Suit

by Jettie Woodruff

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know. It’s fine. You can go without me.” It was fine. All I cared about was how exhausted I felt. The whole day out may have been a bit much. I was toast.

  “You need to make something. To take,” he added like I was too dumb to read between the lines.

  “I wasn’t kidding when I said I didn’t know how to cook. Why is it I can remember that pepper trees attract birds, yet I can’t remember what goes in Rösti Casserole?” I asked through a sleepy yawn. Both feet resting in Paxton’s lap.

  “I have no idea how you know what a pepper tree even is, and I have no idea what the hell Rösti Casserole is. You’ve never made that.”

  “I haven’t?”

  “No.”

  “Oh. Well, if you don’t mind, I’m going to close my eyes for a few minutes. I’ll figure something out to take in a little bit. I just need to rest for a while.”

  Paxton didn’t speak with words. He flipped on the television, still rubbing my sore foot. I don’t even know what he watched. I didn’t care. All I cared about was closing my eyes and sleep. Deep sleep without all the confusion.

  ~~

  “I’m scared, Izzy,” I whispered from her side.

  “It’s okay, Gabby. She’s okay,” Izabella promised, her voice trembling as much as mine.

  “But what if they take us again? I don’t want to go with a social worker.”

  “We won’t. She promised,” Izzy reminded me. I didn’t believe her. She said that the last time, too.

  Izzy and I sat all alone in the waiting room while the doctors took care of our mom. Again—

  “Hi, I’m Rosie Swartz. Wow! You are twins. Which one is Gabriella?”

  I looked to the lady on my right, squeezing Izzy’s hand. Neither of us answered.

  “I know this is scary, but you’re going to be okay. I promise. Your mommy is a little sick right now. She needs to get some treatment in order to get better.”

  “We’re staying together,” Izzy assured her. She knew what was about to happen as sure as I did.

  “Honey, it’s hard to find a place that will take two eight-year-old girls. There just isn’t room,” the gray-haired lady explained with a soft smile.

  “Please let us stay together,” I begged. I didn’t want to be without Izzy. We’d only been apart a handful of times. Times our mom had gotten, “sick.” The last time had only been a few months ago. I stayed with a nice couple with one daughter about my age for an entire month. Izzy didn’t get so lucky. She was placed with a lady with a whole bunch of kids. One of them hurt Izzy. He was older and a lot bigger than Izzy. I didn’t want them to take her away from me.

  “It’s only for a little while, and I promise. If anything comes up where I can get you back together, I will. I won’t stop looking until I find a place for both of you. Okay?”

  I shook my head, back and forth with wide eyes. No way. I wasn’t having it. The entire room stopped what they were doing and turned toward the screams. Me and Izzy cried.

  “Where are my Clydes? Let me out of here! Get the fuck off me!” our mother called loudly, the desperation heard in her tone.

  “Come on, girls. Let’s get you out of here and fed. Do you like tacos?”

  We didn’t answer. We clung to each other while the social services lady ushered us from our chairs, hand in hand.

  “She needs us,” Izzy protested, feet stopping with mine. It didn’t matter if she needed us. If I needed Izzy. If Izzy needed me. Nobody cared. We were ignored. Coaxed inside a car with a lady we didn’t know.

  Izzy and I huddled in the middle of the backseat, afraid to let go.

  “Your mom can’t take care of you right now. Please try to understand,” she said through the rearview mirror.

  “She can take care of us. You didn’t even check our seatbelt,” I yelled.

  “I knew you were big enough to take care of that. Try to make the best of it, Izabella.”

  “I’m Gabby. You don’t even know who we are.”

  We had to endure another fifteen minutes of her positive attitude bullshit. Let her go live with strangers. See how she liked it at the end of the day. None of it mattered. Izzy went one way crying her eyes out, and I went the other, doing the same thing. My heart hurt and I wanted my mom and Izzy. I worried about them. What if someone hurt Izzy again? What if my mom couldn’t find us? What if I never saw Izzy again?

