If You Could See What I See

by Cathy Lamb

  “Well, Regan was late for class and came sprinting by—”

  Regan moaned, distraught. “I thought it was third period, my Spanish class, but it wasn’t, it was fourth period and I was supposed to be in Introduction to Algebra. Remember I told you I had to take that over again, Aunt Meggie?”

  I nodded.

  “I was confused about where I was supposed to be because I was so upset . . .” He groaned. “So upset . . .”

  Cassidy hugged Regan.

  Cody said, “Be strong, buddy.”

  “What were you upset about?” I asked.

  Regan ran his hands over his hot, wet face. As usual his blond hair was a mess. “I was upset . . .”

  Hayden ruffled his hair.

  “What?” I said. “What else happened today?”

  “I was in biology class.” Regan snuffled, then inhaled, exhaled, trying to calm himself down. “And it was . . . oh, my gosh, it was terrible, Aunt Meggie! I had to leave and go throw up.”

  “Regan, why?”

  “I had to throw up once and I felt like I was going to throw up again, so I had to keep leaning over the toilet, and it was so gross, all coming out—”

  “Got it, Regan. But what was so bad?”

  “It was”—he gasped, shaking his head back and forth as if to erase the tragic memory—“it was frog dissection day!”

  Aha. I leaned back. I understood.

  “And all those frogs . . . those dead frogs. All I could think about was Hermie, Princess Bob, Russell Max, King X, and Sergeant Elizabeth, and how much I love them. How I can talk to them and hug them, and there were these dead frogs! They should have been in ponds, Aunt Meggie! Outside hopping, not inside”—his voice pitched, semihysterically—“where kids cut them up!”

  Cody had had it with the sobbing Regan. He stood up and kneeled in front of him and hugged that huge kid. Cassidy patted his back, and Hayden patted his head.

  I swung my gaze back to the principal. He shifted, pulled at his tie. “It’s been part of the curriculum for decades. . . .”

  When Regan finally settled down and could breathe again, I said, “So you saw Hayden getting beaten up?”

  “Yeah, I did,” Regan said. “And I still felt sick because I’d thrown up, I told you that part, right, Aunt Meggie?”

  I assured him he did.

  “I mean, I had to bend over the toilet, and I’d had two peanut butter and jellies, a piece of chicken, two apples, Cassidy’s cookies, three milks and—”

  “Honey, I understand. So you saw Hayden getting hit . . .”

  “Yeah, and I was so mad when I saw that. It wasn’t only the frogs that made me mad. I mean, if Hayden wants to dress like a girl, why not? I’m getting used to it. It’s still Hayden, right? So I jumped in and started hitting those little fuckers for hitting my brother, who is now my sister.”

  I raised my eyebrows. Regan never, ever swears.

  He howled, destroyed once again. “I’m sorry I used those words, Aunt Meggie. Oh no! Now I feel bad about that, too! Dead frogs, hitting, swearing and I’m in the principal’s office. It’s a bad day, a bad day!” He flung his head back and stared up at the ceiling as if asking God to take him now. “I started swinging, then Cody and Cassidy came, too—”

  “You were out of class, also?” I asked.

  Cassidy grinned at me. “We’d been making out behind the bleachers and lost track of time.” She held Cody’s hand.

  “Yeah, I mean, Cassidy’s my woman, and ever since her dad ran naked into her bedroom, I mean, that freaked me out, freaked me out, and I can’t come over now, so I haven’t been able to spend as much time with her, and I love her so much—”

  Hayden dropped his ice pack to his lap. “Regan and I are fighting back. Regan’s fists are so fast, it’s like a blur, then all of the sudden Cassidy is in there pummeling. I mean, she screams at them and she jumps on Ricki St John’s back—he’s always beating kids up—and Ricki swings at her over his shoulder . . .”

  “Uh, excuse me, Hayden,” Cody interrupted. “I don’t wanna interrupt you, but I don’t want Miss O’Rourke to get the wrong impression here.” He turned toward me. “I didn’t want Cassidy in that fight at all, Miss O’Rourke, but all of the sudden, she was in it before I could protect her, and I was hitting Stepho Zacks, boom boom, like that”—he showed us the boom boom with his fists—“and I didn’t see Ricki take that swing at Cassidy or I woulda been right there, I mean, right there, protecting my woman, okay, Miss O’Rourke?”

