Beneath the Skin

by Kyla Stone

  She wears bracelets and bangles as thick as her wrist, inlaid with brilliant, peacock-feather colors in swirls, drops, and circles. She likes rings, like I do, but hers boast rubies as big as my knuckles. They’re shimmery lemon-colored glass or carved amethyst cubes set in aged sterling, rose gold, and pewter. She told me she likes to mix the delicate, intricately designed Victorian style with large and chunky retro pieces and the geometric lines and bright colors of art nouveau. This woman is serious about her jewelry.

  She hands me the spoon. “You like your peanut butter crunchy, right?”

  I nod, surprised she’s noticed me sneaking the jar into the boys’ bedroom.

  “I love my peanut butter, too, but I need something to go with it or it clogs up my throat, you know what I’m saying?” She sits down opposite me and spreads peanut butter on two slices of bread. She passes the jar to me. She takes a bite, pauses, and gazes at me. Her lips are thin and pale without her smudged, raspberry lipstick bleeding into the fine lines around her mouth. “Did you have a nightmare?”

  “Did you?”

  Aunt Ellie laughs mirthlessly. “Haven’t had one of those in ages. Oh, once in a while one might crop up, after I’ve let myself watch one of those gruesome criminal shows. No, my doctor says I have an active mind. Whatever that means. Kept my last husband up to all hours with my tossing and turning. Just a regular insomniac, I guess.”

  “Oh.” I dig up a spoonful of peanut butter.

  Aunt Ellie sighs, takes a swig of milk. She wipes away the white mustache with the back of her hand. “I suppose you probably have some questions for me. This seems as good a time as any, seeing as we both can’t sleep and no malls are open.”

  The corner of my mouth twitches. “Was that what the shopping was for? A distraction?”

  “Guilty as charged. I guess I just wasn’t sure . . .” She folds her arms over her formidable bosom and gazes up at the ceiling. “Oh hell. I was putting it off as long as I could. It’s a trait of mine, you’ll see.”

  I lick the spoon. Aunt Ellie talks enough for three people. Usually I just sit and listen, and at the end she thinks we’ve had a conversation, either not realizing or not caring I’ve barely spoken a word.

  “Last time I saw you, you were a little thing in pig tails. Aaron wasn’t even born yet. You’ve grown up to be quite lovely, in spite of insisting on dressing like a boy. I’ve wanted to visit so many times . . . I can’t count the number of times I’ve picked up the phone and stood there staring at it like a dummy, thinking of calling Susan and never doing it. Your mother made things complicated. She was never an easy person to love. And then, after Frank . . . Well, there it is.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He wouldn’t let any family visit, or let Susan and you kids come see us. I thought you knew that.”

  “Mom said you disowned us. After she dropped out of college to run off with Frank. She made it sound romantic.”

  “No. Never. We never approved, that’s true.” She looks up again, as if she can see the story she’s about to tell un-scrolling on the ceiling. “At first, he was just her newest boyfriend, albeit more handsome and charming than the rest. But she wouldn’t call us, and then she dropped all of her classes and said she was moving to some hokey town to shack up with him. Your grandma and I didn’t want her to quit, it was the only thing she had going for her . . . but Susan was a bit odd, even then. Sometimes she didn’t leave her dorm room for days. Mom or I would bring her food. Other times she’d call us in the middle of the night blabbering on about something or other and we could hardly understand her. She started saying we were bad for her, we were trying to hurt her. She’d lock the door when I came to visit. Then one day she just wasn’t there anymore. She left everything. Didn’t even pack more than a suitcase. Just left with him. We didn’t hear anything for over a year. Mom called the cops, but what could they do? Susan wrote us a letter saying she’d married Frank and there was nothing we could do to stop her. She said she was a mother now and we shouldn’t try to find her. And I’m ashamed to say, but we listened to her.

  “She’d call sometimes, when Frank was away. Told us where she lived, sent a few photos of you and Frankie. We got her to visit once or twice, early on. I even came to visit, do you remember? I wish your grandma was still alive to see you. I should have done something. But I didn’t know what he was doing. I didn’t know how bad he was hurting Susan. He just took her away. That’s all we knew. I—I was living my own life, and she said she wanted it this way. I’m so sorry.”

