Undone

by Rebecca Shea

  “You know I only do it to annoy you,” she says, taking a few steps inside my room.

  “What do you want, Linds? I was trying to sleep.”

  “I’ve been waiting for you to get up. I made breakfast this morning,” she announces with a giant smile on her face.

  “My baby sister who can’t make macaroni and cheese made breakfast? What did you do, pour Frosted Flakes into a bowl?” I muster up a hoarse laugh.

  “Don’t be an asshole,” she snaps at me and tosses a throw pillow at me. “I actually made pancakes.” She smiles proudly. “Now get your sorry ass out of bed. I’m going to go float in the pool and read some smut.” With a tight sarcastic smile, she quickly turns and leaves my room. I shake my head slightly and laugh at her, pushing myself up and out of bed.

  I change into a pair of black board shorts and decide that sitting by the pool sounds like a great way to spend the morning. Making my way to the kitchen, I notice the plate of pancakes sitting on the kitchen island, next to a bowl of chopped fresh fruit and a bottle of syrup. After I spoon some fresh berries on top of the pancakes, I cover all of it with maple syrup. Hesitantly, I take a bite, and find that they actually taste decent. Lindsay’s cooking has damn near killed me before, so I always approach anything she cooks with caution.

  Opening the door that leads from the kitchen to the back patio, I find my sister floating on an oversized raft in the middle of the large pool, her face stuck in a book.

  “They’re good,” I announce as I sit down on one of the poolside lounge chairs that line one entire side of the pool.

  “Really? You like them?”

  “Yeah, I actually do.” I shove another forkful of pancakes in my mouth and set the plate on the small side table that sits next to the lounger. Lowering the back of the chair, I lie down and stretch out, feeling the warm sun sting my unprotected skin. It’s humid this time of year, and the moist North Carolina air hangs heavily around the lush backyard.

  I can feel the sweat starting to bead across my forehead and along my hairline. Most people hate the humidity, but I love it. I inhale deeply and feel the warm air burn my lungs. With my arms raised and behind my head, I close my eyes and let the sun seep through me. I find the silence and the warmth relaxing, and feel myself nodding off to sleep. The spray of ice-cold water startles me and causes me to jump.

  “Godammit, Lindsay,” I bark at her. She giggles and cups her hand, splashing me again with water. I lunge from my lounger and dive in, tipping the raft and dumping her into the pool. She screams as she sinks into the icy water.

  She emerges laughing as she brushes her long blonde hair off of her face. “You deserved that,” I say, pushing the oversized raft out of the pool. Swimming to the edge, I lean against the pool’s cool tiles, tipping my head back with my face directed toward the sun.

  It’s quiet again, but I can feel the water shift slightly as Lindsay swims closer to me. She mimics my position on my left side and sighs loudly as I peek at her through one eye. I can tell there is something on her mind because she always scrunches her nose when she’s thinking deeply.

  “What’cha thinking about?”

  “Lots of things.” She sighs deeply again.

  “Like?”

  “Things you don’t like to talk about.”

  I take a deep breath and lower myself entirely into the cool, crisp water. Fully submerged, I count to fifteen slowly, feeling the burn start building in my lungs around the number ten. I burst through the surface and inhale sharply. As I wipe the water from my face, I see Lindsay standing and watching me.

  “Let’s talk,” I offer. I know I’m going to fucking regret this, but if it’s what she needs to do, I’ll try—for her.

  With a small, sad half-smile, Lindsay pushes herself away from the wall and walks to the large sun shelf in the pool. She sits down on it and runs her hands through the water in front of her. I walk over and stand in front of her.

  “Did you ever tell anyone about what Dad did to you?” she asks quietly, and I know what she’s referring to.

  “No.”

  “Why?

  “Because, Lindsay, it was different times then. No one would have done anything because of who he was.”

  I sigh; I know she still struggles with this shit. I’ve fucking let it go—at least I think I have, until she wants to talk about it and I get angry all over again. “Lindsay, I know you loved him, but he was an asshole. Everything that was ever fucked up in our lives was because of him.”

