by Ania Ahlborn
She looked up at him, her cropped black hair making her skin shine like freshly poured milk. Their eyes met, and Michael’s heart tripped over its own beat. She looked like Snow White from Lauralynn’s old book of fairy tales, except a hundred times more beautiful and wearing all black, looking about as modern as the music sounded. A smile crossed her lips, and she looked down at the floor, sweeping up the last record before rising.
“Sorry,” she said. “You need help finding anything?”
Michael watched her lips move, mesmerized by the way she formed her words. He smelled spearmint. She turned to file a couple of records into the crate at his elbow. Her profile was astounding. The length of her neck. The way her earlobes seemed to flow into the angle of her jawline. She shot him another glance, raising an eyebrow at his lack of response. When he looked away a little too quickly, she chuckled to herself and lifted her shoulders into a shrug.
“Okay then,” she said just beyond his shoulder. “If you change your mind, I’m easy to find. It’s rockabilly, by the way. Brand new.” She pointed to the speaker. “Stray Cats.” Stepping around him, she left a waft of mint in her wake.
Leaning forward more than necessary, Michael allowed his hair to form a curtain around his face. There was something about her that twisted his stomach into knots—nervous excitement. A scary, forbidden longing. He had felt that dangerous hunger a few times before. Once, Reb had bent a girl over the hood of the Delta and pushed her underwear around her ankles. Her eyes had fixed on Michael through the windshield as she moaned. There had been a couple of times in the basement, as Michael stripped Momma’s girls of their clothes. Each time had felt wrong, as though his body was responding to something prohibited, something poisonous.
He edged back to the front door, hoping Rebel would take notice and decide it was time to go. It didn’t feel safe here. He felt vulnerable, as though at any minute he could fall into something he’d never be able to pull himself out of. Despite the horrors back home, at least there he had routine. Lingering beside the exit, Michael leaned against the shop window next to the door. He waited for the strawberry blonde behind the counter to stop her chatter so Reb could take notice.
As if on cue, Rebel looked back, rolled his eyes, and shoved away from the register with an easy shrug of the shoulders. “See you later,” he told the girl, then pivoted on the soles of his boots and made for the door. Pulling it open, he grabbed Michael by the shoulder and shoved him outside.
Michael waited for Rebel to unlock the Delta’s door, then slid back into the car and hunched his shoulders as he stared at his knees. Reb was clearly pissed, buzzing like an electric wire. He didn’t say anything while pulling out of the parking lot, but he didn’t have to. Michael knew he was spitting sparks, ready to ignite just as soon as they were on the road.
“What’s wrong with you?!” he demanded once they put the Dervish and, to Michael’s disappointment, McDonald’s in the rearview mirror. “That girl was tryin’ to talk to you, and you acted like a retard sprung fresh from Weston State.”
“She just asked if I needed help,” Michael murmured. “I didn’t.”
Reb laughed—a cold one, the kind Michael hated. “Yeah right,” he said, “you don’t need help. Man, you need more help than anyone I’ve ever met. I wonder about you, Mike.”
“Wonder about what?”
“Whether you’re human or not,” he said. “Didn’t you like that girl? She was hot. Even better than that chick at the counter. Probably freaky too. You see the way she was dressed?”
Michael didn’t respond.
Reb sighed in frustration. “You like going into town, don’t you? Wanna pick up some records for Misty every now and again?”
“Yeah.”
“Great. So I’ll take you into town with me more often, but you can’t go actin’ like a freak, alright?”
Michael nodded slowly, still unsure of Reb’s intention.
“It’s about time we start actin’ more like brothers, huh?” Rebel said. “Stand united and all that crap. Like them protestors Wade loves so much.”
“What about Momma?”
“Oh, fuck her.” Reb just about spit the words. “She don’t need to know what we do when we ain’t workin’. Besides, I’m in charge, remember? If I say we’re gonna have a good time, then we’re gonna have a good time.”
Michael looked out the window. It seemed to him that Rebel always had a good time. He wasn’t sure why he suddenly had to be involved.
• • •
Michael stared at the thick slab of meat on his plate, his Big Mac craving stronger than ever. There were no potatoes today, no vegetables, not even a slice of bread. Just a rare steak that oozed red against a chipped white plate.
