Handcuffs

by Bethany Griffin

  “Paige?”

  She glances at the clock on the microwave. Figures out that I’m not supposed to be here and gives me a wicked grin. “Is the Princess sick today?”

  “Paige, I thought you had a test today?”

  “I’ll get an excuse note from the infirmary.” She splashes some of the bourbon into a cup. Her sweater is still hanging, like she’s lost weight, and she’s always been thin. I reach out but then can’t touch it, so I just stand there with my hand hovering over the mark. She pulls her sweater up, and for a second, as I look into her eyes, she looks really old. Like ancient-and-tired-of-the-world old. It scares me, and I don’t want to deal with this right now. She’s probably just stressed, right?

  The screech of the garage door opening makes both of us jump. Oh no. Mom or Dad? I don’t want to see either of them, and I know Paige doesn’t either. The door to the garage is just past the refrigerator. Paige opens it, with the bourbon still in her hand. The first thing we both see is the Saab.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t alone?”

  I don’t say anything. How can I tell her that the way she looked standing there, bruised, with my dad’s bourbon in her hand in the middle of the day, made me forget? Beyond the Saab is a gold Camry and some kind of monolithic SUV. I can breathe again. It isn’t either of my parents.

  “Oh God. It’s Theresa again.” Paige takes a long gulp straight out of the bourbon bottle. “Oooh, look at the closet space, ooh look at the stainless-steel range,” she says in a high ugly voice. “We won’t tell them that the garbage disposal doesn’t work, and maybe they won’t notice that there isn’t a basement.” She takes an even longer drink, and then sets the bottle on the counter. “Don’t worry, kid. I’ll get rid of them for you. Better get out of here, though. Mom is sure to hear about this, and you don’t want to ruin your perfect record.” Paige can’t seem to get it through her head that my record isn’t perfect anymore. I watch her. I can tell that something big is about to happen. She never calls me “kid.” That’s what she usually calls Preston. The sibling she likes.

  I step back into the hallway to listen. Sure enough, I can hear Theresa chattering away about the landscaping and the two-car garage. Her artificially cheerful voice is exactly the same as the one Paige was using to mock her.

  “House isn’t for sale.” Paige sounds drunker than I’ve ever heard her, drunker than she was five seconds ago. I remember suddenly that Theresa is Paige’s godmother. How awful for both of them.

  “Paige?” Theresa says. “What are you doing here? You know your parents are selling, that I’m showing the house.”

  “You’re wrong. This house is not for sale,” Paige yells, and she slams the door and slides the dead bolt into place. “Let’s see them get in now,” she says. But they don’t even try. Theresa is a professional realtor. She doesn’t make money by breaking into houses and showing them to people.

  Paige was right. I’m sure our mom is going to hear about what just happened. Theresa is probably calling her right now.

  I turn and tiptoe upstairs. When I peer out the hallway window the Camry and the SUV are both gone. My sister works fast. The Volkswagen is pulling out of the driveway. She was faking being drunk, right? She has to be safe to drive, because there’s no way to stop her now.

  I push my door open. He’s sitting at my computer. I absolutely hate for people to get into my private stuff. I stand there in the doorway, unsure how I should feel.

  “Parker?” His voice sounds bored, but I know that the bored thing is kind of an act.

  “Yeah?”

  “What’s all this, this folder? Are you blackmailing someone?”

  This day has not been anything like I planned. I have this deal where I get something in my head, as minutely detailed as imagining what he will say to me and what I will say to him. Sure, I can take a little deviation from the script, but when everything is different and my entire day gets subsequently fucked, it infuriates me. He sees the look on my face.

  “Hey, Park, it’s just me. I’m on your side, so you don’t have to kill me, okay? Okay?” He’s laughing.

  “Are you making fun of me?” I’m suddenly so angry that I actually clench my fists.

  “A little bit. Are you seriously blackmailing somebody?”

  “Do you think I invited you over here to snoop through my e-mail?” I start to unbutton my shirt with jerky motions. I have to distract him, to salvage this thing we’ve planned. To get our day back on track.

