Little Threats

by Emily Schultz

  Her head snapped forward, the seat belt catching her. She looked over, alarmed. “Calm down.”

  He didn’t say anything but continued to grip the wheel.

  Haley reached up and unfastened her necklace, handed it to him. “A little bit of balance,” she said. “Don’t be afraid of the good in you. Or me.”

  He looked down at the yin-yang necklace, then tucked it into the pocket of his baggy beige clamdiggers. He leaned over and kissed her. She tasted like strawberry lip gloss.

  “Maybe it should just be us tonight?” he offered.

  “She’s my friend. I can’t do that to her.”

  * * *

  —

  Berk walked out of the grocery store pharmacy and onto the loading dock. He grabbed some bare skids and tossed them around the parking bay, listening to them clatter and not caring if knife-sized splinters dug into his hands.

  His dad had said he had to go to Haley’s funeral—if he didn’t, people would say he had done it. Just be present, it’s your best defense. Haley was five-six—the top of her head, he knew, came just under his chin—but the quietness of death made her seem so tiny. One hand folded over the other, hiding what the police called defensive wounds when they shoved the photo in his face. But in the casket, you’d never know to look at her what had happened to her.

  Chapter 25

  Carter never went to a Butler’s store if she could help it. But tonight, she needed the pharmacy. She stared at the selection of pregnancy tests, wondering why anyone bought packs of two or three sticks. Women who were trying, she supposed. Was the $12.99 test more accurate than the $9.99 one? She picked up the single-use kit for ten bucks.

  Her period had been due three days before, and perhaps it was just paranoia, but she was a meticulous charter and knew she was seldom late at this age. She imagined her abdomen was swollen, though it was probably only PMS. Were her breasts more tender than usual? Her hair stringy? She’d peered at her reflection in the bathroom mirror at work and thought, Everyone knows. She imagined the fetus under her skin, two inches below her belly button, not even pea sized yet, just a cosmos swirl of Kimberson DNA.

  Do I want a reason to phone him? she asked herself as she walked past the contact lens solution and back through the grocery aisles. She’d put off going out to buy the test until after dinner, telling herself it was shame turned worry, the fact that she’d begged him to stay inside her that very last time.

  She’d watched the Crime After Crime show, wanting to see what it was all about. The detective had tried to shine new light on a case from California in 1989: a real estate developer who was murdered after he and his wife joined a swingers’ club. Carter felt sick to her stomach as she imagined her own photo, or Kennedy’s photo, splashed up there on the screen. She’d clicked Off on the remote and walked out of her apartment with ten minutes left in the show, not caring if she found out if there was new evidence. She passed Ellwood Thompson’s organic grocery, not wanting to be seen by anyone she knew. Nauseated and sweating, she parked at the Butler’s and ran inside, clutching her purse, beelining for the pharmacy area before the store could make its announcements and shut down for the night.

  Carter was passing by the deli counter when she came to a dead stop. Berk Butler, wearing a short-sleeved polo shirt, was scowling at the employee behind the counter.

  “That blade ain’t been cleaned the entire shift. It’s dirtier than my dog’s ass,” he berated the meat cutter, who was not much older than a high school kid.

  Carter remembered in a split second how she’d always felt Berk would stay stuck in a high school mind-set for life, even though Kennedy hadn’t been able to see it. The way he’d bragged constantly about his football career, his ability to cut class without reprimand. Then again, maybe those were his topics because high school was the only thing he’d had in common with her sister and her.

  The young man in the apron looked off across the store like he’d rather have been anywhere else. He’d been cleaning up and stowing things away for the evening. Carter saw there were silver trays being emptied of premade salads and entrees, which were being packed into Tupperware. The lunch-meat slicer, however, was still dusted with the confetti of meat. The deli worker caught Carter’s eye and she looked away. But it was too late—Berk turned to see what had distracted him.

