True Places

by Sonja Yoerg

  “I know. Sorry.” And she was. After all, hadn’t Iris run away into the woods a few days ago? “I haven’t been sleeping.”

  “I did say this would be too much of a burden on you.”

  Tinsley’s tone was scolding but nevertheless contained a measure of true concern. Suzanne wondered what it would be like to experience a pure positive emotion from her mother, then dismissed the idea as too improbable to dwell upon. Suzanne had tried to be openly loving with her children and had been careful not to take away with one hand what she gave with the other. Had she succeeded? Five years earlier she would’ve been certain she had.

  Suzanne showed her mother the flowers. “I can put these in water for you.”

  “They’re gorgeous. Thank you.”

  Anson fixed drinks for everyone, and they helped themselves to fried chicken, sweet potato biscuits, and an array of salads. Tinsley, who didn’t enjoy cooking and therefore did not cook, had acquired everything from Whole Foods and a small grocer in town. When Suzanne lived at home, they had had both a maid and a cook. Now Tinsley managed with a cleaner who came three times a week and a professional chef (“Maurice is a dream!”) who took care of dinner parties and evenings alone with Anson when it was simply too much trouble for Tinsley to procure dinner herself. Tinsley had almost canceled the family dinner when she’d learned Maurice was out of town, but her curiosity about Iris had won out.

  Anson took his seat at the head of the table and glowered at his plate. “Looks almost as good as the fried chicken at the club.” He turned over a leg, eyeing it with suspicion. “Almost.”

  “Let me refresh your drink, Anson.” Tinsley’s answer to everything. Anson swatted the air, dismissing her as bartender. Tinsley turned to Reid. “It really is very good chicken.”

  “I’m a vegetarian, Grammy. As you know.”

  She sighed as if it pained her to be reminded. “It just seems so . . . unnecessary.”

  “I’m thinking of going vegan. I practically am already.”

  Whit shook his head. Brynn groaned.

  Suzanne was simultaneously proud of Reid for holding his ground and annoyed with him for making a target of himself. She drank from her gin and tonic, savoring the caustic bite of the gin.

  Anson thrust a chicken leg at Whit. “You need to get on top of this vegan thing, son.”

  “Suzanne does the meal planning. The rest of us can still eat meat.”

  “In a family, everyone should eat the same thing.”

  “That’s why we go out,” Tinsley said. “Reid, what’s wrong with an egg?”

  Reid pursed his lips.

  Iris, seated beside Reid, had been concentrating on her dinner, hunched over her plate. At least Suzanne had been able to break her of the habit of shoveling food with both hands. She noticed Iris’s fingernails had been painted dark blue. Brynn, obviously, but when? Painted nails seemed wrong on Iris, like pierced ears on a baby.

  Iris, her mouth full, turned to Reid. “Are eggs wrong?”

  Reid looked around the table as if deciding whether to waste his breath. “We can talk about it later, Iris.”

  Brynn laughed. “Yeah, the Real Meaning of Free Range lecture is dope.”

  “Is someone smoking marijuana?” Anson stared at the children, his gaze lingering on Reid.

  Whit said, “No, Anson. It’s an expression.”

  Suzanne thought she detected a slight smile on Brynn’s lips. She took a long sip of her gin and tonic and immediately felt woozy. She normally had only a glass of wine and had forgotten about her father’s heavy hand.

  Tinsley changed the subject. “Any news on finding Iris’s family?”

  “Mother, I don’t think—”

  Anson cut in. “If you ask me, the whole situation strikes me as unlikely.”

  Tinsley was miffed at being interrupted. “I don’t recall anyone asking you.”

  Anson turned away and addressed Whit and Suzanne. “Tell me, how could they survive for so long with nothing? Even in the winter? I don’t buy it.”

  “Without Whole Foods, you mean?” Reid said with mock innocence.

  Whit gave him a look. “I’m skeptical, too, Anson, but there was a case when I was in high school, I think. Remember that guy who bombed all those abortion clinics? Two people died. His name was Rudolph, maybe? Anyway, he disappeared into the North Carolina woods. The FBI hunted for him for five years.”

  Anson nodded. “Good example, son. So any news?”

  Whit helped himself to another piece of chicken. “The detective stopped by the other day. They seem to think her father might be a veteran.”

