by Porter, Jane
But right now Kit wished she’d been more like Bree. Wished she had just an ounce of Brianna’s fire.
During childhood and adolescence, it had pained Kit to watch Brianna be punished for being a free spirit. But the discipline and consequences didn’t deter Bree. If anything, she just got wilder. By eighth grade she had a reputation for putting out, and by her freshman year of high school she’d already had a couple of scrapes with the law. Being sent to juvenile court would have crushed Kit, but it made no impression on Bree.
Brianna made it clear she didn’t care what her parents or the priest or the police thought. She got through school because she was brilliant. She didn’t do homework, or lab work, but she had a photographic memory and would skim through her textbooks the night before an exam and then pass the test with flying colors.
It made her teachers crazy.
And so she skated through life, doing what she wanted, mocking those who criticized her, until one day she got so stoned she forgot she was babysitting a six-year-old at their house. The little girl wandered outside and was discovered floating facedown in the Brennan pool by their father, who’d come home unexpectedly early from work. He never came home early, not even he knew why, that day, he felt compelled to go home, but thank God he had. Dad jumped into the pool and performed CPR until the ambulance arrived, and the little girl eventually recovered. Divine intervention, Mom called it.
Everyone said prayers. Everyone was grateful.
Brianna shrugged it off.
And Dad flipped out. He stopped talking to Bree, wouldn’t even look at her, or acknowledge her when she sat down at the dinner table.
Mom hated it.
Kit tried not to take sides—Bree was her twin—but she understood Dad’s anger, understood that shame. He’d dedicated his life to protecting people and then his own daughter nearly killed a child because she selfishly chose to get high.
That whole year, from the middle of Bree and Kit’s sophomore year of high school and into the beginning of their junior year, was awful. Kit hated remembering. Her parents were at complete odds. Dinner every night was excruciatingly tense. They sat around their dining room table in silence. They’d do dishes without speaking, moving swiftly, mechanically, to finish so they could escape back upstairs.
The fall of her junior year was the one and only time Kit’s parents went to counseling. Dad didn’t want to go, and only complied because Mom threatened to leave him if he didn’t.
Brianna, she told him, was a teenager. She’d made a mistake. People were human. And if he couldn’t recognize that what his daughter needed from him was compassion and forgiveness, then Marilyn no longer saw a future for them because she’d had it with his useless, stupid, destructive disappointment and rage.
Dad had choice words for Mom, blaming her for indulging Brianna, failing to enforce consequences, constantly giving her too much freedom, and Mom fought back, pointing out that Uncle Liam came from his side of the family, not hers, and that she wouldn’t be listening to any more of his personal attacks.
Oh, Mom could be fierce. She knew when and how to fight, and she only took on Dad when she had no other choice. They didn’t battle often, but when they did, everyone else lay low. You did not want to draw their attention then, or get in the way.
And Kit, being the good daughter, had grown up lying low, trying not to draw attention, not wanting to displease her parents or cause Dad to feel disappointment.
But Kit wasn’t a little girl anymore and she couldn’t go through life needing approval. She was mature enough now to recognize that conflict was an inherent part of living, and while she didn’t enjoy tension or creating controversy, it was impossible to avoid them altogether, especially if she planned on moving forward with adoption. Not everyone in her family would have a problem with it, but there would be some who weren’t going to be happy, and there was nothing she could do about it. She wasn’t going to give up her dreams just because her dreams made someone uncomfortable.
Kit carried the cantaloupe, sliced strawberries, and graham crackers up to her mom and was tidying up the newspaper and magazine Mom had been reading earlier when her phone buzzed with an incoming text.
Stepping out of the bedroom, she checked the phone. From Jude.
Do you, or your mom, need anything?
Her heart seemed to skip and she bit her lip, overwhelmed by feelings.
Yes, she thought. Her mom needed to live and Kit needed to love. But those weren’t things she’d ask Jude for.
Thinking of Jude made her eyes burn and a lump fill her throat. She liked him, she did, but he didn’t fit with the Brennans. He wouldn’t fit in. He’d be like Brianna, always rubbing everyone the wrong way.
