by Carrie Laben
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Abby had to pee, suddenly… But of course not suddenly. She had to pee as though she was just waking up.
The trees were not thick, and she didn’t love the idea of squatting with her skirt hitched up and her panties down concealed only by a few birch stems, but she needed to go. She wouldn’t even be able to think what to do next until she was more comfortable; bad enough that she was hungry and stiff and a little bit chilly in the damp morning air, for all that it was July. She nodded at Martha, who she would have sworn smirked, but only for a moment. Then she moved heavy-footed into the woods, stomping down brush rather than going around it—counterproductive, since that just gave the twigs and brambles more chances to cut at her, but she wanted them to pay, wanted to feel them snap.
It took perhaps five minutes to get far enough into the woods that she felt safe from random eyes, locate a good spot with the right slope, scan it for poison ivy. Only after she had her panties down did it occur to her that they could send another hawk at her now, when she was comically vulnerable. There was no real way to hurry while peeing, but she tried.
After she’d stood up and reassembled herself she took advantage of the slender privacy to check her shoulder too. It didn’t feel any different, but it hadn’t felt any different before she went to the doctor either and that hadn’t been any protection. She could use her phone, take a picture over her shoulder, but she’d have to take her top off to get a clear shot and if Martha noticed that and asked why… this wasn’t the time or the place for that conversation, not after the night they’d had. Or hadn’t had. She’d just have to wait until they got to a hotel.
She wasn’t quite in view of the car again when she heard a man’s voice.
“Hey Miss. Hey! Are you okay there?”
Well shit.
She didn’t let herself run, didn’t let herself stomp any more bushes despite her frustration. In fact she stopped for a minute, rearranged her dress and her face. She could have swept in and all but tackled him, if she wanted to, but it would be easier if he stayed calm and thought she was pleasant, welcoming.
The man approaching Martha was young, not a teen but definitely younger than Abby, though he was several inches taller. His brown hair was just a little on the short side of shaggy, and he was wearing a polo shirt that was a bit too big across the shoulders. His attention was focused and not duplicitous, there was nothing in his voice but concern, and Martha wasn’t freaking out, just staring at him mutely while her thoughts tried to decide what to do about him.
“Hi!” Abby said, loud and confident, as she stepped from the tree line. “Sorry”—she wasn’t, why would she be, but saying that disarmed them and made them comfortable—“We’re okay. Just some car trouble. I hope we didn’t scare you.”
“Oh!” He looked up, and as he saw her his general air of concern and confusion focused in on her face, became lighter, more hopeful. He was worrying about what to do too, was someone hurt, should he call the cops. Now he wouldn’t have to make a decision either.
For her part, Abby’s smile felt more genuine already. She could work with this guy. As she reached him she tilted her face up and made sure to lock in his eyes—hazel, wide-set, in a slightly ruddy face that suggested Irish blood and time outdoors even though he was dressed for school or a casual office.
Even as she made the assessment, though, his frown half-returned. He’d noticed how rumpled she looked, her sedge-torn skirt and muddy shoes. Straight guys always noticed shoes, in spite of the stereotypes—they just didn’t notice themselves noticing. Now he was worried that she was some kind of trouble, that she might have something to do with why Martha was so silent.
“Sorry,” she said again, to get back on the right track, and pressed. “Is this your land? We had problems with the car and I thought it would be safer to just wait it out until it was light.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Well, my dad’s land. It’s no big deal. You’re not hurting anything.” He looked into the car briefly but Abby took another step towards him and he shifted his attention back, let it rest on her. She didn’t feel hungry anymore. He couldn’t see Grandfather, or this would all be a lot harder.
“What kind of car trouble?” he asked after a moment, stepping back from the window and surveying the whole machine.
“We hit something in the dark. Some kind of big bird. It startled me so bad I went off the road.” Taking the blame for Martha’s fuck-up was annoying but letting him know that she was the driver here was important. “After that it wouldn’t steer right when I tried to accelerate. I get some speed and the back end wobbles.”
