by Jack Ketchum
But no. There’s his mom. There’s his dad. This really is trouble and he might just be making it worse right now. He backs off and the force field disappears like an errant gust of wind.
“Get out of here, Brian,” she says. “Our mother is going to hear about this. Your father is going to hear about this. Get out of here now!”
There’s no choice but to give in. His sister’s got her balls back. But he can’t resist knocking into her shoulder as he passes.
“Good, Brian,” she says. “I’ll tell them about that too.”
He’s already thinking how to explain this — if there’s any way to explain this — as he pounds his way up the stairs.
~ * ~
The girl is hesitant, frozen in front of her. Confused? Frightened? She can read tension but no further than that. She has shouted her brother away. That took courage. Her brother is a coward but he is also dangerous.
Slowly the girl steps toward her and pulls the clothing down off her shoulder to cover her body. It brushes the wounded nipple as it falls.
~ * ~
Peg works at the buttons. Surprisingly her hands are very nimble at this. Surprisingly she’s not afraid at all.
“I’m sorry,” she says. About all of this.”
The woman gazes down into her eyes.
“Go raibt maith agat, mathair,” she says.
~ * ~
“Thank you, mother.”
TWENTY-SIX
He was the product of what his father had taught him to be, who in turn was the product of what his father had taught him to be and she wondered how far back in sheer misogyny and greed the Cleeks actually went. She had married blind into this, impressed by his self-possession as a teenager, even more impressed by him in bed — or in fact for the first year or so, in the back seat of his father’s Caddy. Her first and only lover.
Now, waiting for him at the kitchen table with her children assembled — Peg beside her and Brian and Darleen across from them — she felt like his brood-mare more than his wife. Certainly not his lover. She couldn’t even call herself his friend. These children were the issue of her life. Her only issue. She didn’t count the other. She wouldn’t count the other. These three only. She had nothing else in the world but them.
And of these only Darleen so far had escaped his…pollution. She had to call it that. That was what it was. Something wrong dumped into the stream. And you couldn’t even be sure about Darleen, could you? She was far too young.
On Darleen the jury was still out.
It wasn’t out on Brian.
~ * ~
Darlin’ thought, momma’s angry. Momma’s really angry. Bri’s done something to make her angry. And Peggy is too — she’s angry. At him. She wondered what it was. It might be important to know what it was so that she wouldn’t do the same thing sometime and make them angry at her too.
It was strange just sitting there, not talking, waiting for daddy.
She wanted to give them all kisses to make it all better.
She almost wanted to cry. But she wouldn’t.
It was so strange. She didn’t even want a cookie.
~ * ~
You’re all alike, Peg thought. Men. You do what you want and to hell with the consequences. To hell with what the woman thinks, what the woman feels. It’s all about you.
It was rumored around school that Miss Raton was a lesbo.
She wouldn’t blame her. Not one bit.
~ * ~
Brian felt like he had one chance and one chance only. A single card to play and that was it. He had seen his dad fucking her. He knew what nobody else did. If it came down hard on him, could he play that card? Would he dare to? Would it turn out better or worse for him if he did?
He didn’t know. Hoped he wouldn’t have to find out.
~ * ~
She heard the Escalade pull up outside.
“Darlin’?” she said. “Go to your room.”
Her daughter was upset. And probably quite confused. Rightly so.
“Why? I didn’t…”
“Don’t worry, honey. This isn’t about you. This is about your brother. Now go up to your room like a good girl.”
She watched her slide off the chair and sulk her way out of the kitchen. She knew her daughter. Upset and confused she might be, but with Darleen it was always important to be in on things, not to be left out. That inquisitive spirit might be useful to her in the future or it might get her into very deep trouble. It was impossible to know.
She glanced at Brian, fidgeting in his chair with his hands folded in his lap as though he were in church faced with a long boring sermon. Then at Peggy glaring at him. Almost inexplicably she found herself furious at both of them. Him for what he’d done, obviously. But why Peggy? Why her?
For dragging me into this, she thought. That’s why.
For seeing. And then reporting what she’d seen.
~ * ~
Female trouble he thought as he walked into the kitchen.
We got girl-trouble here.
It had been a good day for him. Got a fine settlement from Air Canada for Steve Bachman’s neck injury and filed those divorce papers for Ed Seymour, who was going to take his rich wife to hell and back for screwing their gardener, one Windy Brewer. What the hell kind of a name was Windy, anyway? And who would want to fuck him? It had been a real good day but it looked to him as though that was going to stop right here.
When Belle stood up at the table shaking with anger and pointing at him that about confirmed it.
“Do you want to know what your son did? Do you want to know?”
“Not sure I do,” he said. “Goddammit, Belle. What the hell’s going on? Where‘s the Toyota?”
“In the shop. Some idiot rammed into my driver’s side door at the IGA. Vicki Silverman drove me home. But never mind the damn Toyota, Chris. I’m talking about your son here! Your son! He didn’t think anyone was home so he went down there. With her. Had her dress off. Had her naked. And he was touching her. And he was touching himself! If Peg hadn’t caught him at it god knows what would have gone on in that cellar!”