  I cried the entire way to my new home. Mrs. Bartley. She was my fourth foster home. I didn’t understand it. Why would anyone choose to be a foster parent? Mrs. Bartley didn’t want a foster kid. She wanted a maid. She was a short, plump woman with ankles the size of Texas. She didn’t care about me one bit. She cared that I catered to her, cleaned her house, and did her laundry. I didn’t even know how to do my own.

  Thank the good lord above it was a quick visit. We escaped the very next week. Five days, I think. Rosie took us to see our mom at the crazy house. She was much better. Sort of. She didn’t like taking medicine, but they made her. I liked it because she didn’t go all coo-coo and act like a fool. This particular time was for being naked. She decided to do that in the middle of a county fair. I don’t know why, or what went through her mind. One minute we were listening to the band, and the next she was in front of the stage, dancing, and taking her clothes off.

  Rosie left me alone in the park for five minutes to make a call. That’s all my mother needed. My mom wasn’t like her other cases. My mother was a pro at this. We’d be gone before this lady could blink an eye. If Izzy hurried up, that is. She hadn’t gotten there yet, but Rosie promised she would be there.

  “Listen to me, Gabby.”

  “No, Mom. Just get better,” I begged. I knew what she was about to say before she ever said it.

  “I am better. Now listen to me, baby. I’m so sorry for getting you into this mess again. Was she good to you? You look a little thin. Are you hungry?”

  “No, it was fine. I’m fine. I just want you to get better.”

  “I’m fine, sweetie.”

  “Mom! Gabby!”

  Izzy ran toward us at lightning speed. My mom snatched her up and squeezed us in one big hug. God, I’d missed her. Although we didn’t match, Izzy wore a pink t-shirt and jean shorts. Just like me. She even had white flip-flops and pink toes. Just like me. Izzy and I had always done stuff like that. Say the same thing at the same time, or dress alike without knowing what the other one wore. Like we were two, but one. Telepathic.

  “Izzy, listen to me, baby.”

  “Mom, no,” I pleaded. “Can’t we just wait until you’re all better? We want you to get well.”

  “Shhh, you worry too much, Gabby. I’m fine. I promise. There’s a blue ball cap on the picnic table next to us. Put it on and walk to the bathroom. Gabby, you pick up the duffle bag behind us and follow her. Look for anything you can put over your clothes. It doesn’t matter what it is. Go.”

  The bag ended up belonging to a man or a grown boy. The shirts fit us like dresses. Even my mom’s. After directing us toward a street, she followed, never looking back. We crossed the busy road, holding her hand, and hid in a ten-story parking garage. The cops even strolled through looking for us once. We ducked behind a dumpster in the corner and waited. They didn’t even get out of the car. Even I knew they didn’t try very hard. Lucky us.

  “Hey, Clydes,” my mother said while staring off into the distance, hours after our escape. It was nearly dark, and we were hungry, but neither one of us mentioned it. I hated that far-away tone. It meant something bad. Something that would get us in more trouble.

  Needless to say. Izzy and I spent the next four days on a train. That’s what she saw in the distance. That and Izzy’s request that hadn’t been fulfilled yet. Once we’d made our rounds in two different gas stations, looting what we could without being caught, we set out. A long walk across an open field.

  This is how crazy our mom was. We were almost there. Almost to the empty car, when it started to mo
ve. My mom ordered us to run, tossed our stolen food, and jumped in first. Izzy fell, but she was okay. She actually still made it before me. She always was the faster runner.

  Those were the best four days of my life. Riding in a train car is an adventure I never thought of as fun, but it was. It was so much fun. Not only did we have stolen junk food, we had an endless supply of walnuts. Crates of nuts occupied a quarter of the car. Izzy and I occupied the rest. We played walnut baseball, danced on stage, watched shooting stars fall from the sky, and we danced some more. A lot. Even my mom danced. Actually, she danced more than Izzy and me. I didn’t care. She could be crazy all she wanted. We were together. Jonnie and her Clydes.

  ~~

  “Gabriella, wake up. Gabriella.”

  I stretched my legs, grunting as my eyes focused on Paxton. “What?” I rolled away from him. I didn’t want to wake to this. I wanted to go back to the train. Back to eating walnuts for days. Where my mom and Izzy were.