The dining room was silent, save for the scraping of knives and Wade’s chewing. It didn’t matter what Momma put on Wade’s plate—he always seemed to be working his teeth around a mouthful of rocks. The man could crunch tapioca pudding, his teeth gnashing against each other behind his lips. He stared across the table at Michael and Rebel as he ate, a look of suspicion pulled tight across his face.
“You boys were gone an awful long time today,” he said. “Mind tellin’ me where you two were at?”
Reb shifted in his seat. He looked uncomfortable but held his tongue, as if waiting for Wade’s question to pass without requiring a reply.
Wade forced a tight-lipped smile at his adopted son. “Michael,” he said, “everything okay?”
Michael swallowed the wad of sinewy meat he’d been gnawing and gave his father a slow nod.
“It don’t look it,” Wade said. “So . . . where you been?”
“We were scopin’ out the new mark,” Reb told the table. “Michael fell asleep on the goddamn hill, birds chirpin’ around his head. Like Sleepin’ Beauty.”
Something about the statement made Misty Dawn smile. She gave Michael an almost dreamy look, like she’d fantasized about dozing atop a hill of her own.
“Sounds peaceful,” she mused.
“Yeah, it was warm,” Michael said, his voice below a murmur. “The birds were nice.”
Wade gave Michael a dubious glance, as though he’d said something wrong.
“Don’t be a fag,” Rebel said, giving Michael a hard glance before continuing. “The place is out in the middle of nowhere. I mean real isolated.”
“And you were able to find it?” Misty asked, something dangerous sparking behind the green of her eyes.
“Why the hell wouldn’t I be able to find it?”
“I don’t know.” She raised her shoulders in an idle shrug. “Lots of things can happen between here and there, especially when you’re good and drunk.”
Michael winced at her boldness. Before he could give his sister a look that pleaded for her to shut up and not make trouble, Momma reached out and gave Misty’s hair a vicious yank. Misty yelped.
“Hey, fuck you, Misty,” Reb shot back.
“Enough from the both of you,” Momma hissed.
“You best watch yourself, Misty Dawn,” Wade said, his tone strangely solemn.
“Yeah,” Rebel said. “You push hard enough and you’ll end up at the grandparents’ house with Lauralynn.”
Both Wade and Momma tensed.
Michael could feel Reb itching to jump out of his seat, to launch himself onto the table and start kicking glasses into the walls, but he didn’t understand why.
Momma stared at Reb like he’d just told the family he had called the police and turned them all in, having tired of his part in everything. The little color that had been in her thin, sallow face had faded. She stared at her son with wide, disbelieving eyes, the gold and brown tones in her floral-print dress making her skin look sickly and yellow.
They all sat in uncomfortable silence for a long while. Michael listened to the cacophony of everyone’s breathing while Momma and Reb stared across the table at each other like a pair of vicious dogs. The quiet was finally broken when Momma shoved her chair aw
ay from the table. The legs screamed against the hardwood floor. She slammed her hands onto the tabletop. Everyone’s utensils jumped and clanged against their plates. Her nostrils flared and the sinew in her neck stuck out like ropes. Michael had to look away when her lips turned up in a snarl.
“I don’t never want to hear that name said in this house again,” she growled, her eyes fixed on her oldest boy. “You understand me?” When Rebel didn’t reply, her tone pitched toward a scream. “You understand?!”
Her arms jerked to the side in a mechanical sweep, sending her plate off the table and onto the floor. It shattered as soon as it hit the hardwood, bits of steak plopping onto the planks, red juice spraying the baseboard. She stepped behind Misty, who was now cowering in her seat, and grabbed her by the ears. “I’ll deal with you later,” she spoke into Misty’s hair, then shot a final piercing glare at Reb before stomping out of the room.
Michael caught the startled shine in Misty’s eyes, but she said nothing, and she didn’t allow herself to cry. After a tense moment, Misty gathered herself up and began clearing the table as though nothing of consequence had occurred.