  I stare at Aunt Ellie, who is my family, my blood, but also a stranger. “I remember someone holding my hand, blue smoke, and spinning around in the sunshine. Was that you?”

  She smiles, a tiny web of wrinkles crinkling around her eyes. “You remember that? I bought you a tire swing for the maple out front. Took forever to set it up and when I came inside, Susan had drunk herself into a stupor. In the middle of the day. Things were stressful in the house. Frank didn’t want me there. I came into her room and you were tugging at your ma’s nightgown, trying to get her up and out of bed. You were so tiny, so earnest, it about broke my heart. I grabbed your hand and took you outside the dark house, into the sunshine. I spun you on the tire swing for an hour, at least. My arms still get tired thinking about it. You laughed and laughed. Then Frank came back, and he was so angry I’d done something that made you happy. He kicked me out right then. Tore down the tire swing. I don’t imagine you ever saw it again.”

  I shook my head. I don’t remember the swing, only the spinning, the warmth of the sunlight dappling my skin, the blue smoke rippling like ribbons in the air.

  “I bought you a ring, too. You were so taken with mine. Liked to wear them around the house, even though they were so big, you could barely keep them on your itty bitty fingers.”

  A memory skates around the edges of my mind. “The one with the blue plastic flower.”

  She smiles. “You remember. I didn’t have money then, or I would’ve gotten you something better. I’m just tickled pink you still wear it.”

  The hairs on my arms prickle. I never thought about why I like wearing rings all the time. I never thought it might be because of an aunt I barely remembered.

  Aunt Ellie waves her hand. “I’m glad he didn’t take that from you. He never liked me. I was trying to get her to leave him, and he knew it. Susan . . . she only ever had eyes for the bad ones. Our father was a drunk. A mean one. Susan escaped by running straight into the arms of men just as bad as our daddy. I suppose she felt taken care of. She was used to being controlled. Instead of looking for something else, something better, she stuck with what she knew. It’s a common enough story, I suspect.”

  I swallow the rest of my milk and stare into the bottom of the empty glass. It’s hard to imagine Ma as a girl, just a bit older than me. She was nineteen when she ran off with Frank, me already in her belly. “Did you choose bad men, too?”

  Aunt Ellie rubs the back of her neck. The window over the sink is beginning to lighten, the earliest hints of morning threading through the night. “I’ve had some unhealthy relationships, let’s just say that. Four marriages. Four lousy husbands. The last one did some roadside construction. Got himself killed when a driver too busy texting on her phone to see the stop sign he was holding swerved into him going 60 miles an hour. The wrongful death settlement was the best thing he ever did for me. But to answer your question, no, I didn’t much see the sense in being with a man just like Daddy, when I’d spent my whole life dreaming of how I was going to get away. The men I’ve been with were all lousy, lazy, a few of them cheaters, but none of ‘em ever hit me.” Her gaze slides past me toward the window. “Is it really that late? Or early, I should say.”

  I think about my mother, and Frank, and a lifetime of regret. The fact Ma’s own father—my grandfather—was a mean drunk. She ran from him straight into the arms of the devil, handsome and charming as hell but a devil all the same. Generations of addiction and dysfunction,
going how far back? To my grandparents, at least. Probably further. The thought is depressing as hell.

  “Thanks for the talk, dear,” Aunt Ellie says, though I’ve hardly said anything at all.

  33

  On Wednesday afternoon, I go for a long run by the river. My lungs are burning, my side aches, and my cheeks sting from the cold. When I walk into the house, I hear laughter. My heart leaps into my throat. The boys are home.

  Aaron sits at the table, pouring Honey Nut Cheerios into a bowl. Frankie sprawls with his chair scooted away from the table, his head flung back, his eyes closed. He’s only wearing jeans. His skinny, preadolescent muscles ripple beneath his pale skin. They both look thinner.

