Destruction: The December People, Book One

by Sharon Bayliss

  “They’ll be okay,” she said. This felt less comforting coming from the same woman who explained why they were not okay less than ten seconds ago.

  “I’ll see you in the morning,” she said. “Good night.”

  They had kissed each other before bed every night they had slept under the same roof for the past twenty years. He could tell she felt the absence. She suddenly looked too tired to stand.

  “I love you,” he said.

  Her eyes got red and wet, but her mouth contorted as if she might spit on him. She looked like she might come back with an angry retort, but he knew her well enough to know if she opened her mouth, she would cry. Just like Emmy. She left without saying anything.

  It seemed wrong not to follow her. She didn’t like him to see her cry, but he always at least made an attempt to comfort her before she pushed him out the door with an, “I’m okay. Leave me alone”. But things had changed.

  He let go of the breath he held and sat down at the computer. He Googled “Helping Teenagers Deal with Grief”. The authors of the articles seemed to have written them about other people’s kids. The only thing that seemed true was teens worked very hard to hide their feelings, especially boys. He found a Mad Libs-type fill in the blank, About Me Storyboard, to give a teen to help them share their feelings.

  The person I lost was____________.

  When I found out about the death I was____________.

  Now I feel____________because__________.

  I get mad sometimes when________________.

  The thing that makes me saddest is____________.

  One thing I miss about the person is______________.

  I wish I could tell them_________________.

  His kids lived in those blank lines. He couldn’t imagine them having to live with words in them.

  few days later, the three Vandergraff siblings plus Samantha wore jackets to school for the first time in the season. When the cool air blasted Emmy on her way out, she giggled, the only happy sound she’d made since “the others” had arrived. She stood in the driveway with her arms out and her face to the sky as if she expected snowflakes to land on her tongue, which in Houston was only slightly more likely than a plague of locusts. She took a deep breath.

  “Winter,” she said. “The trees are going to get all gray and spindly. And of course, there are the Pumpkin Lattes.”

  Samantha shivered in her open-toed sandals. She could have borrowed some of Emmy’s shoes easily enough, but for some reason she didn’t. She wore gold sandals with ribbons wrapped around her ankles, like a Greek Goddess who would deem it summer as long as she liked.

  While Patrick stared at Samantha’s feet, he got hit in the chest with Jude’s keys. They fell to the ground with a jingle.

  “Good catch,” Jude said.

  “Why are you throwing shit at me?” Patrick asked. Had Jude caught him looking at her? Who cares? Jude could kiss his ass.

  “Why don’t you drive?” Jude asked.

  He waited for the punch line. Jude didn’t let other people touch his truck. Jude did not let other people drive his truck. He didn’t like it when Dad borrowed it to go to Home Depot. And Dad had bought the truck and been driving since before Jude was born.

  “Why?” Patrick asked.

  “You have your learner license, don’t you?” Jude asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Then learn.”

  Everyone responded differently to a family crisis, and Jude must have gone with good old-fashioned crazy. But as long as the crazy benefitted Patrick, he could live with it.

  Patrick picked up the keys and climbed into the driver’s seat before Jude could change his mind. Jude got in the passenger’s seat, and the girls climbed into the half-cab.

  “Buckle up,” Jude said. “The seat belts in back don’t work right. If you crash, Emmy and Samantha will probably go careening out the windshield headfirst. No pressure.”

  “Shut up,” Emmy said. “I know the seat belts are fine.”

  “We’ll see,” Jude said.

  Patrick had driven before, but not with an audience of two overbearing siblings and one painfully hot girl, plus a truck with displays and knobs he had never seen before. How do you turn on the wipers? No clue. The headlights? No idea. If it started to rain, he would probably turn on the emergency blinkers, honk the horn, and crash into a tree.

  “Anytime,” Jude said. “You’re not turning the key to launch a nuke.”

  Patrick started the truck and proceeded to back out. The truck felt colossal, and it took him forever to pull out of the garage because he stopped every time he made it within six feet of any possible obstruction.