“Want me to take a look at it?” He was already bending down, and Abby slid over beside Martha, nudged her. She couldn’t stand there like a mute.
“That’d be great, thanks!” Martha sounded exaggeratedly bright to Abby’s ears, and nodded too deeply, but it was good enough.
“I’m sorry,” Martha added all on her own after a moment, as if a spell was broken. “I didn’t catch your name.”
“Ryan.” He’d bent himself down almost under the car, but now he extracted himself and straightened up, dusted off his hands as though he’d actually fixed something.
“Abby.” She extended her hand; he looked pleasantly surprised as he took it. His handshake was middling firm. “And this is my twin sister Martha.”
“Nice to meet you.” He looked over her shoulder just long enough to smile at Martha, who stayed well behind her. “I don’t know for sure but it looks like you might have bent the tie rod. The rear wheel is sort of toeing out.”
“Can you fix it?”
“Oh no,” he said, and he had this grin like he was tickled that she was so dumb. She made herself hold her own smile. “You’ll need to take it into a shop.”
She looked past Ryan and saw his truck just up the shoulder; a red Ford with a crew cab, nothing flashy about it but it was new-ish and it looked well-maintained.
“Well darn. We’re not from around here. Do you know a good place?”
“Absolutely. I can give you their number.” Abby reached out and poked his intentions gently. “Or, you know, I’m driving right by there on my way into town, I could give you ladies a lift.”
“That would be perfect! Then we could grab some breakfast, too, if you know a good place. I’m starved.” She turned to Martha. “What about you? Hungry?”
Martha gave her a look before nodding and saying, “Yeah, starved. I’m starved too.”
If Ryan noticed the lack of enthusiasm he gave no sign. “Well, hop on in the truck then, there’s plenty of room.”
Abby didn’t see the dog until she walked around to the passenger side. It was a black-furred, brown-eyed floppy-eared thing, mostly Labrador she thought. Unlike Grandfather, who’d been universally hated by every living thing not a Waite, Abby was okay with about fifty percent of dogs and nearly all cats—but occasionally an animal would see her and go berserk. She wanted to make him leave it behind, it wasn’t worth the risk, but he’d balk hard at that, and she still didn’t feel a hundred percent… The dog hung its head out the open window and she braced for the barking to start, but it just sniffed twice and then sneezed.
“That’s Buddy,” Ryan said as Abby wiped the mist of dog-snot off onto her skirt. “He’s harmless.” He snapped his fingers at the dog. “Make room, you.”
Buddy clambered over the seat-back, and Ryan pulled open the door. “Sorry about the mess. If I’d’ve known I was going to have two pretty ladies in my car, I would have cleaned it up.”
Abby didn’t have to look back to see Martha look askance at that one… but no, from behind her she actually heard a giggle. Martha had woken up enough to play along then. Good.
“Oh wait!” She made it sound like she’d just thought of it. “My bags, I don’t want to leave them here.”
“They’ll be safe. Hardly no one comes along this road, and anyway, people around here don’t break into locked cars. Or unlocked cars, even.”
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br /> She grabbed a sluggish strand and tugged. Not hard, it didn’t have to be hard. “It just makes me nervous. Humor me.”
“Well. Okay, I guess.” They always got so confused the first few times she pushed and pulled at them. And he seemed like the easily confused type to begin with.
Back at the car she consolidated most of Martha’s new clothes into a bag with Grandfather and the books, hiding him completely. She managed to grab all the books, her own bag, and the rest of Martha’s purchases, but she left the prison-issue duffel bag behind. If Martha wanted anything in it, she should have said something.
She was a little surprised that Ryan hadn’t come over to help her with the bags, but when she looked back, she saw that he and Martha were already in the truck, talking. Martha was holding her hand out for the dog to sniff, it looked like.