  “Go make something to take to this barbeque. You’ve only got a couple of hours. Get up. We’re going to walk down to the beach. Make something good,” he ordered.

  “I want to go to the beach,” I countered. I sat up when I realized how much I sounded like eight-year-old Gabby. Whiny.

  “You can go to the beach when you learn how to be my wife again. Go do your wifely jobs and make us something to take.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. That’s your department. Figure it out.”

  My eyes frowned, leaving me with small slits to see him through. “Are you the same guy who rubbed my feet right before I fell asleep?”

  That pissed him off. Big time. He scowled and grunted.

  My little angels saved the day. “We’re ready,” they called in unison, both carrying sand buckets and toys.

  “I thought we were taking boogie-boards.”

  “You carry them, Daddy,” Ophelia said. They were taking them. They just weren’t carrying them.

  “Mommy, you come, too. I want to show you what I can do,” Rowan said as soon as she saw that I was awake. They both wore blue and white bathing suits, matching by color only. Rowan’s was blue and white striped. Ophelia’s was blue with white lilies. Both out-of-this-world cute.

  “Mommy doesn’t feel like it yet. She’s going to stay here and get ready for the cookout that she’s too sore to go to.”

  Both girls missed the sarcasm of the last remark. I did not. He wasn’t hurting me by keeping me away from my neighbors. I didn’t feel right around them anyway. Go. See if I give a shit.

  I waited by the pool with the girls while Paxton retrieved three boards from the garage. I was sort of pouting about not being allowed to go, and sort of panicking about cooking. For whatever reason, that terrified me, taking precedence over my internal pout. That part of my memory was completely gone. I couldn’t recall one dish that I had made in my past. Not even one.

  I made the girls grilled cheese in the waffle-iron. They loved them. Maybe I could get away with that. The iron cut them in cute little triangles. Hmmm. I pondered, liking the idea.

  “We’ll be back in a couple hours. I’ve got my cell phone if you need me,” Paxton said as he stood in front of me, pink, princess boards thrown over his shoulder.

  “Bye, Mommy,” the girls called over their shoulders, leaving their dad behind, ready for some beach fun.

  “Have fun,” I called back.

  Paxton had to take my hand before I knew enough to stand. “Make something good and I might think about taking you later.”

  “I’m fine here. I don’t need to go.”

  “I’ll decide that. Now be a good girl and go take care of your family,” he ordered with a kiss. I turned my head out of spite, but he turned it back. “You don’t want to do this, Gabriella. I promise you. You don’t.”

  “Because why, Pax? Because you’re going to send me to the bathroom?”

  His eyes darted to the girls first and then back to me. I grimaced in pain when he grabbed my jaw and squeezed. “Back down, girl. Back down now. You got it?” he asked through gritted teeth.

  I couldn’t speak. All I could do was nod. Paxton let go and shoved my face, forcing me to step backward two steps.

  “Get the fuck away from me before I hurt you.”

  I did. I cowered away like a turkey on Thanksgiving Day. Gah! Why did I keep doing that? I did get it. I did understand what he said. I just had a hard time abiding by his ways. My mouth kept getting in the way. Paxton stood in a firm stance with a glare until I was inside. I turned to close the door, catching his cold glare, and moved my eyes to the floor. He walked away.

  “Dickhead!” I yelled through the glass, to his back.

  I sighed while I watched my family walk away without me. “Bastard. Dick. Fuckface. Jerk-off,” I said aloud to no one but me.

  After securing the boot back to my foot, I went to the kitchen in search of something to cook. There was plenty of food. That wasn’t the problem. I just didn’t know how or what to cook. I found one cookbook, but it wasn’t really food. It was mixed drinks. Hmmm, that sounds more like it. I could make some sort of exotic drink for the adults and something else for the kids. But what?

  “Oh, the tablet,” I said when I remembered Paxton’s comment. Now if I could just find it. I didn’t remember seeing it anywhere. After searching the front rooms, high and low, I moved to my room. Where the hell would I keep a tablet? I scratched my head while I stood in place and looked around.