  “I do have a Spanish test fifth period,” Samantha said. “If we could at least get to school by then, that’d be great.”

  Patrick laughed, but his cheeks burned. Was she flirting or making fun of him? He could never tell the difference.

  Learning to drive in Houston resembled learning to surf in a tsunami. As they approached the Expressway, Jude shouted instructions.

  “When you get on the ramp, your instinct will tell you to slow down, but you have to speed up. Don’t listen to your instinct. Your instinct will be fear. Do the opposite of whatever your instinct tells you.”

  “Always great advice,” Patrick said.

  “The cars will be coming from all directions,” Jude continued. “You can try to see them with your eyes, but your eyes will always miss something. Humans are unpredictable, so your eyes won’t be enough to anticipate the other drivers. You have to feel where the other cars are.”

  “Yes, Obi-Wan.”

  “Quit fucking with him,” Emmy said.

  “Please use your eyes to see the cars,” Samantha added.

  Patrick didn’t appreciate Emmy screaming, “You’re going to crash” when he pulled on to the highway. Or when Jude yelled, “Exit now! That’s the middle school” three lanes over from the rapidly approaching exit. But they survived.

  Patrick pulled around the side of the massive red brick middle school.

  “When do you think they’ll have to start school?” Emmy asked quietly.

  “Soon, I guess,” Patrick said. “They can’t just not go.”

  “They haven’t so far,” Jude said.

  “Do you think they’ll be smart enough for classes?” Emmy asked. “Do they know science and math and stuff? Can they read?”

  “They’re so weird,” Jude said.

  “They’re going to be ripped to shreds,” Patrick said. He didn’t think Jude and Emmy would understand this. They didn’t get bullied much… they appeared more on the other side of the equation. Patrick saw high school as a minefield of potential humiliation and random acts of violence. And, although he may not be the most normal guy ever, Patrick certainly fit in better than Xavier and Evangeline would. Patrick couldn’t do much to help, but perhaps if he stood next to Xavier, it would cause the bullies to have to split focus.

  “Yeah, they are,” Emmy said.

  “So, are you just going to let that happen, or what?” Patrick asked. He meant the question for both Jude and Emmy, who each had considerable power at their respective schools. If Jude watched out for Xavier, and Emmy watched out for Evangeline, they wouldn’t have anything to worry about.

  “What do you mean?” Emmy asked.

  “Whether you like it or not, everyone will know they’re your brother and sister. Are you just going to let people mess with them?”

  Emmy made a sort of grumbling noise in the back seat that Patrick couldn’t sort into words.

  “Oh, fuck me,” Jude said. “I guess I’ll have to be his bodyguard too. Patrick, you’re going to have to dial down the freak if I’m going to be able to manage both of you. I’m only one man.”

  Jude didn’t offer to let Patrick drive the next morning, and Patrick didn’t complain. His brother’s temporary psychosis must have passed. The air had become colder today—but still not uncomfortably cold—that refreshing first cold after the way-to
o-long Texas summer, a chill that meant football and time off for holidays. Just right.

  Samantha dressed more warmly today but made up for it by parting her lips and exhaling slowly so she could see the steam rising from her mouth. No one else in the family had dressed up for Halloween. Patrick couldn’t figure out Samantha’s costume, but she wore glittery green eye shadow and had a sprinkling of yellow glitter on her cheeks and in her hair, which she had swept off her neck in an elaborate twist held with a green butterfly clip. She looked like Tinker Bell. The glitter from her hair sprinkled all over her—her jacket, her neck, and her chest. He wondered how far down the glitter went.

  Mom had let them trick-or-treat as kids, but other than that they never got into Halloween. No decorations. No costumes. Mom usually bought one small package of the cheapest candy, gave huge handfuls to the first few kids who came by, then turned off all the lights and locked the door.

  She would say, “Who do they think they are, coming to our house at dinnertime and demanding candy and making threats?” And not in a joking way. Trick-or-treaters genuinely pissed Mom off.

