by R. K. Ryals
Dad had been a car, Mom the tires. When she left, Dad couldn’t keep driving once the wheels were flat. Instead of pumping gas into his system, he’d started pumping poison.
Like Romeo and Juliet.
Being the child of a tragic romance was like standing on top of a spinning globe waiting on it to fall off of its axis.
“I’ve got to go back to the university after the funeral,” my brother said suddenly. He paused, waiting, and I knew he expected me to promise I’d stay with Deena at Hetty’s. Because that’s what I did, I stayed. First with Dad, and now with my sister.
“After summer you could go back to school, Tansy,” Hetty offered.
To what?
“I have my GED,” I muttered, shivering. The idea of returning now, when I felt worlds away from everyone, scared the shit out of me.
Deena shimmied forward in her seat, her eyes bright. “I want to drop out, too.”
“No!” we cried.
“Tansy shouldn’t have had to,” Hetty added, bitterness eating away at the words.
She blamed our dad for my education. The way she looked at Jet, she also blamed him for letting me quit school to nurse dad when he was the oldest. She didn’t get it. Jet was just like our father. He didn’t know how to make sacrifices. People made them for him.
To change the subject, I suggested, “Maybe I can work at the clinic?”
Hetty glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “That could be good. Do you like animals?”
Honestly, I wasn’t sure I did. “I don’t know.”
“We’ll find out soon. I’ve got a house full.”
Deena’s eyes widened in horror. “A house full?” she shrieked. “I hate them!”
“Of course you do.” Hetty’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel.
“It’s all going to be fine,” Jet assured.
His promise echoed through the small space, meaning something different to each of us.
Fine was a four letter word. Like fuck or love. Fine could go one of two ways: happiness or hell.
FOUR
Eli
The winding road which led into Lockston Orchard reminded me of a Thomas Kinkade painting, the oaks lining the drive sending dappled light across the dirt paths. Breaks in the trees revealed rolling hills and other winding dirt roads that led into the orchard itself, the trees full of green, oval-shaped leaves and small, unripe apples. Red-roofed, white washed buildings and sheds were nestled among the chaos. Blue skies hung overhead, fluffy cotton candy clouds rolling over smooth, green lawns.
Jonathan rolled down the driver’s side window, and sweet, flower-saturated air rushed into the car’s interior.
He inhaled, the wind spiking his hair. “God, I love that smell.”
“You’re welcome to take my place here,” I offered.
Jonathan grinned. “Oh, I’m not leaving. I’m with Mom this summer, remember?”
Dread climbed up my spine, its cold fingers gripping my heart. My gaze flew to the drive, to the large house approaching in the distance.
No!
“Please tell me you’re not serious,” I whispered, so low I knew Jonathan didn’t hear me over the wind in the car.
My eyes fell closed, opening only when the Porsche pulled to a stop. My breath came in angry spurts.
He wouldn’t!
The door on the house’s wraparound porch opened, my grandfather’s burly figure appearing in the light. A short-sleeve, navy plaid shirt with pearl buttons was tucked into a pair of gray slacks, his white-peppered hair slicked back. Pops was incredibly fit for his age, a former naval officer who’d met my grandmother while stationed overseas.
It wasn’t my grandfather’s presence that gave me chills, it was the woman who stepped onto the porch behind him.
He would! Fuck!
Climbing out of the car, I slammed the door, ignoring Jonathan’s annoyed, “Hey, now!”
“You can go to hell if you think I’m staying here!” I called.
Pops walked to the edge of the veranda, his hands sliding into his pockets, his thumbs hooked over the edge. His battle stance. “You don’t have much of a choice, son.”
The hell I don’t!
“Make her leave then,” I commanded.
“I told you he hates me!” my mother cried, her lips quivering. A fat tear slid down her cheek. It wasn’t real. None of it was real with her.
“You want a new pair of shoes for that tear, Ivy?” I asked.
She didn’t like being called Mom. Being a mother meant admitting she was older than she wanted to be. Being a mother meant giving up things.