  The nightstand on the right held a kids’ book, a bottle of nasal spray, a notebook, and a pen. I picked up the yellow notebook and looked around the room with an eerie feeling. I always felt like I was snooping in someone else things when I opened drawers. Like it wasn’t really my stuff to be meddling through, or like I was being watched. Nonetheless, I opened it.

  “Wow,” I said through a sigh. This was my life. Expectations. That’s it. I had half a notebook full of to do’s. Extracurricular activities for both girls, what day I went to the grocery store, things to do for Paxton. Like new shirts. I was supposed to go shopping for him two days after my accident. I did everything by time and schedules. Somehow that didn’t feel right. I felt more like the type to move forward without clocks or calendars. Not this. Wow. I closed it and searched the other nightstand for the tablet. I’d come back to that mess another time.

  The drawer to my left housed the white tablet. The one I presumed I’d used to make loving meals for my family with. Blah!

  I spent at least twenty minutes learning about me from my tablet. I liked to read. I had countless books on there, most of them already read. Hmmm. Who would have thought? I didn’t feel like a reader. Evidently, I was a writer, too. Poetry. I liked poetry? Really? File after file of poetry filled the different folders. All marked by subject. I opened the first three, skimming through them until I stopped.

  Rise free from care before the dawn and seek adventures. Let the noon find thee at other lakes and the night overtake thee everywhere at home.

  That wasn’t my poem. I didn’t right that, but I had heard it from somewhere. I just couldn’t place where. My eyes darted around the room with the feeling of being watched again. I shook my head with a heavy sigh at my silliness and turned back to the tablet. I didn’t have much time. I would have to find out who really wrote it later. When I had more time to snoop.

  “Grrr, it’s not snooping,” I said out loud in an agitated voice. The tenth file was the one that caught my eye. Half way down the page.

  My Clyde.

  My finger hovered above the file while my mind debated on going there. I quickly tapped it with my finger, afraid of chickening out, but I did it.

  My heart moved a million beats a minute when I read the first line.

  I can see it in her eyes,

  A love like no other.

  I can feel it in her presence,

  A graceful bond forever.

  She’s my twin,

  My Clyde,

  My other hal
f.

  My eyes skimmed the pages of poems. One after another. Poems about Clydes, twins, sisters, and severed parts. Some of them were soft and gentle, some not. Like the one about a detached heart. Gruesome details about the blood oozing out, slowly over sharp obstacles.

  I closed it before I read another word, knowing how much time I had. I needed a minute to decipher that, anyway. I didn’t even know where to begin to look for something to make for a barbeque. Everything I looked at either called for meat, or looked disgusting. Lucky for me, I knew my way around Pinterest. I didn’t ask myself how because I had no idea. I just knew. I guess the same way I knew that pepper trees would end in a mess on a car. Bird shit.

  I knew I had everything to make the cool dessert, and the kids would love it. Paxton, probably not, but he didn’t really like anything. Jesus. I’m provoking him. Why would I want to provoke him? With that, I stood and carried my tablet to the kitchen. I knew the answer before I ever asked the question. The faint throb I felt between my legs knew it, too.

  I was a slut, suited for Paxton’s needs.

  But...

  Were they my needs, too?

  By the time Paxton had returned, I’d made a dessert, some sort of pasta with fettuccini sauce, and peas. Also found on Pinterest. The mixed drink was chilling in the refrigerator and I was in the shower.

  “Aahhh! Oh, my God. Don’t fucking do that!” I screamed to the top of my lungs. Jesus. Was he trying to give me a heart attack?

  “Oh, my God, Gabriella. This isn’t working. You don’t talk to me like that. You don’t say the F word. Ever. Not at me, not to me, not around me.”

  “What the hell do you expect? You just waltz right in here and shut the water off when I’m in the shower? Who does that?”

  Paxton ran his hand through his hair and breathed a sigh of irritation. For a second, I thought he was done. He turned toward the door and closed it. This was crazy. I wasn’t even allowed to get mad for him scaring the hell out of me.

  “Where’s the girls?” I asked while taking a step back.