Sticks and Stones

by Angèle Gougeon

  Sandra sunk back into her poorly cushioned chair, able to feel the sway of the world distant and far away, a slow turn of history and people. Pain and love. Life and death. Her fingers twisted through the hem of her shirt. A hole was starting there and she slowly worked it bigger as Jack paced round the room.

  “Calm down,” Lem told him.

  Jack grimaced and slumped down in the chair beside the little overflowing table – filled with magazines and Readers Digests nearly toppling to the carpeted ground.

  “He’s doing fine. Woke up once during the night – the nurses have been good enough to keep tabs for me.”

  Yeah, Sandra had seen some of the nurses. Even with the five o’clock shadow gone wild, Lem was nothing to scoff at. She bet they were helpful as all heck. Jack must’ve thought the same, with the smirk growing at the corner of his mouth.

  Lem took his apple out and threw the paper bag at him.

  Jack caught her looking and his grin winked out, all serious again, and Lem threw them a sideways press of lips.

  “How long until he gets out?” she asked instead, going for distraction, and even Jack was interested in that.

  “Not yet. The surgery went fine, the doctors say. He’s doing well. But it wasn’t a small scratch. He’ll be hurting for a while.”

  “No shit.” A narrow-eyed look and Jack hunched his shoulders, mumbling a “Sorry.”

  “I’ll ask the nurses when they come around if it’s okay for visitors. Only one at a time.”

  Jack’s jaw locked and Sandra quickly shook her head. “Jack can go. I know Danny’s alright.”

  This time, they both looked down at her. And wasn’t that great, nearly seventeen and she was still dwarfed by all the men in her life.

  Lem seemed to get it, and a smile stretched across his face, one hand coming up to gently squeeze the back of her neck. “That’s alright then,” he said.

  The other set of eyes on her weren’t so enthused. He only nodded.

  Daniel was going to be okay. Her and Jack … well, she wasn’t so sure. But that was okay as well.

  She had time.

  ~

  She did get to see Daniel that day.

  Like her vision, he was still and drawn, looking young and small underneath the hospital blankets. The light scruff over his chin was tamer than Lem’s, even with the extra day. Those dark lashes too closely resembled bruises, and, as Sandra edged closer, she itched to smooth her fingers over them, over the sharp lines of his face and the swell of his bones, memorize him as he was, here and now, because this was one sure image to prevent her from making the same mistakes all over again.

  A hand-width away and Sandra hesitated. He looked calm, like he’d just fallen asleep, and she didn’t want to bother him, no matter the urge that remained from the vision – to place her hand on his chest and feel that sturdy fall and rise.

  “Hey,” his low croak made her snap upright, eyes wide and breath coming fast.

  You know he’s going to be alright. But knowing and seeing him like this were two completely different things.

  “I’m sorry, Danny,” she whispered.

  He laughed.

  One slow hand caught her wrist, dragging it down and fitting fingers to fingers, palm to palm. “Don’t worry about it,” he rasped out. He held on tightly and Sandra couldn’t let go.

  ~

  They brought Daniel home.

  He moved stiffly and slowly, but he was all quiet reassurances and softly hidden grins. Sandra snuck into his room while he lay on his bed, white bandage hiding the stitches on his left side. He welcomed her with a soft look, shifting over just enough for her to lay lengthwise next to him. She gently placed her hand just above the wound on his side, cool hand on his warm skin. His muscles rippled a little, like he was ticklish there, but he didn’t make her move.

  “You and Jack,” he intoned, and there was no way he could have missed the tension.

  Sandra sighed deep and pressed the top of her head back into his pillow, nose level with his shoulder. “He’s mad with me.”

  “He thinks you could’ve stopped it. That you put me in danger.”

  “I—” Sandra opened her mouth.

  “You know I don’t blame you, but in Jack’s head… It’s going to take him awhile to forgive you. Seeing you trying helps.” She felt so defeated. “He’s not as angry as he seems,” Daniel added. “Trust me.”

  “I don’t know. I think I really screwed up.”