  “Hey, Emmy,” Jude asked. “Are you okay?”

  Until then, Patrick hadn’t noticed Emmy’s unusual quietness, but Jude did, and he had the emotional IQ of a troll.

  “Yeah, I’m okay,” she said.

  Jude smiled at her reflection in the rearview mirror. “I have something that will cheer you up.”

  He had a devilish grin on his face that made Patrick want to jump out of the car at the next light. Something insane always followed that look, such as let’s put fireworks on Patrick’s skateboard and roll it down the stairs, or let’s see if Patrick can fly. And Emmy always enthusiastically agreed with whatever idea Jude had.

  “I’m going to give Patrick an advanced driving lesson.”

  Yep. Patrick would jump out at the next light. He did not want to find out what that meant.

  “What I said about feeling the cars on the highway,” Jude said. “It wasn’t a joke. I can.”

  “What do you mean?” Emmy asked.

  “Emmy, when I pull on to the interstate, cover my eyes.”

  Patrick heard his heartbeat in his ears. He and Samantha argued this point with various statements of reason, such as, “No, we might die,” and “No, we’ll definitely die”. Patrick didn’t know if Samantha knew them well enough to know they might not be joking.

  “Jude,” Patrick said. “You better be joking. I swear I’ll…”

  “You’ll what?”

  “I could tell Mom. She’ll take away your car.”

  “Patrick, don’t be such a momma’s boy,” Emmy said.

  “I’m not a momma’s boy. I just want to live to be sixteen.”

  “Is he seriously going to do this?” Samantha leaned toward Patrick from where she sat in the half-cab behind him. She smelled of spearmint gum and glitter spray.

  “Probably,” Patrick said. “Don’t worry. I’ll do something. I’ll grab the wheel.”

  “Don’t, Patrick,” Jude said. “You’ll mess me up. You wouldn’t want to put us in any danger, would you?”

  “Do you really know how to do that?” Samantha asked. The question worried Patrick. No one knew how to do that.

  “Do you trust me?”

  “No,” Patrick and Samantha said, but it didn’t matter. He meant the question for Emmy.

  “Do you think I would do something that would put you in danger?” Jude asked Emmy, watching her in the rearview mirror.

  “No. You wouldn’t,” Emmy said.

  Jude smiled. “Then let’s do it.”

  Morning commuters clogged the interstate, making it extremely dangerous with both eyes open. Cars darted from lane to lane unpredictably as their drivers became impatient. Unexpected pockets of traffic caused brake lights to go on and off in chaotic patterns. Please be joking. Please be joking.

  They weren’t.

  Emmy placed one small hand over each of Jude’s eyes. Patrick considered his options. He had to do something. He didn’t want himself and his siblings to die in the stupidest way possible. That should have been his only real concern, but he also thought about Samantha. He wanted to show her he had some power over Jude, that he could do something to stop a terrible thing from happening. But what?

  Patrick put his hand on the wheel, between Jude’s. The brake pedal concerned him more, but without climbing on top of Jude, he couldn’t reach it. If it he had to, he would jump on his brother’s lap and take over. He unbuckled his seat belt.

  “Patrick,” Jude said. “Buckle your damn seatbelt. Are you suicidal or something?”

  Well, he did have good hearing, anyway.

  “Are you?”

  “Don’t yell at me. I’m trying to concentrate.”

  Only about twenty seconds had passed, but it felt like twenty years. Either way, Jude had stayed within the lane lines. A freaking miracle.

  “Okay. We’re all really impressed. Emmy, take your hands off,” Patrick said. “There’s a car braking in front of you! Open your fucking eyes.”

  Jude applied the brakes lightly and didn’t hit the car.

  “Patrick, get your hand off the wheel,” Jude said. “You’re in my way.”

  Patrick thought everyone in the car could hear his heart pounding behind his ribs.