  Aaron’s face cracks open in a huge grin. “Sidney!” He slides off his seat and runs to me. I wrap my arms around his small, soft body and squeeze him. His hair smells clean, like milk and lavender.

  “What took you so long?” Frankie says in his hard-edged voice. He barely opens his eyes.

  I twist my rings around my fingers. I want to hug him, too, but every inch of him radiates ‘don’t touch me’ vibes. “It’s nice to see you, too. Put some clothes on, Frankie. It’s freezing out.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “We’re having breakfast for afternoon snack!” Aaron says. “Aunty Ellie says so!”

  “Where is Aunt Ellie?”

  “In the shower. She said she’s gonna take us shopping for all new outfits!”

  “Why does that not surprise me?”

  “You want Chex and Cheese? I can make it all by myself,” Aaron says proudly. Chex and Cheese is Aaron’s breakfast and snack of choice: a slice of Kraft cheddar cheese melted over a bowl of Corn Chex. You don’t even need milk.

  “I’ll make myself something. Thanks.”

  I pull a bowl down from the cupboard and make myself my own favorite breakfast, a half cup of cottage cheese dumped into a bowl of Special K cereal, drizzled with honey, and mashed up with a fork.

  I look out the window over the sink. A thin film of snow blankets the tree branches, the crunchy brown grass.

  “Aaron, make me some Chex and Cheese,” Frankie says.

  “You can get your own food, Frankie.” But Aaron’s already bending to open the cereal cupboard. I sigh. “Don’t wait on him, Aaron. He’s bullying you. Frankie can take care of himself.”

  “I sure can. I dress myself and everything.”

  “Barely,” I say. Aaron sits back down at the table, and I pull out the chair next to him. “Tell me everything that happened. Where were you?”

  Aaron’s eyes dart to Frankie. A shadow passes over his face. “In a big house with lots of other boys.”

  “Were they nice to you?”

  Aaron gives a small shake of his head.

  Frankie snorts. “What do you think?”

  I turn on Frankie. “Did you protect him?”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Because he’s your brother, you idiot.” My voices rises. “That’s your job.”

  Frankie’s eyes fly open. “Screw you, Sid-ney! You weren’t even there. You got to stay at home and do nothing. Nobody dragged you away!”

  I ignore him and turn to Aaron. Adrenaline mixed with anxiety pumps through my veins. I dread what he might say, but I have to know. “Did anybody hurt you? Like, really hurt you? Did someone touch you? You need to tell me. Right now.”

  Aaron’s eyes are huge and watery, his face pale. “No-n-no,” he stutters.

  I sit back in my seat, take a breath.

  “Who died and made you the boss?” Frankie’s eyes darken. He flinches at his own words.

  Aaron sniffles.

  “Don’t be a baby,” I say automatically. Guilt washes over me. This is not who I am. I am not Frank. I will not be him. I would rather die than hurt them ever again. I grab Aaron’s hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. Okay?”

  He nods, manages a wisp of a smile.

  Aunt Ellie sashays into the kitchen, dressed in a white, embroidered peasant shirt and satin leggings. She’s wearing giant baguette earrings with diamond-crusted curtains of individual strings, ropes of rose-colored pearls around her neck, and rings with amber jewels the size of nickels. “Hurry up, boys! We’ve got shopping to do!” She fists her hands against her hips and surveys the counters. “I keep forgetting to buy a coffee maker. I don’t know how I’ve survived this long without my daily dose of caffeine. Let’s add it to the list.”

  “We have hot chocolate,” Aaron says.

  Aunt Ellie smiles at him, her thick foundation crinkling around her eyes and mouth. Her cheeks and lips are rouged candy apple red. “Not enough caffeine, my dear. These days, I feel like I need it injected directly into a vein. Are you coming with us, Sidney?”

  I’ll be injecting something into my veins for sure if I have to endure another shopping trip. “Too much homework. I’ve got to make up for everything I’ve missed.”

  Aunt Ellie nods. “We need to find an area rug. Maybe gray and blue stripes, maybe a white shag. I don’t know yet. The energy in that bedroom still isn’t right. We gotta make it look the way we want it to feel, right boys?”