So she lugged the bags herself, and Ryan did at least have the good manners to look embarrassed as she slung them into the back seat with the dog. She’d planned to sit next to him—if she couldn’t hold his eyes, having a little bit of contact with his elbow or leg would be the next-best thing—but it would look weird to tell Martha to move, far too overt. She wouldn’t need to push him while he was driving, anyway.
“What about my bag?” Martha said, and Abby would snap at her if it wouldn’t ruin the illusion of pleasant harmless girliness.
“I’ll get it,” Ryan said, and said it fast. That was better. He returned with the near-empty duffel bag and Martha pulled it onto her lap as though it were precious cargo.
“So, where are you ladies headed?” he asked as they pulled away. Abby was distracted, staring at the Jeep and wondering if she forgot anything, and before she could rouse herself to deliver a lie Martha said, “Minnesota. Our family has a cabin there.”
Abby pinched Martha’s leg, even though she could fix this. Martha flinched away but she knew better than to make a noise. That was what she got for insisting that Abby not push her.
“Minnesota? I’ve never been, but I’ve heard it’s real nice. They’ve got good hunting there, right?”
“Absolutely,” Abby said before Martha could talk again, and rattled off the list of reasons why people, in their ignorance, rented the cabin. “Deer, turkey, geese, black bears. Good trout fishing too. You hunt?”
“Just deer, for the freezer. Wouldn’t mind going bear hunting some time. I bet that would make a great story.”
“We saw a bear at the cabin once. When we were kids.” Martha smiled. Abby hadn’t noticed until now how yellow and awful her teeth had gotten. “It was just looking for berries or something across the river. Our grandfather yelled and scared it away.”
“They’ve gotten a lot bolder around here, lately. In people’s chicken coops, in their garbage cans. This old boy ran one off from our back yard last fall.” Ryan reached back and ruffled Buddy’s ears.
“Brave dog!” Martha said.
Abby was about to speak when she was distracted; a red-tailed hawk rose from the margin of the road and flew directly into their path. Ryan spotted it and hit the brakes; Martha gasped, but Abby pinched her again before she could start shrieking.
Then the hawk flapped hard and rose steeply across the windshield. It seemed like it had to be too late, but no, the bird cleared the top of the truck and continued away into the trees to the east. Abby watched it glide to the top of the tallest birch and settle. It made no move to follow them, didn’t even turn its head.
“That was a close one,” Ryan said. “Didn’t you say that you hit a bird last night, too?”
“Yes,” Martha said, her voice a little cracked, but Abby talked over her. “Yeah, and it was at least that big. Are we too close to their nest or something?”
“Red-tails are everywhere out here. Could be they’re fledging, I guess. They’re pretty clumsy when they’re first learning how to fly.”
Abby managed to drop the smile and arrange her face into concern. “Oh! I hope we didn’t hit a baby.”
Martha pinched her back, but she ignored it.
The morning after the fire Abby woke up at first light and checked Martha’s bed as she’d gotten into the habit of doing. Martha was asleep, her face calm and normal.
She looked out the window and saw the hills that used to be hidden by the barn and the view took her harder than she’d expected, as though she’d banged her chest against the windowsill. Of course the barn wasn’t there anymore. That was why she’d done it. But somehow, the barn isn’t there anymore was different when it came in through her eyes. A couple of white-tailed deer craned necks and twitched ears in the pink space where the hilltop met the sky. They’d get this close, no closer. If the barn had been there she’d never have seen them.
But Abby had underestimated how much the fire would upset the adults. They weren’t just put out by not having a place to stash Martha when they stole her body. Grandfather couldn’t seem to get over the insult of being ordered around by a volunteer firefighter. He seethed and muttered and stopped bothering with Abby’s lessons or any of what remained of his old routine. Mom was nervous and Abby was nervous around her and she couldn’t tell which was the cause and which was the effect. Martha started having nightmares, waking Abby up with the same sort of noises she’d been used to hearing in the barn. And Abby herself spent the rest of the summer just trying to keep out of the way, hiding out in the orchard or by the creek. She felt uneasy indoors even when Mom wasn’t around, and the creeping feeling that she was about to be caught kept her from even trying to look further at Grandfather’s notebooks.