He looked at Brian, staring down at the table like there was something really quite interesting crawling around on its surface.
“That true, son?”
Belle didn’t even give him a chance to say yes or no.
“Peg caught him at it. Didn’t you hear me? Why the hell are you asking him, is it true?”
“Calm down, Belle. He’s just a boy.”
“Just a…calm down? I will not calm down! He had one hand on her, and the other hand shoved down into his goddamn jeans, Chris!”
“I’m telling you to take it easy. Look at me, boy. Look at me when I talk to you.”
His son didn’t want to but he did. Chris smiled at him. Couldn’t help it. Hell, the kid was a chip off the old block. In a way he was even proud of him. He was learning to be a man.
“Ah well, hey,” he said, “no one’s really hurt here, right?”
“No one…no one’s…what?”
“He’s a kid, Belle. An adolescent. Adolescents have urges. Boys will be boys, right? And all cleaned up like she is, I gotta say, she’s not half bad to look at, y’know? These things happen.”
He had seen his wife mad before, but — in the parlance of his own adolescence — he had never seen her flip out before. And he had to wonder if it didn’t have something to do with last night. Whatever it was, she got right up into his face with it.
“You can’t fucking do this anymore!“ she said.
Belle? Use the word fucking?
“You can’t do this to us, Chris! This has gone too far! Have you lost your mind? You can’t just stand there and smile when your own son thinks it’s okay to…”
“Okay to what, Belle?
“You’re an officer of the court! She’s a human being! Do you know what would happen to all of us if you got caught? Even what’s going on with the goddamn dogs out there would be enough to put you in pri
son!”
“Anophthalmia, Belle. Your shame. Anophthalmia, remember?”
“I remember, all right. And I never condoned what you did. Never. But you can’t just keep putting one thing on top of another and expect to get away with it forever! You can’t! Enough‘s enough! I’ve had it!”
At this point so had he. His face burned.
“So what are you going to do, Belle. Huh? Tell me. What the fuck are you going to do about it?”
Her face had turned into one big ugly sneer. One big ugly sneer at him.
And he realized something. His wife had just this moment made a decision. It was like inspiration was all of a sudden written all over her. Her body went utterly rigid.
“I’m leaving, that’s what I’m going to do about it!” she said. “And I’m taking the girls with me. You can have your little rapist son all to yourself. You’re already teaching him every goddamn thing he needs to know, aren’t you? You two can damn well burn in hell together, the two of you. But you’re not going to hurt these girls anymore. It’s finished. It’s over. You hear me? Right now. You can’t do this! I can’t do…”
There was a moment when all he saw was a bright blank yellow. Like he was looking directly into the flash of a camera. And then he was hitting her in the stomach one two three with his whole body behind it, a sound like the heavy bag made when he still worked out on it back in the day and the next thing he knew his right fist connected with her left temple and he watched her go down, legs falling out from under her like a well-shot deer.
I can’t? He heard himself roaring at her inert body sprawled across the linoleum. I CAN’T?
His kids were looking at him. Peg with horror. Brian with…what?
His son he couldn’t read. Fuck it.
Then Peg was down on the floor beside her slapping her cheek.
“Mom? Mother?”
He brushed her away.
“She’s okay. She’ll be okay,” he said.
He bent down and lifted her, his forearms under and through her armpits which were damp with sweat, an unpleasant feeling. And there was a taste in his mouth he didn’t like. He wanted to spit. He kicked a chair out from the table next to Brian and sat her down. Positioned her carefully so she wouldn’t fall out of it and gently held her there.
“Get a cold cloth, will you, Peg?”
His daughter didn’t move. His daughter just stood there, frozen, angry-looking.
“Peg!”
He watched her snap out of it finally, get out from under wherever the hell she was and walk over to the sink, wet a cloth and kneel beside her mother.
And that was when the doorbell rang.
TWENTY-SEVEN
“Want to get that first,” her father said. “See who it is?”
He’d flipped a switch and was all at ease now. That quiet almost southern drawl of his.
Her father was fucking crazy.
She felt a deep conflict here. On the one hand to go to the door would be to admit into their home the potential for some sort of normalcy, a breath of air from the outside world, some person or persons who in all probability weren’t beating up on their wives and keeping women in the fruit cellar and their kids under lock and key. On the other hand there was the potential for all this shit to be exposed. The potential for shame. Eventually for ridicule.
But Peg was seething. Furious not only with her father but with her mother too. She’d sat there stunned during her mother’s tirade, not believing what she was hearing. Enough’s enough? Finally? Now? She’s leaving him now? Just because Brian’s shown himself to be the sick little fuck he is? When what’s been going on out in the barn has been going on for years? Why wasn’t it going too far when he nightly raped and finally knocked up his own fucking daughter? Why wasn’t enough enough then?
You’re taking me with you? Over my dead body.
Screw her mother too. Darleen excepted, they could all go to hell.
She went to the door, opened it but then damn near closed it again. She was furious all right. But she wasn’t quite prepared for this much.