  “Hey, don’t get all agitated, Prescott.” He stands up and puts his arms around me and we stand between the desk and the bed for several minutes, until the trembling stops. It’s because of him that it stops. That’s how I know that what I’m thinking of doing is right. I’m ready for whatever comes next.

  “I’m not agitated,” I say in a shaky voice.

  “No?” He kisses me, and then he climbs back into my bed.

  Is it weird that at one point I wonder whether I will ever tell Raye or anyone about exactly what is happening? Then he distracts me and I mostly don’t think about anything.

  A little later, he goes back to my panty drawer and pulls out the black lacy panties again.

  “I guess Raye told you, huh?” he says.

  “What?” He’s so calm, able to talk normally. This is like everyday stuff to him.

  “When you bought these in September, I guess Raye had told you.”

  “Told me what?” I try to act calm and cool too.

  “That I called her up. Went over to her house, to ask her about you, if she thought you’d be interested in going out with me.” His tone is weird and I can’t tell if it’s because of what’s happened between us or some other thing.

  “No, she didn’t tell me. What did she say?” He was interested in me then, asking about me? I feel insanely happy.

  “She said she didn’t think you would be interested, that I wasn’t your type.”

  I am lacing up my shoes and not looking at him. Wondering what Raye thought my type was, wondering if she thought she was protecting me from him. I watch him put the panties back in the drawer and close it. I can’t tear my eyes away from him. I find it amazing and daunting that another person has been so thoroughly together with me. And now we are apart, but he’s right here, where I can reach out and touch him.

  “If I bought you something lacy and see-through, would you wear it?”

  “Yes.” I hear myself answer faintly. I think I’ve proven that I will do anything for him.

  “I have something for you,” I tell him. He’s standing by my door, looking in my full-length mirror. He touches his hair where it’s sticking up a little, and I would laugh at him, but for some reason I don’t feel like laughing. In the very bottom drawer of my desk, under the extra loose-leaf paper, are the handcuffs.

  I hand them to him.

  “My mom had them on her dresser for a while, I guess to remind her how bad I am and how mad she was at me. Then she threw them away last week.” I was glad she got rid of the reminder, but somehow I couldn’t let them go.

  He puts them in the pocket of his jacket. Doesn’t ask about how I rescued them from the garbage, even though as I was fishing them out I was totally thinking about what a great story it would make. Guess I was wrong. He doesn’t ask about the key, and I don’t tell him that I put it on my key chain, with my house key and my key to the Jeep. Just in case I ever need it again. His casual acceptance of this thing, this item that, with his help, threw my life so completely out of whack, feels like a slap in the face, like he’s ignoring all that I’ve been through. I bite my lip and look down as he puts his hands on my shoulders. He pulls me close and presses his lips against my forehead. I want him to stay.

  I know he has to leave, his mom is expecting him home right after school, but I don’t want to stay here alone. If I weren’t grounded I could go and hang out at his house, but I’m trapped here, and my mom won’t be too pleased if she finds him here, so I just have to say goodbye to h
im, awkward as hell, and watch as he drives away. It sucks.

  In my room, I find the e-mail I’ve been waiting for. Nearly two thousand dollars are now sitting in my new anonymous PayPal account. Two thousand dollars minus PayPal fees. How am I going to get this money to my parents? I feel strange and, well, honestly, kind of hormonal. You know how sometimes when you have PMS you want to laugh and cry at the same time and in the end, you just feel nuts? That’s how I feel right now.

  I can’t think about the ex because I have to figure out what to do with the money. Obviously I can’t just hand it to them. I have to be sneaky.

  Raye is shopping online for prom dresses and filling out precollege applications. I can’t help thinking how different our days have been. She e-mails me an essay to ask if her commas are in the right places. I’m good with commas, with all punctuation, really.