  I nodded. Knight in shining armor.

  “But as soon as I see Ricki take that swing and Cassidy went down, man”—Cody actually flushed and boom boomed both his fists together again—“I . . . man, I was so mad, I think I had steam on my head, and I said two words to myself: ‘Destroy that jerk.’ ”

  “He was awesome, Aunt Meggie!” Hayden bobbed in his seat. “He swung at Ricki, and Ricki went straight down, got back up, and Cody swung at him again, and Ricki didn’t get back up. Then Cody hit Stepho again, and Stepho ended up on his back with this frickin’ stunned look on his face, like he couldn’t believe it.”

  “Yeah, but Hayden, he had Mick down, man,” Cody said, giving praise where praise was due. “He took care of Mick.”

  “In my heels, too!” Hayden said. “Regan wiped out Bryan and Ramon, all this blood flyin’ from their noses, and Cassidy, she shoved Yolanda up against the wall so hard her head thunked because, you know, Regan and Cody couldn’t hit a girl, but Cassidy could.”

  “So it was a family fight?” I asked.

  “Yep,” Cody said, grinning. He fist-bumped Hayden, Regan, and Cassidy. “Family fight.”

  “Family fight!” Cassidy threw her arms up into the air and cheered, “We won!”

  I looked at the principal. He looked tired.

  “There was a lot of blood,” Regan said. “No blood on the frogs.”

  “Yeah, blood on the enemy,” Hayden agreed. He crossed his legs. I liked his heels.

  “It was a battle, Aunt Meggie,” Cassidy said. She hooted again like she was at a football game. “I wish you were there.”

  “The only bad part was the frogs,” Regan said, tearing up again, that big, blond head swinging back and forth. “Those poor frogs. I don’t think I’ll ever get over their deaths.”

  “So what we have here,” I said, “is five boys and a girl attacking my kids. My kids defended each other. How long will the other kids be suspended for?”

  The principal shifted his oversized bottom on his seat. “The other students will be suspended for ten days. Their parents have already been called.”

  I was surprised. Surprised that he’d been fair. I hadn’t pegged him that way initially. Bad me. “Good. Thank you. And now my kids can all go back to class?”

  The principal nodded, then turned to Hayden. “I’m going to do all I can to protect you, Hayden. I’ve got zero tolerance for what happened here, and these kids getting suspended will send the student body a message.” He sighed. “I don’t understand it, but I’m trying. What I do understand, kid, is that you’re a good person, and at my school you’re going to learn and be safe like every other person here. I’ll take care of this.”

  Hayden nodded. “Thanks. I appreciate that. Thanks.”

  Regan said, “If I have to hit people to protect Hayden, my brother now my sister, I will, but I’m not going back to biology till the frog killing is over.” He was overcome again. “Even though they’re dead, they had feelings and they were alive!”

  “I’m family,” Cassidy said, standing up and wiggling her hips in her too-short skirt. “I’m a Rockaford, and I enjoyed the fight.”

  “I’m family,” Cody said. “I protect my bros and sistas.” He picked Hayden up and hugged him in his skirt. “And I protect my sista who used to be my bro.”

  “You did, you did, Cody!” Cassidy gushed. “It was so romantic how you jumped in there and started bashing their heads together, dropping those kids to the floor. I’m going to bake yo
u your favorite cherry pie tonight.”

  “And I’m going to start a petition that there be no more frog dissection!” Regan declared. “It makes me sick! As in throw-up sick!”

  “Ah, Cass. I love your cherry pie.” Cody leaned over and kissed her. She put her hands behind his head and pulled him closer. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, lifted her up, her ankles in the air . . . and then Cassidy had the audacity to moan.

  I stood up lickety-split and tried to pull them apart. “Okay, you two, break it up, break it up, come on! Cassidy!”

  The principal put a hand to his forehead. I think he’s ready to retire.