Jonathan sucked in air. “Eli!”
My fists clenched.
“One more offense, and I’m done with the both of you,” Pops warned. “You two,” he pointed from me to my mother, “have a lot of issues to work through. This place. This summer. That’s it.”
“Go to hell,” I repeated.
My eyes bored into his. You want me to stay here with her? After everything?
“You hear him?” Ivy bawled. “You really want that kind of anger in this house?” Her eyes widened, mascara streaking her cheeks. “He could murder us in our beds!”
The attention-grabbing behavior was the worst part, no matter how obtuse she was about it.
“Oh, for God’s sake!” I roared. “You missed your calling in life. You would have made a damned fine actress.”
“I should leave,” Ivy insisted. “His attitude is toxic.”
“I learned from the best.” I laughed, my eyes hardening. “Your name suits you, you know? It takes an Ivy to produce a poison.”
“Eli,” Jonathan huffed.
Pops’ face darkened. “Elijah Bradford Lockston, you are better than your birth, better than your mother’s tears, and most definitely better than the man who sired you. Try acting like it.”
“And if I don’t want to?”
Pops pointed at my chest. “Then I was wrong about you, but I’m betting I’m not.”
“Are you insulting me?” Ivy glared at her father.
“Do you care?” I asked her. “Piss him off, Mother, and you lose your frivolous money.”
“Stop it!” Jonathan cried. He stepped up beside me. “Who do you think passes the Kleenex to her now?” he whispered, looking up at me. “I know why you dislike her, Eli, but hate is a whole different thing.”
“You don’t know,” I murmured under my breath. “You don’t know what she did to me.” All of the confusion, the years spent in a fog that stole my childhood. No one knew, except Pops and my mother. Time was supposed to heal people. It had strengthened my resolve. “I was doing fine on my own.”
Ivy laughed coldly. “DUI. Second offense. You were doing so well.”
My fingernails dug into my palms, leaving half-moon impressions, my eyes drifting to my mother’s. “That whole murder in the bed thing is starting to sound awfully appealing.”
“Dad!” she cried.
Pops sighed. “It’s one summer.” He nodded at me. “There’s a new boxing club in town, Rebels Boxing. You’ll do your community service there teaching troubled youth. You’ll also be doing work for Refuge Rescue, a part of Refuge Animal Hospital. All of it has been approved through the courts.” He glanced at Ivy. “As for you, you can start by acting less like a child.”
I glared. “I don’t like animals or children.”
“You don’t have to like them.” He frowned. “Just be grateful you’ll be spending time inside of a gym. It’s boxing, Eli. Go with it, and you can train, too.” He gestured at the house. “Now get settled in.”
When I didn’t move, Ivy stomped through the door and slammed it behind her.
“What’s going on between you and Mom?” Jonathan asked.
“Eli,” Pops warned.
My gaze landed on the front door. My mother, the epitome of everything I hoped never to be.
“It’s nothing,” I told my brother’s upturned face. At six foot four, I was taller than him,
but it wouldn’t be long before Jonathan caught up to me. He was made of good stuff, a lot better stuff than I was.
Eyes on me, Pops left the porch, stopping when we stood face-to-face. “You’re not the mess you think you are, son,” he said quietly. “People rarely are.”
“I’m not up for your philosophy, Pops.”
“Yeah, I know.” His somber gaze flicked to Jonathan and then back to me. “Do me a favor, Eli. Show me I’m a better grandfather than I was a father.” His shoulders slumped, and for the first time, I was taller than him. It unsettled me. “You don’t have to stay in the main house.” He inclined his head at the lane leading into the orchard, to a small red-roofed residence just off the path. “I had the guest cottage readied just in case.”
“Thank God for small favors,” I muttered.
Beside me, Jonathan fidgeted. “This summer is going to destroy me, right?”
Surprised, I glanced at him. “You’re fine, Jon. It’s nothing to do with you.”