  “Okay. Amazing. Now open your eyes… no don’t change lanes! What are you doing?”

  Jude put on his blinker and moved into the lane to his right to pass the car that had slowed down in front of him. Samantha grabbed Patrick’s shoulder and dug her fingernails into him. This made his heart start beating wildly for a completely different reason.

  “Okay, Emmy,” Jude said.

  She took her hands off his eyes. Jude sighed happily and grinned at Patrick.

  “Pretty cool, huh? You want me to teach you that?”

  “I’m never getting in a car with you again,” Patrick said.

  avid picked up his kids from therapy. They waited in the lobby patiently while he introduced himself to their respective therapists. They had an impressive spread of qualifications and strong handshakes. He asked them what he should do. They both wrote down book recommendations. Evangeline’s therapist, a composed and inviting African-American woman with perfect skin, suggested a memorial service for their mother. He felt like an asshole for not thinking of it himself. David asked Xavier’s therapist, a librarian-type older white woman with a Bible on her desk, if Xavier had talked at all. She said he had but didn’t expand.

  “Teenage boys are always tough nuts to crack,” she said. “Try talking to him about the things he likes. Easy things.”

  David wanted to ask for examples but didn’t want to make it obvious he knew almost nothing about his son. If they thought his kids were hopelessly broken, they didn’t say so.

  He asked the kids if they wanted to go shopping on the way home, but they said no. He let them stay silent on the drive. He asked only one question.

  “Was therapy okay?”

  They both nodded in the rearview mirror.

  “Okay,” he said.

  His phone rang. He answered with his Bluetooth.

  “This is David.”

  “Hey… David. How are you?” asked Liza, his Vice President of Human Resources. He could already tell she knew. She didn’t usually talk to the CEO with that sad little How you doing, Champ voice.

  “Fine. How are you?”

  “Good. Are you coming in today? If you aren’t… I understand. There’s just a thing.”

  “A thing?”

  “A crisis sort of thing. We can handle it if you need us to, but I know you want to be looped in to the big stuff.”

  “What happened?”

  “Maybe you should come in.”

  He glanced at his kids in the rearview mirror. “All right, hang on.”

  He took them with him to his office. At least, he would make the gossip hounds happy for a few months.

  “Do you want to see where I work?” he as
ked the kids when he pulled into his office space.

  Xavier’s eyebrows said, no, don’t care and I hate you.

  “It’s okay,” Evangeline said. “I know you have to go in.”

  “It won’t take long. You can hang out in my office and get on my computer.”

  Everyone in the office greeted David by his first name. He liked to keep it familiar. He had always thought “Mr. Vandergraff” sounded intimidating. The whole office stopped and watched as he passed with his kids. Their appearance would cause a ripple effect of work stoppage for a while. Liza greeted him outside his office.

  Her concerned expression didn’t mesh with her odd choice of clothing for the day. Liza had her thick legs stuffed in fishnet stockings and wore long, black, press-on nails. Fake blood covered Mark, the VP of Finance. At least Andy, the site foreman, looked normal.

  Either they, or David, had lost their minds.

  “Why are you dressed like that?” David asked.

  “It’s Halloween,” Liza said.

  “Today?”

  “Yes.”

  Now it made more sense why the accountant had worn a cape and the receptionist had pink glitter on her face.

  “My costume does look a little funny without the hat. I’m a witch,” Liza said.

  Naturally.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “You don’t have to apologize for it being Halloween.”

  Apologizing for the calendar date didn’t bode well. She acted guilty. Something about the three of them standing there reminded him of aged, bloated versions of his kids. They had done something wrong and waited for him to scold them. Liza gasped dramatically at the sight of Evangeline and Xavier hovering behind him.

  “Is this them?” she said.

  No. I found these two random children on the street.

  “They are so precious. He looks just like you.”

  She started to approach them, and David stood in her path. He remembered that she liked to do things such as tousle boys’ hair and tug on little girls’ ponytails.

  “Don’t touch them,” he said.