It’d been so hard for her to watch Brianna constantly be criticized and punished. She couldn’t bear to introduce someone like Jude to her family and watch him be shunned.
Kit forced herself to text him back. Thank you, but we’re good. It was nice of you to ask.
Jude had been sitting on his porch, using a rag to wipe the grease from his motorcycle off his hands, when he noticed the sunset. The sky was no longer blue but colored like one of those Jell-O parfaits his mom used to make him when he was a kid—layers of blush, peach, and red.
Those colors made him think of Kit and he sent her a text. He didn’t expect her to take up his offer, but he wanted her to know he was thinking of her. And he was.
He liked thinking about Kit. She made him strangely happy, and happy wasn’t something he normally felt.
Of course, this wouldn’t go anywhere. It couldn’t. Not with his work. But if he didn’t do what he did…if he had a different life, different career, she’d be the one for him. Not just because she had a rockin’ hot bod and long red hair he wanted to wrap around his hands, but because she was kind. Good. You could feel her goodness when you talked to her and it made him warm on the inside. Made him happy.
Jude’s phone beeped with a text. It was from Kit. He knew it, could feel it in his bones.
He took a sip from his can of beer, crumpling the can slightly, enjoying the sound of metal bending before reading the text.
Thank you, but we’re good. It was nice of you to ask.
The corner of his mouth lifted. Kit Kat Brennan. So well mannered. So very polite.
Kit would never be interested in him. She shouldn’t ever be interested in him. His life was dangerous. There was no place for her in it.
And yet…
The red and peach were fading from the sky now, leaving it the hazy lavender gray of twilight. Next door Howard emerged from his house to stand on his front steps and survey his property and then the property next door.
Jude rubbed another spot of oil from his right hand.
Howard was looking around his yard, and then circling his car, checking for scratches or dents. No surprise there. It was his nightly ritual to come out and inspect his crappy kingdom. But tonight, instead of going back inside, he opened the car door, got behind the wheel, and started the engine up. Howard Dempsey was going out.
Delilah was glad Howie had gone out.
She heard him tell Mama he had some kind of business meeting. Mama wasn’t happy about it, especially as he left in one of his starched dress shirts, smelling of his Tommy Hilfiger cologne.
Mama stood at the living room window, watching the street, even though Howie had disappeared long ago.
“Mama, come sit down with me, watch a show with me,” Delilah said, patting the cushion next to her on the leather couch. “We never did see Confessions of a Shopaholic, Mama. Maybe we can find it on Showtime?”
“I don’t feel much like watching TV.”
“I know, Mama,” Delilah coaxed, “but time will go by faster and you won’t worry so much if we’re watching something funny.”
Missy heaved a sigh, dropped the window blind, and took a seat on the couch next to Delilah. “I wish he hadn’t gone out tonight,” she said fretfully, folding her arms across her chest.
“Try to not think about it, Mama. It’ll be better if you don’t.”
They didn’t find the movie they wanted, but The Devil Wears Prada was playing on another network and it was a movie they both loved. Halfway through, Delilah paused the movie to make a big bowl of popcorn, cooking it on the stove and then coating it in melted butter and salt the old-fashioned way.
Delilah poured soda into two glasses, carried the drinks in, and then went back for the popcorn. “Refreshments are served,” she said, settling back down on the couch. But instead of pushing play for the movie, she talked to Mama, telling her about Memorial and her favorite teachers, Mrs. Hughes, the biology teacher, who was actually from Ireland; and her English teacher, Miss Brennan, who really loved to read; as well as the teachers she didn’t like, Ms. Jones and Mr. Osborne. “I’m not sure about Miss Powers,” she confided between handfuls of popcorn. “But I don’t think she likes me.”
“Why doesn’t she like you?” Mama asked, puzzled.
“I don’t know. Maybe because I never smile at school.”
“You don’t smile?”
Delilah shook her head.
“Why not?” Mama persisted.
