by Jae Hood
“Saul, the nurse called me to the school to pick up Rue … No, Josie’s fine. Rue has a stomach virus. That’s not why I’m calling. You need to get down to Christine’s house now … I’m not playing. Stop what you’re doing and get down here now!” she hollered in the phone, ignoring my confused expression. “You won’t believe whose truck is sitting in her driveway as we speak. Hurry up! I’m too scared to drive back down there … I swear it looks like Davis Montgomery’s truck. Just hurry!”
The frantic, concerned voice of my father’s younger brother drifting from the speaker of the phone ended with one tap of Aunt Maggie’s manicured finger. She dropped the phone onto her lap and shoved a thumb in her mouth, chewing away at the nail.
A knot of dread formed in my stomach. There was a Montgomery in my driveway. My stomach rolled again, but it wasn’t from the virus. There was only one reason for a Montgomery to be at my house, and an image of my father flashed through my mind. My poor mother … what if she were dead? No matter how much I resented her, I’d never wish any harm on her.
We sat silently in the truck parked in the tall grass growing alongside the road. Aunt Maggie’s expression told me not to mention the truck or my mother. Her face was stark white, her pink lips stretched in a worried frown. The unease in my stomach continued as we sat in the increasingly warm vehicle. Sweat beaded across my forehead, and I switched the air conditioner onto a higher setting.
Uncle Saul’s antique, red Chevy truck breezed past us on the road. Its engine chugged as he pulled into the driveway like a gangbuster. Maggie followed, pulling in behind him. I watched the back of his curly head through the glass as he cut the engine and jumped out of the truck.
Saul wore a plaid shirt with the sleeves ripped off. His thick arms shone with sweat and his jeans were practically white with concrete dust. He had the same handsome, rugged features of all the Monroe men: reddish hair and wicked eyes.
I slid out of the truck, falling in place beside my aunt who leaned against the hood of her vehicle, her hands wringing together. My heart hammered against my chest as Uncle Saul climbed the small concrete walkway that led up to the lake house. He tried to open the front door without luck.
“Do you have your keys?” Aunt Maggie asked, her voice edged in nervousness.
Nodding, I fished them from my pocket and handed them to her. She crossed the distance between the vehicle and where Uncle Saul stood, tossing the keys into his hands before returning to me. Uncle Saul slid the key in the doorknob before disappearing inside the house. Aunt Maggie and I stood for what seemed an endless amount of time before we both jumped at the sound of breaking glass and shouting drifting out the front door.
Uncle Saul shoved a man, much smaller in size, through the open door. The man fell to the ground with an oomph beside the walkway, landing under the tall pine and oak trees that surrounded the house. He was lanky with sharp features and was probably quite handsome, if not for his busted lip and rapidly swelling right eye. He struggled to stand, his white shirt smeared with dirt and broken leaves.
Uncle Saul descended the steps, his boots hitting the sidewalk as he made his way to where the man stood. He slugged the man in the face, and I cringed in horror as his head snapped around. The man managed to stay on two feet and then flung himself at my uncle, wrestling him to the ground. They began exchanging punches, kicks, and curses as they fought, and I yanked my cell from my pocket with the full intention of calling the police.
My mother emerged from the house, her auburn curls in disarray as she ran screaming down the steps. She trembled in fright at the sight of the two men duking it out in front of her house. Her white hospital scrubs were wrinkled, and the top was on backward. Pale, red lipstick was smeared across her face, trailing all the way to her neck.
“Saul! Stop right now before you kill Davis! Just let me explain!” She grabbed at Uncle Saul’s flailing arms.
Uncle Saul flung her off him. I cried out as she fell into the flowerbed full of the same flowers she’d planted while my father was still alive. The black soil ruined her white uniform as she lay sprawled out on the ground.
“Mama!” I called out in tears, my stomach rolling yet again.
I attempted to dart forward, but Aunt Maggie held me back. I struggled against her as my mother lay on the ground in shock.
“Explain what, Christine? How I just found you screwing a Montgomery?”