  “Landon,” she tries to stop me.

  “Don’t. Don’t defend him. He didn’t touch you because I wouldn’t fucking let him. I would have killed him. Even at eight years old, I would have killed him before I let him lay a hand on you. The night that Mom left was just the beginning of our hell, so please let’s try to find hints of good memories where there are none.”

  “I’m sorry,” she whispers. I meet her eyes and see they’re stained pink. “I’m so sorry you had to take care of me.”

  I take a few steps in the water to where she sits cross-legged now on the sun shelf. I rest both of my hands on her shoulders.

  “Don’t ever be sorry for that. I’d do it all over again, a hundred times if I had to. You are all I have, Lindsay. We are all each other has.” She nods her head and a tear rolls down her face.

  “You know I remember that night, right?”

  I inhale sharply, hoping it’s not the night that is burned into my memory, a recurring nightmare that haunts me to this day. She was only four years old, and we’ve never discussed this night in particular. Before I can stop her, she starts sharing her memories with her voice shaking and her hands trembling in her lap.

  “I remember you getting a bowl of water and that little scrub brush that Mom kept under the kitchen sink.” I watch Lindsay twist and pull at her fingers as she retells the nightmare of that night—detail for detail. “You scrubbed down the wall and the wood floor with that little brush and cleaned up all the blood.” She says it so matter-of-factly. I’m numb, listening to her revisit the worst night of my life. “I remember you being worried about the mess, and him coming home to see it.” She pauses. “And I remember her throwing clothes into a suitcase while you scrubbed and scrubbed. You didn’t even know she was packing. I stood in the corner of the bedroom, watching her pack up her belongings while you were worried about cleaning up her blood.”

  I nod my head at her recollection of that night. She remembers the details just like I do.

  “You stood in the corner in your purple nightgown, holding your teddy bear. I remember looking up from scrubbing the floor and you were huddled in the corner, watching me. I hated that you had to see… to watch…”

  “I remember her leaving,” she whispers, cutting me off. “She didn’t even say goodbye to us. She stood next to the bed with her suitcase in her hands and her last words to us were, ‘Get that cleaned up before your father gets back,’ and she walked out of that room and never looked back, like we were nothing to her.”

  She remembers it exactly as it was, every last fucking detail. I hadn’t realized she remembered so much, being as young as she was.

  “That’s exactly how it happened, Linds. You remember everything I do,” I confirm her memories.

  “Did she ever call, write, try to contact us?” she asks, her voice breaking.

  “No.” My tone is cold, harsh… bitter.

  “Do you ever think about her? Or wonder where she’s at? Or have you ever thought about looking for her?”

  “No!” It’s a definitive answer. “She left us to fend for ourselves with an out-of-control, abusive, alcoholic father. We were eight and four years old, Lindsay. What kind of mother does that? Leaves her kids with an animal like that? She left and never came back for us.”

  “Do you think she had to?”

  “Had to? Had to leave her kids? No. Who the fuck leaves their kids in that situation with that kind of person? She didn’t even say goodbye to us. She never apologized to us
as she was packing her suitcase; there was no remorse when she walked out on us, Lindsay. She didn’t say ‘I love you,’ as she floated out the door and left us with him. She told me to fucking clean up the blood on the floor and walked out. Walked the fuck out of our lives and never looked back.”

  I realize both of my fists are clenched and I can feel the anger, the hatred simmering just below the surface. I lean my head back, aiming my face to the sky as I let the sun scorch my skin some more. Breathing deep, calming breaths, I push the memories down again, burying them.

  “Landon, do you think this is why you can’t commit to a woman? Do you hate women because of what Mom did?”

  “Are you trying to psychoanalyze the situation?” I actually laugh at her suggestion.

  “I don’t know. You’ve built these walls around you, and you’ve only let one person even remotely close to those walls, then you let her go. Gave her up without a fight…”

  “She didn’t love me, Linds. You know that. We were both so fucking damaged that nothing good could have come of that.”