  My little brothers just stare at her like she’s speaking another language.

  But Aunt Ellie doesn’t seem to notice. “And after that, Aaron, my dear, I thought we could pick up some things at Hobby Lobby so you could make something especially wonderful to take to your mom for her Christmas present.”

  “Like what?”

  Aunt Ellie waves her hand. “Oh, the usual. Rubber shapes, stamps, stickers. Yarn.”

  “Colored foil?” he asks, his voice so full of hope it makes my heart hurt.

  “Whatever your soul desires, my dear.”

  “Sounds gay to me,” Frankie mumbles into his cereal bowl.

  The muscles in Aaron’s face contract. “Is not!”

  “Of course it’s not. Mixed media collage is a well-respected form of art. Our dear Aaron has the talent to be a real artist, doesn’t he, Sidney?”

  “Yes, he does,” I say, gritting my teeth. “And don’t you ever call your brother that word again, Frankie. Do you hear me?”

  Frankie glowers. Aaron beams beneath the attention. “I’ll make the best collage ever. I can’t wait to give it to Ma!”

  He looks at me. His eyes hold a dark and uncanny perception I don’t like. I break eye contact first. What does he remember? What did he say to the police? Does he suspect me? Does he know? I need to talk to him, alone. As soon as possible.

  “Are you sure you can’t come with us, Sidney?” Aunt Ellie asks.

  “No thanks. Like I said, homework. And I need to take a shower.”

  “You stink like dirty socks, Sid-ney.”

  I roll my eyes. “Just go get dressed so Aunt Ellie can take you shopping. It’s quite the experience.”

  I dump my uneaten cereal mush into the trashcan and rinse off the bowl. My muscles are tense, but I force myself to relax. This isn’t how I wanted it to go our first day back together. Things are going to be different this time. They have to be. I have to be better. I have to do better.

  I took both of their parents away from them.

  I owe them.

  That night, I tuck Aaron in bed in his new Star Wars comforter. I bring him Ratty Bunny. He clutches the stuffed animal to his chest and kisses its soft head. “I missed you more than everything,” he whispers into its ear.

  “Aaron, I need to talk to you.” I run my fingers through his hair. “What did you say to the police? When they asked you questions?”

  His eyes are huge in the lamp light. He looks so young. “I told them what you told me. You weren’t there.”

  My body relaxes. I let out the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. “You didn’t say anything else? To anybody?”

  He shakes his head. “Sidney?”

  “What?”

  “Why’d I have to lie?”

  “Because. You were helping to keep us safe. And together. So I can still
watch over you. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  His simple, little kid trust nearly shatters my heart. I lean close and kiss his forehead. His eyelids start to slide closed. He’s tired. He probably hasn’t felt safe in his bed since they took him away. But he’s safe, now. Safe with me. “Good night, little man.”

  Later, I make him a message. I draw Ratty Bunny as a giant. He’s squeezing Aaron, Frankie, and me in a great big bear hug, squishing us all so tight the air poofs out of our mouths and makes our cheeks bright red circles. “Oof!” stick figure Aaron says, but he’s smiling. I fold the paper into a triangle and tuck it into our message spot.

  Now that the boys are home, I can’t sleep in their room anymore. I go back to my room and stare at my bed. All the bad things happened there. Dark memories clot in my brain. I shake them out of my head. I won’t sleep in that bed a single night more.

  I open my closet doors. I push an old sleeping bag and two cardboard boxes of old clothes out into the room. I unroll the sleeping bag, drag in my blanket and pillow, and curl up on the closet floor. I stare up at the rows of baggy T-shirts and sweatshirts. The one dress I own flutters like white moth’s wings above my knees. It smells musty in here. Dust tickles my nose. But it’s safer in here than out there.

  It takes a long time to fall asleep. Nightmares stalk my dreams. My mother and father, trapped in a pit, looking up at me with accusing eyes. They’re both covered in blood. “You did this to us!” my mother screams, over and over. I try to run away, but each time the earth crumbles beneath me and I keep sliding into the pit with them. Terror seizes me, and I wake up trembling and drenched in sweat.