’d greeted every day with excitement.

  If I was going to get that girl back, I needed Landry, Brant, Westin, and Josh. I didn’t think I could be her without them.

  Ignoring my cousins, I slung the backpack on my back and hurried downstairs. It would take no time for Josh to get here, and I figured I could run down the road to meet him halfway.

  “Betsy!” one of my uncles called out as I rushed downstairs and out the door. Like I had with my cousins, I pretended I didn’t see them or hear them. They didn’t want me, and I didn’t want them. My goal was to get to Josh and then we’d figure it out from there.

  The night was warm and humid, and as soon as I stepped out of the house, I was drenched in sweat. It was dark, but I didn’t need a light to know where I was going. In the days before we’d decided that we loved each other, all of us used to sneak out, hauling ass on our bikes to meet for whatever craziness we wanted to get up to.