  Berk leaned back on the glass counter as she passed, and she could feel his gaze on her. She clutched the pregnancy test on the other side of her body, behind her purse, and wished she’d picked up a shopping basket to hide it in, or a magazine or some other product to cover it up. She’d made it to the cheese display when he let out a low whistle. “Do you still sleep on your stomach?”

  Carter felt an involuntary shiver, and it wasn’t just the icy breath from the milk section. She was shocked he could still tell them apart at a glance.

  Behind her, she could hear him as he tapped his wedding ring against the glass counter and laughed. “Tell your sister hi!” he called out as if they were old friends.

  * * *

  —

  After playing the gig that first time, Carter had felt flush with excitement. Like Kennedy, Carter had been curious about the attention they were getting from the older boys at the bar. Daniel Chambers had come to see them play, which made them feel like they were halfway signed to Geffen. While Kennedy stared at Berk Butler, Carter retreated somewhat behind her, sipping her Coke through the straw. He was good-looking, Carter thought; that was how he made everything sound sexy instead of crude. But the things he said weren’t so different from what boys at high school said.

  Berk had a few beads on a cord around his neck, and a small silver disc with a symbol on it. Carter watched as Kennedy reached up and touched it, asking, “What’s this? It looks like a sixty-nine.”

  The guy choked, laughed. Asked what she knew about that. Kennedy just smiled. He said it meant Cancer, his zodiac sign. He reached out and plucked at the ankh between Kennedy’s breasts. “How about this?” he asked, but before Kennedy could answer, he was peering over her shoulder at Carter. He wanted to know about her charms too, he said. He reached over and stroked the sun-and-moon-kissing pendant that lay several inches under Carter’s collarbone.

  “So you’re into dualities? That’s so Zen,” Berk said. He pulled up his sleeve to show a tattoo of an old-fashioned wheel. “That’s the dharma wheel. It means the universe will never stop turning.”

  Beneath her skirt, Carter felt wet. She couldn’t tell if the sluicing feeling was excitement at the sight of the tattoo on his solid arm, or if she was wobbly and sweaty from standing half the night and being up on the stage. She had chosen a scoop-neck velvet bodysuit and thick leggings under a transparent broomstick skirt. The layers now felt hot and stifling.

  He was stupid and beautiful. Carter didn’t say anything to warn Kennedy off, but his friend did.

  “Don’t go listening to Berk, now. He likes to quote from Intro to Philosophy, but he’s really failing out of Business and Marketing,” Daniel said before moving to the far end of the bar with his beer.

  “Mom’s picking us up soon,” Carter said in Kennedy’s ear a short while later. The bar had gotten busier than when they’d played. Kennedy had managed to secure a rum and Coke and was drinking it seated on Berk’s lap—because there were no seats, of course.

  “I can make room for you too,” Berk said, but Carter shook her head and blushed hard in the dark as Kennedy passed the drink up to her and Carter took a small gulp. It was only later, when Carter saw him with Haley, that she saw how dangerous Berk was, that he wanted all of them.

  * * *

  —

  It was the day she bought the theater mask ring, and Kennedy the skull ring—one of those April days that had turned warm, almost hot, and the girls stripped off their jackets and stood bare armed in the sun.

  Haley had been supposed to call her dad for a ride, but wh
en she called the Kimberson house, the phone just rang and rang. Kennedy and Carter were smoking on the curb in front of the pay phone, Kennedy waving her newly adorned ring finger with each drag on the cigarette.

  “This happens sometimes,” Haley said as she joined them. They all knew her father had a problem.

  “We understand,” Carter said.

  “Our dad’s, like, borderline alcoholic.” Kennedy might have said more but stopped at the glance Carter threw her. Carter didn’t like Kennedy’s talking about their own father’s unreliability. She wanted to keep it secret, even from Haley. “Aren’t they all?” Kennedy said, their radio working perfectly.

  Haley didn’t look comforted.

  “I know who I can call,” Kennedy said, and she passed her cigarette to Haley to finish and jumped up to grab the phone directory.