  “Do you really believe that?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re more fucked up than I originally thought,” she sighs.

  “Jesus, thanks, Linds. Let’s talk about you and your issues, should we?”

  She glares at me with narrow eyes and I see her breathing catch slightly.

  “I don’t have issues.”

  I actually laugh at her response.

  “Sure, Linds. You cling to men, like I push women away. You fall in love with anyone that will give you the time of day.”

  “Not true,” she scowls.

  “True. Where should we start? Jeff? Brandon? Cam? Those are just three off the top of my head.”

  “So are we comparing notes now?” she fires at me. “You’ve been with more women in one month than I’ve been with men in my entire life.”

  “Between you and Matt and your lectures…”

  “Well, someone needs to get through to you before your dick falls off.” She actually starts laughing, and so do I.

  “My dick is not going to fall off, and can you not talk about my dick? It’s weird. You’re my sister.”

  “Yeah—whatever.” She looks away, and I can see that I’ve upset her.

  “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get you upset, okay? I guess we each are fucked up in our own little way. There is nothing you could do that would make me not love you, Linds. Even when you cling to fucking douchebags.”

  “Jeez, thanks.” She splashes me with water and I laugh. “I know talking about Mom and Dad is hard to talk about, but I have more questions that I need you to answer for me at another time, okay?” she asks me hesitantly.

  “Sure, Linds,” I say as I splash the cool chlorinated water on my face and shoulders. I walk over to the steps that lead out of the pool and step out onto the hot concrete. Grabbing a towel from the stack I keep sitting on the flagstone bar, I wrap it tightly around my waist.

  “You going out with the boyfriend tonight?” I ask.

  “I don’t have a boyfriend, so no. For the first time in, well, almost ever, I don’t have plans tonight.” She smiles almost proudly.

  “Matt and I are headed to Mac’s Bar over on Franklin Street. You’re welcome to join us if you want; it might be fun.”

  “Mac’s, the country bar? I love that place. You sure you don’t mind me tagging along?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Wait, why are you and Matt going to a country bar?” She tilts her head and narrows her eyes at me. Her mouth curls into a sly little grin. “What’s her name?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I shrug and continue to dry myself off.

  “Bullshit.”

  “I like country music,” I say with a laugh. I can’t even keep a straight face when I say that.

  “Okay, Blake Shelton.” She shakes her head at me.

  “Be ready by nine o’clock.” I hang the towel on the towel rack and follow the paved walkway to the French doors that lead to my room.

  “This should be interesting,” I hear Lindsay mumble from behind me. I can’t help but smile, because she has no idea how interesting this night could get.

  “You are not wearing that,” I bark at Lindsay. “There’s nothing there.” I motion my hand up and down from her head to her feet.

  “All the important parts are covered,” she smirks. “Plus, it’s modern country.”

  “What the fuck is ‘modern country’?”

  “This.” She points to her outfit, which consists of an extra-small denim skirt that barely covers her ass, a cream-colored too tight tank top, and a pair of brown cowboy boots. Matt is sitting on the couch, watching us go back and forth.

  “She looks nice. Leave her alone,” he pipes in.

  “She’s not your little sister,” I remind him.

  “I’m not little anymore, Landon. You don’t always have to look out for me,” she says quietly, tugging at the hem of her skirt.

  Sighing, I remind myself that she’s damn near twenty-five years old, and she’s right; I have to trust that she can take care of herself.

  “You’re right. I’m sorry. Just… I don’t know, just… don’t…”

  “Landon,” Matt cuts me off. “Let it go. Let’s go have a good time.” He smiles at Lindsay and motions toward the door for us to leave. Matt guides Lindsay out the door to his car as I lock up. Lindsay slides into the back seat and I ride shotgun.

  It’s quiet as we drive the few short miles to Mac’s. Pulling into the parking lot, I notice there are fewer cars here tonight than last night. We park and I see a group of men standing outside the doors of the main entrance, smoking and laughing. The door is propped open and the sounds of the cover band are spilling into the parking lot. Lindsay is about five paces ahead of us, walking fast with almost a skip to her step.