Uncle Saul stood and pulled the smaller man up before slamming his fist into the guy’s jaw, sending him spiraling to the ground. He left the man where he lay. He walked over to my mother and hovered over her trembling frame pointing one beefy finger in her face.
“How could you? How could you do that to my brother, in the house he built for you and your family? He’s dead because of the Montgomerys! And you let one between your legs? Filthy whore.”
Pressing my fingers to my ears, I tried to drown out my uncle’s words because they weren’t true. My mother would never do that to my father. She’d never let a Montgomery touch her. She would never betray the memory of my father by sleeping with someone who was his possible murderer.
But the words ran through my mind on a loop, forever embedded there as the now-soundless argument between my uncle and my mother continued.
Davis Montgomery scooted backward on his ass against the dirt, springing up and darting to his truck. He wrenched the door open and leaned inside, momentarily disappearing as my family continued to squabble. Davis emerged with a sawed-off shotgun clutched in his hands.
I dropped my hands from my ears and screamed, “No!”
Aunt Maggie froze beside me. Davis flinched and cocked the gun. He spat blood from his mouth. The bright red liquid splattered against the concrete drive.
“You let Christine alone, you hear?” Davis aimed the gun at my uncle. “If I find out you hurt her, I’ll come back and I swear I’ll rid the Earth of all you Monroe scum.”
“You broke some major rules, Montgomery,” Uncle Saul said, ignoring the man’s words. “The first was crossing that river. The second was touching one of our women. And you know the rule about involving children.”
“Christine’s not a Monroe, at least not anymore,” Davis said. “And her daughter is hardly a child. But you’re right about crossing the boundary. I did that shit. What are you gonna do about it, Monroe?”
“Since the rules mean nothing to you, how about all rules are off the table from now on?” Uncle Saul said in a menacing tone, in a voice that implied he wasn’t making any negotiations. “That means Amos, Matt, Alex, and I will cross that bridge and do business in Birchwood anytime we want. And if you find a Monroe boy in your daughter’s bed … there’s nothing you can do about it. How does that sound, Davis?”
“I think it’s a good thing I have a son and not a daughter.” Davis laughed and placed the safety back on the gun. He tossed it in the passenger seat and slid behind the wheel. “My brother’s kid is taking over the business in a couple years. He’ll love to find out he’s allowed in Mayhaw. There’s something he just adores about Mayhaw.”
He smirked at the confused frown on my face. His grin was tinged pink with blood from his busted mouth. Laughing, he slammed the door and cranked the car, flooring the gas and swerving around the vehicles. The same huge grin remained on Davis’ face as he peeled out of the drive.
Silence engulfed us until Saul spoke.
“You are no longer considered family, Christine,” Saul said as Mama raised herself from the flowerbed. “You’re dead to me now.” He spit on the ground near Mama before turning to me. “Rue, nothing that happened here changes the way I feel about you and Lucy. This is not your fault, in any shape or form. You’re my brother’s child, now and forever, but your mother is no longer family. Maggie, let’s go.”
Aunt Maggie gave me a sad smile and hugged me tightly, muttering, “Feel better, baby.” She shot my mother a murderous glare and entered her truck as well.
I stepped off the pavement and stood beside the drive
way, tugging on a lock of my hair. There was a long, bloated silence as I stared down the lane. Tall pines cast shadows along the vehicles as my aunt and uncle drove away.
“What are you doing home so early?” Mama’s angry voice caused me to turn to her in surprise. She crossed the distance between us, glaring at me. Grabbing my shoulders, she shook me and screamed. “This is your fault! You’re just like your father. Always causing trouble. Jeb Monroe! That’s what I should call you … Jeb Monroe!” Her hazel eyes flashed in hatred as she shook me so hard my teeth rattled.
“It’s not my fault,” I cried as she continued her assault on me. “I got sick at school! I was too weak to drive home!”
“Why didn’t they call me?” She dropped her hands from my shoulders and planted them on her hips. “I’m your mother. They should call me first!”
“I thought you were at work, not home screwing a Montgomery!” I yelled back, overcome with anger.