  I go over it on autopilot. She has two comma splices and a fragment that doesn’t make a damn bit of sense. I fix it and e-mail it back to her. She doesn’t ask how things went. I am disappointed and relieved. Are we still not talking about intimate things? Does that mean our friendship is disintegrating? I wonder. I worry about things like this.

  Two thousand dollars. Why am I suddenly picturing a beach and the sky over an ocean, palm trees? Are there palm trees in the Cayman Islands? I could tell my parents, I could convince them that the trip was school related. You know, with two thousand dollars I could get Paige to go with me as my chaperone. If she would go. After the way she covered for me today I feel like maybe she would.

  As if she knows I’m thinking about her, Paige pushes my door open. I didn’t even realize she had come back home. “Raye is on the phone.” I glance at where it’s sitting mute and useless on my dresser. It’s like Raye knows I need to talk to her. Am I becoming psychic or something, both Paige and Raye know when I’m thinking about them? I didn’t even hear the phone ring. Paige hands it to me.

  “Hurry up, Kyle is on the other line.”

  What? I stare at my sister. Is she insane? Did I hear her right? I put the phone to my ear because I can’t ignore Raye forever, and say, “Hello?”

  “Hey, Parker. I got your e-mail. I just wanted to see if you needed to talk,” Raye says.

  I did. I do. I want to talk. But now that she’s listening I’m not ready, and what Paige said about talking to Kyle is freaking me out.

  “Raye, you aren’t going to believe this, but my sister just told me that she’s on the phone with Kyle Henessy.”

  “What? Why?” She sounds almost scared, which is a big deal for Raye.

  “I don’t know. She’s crazy lately. I’ll call you back later on my cell phone.”

  “What about the restraining order?”

  “I don’t know.” Maybe she doesn’t care anymore—but I should. Right? I can’t stop thinking about the money he just paid to protect himself. Surely a phone call to my sister is worse than coffee with me. “She’s been acting weird.”

  “I don’t think she should be talking to him.”

  “I know. If I don’t call you back later, call the police or something.”

  She laughs. Then her voice gets all serious. “Really, Parker?”

  “No. I’m joking.” There’s a long silence. I know that didn’t sound like me, and she’s thinking it over. I don’t feel like me.

  “Okay,” she says finally. I can imagine her running her hand through her hair, how it’ll stick up and then after a few minutes lie back down. I tell her goodbye and sit at my desk imagining what it would be like if the police showed up here again. I can still remember watching out the window when they picked Kyle up for questioning. It was pretty awful.

  30

  I tiptoe downstairs. My bedroom is making me claustrophobic, and I’m seriously worried about my sister. I scan the kitchen and am surprised to see Dad sitting at the table reading a newspaper. I didn’t hear him come in. He’s wearing his wire-rimmed reading glasses and he looks like he just got his hair cut. He must’ve had it trimmed today. When he had a job, we could expect Dad at five-thirty every single day. Now he just shows up. Kind of drifts around the house and the neighborhood, I guess.

  Paige sits down by Daddy and smiles at me. Dad frowns at her, and she moves slightly away from him. I watch them, wondering what they are thinking. Dad knows something is up. Paige doesn’t have him completely fooled like she does Mom. Or else maybe Theresa already called Mom and Mom called Dad. It doesn’t matter—Mom is the one she has to worry about. I’m the only one who worries about Dad—and that’s because I hate to disappoint him—not because he’ll ground me or anything.

  “Your mother will be home in a few minutes” is all he says.

  “Why were you talking to that person?” I ask Paige. “That one person from school?” I glance at Daddy. He’s looking at the help wanted ads, not listening to us.

  “I didn’t have anyplace to go after I left here. So I went to the place where that person works.” For the first time in my life my sister and I are speaking the same language. It’s the language of vague hints and lies, but still it makes me feel weirdly happy for a minute.

  Mom comes through the door just as I’m trying to figure out how to ask Paige why she felt compelled to go see that person, her ex-stalker. Kyle. And why she would have to call him afterward.

  Mom looks stressed. Her hair is a mess. There’s a run in her panty hose. There are creases on her forehead that I don’t think are ever going to go away.