  Suzanne had been listening to this exchange, incredulous. “Why is everyone talking about Iris as if she isn’t here?”

  Whit gestured toward the girl. “She’s welcome to chime in anytime.”

  The way he said it, it sounded as though Iris were a hostile witness. Suzanne shot a questioning but stern look at him. Whatever it is you’re doing, back off.

  “Another vet, huh?” When Anson’s deferments during the Vietnam draft had run out, his family finagled a desk job for him. He loved to refer to himself as a vet. “What war would that have been?”

  Brynn was quick to show her knowledge of history. “Probably the Gulf War, Grandpa.”

  Anson nodded. “He’s got the syndrome then, Iris?”

  Iris had stopped eating during this exchange, although she hadn’t looked up from her plate. Now she turned to Suzanne’s father, her gaze steady. “My father is dead.”

  “Then why are they looking for him?” Anson’s tone was affable, as if he was hoping she could clear things up for him.

  “Iris,” Suzanne said, “you don’t have to say anything.”

  “Why shouldn’t she?” Reid said.

  “Well, even if Iris is right,” Whit said calmly, “there should be relatives.”

  Why couldn’t he leave it alone? This was a family dinner, after all, not a debrief. Suzanne caught her mother’s eye.

  Tinsley nodded. “I shouldn’t have brought it up.” She tore a biscuit in half and pulled off a small corner, considered it closely, and spoke across the table to Reid. “Now, Reid. I promised Queenie Bourne you’d help out at the golf scramble fund-raiser. It’s a tradition, and your grandfather and I are counting on you.”

  Reid’s gaze was fixed on the wall over Tinsley’s shoulder. He did not move or speak.

  Suzanne picked up her glass and drained it, gripping the empty glass to resist the urge to throw it. The problem was she had only the one glass, which would force her to choose among her mother, her father, and Whit.

  Whit leaned forward to intercept Reid’s gaze. “Your grandmother asked you a question.”

  “It wasn’t a question.”

  “But when your grandmother speaks to you, you should respond.”

  Anson nodded gravely. “Basic respect, son.”

  Tinsley shot him a look that Suzanne understood immediately: Says the philanderer.

  Suzanne looked around the table. This was her family. These were her loved ones. These were her parents, her husband, her children. She did not feel love for them. She did not feel love between them. She knew it must be there, had been there, this love: filial, romantic, maternal. It couldn’t just evaporate, could it? Except maybe it had, because the people around this table were not a family. They were not a loving unit. Suzanne didn’t know what they were.

  Her mother was filling her glass with white wine. Suzanne put two fingers on the base of her own wineglass and slid it toward her mother. Tinsley filled the glass and caught her daughter’s eye. A thin smile spread across Tinsley’s face, knowing, confiding.

  You see how it is. This is my life.

  And it’s yours.

  CHAPTER 24

  After they finished eating, Grammy Tinsley told them to leave everything where it was. “The elves will be in first thing tomorrow.”

  Brynn loved this about Grammy. How wrong would it be to ask if she could move in? Grandpa was a ze
ro but easy enough to ignore. Plus he adored Brynn and therefore would be blind to anything she did, not unlike her father.

  Grandpa herded them into the living room, looping his arm across Whit’s shoulders and directing the favored son to the seat next to Grandpa’s black leather easy chair—his throne, as he put it.

  Chocolate-chip cookies, brownies, and lemon squares waited on the coffee table. Brynn snagged a brownie and the corner seat on the comfiest couch. Reid loped over and sat on the opposite end. He looked like he’d been smacked for peeing on the floor.

  Grammy headed straight for the bar in the corner. “I’m having more wine, but if anyone wants coffee, I suppose I could manage it.”

  Brynn vowed that her first house would have a bar just like Grammy and Grandpa’s, all dark wood and soft lights and sparkling glasses. Grandpa joined Grammy at the bar and poured whiskey into cut-glass tumblers for Brynn’s father and himself. Brynn’s mother helped herself to another glass of wine. Was that her third? So much for the designated drivers. Oh well, either Reid would step up or they could call a cab. Or maybe Brynn would stay right here and never leave. Squatter’s rights.