  While Kennedy was at the phone, Haley looked at her boot toes. Carter reached out and hooked her arm around Haley’s head and pulled her down onto her shoulder. She could feel Haley’s tears running onto her neck. Haley’s smoke was going in Carter’s face, but she didn’t say anything. Finally, Haley flicked the cigarette away and they watched it roll toward the sewer.

  “Thanks,” she said, straightening. “I don’t know why I’m still embarrassed of it.”

  “It’s okay. I get it.”

  Then Haley sat up straight and began singing Whitney Houston’s “So Emotional.” It was the sort of goofy thing she did—seizing on a thing that wasn’t in at all and making it fun again. Carter joined in at first, surprised how many words she knew, but then Haley stood up and finished the entire song. She had a beautiful voice and Carter’s own voice fell away. Haley belted it loud enough that shoppers coming out were looking at her.

  Kennedy came over and plunked down again. She pulled a lipstick out of her army jacket pocket and darkened her mouth, using her round sunglasses as a mirror before sticking them back on her head. “Guess who’s coming to get us. Berk Butler.”

  “The hot guy from the show you played? Who took you to that movie?” Haley reached into her purse and yanked out a tissue. She wiped her nose with it, and then took out her compact and rubbed more foundation on her cheeks and forehead. “Do my freckles show?”

  “I like your freckles,” Carter said.

  When Berk pulled up in a Jeep, Kennedy ran to him and he grasped her in a hug as if they were lovers who had been separated by war. Carter was stunned. He’d taken Kennedy and her to a movie, The Crying Game, at the rep cinema and halfway through he’d reached over and grasped Kennedy’s hand. Carter had seen it but said nothing. After, at home, as Carter tried to dissect the film with her, Kennedy had told her that she couldn’t concentrate on the plot. She said she felt like her whole life had changed the minute he held her hand. But Carter had expected it would dissipate, like the crushes she had on the boys from Liberty. After all, he’d only held her palm in his.

  Now he came over and gave the same lopsided smile he had before and tossed his hair back off his face, sticking out his chin. He was wearing army shorts and a hooded poncho that showed a creamy patch of chest hair.

  He tapped his nose, indicating the nose ring Carter had gotten since he’d last seen her. “Nice one. Now I can tell you apart.”

  “This is Haley,” Kennedy said, hopping nervously on and off the curb.

  “Hi there, Jennifer Jason Leigh.”

  Haley beamed at his compliment.

  The thing about him Carter noticed was that when he looked at a person he really looked at them. It was that habit that had made Kennedy feel special at the bar, and her too, if only for a minute.

  Berk stuck out his index finger and touched the medallion on a cord that lay along Haley’s clavicle. She had purchased it a half hour before inside the mall. “Good and evil. Eros and Thanatos. Looks like you’re starting to figure it out,” he said softly. “You’re almost ready for On the Road. I’ll bring it next time I see you.”

  Carter tried to radio Kennedy, Who is this clown?, but her sister looked away.

  Kennedy yelled, “Shotgun,” and skittered around the other side of Berk’s Jeep, climbing into the front passenger seat, where she would ride beside him.

  Chapter 26

  A woman was rubbing Everett’s cheek with a sponge and covering the growing bruise. He winced and asked how it was looking and she said not too bad. She told him he had nice skin. Not a smoker, she observed, and he confirmed.

  “You won’t do too much?” he asked as she picked up a brown pencil.

  “They don’t usually interview people with, you know, injuries. Not the ones that show up on camera.”

  * * *

  —

  The night before, Everett had woken up in his condo and realized he had to talk to his father before being interviewed on camera. There was no way he couldn’t. Before dawn he drove the forty miles out to Ted’s place, parked as the sun came up, and sat in the barn, waiting.

  Everett got up from his lawn chair, pacing every few minutes, looking at the time on his phone, knowing Ted had to wake up and come out with food for the dogs. He wondered if there were more boxes in this place and he got angry that what he did know about Haley’s death was whatever his parents thought he should. It felt like an hour but it was probably only twenty minutes before Ted walked into the barn, annoyed. “Judy saw your car and said you must be here.”