  “You think I’ve never thought that? I kissed this girl once. He liked her. Real bad. She was two years older than him, but hell if that made any difference. Twelve years old and he thought he was on top of the world. I knew, of course, but she kept chasing after me. I was fifteen and she wouldn’t take no for an answer. Makes a guy feel good about himself. Jack gave me a black eye and didn’t talk to me for three weeks.” His hand touched her side, nearly mirroring her position, except he didn’t have to be careful, and his fingers ran across the ribs through her shirt. “I won’t lie. Jack can hold a grudge. But once he makes it through, he’ll come back stronger than ever.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I think that was the most I’ve ever heard you say.”

  She couldn’t be certain, but she thought Daniel rolled his eyes. “I talk.”

  “Mm-hmmm.”

  His fingers jabbed her, and this time it wasn’t anything other than a tickle. Sandra nearly choked herself hoarse trying to keep her voice down. They laughed until Jack came in, and then she slunk out, went to her room, and tried to have faith that Danny was right.

  She’d gotten pretty good at waiting.

  ~

  It felt strange, returning to school. Their world had changed in some pivotal way. Danny was hurt, but most people didn’t care. Most didn’t even know. There were a few well wishes, but Danny had never gone to school in Rustic and the kids didn’t remember him so well – he was off their radar, just a far-off fixture in that black truck of Lem’s when the bell rang each day.

  Some of the girls cared more than others. But that was just because they liked to stare and flutter their eyes, prancing around in their short skirts and belly-baring tops.

  Jack was less kind about this than her.

  And Sandra wasn’t very kind at all.

  But some of the girls were okay, and some of the boys were, too. And then there was Tommy.

  Tommy who was missing.

  Sandra had seen him at the start of the school day. But it was second period and he hadn’t shown for class.

  Tommy never missed class. Easing up on his chase of her hadn’t eased him up on anything else. He still took his education seriously. To a fault, at times. Not that Sandra blamed him. Just because she couldn’t see herself going to university didn’t mean it wasn’t important.

  But Tommy was missing.

  A flicker – because Jack was pounding Tommy Madison’s face in – and Sandra shot up from her desk, only catching the surprised half-end of Mr. Rollin’s stuttered comment before she was gone, door slamming hard into the classroom wall. The halls were clear and she ran fast, feet pounding along the old tile and rubber floors.

  Outside. They were outside, and Jack was so mad. He was caught up, wasn’t thinking straight, wasn’t even seeing, and no one else was around to stop him. He wasn’t going to stop.

  One more door and Sandra banged outside, raced across the lawn and around the side of the school. They were behind the shop class, no windows and no overlooking classroom, and Tommy’s face was already covered in blood. Jack hit him again and, as Sandra ran, his fingers wrapped tight around Tommy’s neck. Tommy fought, but he wasn’t as big or as strong as Jack. His legs kicked, uselessly, futile fingers scratching at Jack’s arms – almost there, almost there! “Jack!”

  Falling forward, a trip-fall and Sandra
crashed into them, both the boys, and Jack still didn’t let go. Tommy’s struggles got weak and his face went red, a little blue and purple and Sandra tore at Jack’s hold. “Jack, stop it, stop it! Let go!” Oh god, Jack. He was going to kill him.

  She could see it.

  She managed to curl her fingers beneath his, between Tommy’s flesh and his. Sandra tugged hard, so forcefully she was sure she’d break something. But Jack’s fingers came away. He didn’t swing at her. Didn’t even try to touch her and, as soon as his grasp was free, he fell back, breathing hard and shuddering onto the grass.

  Tommy gasped. Wide-eyed, he was shaking just as bad. He gripped weakly at the grass, flinched away from her, but then let her help him up. Blood gushed from his nose and Sandra thought that it was busted. The blood was all over his face and green shirt. A bruise bloomed on his right cheek.

  “What the hell?” Sandra gasped. Jack pushed himself up, sitting now. “Seriously,” she said. “What the hell, Jack?!” Still shiver-shaking, he turned his head away, didn’t answer and Sandra turned her bewildered gaze to Tommy, still holding onto one shoulder as he pressed at his nose, neck an angry-purple red. “What happened?”