  “Brynn,” Grammy said, “I nearly forgot. The seamstress dropped off your dress. Try it on if you wish. It’s on the bed in your mother’s old room.”

  Brynn jumped up from the couch and threw her arms around her grandmother. “Thank you!” She rushed over to Iris, who crouched near the doorway, as far away from everyone else as possible. “Come with me!” Hanging with Iris was always good for a laugh and had the added advantage of irritating the shit out of her mom.

  Iris hesitated. She was terrified of everything, except natural, dirty things, and was probably calculating whether being dragged into the far reaches of an unfamiliar house was preferable to hanging out with the rest of the family. Brynn made the decision for Iris, taking her by the arm and pulling her to her feet. They disappeared into the hall and up the stairs.

  Grammy Tinsley had redecorated Suzanne’s room a few years ago; she wasn’t one of those sentimental moms who turned their kid’s room into a shrine. The color scheme was shades of gray with red accents. Brynn adored the look, especially the little touches that made it all work, like the thick charcoal cashmere blanket on the end of the bed, and the throw pillows, each featuring a prancing red horse with a long black tail, stenciled with flowers. Maybe when she went to college, Grammy could design her room.

  The dress lay on the white spread. It was more beautiful than she remembered: a short black cocktail dress with a jewel neckline made of embroidered silk and wool tulle. The lace bodice was embellished on the front and back with jewels and embroidered with flowers and pink hummingbirds. It was to die for.

  Brynn held it against her and spun to show Iris. “What do you think?”

  Iris shrugged, then Brynn’s expectant look registered. “Maybe if you put it on.”

  “Just what I was thinking.”

  Brynn shut the door of the room and stripped down to her bra and panties. Iris turned away.

  “It’s okay when it’s just girls.”

  Brynn’s phone buzzed somewhere in the crumple of clothes on the floor. She retrieved it.

  ROBBY (via text): Thinking about you all the time. When can I see you?

  BRYNN: In a flash. (winking emoji)

  “Iris. Take a photo, okay?” She showed her how to frame it and what button to push, then climbed onto the bed. She leaned back on her elbows and crossed her legs at the ankle. Demure but not too demure. She glanced at her boobs. Why was she so flat? She adjusted her pose so her forearms pushed in against her boobs, giving her maximum but still pathetic cleavage, and tossed her head, spilling her hair over one shoulder.

  Iris stared with her mouth open.

  “Take the photo, Iris.”

  She held the phone awkwardly, like it was about to detonate.

  “Just push the button already.”

  Iris complied. Brynn took the phone from her and reviewed the photo, evaluating her body, the pose, her underwear. Stalking herself. “Not bad. You show promise.” She cropped it so her face wouldn’t show.

  BRYNN (via Snapchat): Testing, testing . . . 1, 2, 3 . . .

  Iris was looking over her shoulder. “I don’t understand.”

  “You will. Eventually.”

  “Who’s Robby?”

  “Never mind.”

  “Is he your boyfriend?”

  Brynn smiled.

  “Aren’t you going to the dance with Sam?”

  “Sam’s just a friend.”

  Iris thought about that. “You said he was hot.”

  “I did. He is.”

  “That means you want to have sex with him.”

  “Whoa . . . who told you that?”

  “I figured it out.” She looked at her feet. “I watch TV sometimes. Nature programs, mostly. But some other ones. People our age are very interested in sex.”

  Brynn laughed. “No kidding.” She considered Iris in a new light. “You remembered Sam.” Iris’s cheeks turned red. “Iris! You kill me!” Brynn wanted to explore this further, especially the nature programs, but had other things on her mind at the moment. “You can’t tell.”

  “Tell what?”

  “About the photo. It’s private.”

  “Okay.”

  “Private means you can’t tell.” Brynn tossed the phone on the bed, picked up the dress, and slipped it on. “Zip me, Iris, okay?” Iris obeyed. Brynn did a quick 360 in front of the floor mirror beside the wardrobe; even without heels and an updo, she looked seriously hot. Her phone buzzed again.

  ROBBY: Niiiice. Who’s there with you?

  Brynn laughed. “Your chance, Iris.”

  “My chance?”