  “Haley was pregnant. Who else knows that?” Everett’s voice was raised in spite of the early hour.

  The annoyance on Ted’s face hardened. “You went looking. I told you—”

  “I’m not the only one looking,” Everett said, quieter.

  Ted ran a hand back over his dark hair. “Your mother doesn’t know. It would have killed her to know Haley left us . . . like that. It would kill Marly now, so don’t tell her. Grady gave me those pages so it wouldn’t go to the police, and then everyone else.”

  “They got tests now. DNA. They can find things out—who’s the father.”

  “Jesus Christ almighty. Who are you talking to, Ev?”

  “People who want to find out who killed her!” Everett yelled.

  Ted’s voice remained calm, cold. “They don’t care about you. They don’t care about Haley.”

  “They care more than you ever did.”

  Ted struck Everett across the face. “You come to my home with that garbage?”

  Everett touched his cheek. His father’s hand had been half open, half closed, and the sting was much more than the slaps he’d been given as a boy.

  Ted raised his hand again, but Everett grabbed it, held his wrist in a hard grip. He was stronger than Ted now.

  “Did you do things to her?”

  Everett’s father fell silent. He glared at Everett but said nothing. At that moment, Everett knew.

  “You did. You did. You sonofabitch.”

  “Get out and leave us alone.” Ted’s voice wavered.

  Blood rushed to Everett’s face as the sting faded to numbness. He wanted to hit back but couldn’t. He turned around and kicked the shelf of decoys, sending the plastic birds scattering onto the concrete floor. “How many times?”

  Ted tilted his head back, his eyes closed. “Once. It was only once.” Ted was beginning to sob now. “I came in drunk and Marly left me sitting on the bathroom floor, like an idiot, half undressed. I passed out and then Haley, she came in and must’ve tried to help me up, but she couldn’t. I fell down and she came down with me. I looked at her and I grabbed her and I kissed her.”

  “Shut up!” Everett yelled. Neither heard the door of the barn opening.

  “I stopped, but Haley stared at me like I had broken everything inside her at that moment. I never touched her again. I never did.”

  The sound of the door swinging closed caught both the men’s attention. They looked, and through the window Everett could see Judy running back to the ho
use, and probably away from Ted forever.

  * * *

  —

  They were shooting the interview in a hotel room on Broad Street. It was called the Heavenly Suite. They used the bedroom as the greenroom. The makeup artist had Everett seated at the desk, the king-sized bed behind him. The sitting room would become the studio, with a sofa and coffee tables that would pass for someone’s immaculate apartment.

  “A bit of definition. I promise you won’t notice a difference.” The makeup artist winked.

  Everett knew there were other guys who would have asked for her number, made some flirtatious conversation back. But he didn’t. Women had always liked him, in part because he talked to them like regular people, in part because he didn’t hurt their eyes. But when every woman flirted with you, it didn’t get your attention anymore. Not much had ever really held his attention, until Carter. As much as she’d talked about feeling out of control, he realized, she had grounded him. She was a listener. She would know, he supposed, about that horrible touch between his sister and his father. If Haley had ever told anyone, it would have been her.

  * * *

  —

  The interviewer was Dee Nash, but she didn’t look like she normally did. Her hair and makeup were done, and she was wearing an emerald-colored dress. The guy, Josh, still wore his usual khakis and cap, and stood beside the cameraperson. As he pointed to the chair next to Dee, he told Everett to relax, the interview would be the same stuff he and Dee had talked about before, no biggie.

  Everett nodded. “Do I look at the camera or at you?” he asked Dee.

  “Look at me. Don’t edit yourself. That’s Josh’s job.” Dee smiled.

  “Sometimes those random things that just come into your head are the best bits,” Josh put in from where he stood off to the side. “Ready?”