  Mom sits down. Dad looks at the table. Paige scoots her chair back.

  “Sit down,” Mom says. Paige wasn’t actually standing, but she stays put. “What the hell happened today? How could you attack Theresa like that?” Mom’s face is red. I feel bad for Paige and glad that Mom isn’t glaring at me for once.

  “I just couldn’t stand the thought of those fat losers living in our house,” Paige says.

  “Honey, somebody else is just going to have to live in our house, because we can’t afford to live here anymore,” Mom tells her, flat-out. Dad makes a tiny movement that neither of them notices, and I know he thinks this is all somehow his fault. I can feel his shame and it leaves a bad taste in my mouth. “So why weren’t you at your class, and who were you meeting here?” Mom asks.

  “What?” Paige’s surprise is as genuine as my own. For once she’s innocent, and she almost doesn’t know how to react.

  “Theresa says there was a strange car in the garage. An import. A nice car, and that woman recognizes quality cars. So it wasn’t West, everyone knows his car, and if it wasn’t your husband, who were you meeting here when you should have been at school?” Oh God, this is really bad. Both of the parents are getting worked up now. Parental indignation is the thing that gets you every time.

  “A friend, just a friend,” Paige says. She’s protecting me, keeping my secret. Right now, I love her. And not just because she’s my sister and I have to. But I have to say something. This has already gone on long enough.

  “It was my boyfriend’s car,” I hear myself say. I think my parents forgot I was here. They both turn toward me, more surprised than I am. I truly hadn’t planned to tell them, it just kind of came out of my mouth. “I cut school today and brought my boyfriend here,” I say. Now the dreaded indignation is focused on me, and Paige can escape. Except they don’t let her.

  My mom and dad both look stunned. “I am so disappointed in you,” Mom begins. I keep my head high and try to maintain eye contact with her because I don’t know what else to do. I sense, rather than see, Paige sliding back from the table, and Mom says, her voice rising, “Don’t you go anywhere. We aren’t done with you yet.” There is this insanely long pause, and then she says, slowly, “We must be really bad parents.”

  Paige and I don’t say anything, because it’s hard to know what to say.

  “Tell your little sister about you and West,” Daddy says all of a sudden. What is he talking about?

  “Why? Why does she need to know?” Paige asks.

  �
�Because she’s your sister, and if nothing else maybe she can learn from your mistakes,” Mom says.

  What is going on?

  “Oh, Mom. This is Perfect Parker, don’t you remember? She’s the one who’s always in control. She doesn’t need my help.” Perfect Parker? Yeah, and she’s the one who just looks perfect, the one with the perfect self-confidence, the perfect friends, right?

  “She isn’t the first girl to cut school and bring a boy home, is she? I think she needs to hear what happened with West,” Mom says.

  “Paige, you expect to come here and live in our house. You expect us to help pay for college, but you won’t even talk to your sister. You help her cut school, but you can’t give her some advice?” Dad sounds pissed. I sit across from Paige with my hands in my lap and feel uncomfortable. I was trying to take the heat off her, and somehow everything has gotten turned around.

  “There isn’t anything to tell, really.” Paige sounds like her pouty self again. “Just that I thought I was in love with him. I was in love with him,” she corrects herself. “But things don’t seem so good now.”

  “You were too young,” Mom says.

  “I wouldn’t say—”

  “You did say. You said those exact words last week when you asked to move back in.” Daddy completely calls her out. She looks shocked and hurt, but also a little bit confused, like she’s believed her own lies for so long she can’t understand the truth. So what does this mean, that things are screwed up between Paige and West? That my parents think I’m going to get married in a couple of years, that I’ll be just like my sister? Get a big wedding and then move back home less than a year later? Do they realize that big white dresses and sugary cakes don’t appeal to me in the least?

  Paige stands up and Mom and Dad don’t say anything to stop her this time. A few minutes later we hear her bedroom door close softly. Poor Paige.