  “Hang on.” Brynn flung open the wardrobe doors, remembering from playing hide-and-seek as a kid that Grammy stored her off-season clothes here. Sure enough, front and center was the absolutely perfect thing: a short fur coat.

  She showed it to Iris. “Put this on. And take off your jeans.”

  Iris’s eyes were wide. “What animal is that?”

  “I’m guessing mink, but this isn’t a biology lesson. Well, not precisely.” She smiled at her joke. “Quick now. Off with the jeans. Don’t worry, you’re so short, the coat will totally cover your butt.”

  Iris slowly removed her jeans. God, the girl was skinny. Her calves were no bigger than Brynn’s biceps. Brynn helped her into the coat. It did cover her butt—barely.

  Brynn had an idea.

  “Wait here, Iris. We’re going to have some fun, okay?”

  Brynn stole into her grandmother’s bathroom and returned with black eyeliner, a comb, and some hair ties. Iris was sitting on the floor in the mink coat, her bare legs tucked underneath her. She looked like a woolly caterpillar.

  “I’m just going to color on your face a little and put up your hair, okay?”

  “Why?”

  “Why not, Iris? Don’t you see that most girls wear makeup? It’s not evil. It’s not wrong. Right now this is just for fun. Don’t you want to have fun with me?”

  She shrugged. “Okay.”

  Brynn knelt in front of Iris and instructed her to close her eyes. She applied a thick circle of eyeliner along Iris’s lower and upper lashes and made her eyebrows, which were naturally thin and pale, into swatches that would do Jake Gyllenhaal proud. She didn’t go full unibrow, though. She wasn’t mean. Satisfied with Iris’s face, Brynn tied a ponytail on the top of Iris’s head, allowing the hair to fall in all directions. Iris pushed the strands from her face.

  “Perfect! Let’s snap it!” Brynn took a photo before Iris could protest, or see herself in the mirror, and posted it on Snapchat.

  BRYNN to LISA, KENDALL, OPHELIA: #posterchild #fosterfail #gotpants?

  BRYNN to SAM: Check this out

  Grammy Tinsley called from the hallway. “Brynn, dear, why don’t you come show everyone?”

  What a fabulous idea. She ran to lock the door in case Tinsley was thi
nking about coming in. “Be down in a sec!” She went to Iris and gave her an irresistible smile. “Grammy wants us to show our outfits.”

  Iris felt around the top of her head and frowned.

  “It’s just a game. It’ll make everyone happy.”

  Iris picked up her jeans and started putting them on.

  “Right. Pants,” Brynn said. “Good call.”

  Brynn led Iris downstairs. Just outside the living room, she smoothed her hair and arranged her dress. She took Iris’s hand and strode into the middle of the room.

  “Here we are—” Brynn struck a pose, hand on her hip, casting a sultry look over her shoulder. “Beauty and the Beast!”

  For a couple of seconds, everyone was frozen, taking it in.

  Too much? A warm flush crept up Brynn’s neck.

  Grandpa Anson’s eyes widened and a smile spread across his face. He slapped his knee and let out a big, booming laugh. Brynn shot him a smile.

  Grammy Tinsley joined in, laughing and covering her mouth with her hand to show she wasn’t laughing at anyone. “You look absolutely gorgeous, Brynn. And Iris, well, that look is just too funny for words.”

  Brynn glanced at Iris and followed her gaze to Brynn’s mother. That saying, if looks could kill? Right there.

  “Funny, Mother?” Suzanne spit out the words. She sprang up from her seat. “This is funny?”

  Brynn’s dad was gauging responses, but Brynn could tell he thought it was a pretty good joke, too, especially after a few drinks. “Now, Suzanne, calm down. I don’t think Brynn meant anything by it.”

  Brynn’s mom spun toward him. She seemed a little unsteady, drunk maybe. “She dresses Iris up like that and it’s okay with you?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  Reid said, “Actually, Dad, you pretty much did.”

  “I don’t need you to weigh in, Reid.”

  “Just keeping it real, Dad.” His voice was slick with scorn. He really was a dick.

  Brynn stepped closer to her mother. “Don’t you like the dress?”

  “I was focusing on Iris.”

  “What else is new.”

  Anson had recovered from his bout of laughter. “Well, I love it. You look stunning.”

  “Thanks, Grandpa. It’s Valentino.”