I winced as my mother slapped me across my face with her open palm. My head reeled back, and I clasped my stinging cheek in shock. My mother had never hit me before, aside from the usual spankings I had as a child. Hurtful words were her normal form of abuse. I turned my head and met her vengeful stare.
“I’m tired of you sassing me! Every time you talk back, that’s what you’re gonna get … a slap in the face. You’re nothing but a smart-ass teenager, thinking you know everything. Why aren’t you more like Lucy? At least she doesn’t talk back to me all the time!”
“No, Lucy doesn’t talk back. She’s too busy getting messed up on anything she can get her hands on to talk back to anyone!” I screamed. “Is that what you want me to do? Who’s gonna make sure there’s food in the fridge or clean the house if I’m drugged up all the time like my sister? You want me to stay incoherent so you can run around screwing Davis Montgomery? Is that what you’re out doing while I’m taking care of things around here?”
“Who I spend my time with is my business, not Saul’s or Maggie’s, and certainly not yours. And you won’t say shit about it or I’ll knock the teeth out of your head.” She slapped me one last time to emphasize her point.
The force of the blow knocked me to the ground, and I lay there as she walked away, muttering about my dead father while stomping up the steps. She flung open the door and then slammed it behind her.
A few minutes later she emerged from the house, and I averted my gaze. She grumbled something about an extended lunch break and the need to get back to the hospital before she left in her red sports car. The car was fitting for her. She was too old to be driving it, but pretty enough to get away with it.
The urge to vomit finally took over. I crawled across the ground, leaned over my mother’s beloved flowerbed, and hurled across the flowers. Good. I was glad they were covered in puke. My stomach eventually settled, and I crawled back to my spot on the ground, lying on my back and staring at the rays of light that filtered through the branches and leaves above me.
That was where Lucy found me sometime later. I heard the unmistakable sound of my Jeep veering down the driveway and parking in front of me.
Lucy hopped out of the Jeep, and her knock-off designer heels clicked against the pavement. Her heels were red, and she wore tight, black pants and a matching red shirt that flowed on her petite frame. Her long hair was braided intricately around her head, looking like a halo. Lucy was a beautiful creature, but her face was marred in worry as she hovered above me.
“What the hell happened to you?” She plucked a leaf from my hair.
“You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you,” I said as she perched on the ground beside me.
“Try me.” She raised one carefully-constructed eyebrow.
I heaved a great sigh and told her about the strange afternoon, starting with becoming sick during gym and ending with our mother’s aggressive behavior. Blood drained from my sister’s face and her mouth fell open in shock.
“Mama’s screwing a Montgomery. Unbelievable,” she whispered, shaking her head, a disgusted look on her face. “It’s like she’s pissing on our daddy’s grave. I’m through with her, I tell ya. I’m done. She’s never been much of a mother to us anyway. You’re more of a mother to me than she is.”
“I’m sorry for what I said, about you staying messed up all the time.”
She gave me a wavering smile as she swallowed and stared out across our lake, her expression dark. “I’m sorry for what happened.” She wrapped a skinny arm around my shoulders and I leaned into her. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you. Why don’t you go upstairs and take a shower? I know just the thing to make you feel better.”
I stared at her suspiciously, her angry look now replaced with a smile. A shower sounded glorious, so I agreed, trudging upstairs to the bathroom Lucy and I shared.
After letting the shower work out the tension in my neck and shoulders, I dried off and slipped on my favorite worn concert T-shirt and cotton shorts. I was sitting on my bed brushing the knots out of my hair when Lucy entered the room with a mischievous grin on her face. Throwing the brush on my vanity, I gave her a questioning frown. Her hands were behind her back.
“Rue, I’d like to introduce you to my friends.” She held out two bowls of our favorite ice cream. “This is Ben and Jerry. But I’ve got one more friend for you to meet.”
I took the ice cream from her hands while she reached into a pocket and produced a clear baggie full of dark green weed.
“This is my friend, Reggie. Reggie, this is Rue.” Lucy spoke to the bag of weed in a serious tone, gesturing toward where I sat on the bed.
“Lucy, I’m not smoking weed. I never have and I never will,” I said, shaking my head.