  “I don’t know,” Tommy sputtered through his hand. “One second he says he needs to talk, the next he’s jumping me.”

  Sandra shook her head. “I don’t…” She didn’t want to understand. But Jack had been so angry lately. Not your fault, she wanted to tell Tommy. It was hers. Only hers and – “What did you say to him?”

  “Hell if I know.” Tommy poked at his nose and winced. His whole face was swelling slightly, eyes red and puffy. “Fuck,” he said. “Fuck.”

  That may have been the first swear Sandra ever heard come out of Tommy Madison’s mouth.

  “He’s … he’s just stressed right now,” she said, cringing even as the words tumbled free.

  “No way,” Tommy said, all sass and sarcasm, and then, “I don’t even know what happened.” Glaring over her shoulder and apparently feeling much braver now, he added, “You’re fucking crazy.”

  “Tommy—” she tried. Sandra was pretty sure Jack already knew he wasn’t alright.

  “Uh-uh. No way.” Tommy shook his head and seemed to regret the action. The blood bubbled out of his nose. It glinted on his teeth. “What was that?”

  “I don’t know. What was that, Jack?”

  “Fuck you.” Growling at them both, Jack finally got to his knees, and then to his feet.

  “I really don’t think that’s in the cards anymore,” Sandra said, too angry, and there was a moment’s pause, his bruised, hurting eyes going big, body going still. Then, he snorted. And it wasn’t funny, but Jack laughed. Crazy laughed. He sounded one beat away from falling off the edge for good.

  Tommy tried to get his feet steady. Sandra tried to help. Jack was still laughing.

  “Wow,” Jack finally said, throat hoarse. “Wow.” Sandra didn’t appreciate the shock in his voice. As if he’d never thought about it. She was sure he had.

  She knew she had.

  Tommy swayed and Sandra clung to his shoulder and waist a bit harder, dirt and grass stuck beneath her fingers and to his clothing. He used the hem of his shirt to wipe at his nose. “I mean, really, man … if you couldn’t tell she was having headaches then maybe you didn’t want to know.”

  Sandra winced as Jack spun around, eyes full of crazy again, something colder this time. The knees on his jeans were green with grass and he had a little blood on his shirt himself. She was sure it wasn’t his.

  “You were helping her to—”

  “Oh, you knew,” Tommy snapped. “You had to know! And maybe if she didn’t feel like she had to try so hard to hide it then—”

  Jack stepped forward with an incoherent snarl, loud enough to cut Tommy off in return.

  “Not helping, Tommy,” Sandra whispered next to his ear. Tommy wobbled and wavered in her grip. He wasn’t going to take another hit without going down for good.

  “Goddamn it. Both of you.” Sandra had never heard that kind of voice from Tommy before, low and furiously hissed and raw. “You’ve both got problems. I don’t even want to know anymore. I’m done caring. The both of you can just stay the hell away.” Tommy stepped back, arm out, and Sandra was forced away. His shoulder pushed her to the side, got him free for good, and then he was striding past Jack, too, not touching, but close enough to let the other boy know that he wasn’t scared. Didn’t care.

  “Tommy…” Sandra whispered after him. She wanted to apologize, wanted to help make it better, just wanted… It shouldn’t have to end this way.

  “Look,” Tommy turned around. Jack may as well have been part of the lawn, with how much attention he was afforded. “I don’t blame you, Sandra. But there’s no way I’m getting involved in this. Not again. I’m sorry, but the bastard’s a fucking kind of crazy all on his own. I really am sorry.” Giving a helpless half-shrug, and one last look with his face still smeared with blood, he took off across the lawn toward the student parking lot, the thick bruise that wrapped all the way around his neck darkening with each passing moment.

  Sandra didn’t blame him.

  Two and a half years and she was going to be the freak again.

  And this time, it wasn’t even her fault.

  Sandra thought Jack was lucky it was his final year or he may have never graduated from school. Who was going to suspend him two days from summer break?

  Jack looked down, picked at his dirtied shirt, wouldn’t look her in the eye. “Let’s go home.”