“Why should I? I’d just look like a dumb-ass like the rest of them—”
“Delilah Marie!”
“Well, they are. Most kids are. They don’t know anything.”
“And you do?”
Delilah didn’t answer right away, thinking that she knew a lot more than she wanted to know. A hell of a lot more. Like fear. She knew fear. She knew what it smelled like and tasted like.
She knew danger. She knew how to never turn her back on a door, as well as to check a room for windows, and make sure they all opened.
She knew she needed plans—escape plans, backup plans, save-Mama’s-life plans.
Most of all she knew hate. And the hate was what would kill her, if Howie didn’t kill her first.
“I’m just not like the other kids,” Delilah said quietly, wiping her buttery fingers on her pajama pants. This wasn’t the life she’d imagined when she was a little girl dressing up in princess costumes. But then, she couldn’t imagine this was the life Mama wanted either, when she’d bought her baby girl pink tulle dresses and plastic gold crowns.
Mama seemed to know what she was saying and for a moment she looked so sad. “It’s not always going to be like this, Dee. It’s going to get better. I promise.”
“Not if you stay with him.”
“I’m not talking about me, Dee, I’m talking about you. When you’re eighteen. When you finish high school. You’ll be able to move out, get a place of your own, and it’ll be so exciting, so good for you, baby.”
“I’m not going to leave you, Mama.”
“Oh, baby, you’re growing up. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you—”
“Not leaving you alone with him.”
Missy reached out to lift a strand of hair from Delilah’s eyes. “Baby, as soon as school is over, you’ll want to go—”
“No. Not if it means leaving you with him.”
“Dee, honey, Howie’s not going to let you stay with us forever.”
Delilah set the popcorn bowl down on the coffee table with a thud. “What?”
“You’re only here till you finish school, and then you’ll go live your life, and Howie and I will live ours.”
Delilah wanted to howl and scream and take the bowl of popcorn and hurl it at the wall. She wanted to break the TV and shatter the coffee table’s glass top and rage the way Howie raged—violently, wildly, selfishly.
But that would only end up hurting Mama.
So after a moment of fighting with the devil inside herself, she sat back down, picked up the popcorn, and put it on her lap. “We should finish the movie,” she said, “before Howie comes home.”
Later that night, with the movie finished, Delilah was in bed, drifting in that lovely place between awake and asleep, when she heard a door slam followed by quick, heavy footsteps.
Howard was home.
Would he be in a good mood or a bad mood?
She opened her eyes, held her breath, listening. The house was suddenly quiet. It seemed to be listening, too.
There were more footsteps. Muffled voices. Her mama’s. His. A cupboard door opened in the kitchen and then banged loudly shut. More voices. A little louder. A little faster. Were they fighting?
Her ears strained. Her heart began to pound. It didn’t feel right, the energy in the house. Everything felt heavy now, heavy and quiet.
Tense, Delilah stared up into the dark, fingers gripping her covers, waiting for the moment when everything changed, exploded, and even breathing felt dangerous. Someday she wouldn’t be here, she told herself, someday she’d be out, away, safe from all this.
But Mama wouldn’t be.
In the kitchen, the voices grew louder. For a change, Mama was the one shouting. Howie said something back and then Mama screamed at him, not an in-pain scream, but an in-anger one.
They were fighting. Mama was picking a fight. Mama shouldn’t do that. Mama would pay for it.
Delilah crept from bed, sat on the floor, her ear pressed to the faded wallpaper.
“Keep your voice down,” Howie said. “You don’t want Dee to hear.”
“I don’t care.”
“Well, I do.”
“Who was she? Where did you meet her, Howard?”
“You’re being ridiculous.”
“You don’t think I know, Michael? You left your computer open. I saw the messages—”
He slapped her hard, the sharp crack of his hand echoing, silencing her. “It was a business dinner—”
“Some business when you come home smelling like sweat and sex and someone else’s perfume!” And then she was walking away from him, and Mama never walked away from him.
Howie chased after her, cornering her in the hallway.
Delilah moved to the door and peeked through the old-fashioned keyhole.