Wade left his seat without another word, and Michael half-expected Rebel to follow suit. But Reb sat wooden in his chair, like he’d been electrocuted. He gripped the seat on both sides, his head bowed, a man desperately trying not to lose control.
“Reb?” Michael chewed his bottom lip. His brother’s posture was scaring him more than Momma’s outburst had. Those same ropes that Momma had now stuck out against Reb’s neck. Michael imagined him grinding his teeth down to powder inside his mouth. He dared to reach out—something he wouldn’t have usually done, but Rebel’s words from earlier were still fresh in his mind: brothers were supposed to stand united. It was time they started acting like a family, sticking together no matter what. But as soon as Michael grazed Reb’s elbow, Reb windmilled both arms outward in a burst of energy. His chair went skittering backward as he stood.
“Don’t touch me!” he yelled.
Michael’s eyes went wide. He sat stock-still, afraid that moving would push Rebel over whatever edge he was toeing.
Misty slunk around the table to gather Wade’s plate, her gaze flitting from Reb to Michael and back again.
“I shoulda gotten rid of you like she said,” Rebel growled, the words so quiet he probably didn’t mean for anyone to hear them. “Shoulda taken you out into the trees and did to you what I did to that stupid fuckin’ dog.”
Michael’s stomach twisted around his dinner as Reb marched out of the room, leaving Michael and Misty to stare at one another.
“What’s wrong with him?” he whispered, wondering if his sister had an explanation for Reb’s weird behavior. When she didn’t answer, he stitched his eyebrows together and frowned. “You shouldn’t of said that,” he told her, keeping his voice down. “The thing about him drinkin’.”
“Well, it’s true,” she retorted. “And besides, he ain’t got no right calling you names like that. Makes me mad.”
“Except now you’re in trouble,” Michael reminded her.
Misty scowled at the plates in her hands and dropped a handful of silverware on top of the stack. Michael shook his head and slid out of his seat. Crouching next to Momma’s broken plate, he began plucking ceramic shards off the ground, carefully piling them in the palm of his left hand.
“What would be so bad about goin’ to the grandparents’ place anyway?” Misty asked. “What would be so bad about that, huh?”
“I don’t know, Miss,” he said, murmuring toward the floor. “But we ain’t never seen Lauralynn again after she went off there. You wanna go there forever?”
Misty looked like she was holding her breath in response to his question. Michael looked down to the bits of plate scattered around his feet, his chest suddenly tight. He knew Misty’s answer without her having to say a word. Because anywhere was better than here. He only hoped that in the end he wouldn’t be left on his own.
7
* * *
RAY COULDN’T REMEMBER being more excited. Wade and Momma rode inside the cab of Wade’s pickup. Ray, Lauralynn, Misty Dawn, and Michael sat in the bed of the truck, chattering like a bunch of chickens, excited to arrive at the Cabell County Fair. Michael had been with them for nearly two years; he’d become part of the family and hardly ever asked about his other parents anymore. To Ray’s chagrin, Momma had stuck him in Ray’s room, and for the most part Michael drove Ray crazy with his endless questions and babyish ways. But today was going to be a good day. Today, Ray was going to spend his savings on corn dogs and cotton candy, and then he was going to make himself sick on the Ferris wheel. He was going to ride that thing until he puked.
The Fair was a big deal, and Lauralynn and Misty Dawn were wearing matching dresses for the occasion—a set they had outgrown but that Momma still squeezed them into because there was no money for fancy things like Sunday best. Momma’s own mother, Grandma Jean, had given the girls their dresses during a rare visit a few years back. Grandma Jean was meaner than sin, and even Momma looked uncomfortable when Grandma Jean and Grandpa Eugene spent a week at the Morrow farmhouse. Ray had laughed when Misty and Lauralynn had come downstairs in their matching getups. They had pulled their hair up in pigtails and stood at the foot of the stairs, Lauralynn stoic as ever, Misty clawing like a helpless chimp at the fabric that bit into her armpits.
“You all look like you got tangled in them window curtains,” Ray had cackled, pointing to the ugly drapes that flanked the window of the front room. When Grandma Jean whacked him in the mouth with an open palm, he’d stared at her in a wide-eyed daze. Later that afternoon, Ray had spotted Lauralynn sitting on Grandpa Eugene’s lap on the back porch. The skirt of her new dress was piled up on top of her thighs. Grandpa Eugene’s left arm circled her shoulders to keep her close, his right hand lost somewhere in the ugly fabric of her skirt.