“Yeah, it is. She’s my mother, too. We all feel the tension between you. You’d have to be blind, deaf, and mute not to.”
Shrugging, I stuffed my hands into my pockets, my thumbs hanging over the sides. So much like Pops and yet so different. Squinting at the cottage, I mumbled, “I dumped all of my shit at the hospital.”
What I left unsaid was how wrong it felt to bring my bag, to wear the clothes I’d trudged through days of therapy and moody introspection in, as if they somehow carried the part of me that craved sweet oblivion. The part that wished my mother was dead. The other part that felt guilty for thinking it.
“I had the things from your apartment brought up,” Pops informed me. “Your boxing equipment, too. It’s in the cottage. I had your punching bag put up in the guest room.”
By the tone of his voice, I knew he’d seen the words etched into the bag. Knew he’d seen more of me through them than I wanted him to.
My eyes shot to his. “Why did you do it? Why did you take the apartment from me? I was paying for that. On my own. It was the first real thing I had.”
“No, it wasn’t.” Pops studied me. “You can’t have something if you don’t appreciate it, son. Paying for it doesn’t make it yours. It just makes it paid for.” Turning away, he stalked into the house, his words echoing behind him, authority etched into his shoulders.
“One summer,” Jonathan supplied helpfully.
My eyes cut to the sky, to the slow moving clouds overhead. “You ever felt like you were drowning even though your head was above water?”
Before he had a chance to answer, I stomped away, my feet carrying me to the cottage.
I was back in my mother’s world. A world of tears. A world full of flash flood warnings where drowning was the best case scenario.
FIVE
Tansy
Turns out the house full of pets thing was an understatement. Hetty didn’t just have a house full of them, she had a building full. Refuge Rescue, she called it.
Her house—a modest brick home—sat nestled between two identical gray-blocked buildings; the refuge clinic and the fence-wrapped rescue league associated with it. An empty, overgrown lot bordered all of it. Hetty had been offered the residence at little cost if she agreed to manage the clinic.
“It’s convenient living near your work,” Hetty pointed out.
Opening the back of her van, she pulled out suitcases and bags and handed them to us.
“The whole place stinks,” Deena complained, her fingers hovering over her nose.
The stench wasn’t as bad as the van. It was dingy and antiseptic, a mix of bleach and medicated animal dips. At the rescue, barking dogs pawed at the chain link fence, tongues lolling.
A middle-aged, portly man with knee-high rubber boots and a wide grin waved at us from behind the barrier.
“They’ve missed you, Ms. Hetty!” he called.
“I’ve missed them, too, Danny! And you!” she called in return.
His smile grew, enveloping his entire face. His features screamed childlike innocence despite his age.
I glanced at Hetty.
“He’s mentally impaired,” she informed me, her gaze encompassing all of us. “Before any of you consider being rude or difficult with him, I will warn you that there isn’t a single person in this town who wouldn’t take up for that man.”
“Must love animals and retards,” Deena mumbled, ticking off her fingers. “Got it.”
“You really like being an ass, don’t you?” I hissed, brushing past her.
“I could just off myself,” she suggested.
I froze. “That isn’t the least bit funny, Deena.”
“I didn’t mean it to be.”
I stared, animosity digging trenches in my forehead, preparing for battle. “You’d want to do that? After everything? For someone who hates her father so much, you certainly seem inclined to be just like Dad.”
“That’s not funny,” she jeered.
“I didn’t mean it to be.”
“Is this what it’s come down to?” Hetty asked. “Ceaseless bickering?”
Shaking his head, Jet pushed forward, entering the house ahead of the rest of us.
The home was box-like and small. A tiny kitchen opened into a square living room where burgundy furniture waved at us as we slid past. A short hallway opened into four separate bedrooms, two on the left side of the corridor and two on the right, a bathroom between them.
Though unnervingly clean and tidy, the house had an unmistakable quirk. Cats—lots and lots of cats—and a single dog. The dog was a mutt, a golden retriever mix. It panted, its amber eyes watching us. Purring, the cats rubbed against her. I counted seven felines.