  As I drove away from the high school, after Hayden, Regan, Cassidy, and Cody had all hugged me, and Cassidy made me promise to come over soon and work on a seven-layer chocolate cake with her, and Regan asked me to write him a note to keep him out of biology, and Hayden said, “Can we talk about the pink negligees with the tassels? I think they should be gold tipped. It’ll be a smash,” I thought about my role as an aunt.

  I had visited over the years, but I’d been gone a lot out of their lives.

  They needed me. They did not need me to be another mother. They had a fantastic mother. They needed an aunt.

  That fact, right there, lifted my heart into a happier place.

  I was needed.

  I would not be gone again from their lives. I owed it to them to be present.

  She called the next day and left a message. She told me she hated me. She blamed me for Aaron’s death. “It was your fault, Meggie. All your fault. Why did you kill him?”

  I did not feel as nauseated this time as I deleted the message.

  29

  My name is Edna Petrelli. Our family is from Sicily. Yes, our grandfather was in the mob, and so was our father, until he was shot like a pigeon on Madison Avenue. He was an attorney for the big guns. We hid that from people for a long time when my mother moved us out to Oregon from Jersey when we were young. She was so ashamed, but why hide it now? He was a mobster, scars all over his face, a bullet stuck in his shoulder, but he was good to us. A loving father.

  I’m Edith Petrelli, and Edna’s right. Daddy was in the mob, but he could bake bread like no one’s business. I remember how he rolled it out, those huge hands kneading it with precision . . . he was missing the ring finger on his right hand . . .

  I’m Estelle. Daddy often had men over—tough, tough men. I could see their guns, and they would casually talk about hits on one person or another, money laundering, a snitch, the unions, a lot of times dipping Daddy’s bread in soup or olive oil and spices. I heard them talking about rolling a body into the river twice. They didn’t think we were listening, but we were. We have big ears, all of us.

  Daddy loved Momma. Her daddy was in the mob, too. They fought it out sometimes, they did, enough to raise the roof and bring it down on top of us . . .

  . . . but they made up well, too. Daddy would pick Momma up, throw her over his shoulder, head to the bedroom, and we wouldn’t see them for a couple of hours, but when we did they would be smiling.

  It was a love match, with some fireworks thrown in.

  I have worked for Lace, Satin, and Baubles, along with my sisters, for, let’s see, how many years? I think it’s forty now, isn’t it, girls? I invented a nipple bra recently. Funny, too, because Daddy had a friend in the mob called Nipples. Wonder if that played into my thinking?

  I designed the black leather licorice bra with the fringe, zipper, crossbones, and whip. We’re all wearing a prototype of the leather bra today. Okay, girls, lift your blouses, one, two, three. See there, Meggie? I wonder if my love of leather has to do with Daddy. He used to wear a lot of black leather, too. Had a crossbones tattoo.

  I think Daddy and all those guns may have influenced my own design with the pink fuzzy pajamas with the gun pointed at the crotch....

  We loved Daddy and Granddaddy. They played checkers with us.

  Oh, and Daddy’s five brothers were also in the mob. One went to jail. One was shot by the FBI. One disappeared. One became a U.S. senator, and one owned—

  Shhh. You’re not supposed to say the name of the company.

  That’s right. Almost forgot. It’s a huge company. You know it, Meggie.

  But Daddy, the uncles, and Granddaddy, they were so good to us. Family dinner every Sunday night.

  Daddy loved us, we knew that.

  He did. You could taste the love in the bread he made.

  I want to tell my sisters on this film thing you’re doing, Meggie, that I love them and I can’t imagine my life without them. That’s the most important thing here, I think. Love.

  Yes, it’s love.

  Love you, sisters.

  Love you, too.

  We’re the Petrelli sisters.

  Always have been, always will be.

  Petrelli. From Sicily.

  30

  It was a scary thing for me to do. On Thursday night, about eight o’clock, I walked across the street, through the snowflakes, and up the small hill to Blake’s house. The lights in his great room were on, his truck in the driveway.

  I climbed the steps of his white deck, then scuttled back down like a chicken.

  I crossed my arms over my chest and tried to gather up some courage. I had run three different meetings today at work. I looked at a financial ledger and saw problems instantly. We had shipping issues, and I handled ’em.