It was almost a relief when school started. Through some kind of clerical error, they’d even put Martha in Abby’s class for the fifth grade. Since Martha seemed to share Abby’s paranoia about talking in the house since the fire, Abby had begun to feel as though her sister was somewhere else, unavailable—and though Martha wasn’t much use in a situation like this, Abby still hated it. So having her around every day at school, where the most threatening forces were jealous kids and stupid rules, would be a relief.
Relief, and the fun of wearing new clothes and a new bracelet and carrying a fresh notebook, made her heedless. Looking back, she should have noticed the whispering and the way even the older kids went tense when she and Martha walked up the aisle of the school bus. But the driver was a big, serious Mohawk woman from the rez and no one started fights on her bus, not even with a Waite girl, not ever.
Maybe they wouldn’t have started a fight that first day anyhow. No one did in Mrs. Grant’s room before the bell. They just stood around, looking somber. Some of the girls sniffled in a way that struck Abby as ostentatious and irritating.
Mrs. Grant came in wearing black, and when she sniffled too, Abby decided that she’d been wrong and she was going to hate this school year after all. She tried to catch Mrs. Grant’s eye, or anyone’s eye, and force them to stop making the awful noise. None of them looked up.
“I have some very bad news,” Mrs. Grant said, as though that wasn’t obvious enough. “As some of you…” She paused when Nicole broke out in an actual sob, and didn’t tell her to hush up. “As some of you already know, Jeremy Davis and his brothers Justin and Jeffrey were killed last night. Carbon monoxide poisoning. There will be a counselor meeting with the class today, once we’ve taken roll. In the meantime, please join me in a moment of silence.”
The moment dragged on until Abby was fidgeting with her bracelet, rubbing her fingers across the faceted beads. She didn’t even notice Mrs. Grant until the shadow bent over her.
“Give that to me.” Mrs. Grant was whispering but Abby could tell she was furious.
“Why?” A risky question, but the bracelet was purple and it was brand new and Abby didn’t want to explain to Mom that she’d lost it.
“You’re being disrespectful,” Mrs. Grant said, and Abby saw that the old fat teacher was roiling, that she could barely keep her hand from slapping, that she hated Abby. It was so unexpected that for a moment Abby was scared, and when she pushed bac
k it was too late. Mrs. Grant had her hand out and she wouldn’t back down now, not in front of the class.
She rolled the bracelet off her wrist so quickly that the rough edges of the plastic beads scraped her wrist. As she dropped it into Mrs. Grant’s palm she was hot with hatred and the unfairness of it, but she knew those feelings. It was the confusion that was overwhelming her. She couldn’t understand why Mrs. Grant was so angry, and if she didn’t know, how could she do anything to stop it?
“I’m sorry,” she muttered, as much as it galled her, since that was always a good fall-back option.
“Are you?” Mrs. Grant curled her fingers around the bracelet. Abby would never see it again. “Good. Show us you’re sorry. Say a prayer for those poor boys.”
The fact that a teacher was willing to break the rules so openly scared Abby even more than it made her mad. Suddenly everything she relied on was erased by Mrs. Grant’s anger. Abby didn’t see how she was going to get out of it, and she didn’t know how to say a prayer.
Everyone was staring at her, too many to push or persuade that they were seeing anything except the stuck-up girl they all hated getting put in her place.
Her mind felt as though it was moving extra fast in those moments, as though she were a hero in a cartoon. Later, looking back, she would wonder what might have happened if she’d realized that that was the energy pushing her from behind, and turned and learned to use it then. But how could a fifth grader have done that, in the moment, without help?
Martha twitched next to her, and that reminded Abby’s racing mind of something that had happened a long time ago, before they’d gone to kindergarten for the first time. Grandma had corralled them on the living room couch and warned them about the danger of religious zealots, and made them recite the Lord’s Prayer over and over again, trying to get them to memorize it.