“And I told you it didn’t happen,” he said, flinging her around to face him.
Delilah could see her mama’s chin jerk up as she played with her wedding ring, sliding it up and down between her knuckles. “I’m not stupid, Howie.”
He rolled his eyes.
“I’m not,” she insisted thickly. “I used to work. I have some computer skills—”
“That was called a cash register, Missy, and you sold perfume.”
“It was retail and I was a manager—”
“In the fragrance section of a cheap department store.”
“It paid bills.”
“It paid for your cigarettes and vodka and nothing else. You needed me. You still need me. So watch your mouth.”
“You want me to get a job? I’ll get a job—”
“How are you going to do that when you don’t even drive?”
“I drive. I just don’t have a car.”
“You don’t have a car because you don’t need a car. You don’t go anywhere.”
Missy wasn’t backing down tonight. She stood there staring him in the eye, jiggling her ring relentlessly. She didn’t speak for a long moment, and when she did, her voice shook. “Fine. I’ll take the bus.”
Delilah saw Howard slam his hand against the wall right next to Missy’s ear, making her head bounce against the wall. “What the fuck is wrong with you tonight?”
“You said I’m not smart and I can’t do anything…well, you’re wrong. And I’ll show you—”
He silenced her by putting his hand around her neck, fingers squeezing, choking off sound. “I don’t need this shit now. Honest to God, Missy, I really don’t. You’re not going to work. You’re not going to take the bus. Your job is here, taking care of Dee and me. Got that? You hearing me?”
Missy’s throat worked.
His hand fell away. His mouth screwed up tight. “Didn’t hear you, Missy. Can you repeat that for me?”
“Yes,” she croaked.
“That’s it, baby. Now
kiss me. Show me we’re good, that it’s all forgiven.”
Delilah watched Mama stretch up on tiptoe, and Delilah turned away. Shaking, shivering, she crept back into bed, and wished she were dead.
Howie was gone by the time she woke up the next morning. Missy was sitting in the kitchen at the table, drinking a cup of coffee and smoking a cigarette. Her hand was shaking as she held the cigarette to her mouth. Purple fingerprints marked her throat.
Delilah stared at the bruises as she poured milk on her cereal. Her mother exhaled slowly, blowing out a stream of smoke.
Normally Delilah would say something about the smoke. Howie hated Mama smoking, much less in the house, but it seemed kind of pointless to talk about what Howie liked when he’d gone and choked Mama last night.
Delilah concentrated on eating her Cap’n Crunch. Howie said she was too big for little kids’ cereal but Delilah didn’t care. She loved Cap’n Crunch. It made her mouth happy.
“It’s not what you think,” Mama said, stubbing out her cigarette after a long silence.
Delilah concentrated on reading the back of the box. The Cap’n needed help finding buried treasure. Every day she filled in the missing letters so he could find it. A man needed his treasure.
“He wasn’t trying to hurt me,” Missy added. “Happened during sex—”
“Jesus, Mama! Really?” Delilah dropped her spoon. It clattered against the rim of the bowl and milk splashed onto the faded green place mat. “You think I want to know this?”
Her mother’s lips pursed, compressed. She tapped out another cigarette, studied it before sliding it back into the box. “Just didn’t want you to worry that he’d been mean. He wasn’t mean. Sometimes when adults make love—”
“I’m still eating, Mama.”
“Okay, fine. We’re fine, then.”
“No, we’re not fine. I’m not fine. You’re not fine. But if that’s what you want us to do today, play pretend, I’ll do it, but only so I can keep from hurling my Cap’n Crunch all over me and you.” Delilah picked up her spoon, took a mouthful. The cereal had started to get soggy. She hated it soggy. She didn’t even have to chew. She swallowed the bite and spooned up another five little golden squares. “And don’t call it making love. He’s not making love to you when he’s choking you.” Milk dripped from the bottom of the spoon. “Goddamn, Mama! Even I know that.” She shoved the spoon in her mouth and muttered around the milk and cereal, “Disgusting pervert.”