  “C’mon guys.” She prods us to move faster.

  “We’re coming,” Matt says, shaking his head at her.

  Stepping inside the small bar, Lindsay leads us to a high-top table near the small wooden dance floor. As we settle in, a guy who looks to be around my age approaches us and sets down three coasters.

  “Welcome to Mac’s. I’m Sam. What can I get you all to drink?” he asks, smiling at Lindsay. He’s a decent enough looking guy; he’s built like a UFC fighter, all muscle, tall and lean, and I notice both of his arms are covered in full sleeve tattoos. Lindsay stares at Sam, caught up in all that is the enormous man standing in front of us.

  “What do you have on tap?” Matt asks, interrupting the little love-fest going on between Lindsay and Sam.

  “You name it, we got it,” he replies, turning his attention back to Lindsay.

  “We’ll take a pitcher of Fat Tire, please,” I say, noting the extra attention Sam is displaying towards Lindsay.

  “Eww… bring the beer for them. I’ll take a Grey Goose and cranberry,” Lindsay says with a giant smile.

  “You got it,” he responds, backing away slowly. Lindsay’s eyes follow him all the way back to the bar.

  “Good lord, I have never seen him here before,” she says with a giant smile as she takes in the small country bar. It’s not nearly as crowded in here tonight, yet there are large groups gathered in the far corner, surrounding two pool tables. “How did you two decide that this was where we were going out tonight?” She laughs and keeps her eyes firmly set on Sam, who is at the bar.

  “We had a call here last night,” Matt answers as I recall every detail from last night. “It looked like a cool little dive bar, so we thought we’d come back and check it out.” He raises his eyebrows and shrugs hesitantly. I know this is not his element—hell, this isn’t where I’d normally hang out—but I need to see her.

  I scan the bar as nonchalantly as I possibly can. I take notice of Sam behind the bar, pouring our pitcher of beer, and the bartender from last night serving customers seated at the large wooden bar that runs almost the entire length of
the wall. People are slowly filtering into the small space, filling up the once empty pub tables and booths.

  Sam finds his way back to us, holding two frosted mugs and the pitcher of beer in one hand, and in the other he has Lindsay’s Grey Goose and cranberry. Handing Lindsay her drink first, he then pours Matt and me our beer.

  Lindsay takes a long sip of her drink and starts coughing. “Jesus, that’s strong.” She coughs again and begins laughing. Wiping the corners of her eyes, she looks at Sam.

  “Are you trying to get me drunk?” She clears her throat and raises her eyebrows, waiting for him to respond. Matt chuckles and sips his beer. Sam has no idea what Lindsay is about to unleash on him.

  “No.” He laughs. “Mac made your drink.” He nods toward the bar. “He’s old and has a tendency to get a little carried away with his pour. Most people don’t complain, though. It’s like getting a double for the price of a single,” he smirks.

  “I’m not complaining,” Lindsay fires back.

  “It sure didn’t sound like you were happy.”

  “A heads up would have been nice.” She tilts her head and narrows her eyes at Sam.

  “Look, I’ll go make you a new drink…”

  “No. I want this drink.”

  “Has anyone ever told you you’re difficult?”

  I actually choke on my beer and Matt starts laughing.

  “You have no idea, man. No fucking idea,” I say. Matt raises his glass to me and we toast Sam’s revelation.

  “Very funny, assholes.” Lindsay takes another sip of her drink and Matt high fives Sam.

  “Are you going to help us out, or socialize all night with the guests?” a female voice asks.

  “Reagan,” Sam announces, wrapping her into a giant bear hug and lifting her off the ground.

  “Sammy! How in the world have you been?”

  “Thank God you’re here. I am not meant to wait tables.” I notice Matt catch Lindsay’s eye and nod his head slightly toward me. Lindsay’s eyes brighten with the knowledge that Reagan is why we’re here. Sticking her hand out to Reagan, Lindsay, the social butterfly that she is, introduces herself.