  And there I was, trembling, in front of Blake’s house under a swaying, gnarled oak tree. It’s like there are two Meggies: The confident one who runs a company and doesn’t blink, and the one that is immobilized by insecurity in her personal life.

  I headed up the stairs, then scuttled back down, yet again.

  I would go and talk to him.

  I wouldn’t.

  I would.

  I put my hands to my hair.

  I tried climbing the stairs one more time. I made it halfway. With my courage in shambles, I twirled back around to scuttle off for good.

  “Are you coming in or not?”

  Blake’s voice cut through the blackness of the night and my humiliation like a chain saw cuts through a loaf of bread—maybe Petrelli mob bread.

  “I don’t know.” He was in jeans and a white T-shirt. He was tough and handsome and cowboy-ish. I couldn’t believe I’d even dared to come over.

  But I was desperate. I liked Blake with every ounce of my scared, stick-figure body.

  “Hmm,” he said. “Well, why don’t you come inside until you decide?”

  “You watched me going up and down your steps, didn’t you?”

  “I’ve had a lot of training about things that go bump in the night, so to speak,” he drawled. “I always check out noises.”

  “Dang.” Humiliating.

  “Yep. Dang. Sit down with me, Meggie. You can eat dessert first. I bought pecan pie.”

  Argh. “Okay. I’ll try to talk to you.”

  I could see his smile. “Trying is all I’ve ever asked of you.”

  “It’s going to be hard.”

  “I like challenges.”

  “Not this one, you won’t.”

  “I think I will.” He cocked his head. “In fact, I already do.”

  “I am not happy without you, Blake.”

  He closed his eyes and bent his blond head, his hands clasped between his knees as we sat together on his leather couch, a fire flickering in the fireplace.

  “Blake, I have never met a man like you. I wish I had met you years before.”

  I studied his face. So dear to me. So strong, hard, fierce looking. I could see how he would scare people. But then I stared into those gray-blue eyes, as they gentled for me, warmed for me. Respectful but sexy. Wanting but not pushing.

  “My marriage toyed with my mind and then exploded it, and I’ve been trying to get myself back together.” I wrung my hands.

  I had told him, choking on one truckload of emotion after another, about Aaron, my mind-twisting marriage, the black and
red of his suicide, my year of wandering, the nightmares, the daymares, the rats, the broken black feathers, the blood, and the screaming in my head. I told him about sweet Josephine.

  “I have major trust issues, damage issues, trigger issues, anger issues, but I’m trying to work on them. You have been paying for all of those issues, even though you are nothing like my late husband. Nothing. I don’t think I could find two more different men.”

  “That’s true,” Blake said, lacing our fingers together. “I am nothing like him. You haven’t been able to see around him to me. I understand. What you went through is tragic. Impossible. I am so sorry, Meggie. I will always be sorry for that pain in your life.”

  “I don’t want you to feel sorry for me. It is what it is.” Yes, it was. Sometimes that’s the healing point, right there: acceptance. It happened, now let’s move forward. “I think I’m getting healthier in my head. I wouldn’t even describe myself as a basket case lunatic anymore, and I don’t think I hate myself as much as I used to.”

  “You were never a basket case lunatic. You’re an amazingly strong, moral, caring woman, Meggie. You stayed to save Aaron, you never stayed for you. Don’t hate yourself, please, Meggie.”

  “Blake, I would like to start over with you. I understand if you don’t want to start over with me. I get it. You might even be dating someone else.” If I met her I’d want to pull her hair out.

  “I am not dating anyone else. I haven’t even thought about it. I’ve been waiting for you. Hoping for you. How could you think I would be dating anyone else, Meggie?” He lifted my hand and kissed it.

  I shivered, and smiled. How romantic can this guy get? “How could I think that? Because you are smokin’ hot and thoughtful and kind and smart and I am crazy about you. I’m sure thousands of other women are, too.”

  “I don’t want thousands of others, Meggie. I have only ever wanted you. I have always made that clear. But I didn’t want you on the terms that you wanted for our relationship. I try not to sabotage myself.”

  Okay. I could do this. I could handle it. I could, could, could. “Then let’s do us your way.”