  Her bag was still back in class. She didn’t care. “Fine.”

  It was going to be a long walk.

  “I’m sorry,” Jack whispered when they were halfway there.

  I know. Sandra slipped her hand into his. He gripped it tight, torn skin rough against hers, and she could see a different future sweeping out before them.

  Chapter Nine

  Sandra didn’t talk to Tommy again until she was well into the twelfth grade and eighteen years old.

  He smiled, and there didn’t seem to be any hard feelings left, but it wasn’t the same. Conversations were awkward and Tommy kept his distance, and even though it was nice, Sandra realized she didn’t need him.

  She had never really needed him.

  He was still a class friend, just like all the other girls and boys of their year, but nothing more. They didn’t talk in the hallways, not more than a hello or a nod, or a question about the latest project or assignment. They didn’t hang out after school or go to each other’s homes or pay for another horrible movie at the tiny town theater. And as much as Tommy had helped her before, Sandra realized they hadn’t really exactly done any of those things then, either.

  The student body was a little more wary of Jack when he came around, Lem’s big black pickup truck rumbling out front. The stories ran rampant; Tommy had never told anyone the whole tale and, for that, Sandra was thankful.

  Jack was trying hard, she knew.

  He spent most of his days at the shop, t-shirts slowly turning a blend of oil and grease stains.

  After his injury, Daniel had whiled away his off days at home. He had developed a good tan, not that he’d suffered from a lack of sun before. But Max Taylor was a good boss and made him take it easy, scheduled fewer hours than Lem and his brother. Sandra could tell Danny didn’t much enjoy the waiting, no matter what spirit the time off was offered in. There was too much sitting around. He liked to be busy, liked to use his hands.

  Sandra would hurry home during her lunch breaks just to give Daniel something to do.

  Even now, with his brother all healed up, Jack was so careful around them. Both of them. Like Danny might break. Like she would, too. Like he still didn’t trust her. Or like maybe he didn’t trust himself. Sometimes Sandra just wanted to punch him. Make him get over it in the only way the boys knew how.
/>   She’d promised to fix things.

  But they weren’t getting fixed.

  They were just getting broken in new and different ways.

  It felt like things were falling apart.

  ~

  Sandra found an old photograph shoved into the corner of the kitchen’s bits-and-bobs drawer.

  It could’ve been forgotten, except that it was well creased and worn down at the edges, corners rounded with age and one side tacky where tape had once mended a rip. In it, there were two little boys, one older than the other. A younger Lem. No mother. Jack was all big grins and missing teeth. Daniel had dirt on one cheek, a hole in one knee, and mud across his shirt, but he was just as happy, that hidden smile existing even back then.

  The colors were yellowed, faded, but not enough to mask Lem’s eyes.

  Lem’s gunmetal, light gray eyes. Lem’s Daniel-carbon-copy eyes.

  The hand coming down on her shoulder made her jump. Sandra gave Lem a sheepish grin. “I was looking for the scissors,” she said.

  His eyes were dark now, dark, dark.

  Her smiled got caught somewhere inside her throat, a lump big enough to make her ache. Oh Lem. What did you do? Dan Murray’s eyes had gone dark. They’d nearly looked black in the end. Lem’s eyes had looked dark even before Mr. Murray.

  Lem took the photograph from her lax fingers. “You know,” he said, and Sandra couldn’t quite make herself shake her head. She did now, didn’t she?

  There was something wrong with some people. Something wrong inside of them. Sometimes that wrongness grew.

  She felt a little like crying.

  “Hey now,” he said, “none of that.” His lips quirked. “It’s all fine.” Except it wasn’t.

  “But,” Sandra brushed one finger against the picture in his hands, “you…”

  Lem shook his head, smiled fondly down. For a second, it was like Sandra was there, watching Lem urge the boys into place, a stranger behind the camera and weren’t those boys sweet? He secured four-year-old Jack with one hand on his slim shoulder, let seven-year-old Daniel rest back against his outstretched arm. “My boys saved me,” he said, bringing her back to the present. “They don’t know what I was before, what I could’ve become.”