“Are you for real?” Deena asked, gesturing at the animals.
Hetty grinned. “They’re named after the seven dwarfs. The dog is Snow. Sue me, I’m a fairytale romantic.”
Throwing a disgusted sneer at the creatures, Deena mumbled, “Kill me now.”
“You did know that pets can carry the bubonic plague, right?” I asked. Or maybe that was fleas? Which still came back to pets and rodents.
Hetty pushed the bedroom doors open, relieved us of our suitcases, and tossed them on the beds. “There’s no plague here.”
“Don’t you dare let them touch me!” Deena cried. One of the cats stalked her, and she stumbled over her feet, her shoulder slamming into the wall. Shrieking, she added, “I mean it!”
“They’re friendly,” Hetty assured.
“I don’t care if they’re frigging angels, I still don’t want them near me!” Deena screeched.
Hetty stared at her. “Are you afraid of them?”
“No, they’re just dirty and … weird.”
“No more unusual than you,” Hetty pointed out, “and they’re likely a lot cleaner.”
The dog crept to my side, her cold, wet nose nudging my palm.
“Snow,” I whispered, smirking as I brushed my hand over her muzzle. With her golden coat, the dog looked like ice after it had been peed on.
My hand stilled, and Snow nudged me again.
“This is it,” Hetty announced, changing the subject. She gestured at the house. “It isn’t much, but with just me and the critters, I didn’t need much.”
“It helps when you’re half animal,” Deena mumbled.
Hetty’s gaze swung in her direction. “Are you done with the attitude and barbed comments?”
Deena shrugged, her face impassive, but by the look in her eyes, she knew she’d gone too far.
“We’re just getting started here, Deena,” Hetty told her. “If you keep pushing buttons, you’ve got an interesting few years ahead.”
When it came to family, Nana was it. Our only choice. Dad didn’t have any remaining immediate relatives. With my GED, I didn’t think she’d balk if I found a job and a place to go, but Deena was stuck.
Leaning toward me, Deena hissed, “This is shit.”
Hetty stepped away from the corridor, leaving us alone without
the privacy. Because of the house’s size, unless you were outside, the chances of being overheard were high.
“It’s better than being with Dad,” I replied.
“You really believe that?” Jet asked, his lanky figure leaning against the wall.
Deena glared at him. “What do you care, brother? You’re abandoning us, too.”
Spots of pink developed on his high cheekbones. “I’m going to school.”
“It’s summer, you imbecile,” Deena spat. “You’d just rather wile away your time doing student work on campus than be here with us. You’re running away.”
“Shut up,” he growled.
Deena shrugged. “Truth fucking hurts, doesn’t it?”
“Your mouth,” I warned.
She snorted. “You cuss as bad I do, Tansy, and don’t go throwing the whole age shit at me.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“You’ve done it.”
“Yeah, well that was before … all of this,” I whispered.
Silence grew between us.
Deena’s shoulders slumped. “I’m tired.”
Jet sighed, his oily bangs lifting with the exhale. “We all are.”
Angry tears reappeared on Deena’s reddened cheeks. “Can I be something nobody else is for a minute? Can I say something and it not be followed up with ‘me too’ or ‘I know how you feel’? Can I be broken alone? Just once?” She stormed into the bedroom and slammed the door.
When Jet attempted to follow her, my hand flew out, snatching his arm. “Don’t. Nothing you say is going to be okay right now. She doesn’t need your self-pity on top of hers.”
He jerked away from me. “My self-pity?”
My eyes burned, a lump forming in my throat. Unexpected anger spilled out of me. “You can’t stand it, Jet. You always have to hurt worse than everyone else. You can’t stand just letting people be. Remember when Mom died? Afterwards? The way you screamed. The way you just checked out on us. The way you ate up all of the attention the girls at school gave you. Like Da—”
“Don’t you dare say it!” he hollered. “Don’t you dare fucking say it!”