The thought of eating the super sweet ice cream caused my stomach to roll, but I took a tentative bite anyway, moaning around the icy goodness.
“I know you don’t smoke, you judgmental whore, but listen to me for just a second.” She plopped down on the bed and opened the bag. The smell of weed found its way to my nose, which I wrinkled in disgust. “Reggie is here, willing to be your best friend. He’ll never mistreat you or do you wrong. And he’ll make you feel so good. Way better than that train Ben and Jerry is running on you right now.” Lucy’s eyes lit up. “Besides, weed is good for nausea, you know.”
I snorted. “Like you’re really concerned about my stomach.”
Lucy stuck out her bottom lip, pouting. “Pleeeease?”
“No way.”
She left the room, only to return a moment later with a pineapple flavored cigar and a pink and white cameo brooch that had once belonged to our great-grandmother. Lucy popped open the metal pin and cut a slit across the cigar, dumping the tobacco into the wastebasket near my desk. She rolled the weed expertly in the cigar, licking the edge and pressing it together as she finished.
Rolling my eyes, I dropped my bowl of ice cream on my desk and wrenched open the sliding glass door that led out to my tiny balcony overlooking the lake. A fat, white moon hung over the water signaling the late hour, and I wondered when our psychotic mother would return home.
Lucy joined me outside, sitting across from me on one of the two plastic chairs. She used her favorite lighter, the tie-dyed one I’d gotten her on her last birthday, to seal the blunt, running the flame along the outside of the cigar. Lucy took a deep drag, holding the smoke in her lungs forever before releasing it between pursed lips.
“That’s so much better.” She exhaled dramatically, wagging her eyebrows up and down while leaning back in the chair.
I frowned, hesitating as she took another drag and offered me the blunt.
“Come on, Rue.” Lucy laughed, blowing the smoke out of her nostrils with each chuckle. “Everyone’s doing it.”
“You’re the poster child for peer pressure.” I sighed, an internal debate waging in my mind.
What could it hurt to try it just once?
Taking the blunt awkwardly in my hand, I made myself a silent, solemn vow; I’d smoke this one time, and never again.<
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Lucy sat up, excited at the prospect of her stiff, older sister getting high with her. She began babbling about only taking a small drag, instructing me to not inhale the first few times.
I pressed the blunt to my lips and took a small amount of the pungent smoke into my mouth and lungs. I held it as long as I could before slowly letting it escape, shocked I didn’t cough or get choked up. I’d never smoked a cigarette, let alone weed before. Lucy laughed at my expression, instructing me to take another drag. I did and then passed the blunt to her. She maintained a satisfied grin the entire time we smoked. It didn’t take very long to find out why my little sister loved drugs so much.
Everything became funny. I laughed at the expression on Lucy’s face as she talked … about what? I didn’t know. Lucy told stories with great gusto, her hands flying around, her gestures growing more animated.
A bird perched in a tree nearby made some pretty annoying sounds with its throat. Using a book I’d abandoned on the table, I nearly fell off the balcony in my attempt to murder the poor bird with the tales of Edgar Allen Poe. The pages fluttered as the book fell to the ground, and we fell off our chairs onto the balcony in laughter.
We took turns yelling obscenities to the lake, laughing as the curse words bounced off the surface and echoed through the dark woods.
Minutes after finishing off her melted ice cream, Lucy passed out in my bed, her slender body somehow producing the loudest snores I’d ever heard in my life.
Crawling back outside, the effects of the weed fading away, my forgotten worries crept back into my brain. As I leaned on the balcony rail, my face tilted toward the moon, my mind flashed back to the events of the day: my uncle finding my mother with a Montgomery, the fighting, the threats, and the things Davis Montgomery said about his nephew.
Was he talking about Tanner?
I still remembered him, the handsome twelve-year-old boy from the funeral home. The past four years I’d thought of him almost obsessively, sketching his face in my sketchbook, his brown eyes haunting my dreams. The vast amount of time I spent daydreaming about him was absurd, but I couldn’t help wondering what had happened to him after all these years. Who had he become? Was he still that same sweet boy who handed me a bouquet of white lilies at my father’s funeral?