As Wade’s truck bounced along, Ray tongued his chipped front tooth, remembering the way Grandma Jean’s wedding ring had smacked against the enamel. Lauralynn smoothed the skirt of her too-small dress over the tops of her legs. Her hair shone in the sunlight like a pink-and-gold sunrise. She looked prettier than Ray had ever seen her.
“Now, you know there’s gonna be lots of people,” Lauralynn told them as the truck turned down a rural road. “Lots of chances to get lost. Ray, since you’re the second oldest, you’re takin’ care of Misty.”
“Aw, man!” Ray cried, but Lauralynn ignored him.
“Michael, you’re still just a baby, so you stay with me.”
“I ain’t no baby!” Michael protested, but again, Lauralynn wasn’t swayed.
“You all can keep complainin’ and stay in the truck, or you can keep quiet and have a good time at the fair,” she told them. “So which is it gonna be?”
Ray and Misty met eyes. She pulled a face at him as he scowled. He supposed it could have been worse—LL could have paired him up with Michael. If that had happened, the entire day would have been ruined for sure.
“We should just leave ’em with Momma and Wade,” Ray murmured. “That way we can go on the big rides instead of gettin’ stuck on them stupid baby ones.”
“I don’t want to stay with Momma and Wade!” Misty shrieked. “That ain’t fair!”
The sound of Misty’s complaining made Ray’s skin crawl. He wondered how sad Momma and Wade would really be if she just up and disappeared.
“You’re not stayin’ with Momma and Wade,” Lauralynn told her, fixing one of Misty’s curls. “You’re stayin’ with Ray, and we’re all gonna stick together. But in case we get separated, you gotta hold on to Ray, okay?”
Misty nodded in approval and stuck her tongue out at her big brother in triumph, then smoothed out her skirt, mimicking Lauralynn. Momma had cut along the side-seams of Misty’s dress and filled it in with different material so she could still squeeze into it. But the skirt rode up so high that, if she bent over, the entire fair would see her underpants. Ray s
upposed the only reason Momma didn’t care about Misty flashing her undies was because she was only eight years old. If it had been Lauralynn, Momma would have had a conniption fit.
The Morrow kids waited patiently as Wade paid their admission. Wade had been worried about taking Michael to the fair, but Momma waved his trepidation away. The fair was a good distance from Dahlia, and besides, Michael had grown quick. He didn’t look at all like he had when Ray and Wade had snatched him from his front yard two years earlier.
As soon as their tickets were torn, the Morrow kids ran through the gates like a pack of wild horses busting out of a corral. Ray grabbed Lauralynn by one hand and Misty by the other while they dragged little Michael behind them like the tail of a kite. The chain of them ran for a row of food vendors. They bought candy apples and buttered popcorn with the pennies they’d saved all year. They washed the salty sweetness down with orange sodas and shaved ice flavored like cherries and watermelon.
After a round of bumper cars, a queasy spin on the Roll-O-Plane, and a couple of go-rounds on the Paratrooper ride, the quartet went back for greasy corn dogs and soft pretzels dotted with big cubes of salt. Ray gave himself a personal challenge and stuck his grubby hand into a barrel while the vendor wasn’t looking. He stole a giant dill pickle before bolting into the crowd, laughing madly as the vendor screamed for him to stop. Some fairgoers looked on in amusement. Others shot disapproving glances at the culprit. But none were motivated enough to stop the pickle thief.
They rode the Sky Whirl and the Octopus and sang along to “California Dreamin’ ” while on the Ferris wheel, kicking their feet high up in the air as they swayed side to side like four best friends. Ray spotted the massive clown’s face at the back of the fair from the crest of the wheel, pointing it out to his siblings. Its mouth was a giant gaping hollow. Its eyes looked crazed rather than inviting. It dared only the bravest of children to enter its lair.
“That’s next,” Ray announced. “I bet it’s got a mirror maze and everything.”