“Miss Raton?”
~ * ~
The look on Peg’s face told her all she needed to know. That she was right. She saw fear and confusion and plenty of it. Even anger. She pitied the girl — she truly did — but this needed to be done. Her parents needed to know, if they didn’t already. And if they did know, Genevieve was certain she could help.
She managed a smile.
“Hi, Peg. Going to let me in?”
“This…this really isn’t the time…”
“Sure it is. Come on, Peg, I’m not going to hurt you. I’m here to help.”
“You can’t help, Miss Raton.”
“How do you know that?”
“I just…do.”
This wasn’t going well. She couldn’t very well force her way in.
“You’d be surprised,” she said. “I know counselors, doctors, all kinds of people.”
“I said this isn’t the time, Miss Raton!”
She was thinking, family spat? Maybe the girl was right. Maybe this wasn’t the time. But she was here now. She couldn’t see herself leaving and then coming back if and when it was more convenient. But she was stumped for a good answer.
Then the father stepped out from behind her — Christopher Cleek — looking genial enough and smiling.
“Where’s your manners, Peggy?” he said. “Please, come on in.”
She stepped inside and he offered her his hand. The hand felt slightly clammy though the grip was firm. There was a scent coming off him, though. Some kind of chemical smell. Like old booze — but it wasn’t that. She couldn’t place it.
He steered her into the living room.
“How are you, Miss Raton? Geometry, right? I remember you from Parents’ Night. Good to see you again. Please, have a seat. Can I get you anything? Cup of coffee? Soft drink?”
He directed her to the plush velvet chair. She sat facing the two of them on the couch.
“I’m fine, thanks,” she said.
She wasn’t fine. Not exactly. But it wasn’t anything a cup of coffee was going to fix either. She’d never done anything remotely like this before — gone to the parents’ house on some student’s behalf. She was confident in the classroom. Here she felt shy, out of place and just a little scared. But mostly what she felt was determination. To get this out into the open finally. It was what somebody — anybody — should have done for Dorothy.
“May I talk to you and your wife privately, Mr. Cleek?”
“Call me Chris, Miss Raton, please. And you are?”
“Genevieve.”
“Genevieve. Beautiful name. You’re French Canadian?”
She smiled. “My dad was Louisiana cajun, Mr…Chris. He fell in love with a girl from Ottawa.”
“He followed his heart.”
“Yes, he did.”
“That’s good. We should all do that. She’s not feeling too well, Genevieve. My wife I mean. She’s having herself a nap. This is about Peg, I gather?”
“Yes.”
“Then she should hear it, don’t you think? My boy too. No secrets in this family. Brian? Come on in, son.”
She’d seen him leaning halfway in and halfway out of the room against the doorframe. Lurking was the word that came to her. A tall thin boy she vaguely remembered seeing around school but had never met.
Time to gird your loins, woman, she thought. Time to get on with it.
“I’ve observed some…distressing behavior lately, Mr. Cleek.”
“Chris.”
“Chris. Peggy’s not looking well. She’s had to rush off to use the ladies’ restroom several times during class. Her studies are off. And she’s taken to wearing clothes much too big for her.”
He shrugged and smiled again, the picture of amiable old dad. “She likes to borrow my sweats. So?”
“Does Peggy have a boyfriend, do you know?”
She saw Peg’s head dip down to her chest as thoug
h waiting for the axe. She hated doing this to the poor girl. But she was doing it for the poor girl.
“No,” Cleek said. “And I’d know it if she did. Why?”
“I believe…I believe that Peg is pregnant, Mr. Cleek.”
“Pregnant.”
It came out flat, emotionless. She’d have expected much more. She’d have expected something.
“I am not!” Peg said.
And that was not emotionless. It was tense as hell and there were tears beginning to form behind the words. But Cleek seemed to ignore his daughter. Cleek’s focus was directly on her.
“What makes you think my daughter is pregnant, Miss Raton?”
She noted that they were no longer Chris and Genevieve, they were back on formal terms. It was actually a relief.
“She’s showing, Mr. Cleek. Not very much yet but that won’t last much longer.”
“Any of your colleagues concur with this opinion, Miss Raton?”
“What? I wouldn’t know. I haven’t discussed it with them. I thought it best to come directly to you and your wife.”
“And you did well to do so.”
He leaned in close and she knew what that smell was now. He smelled like old rotting meat. There were girls in class whose personal hygiene was well south of what it should have been and when they got their period they smelled the same way. Old spoiled meet.
And a meanness had crept into his voice that she didn’t like.
“I thought you teachers were supposed to listen,” he said. “You don’t listen too well, Miss Raton. I told you that Peggy didn’t have a boyfriend and that I’d know it if she did, right? Didn’t I?”
“Yes, but…”
“You accusing Brian here?”
He motioned toward his son. The boy was grinning. What’s going on here? she thought. What have I stepped into?
“He’s just a boy, Miss Raton.”
“No, of course not…”
“Dad,” Peg was tugging on his arm. He pulled away.