Staycation, page 11
“All right, then. We are agreed. See ya’ll later.” He herded the child through the open doorway onto the porch. He took one step over the threshold before he stopped and turned back to say, “Do something with yourself while I’m out, okay? You look busted. Don’t look busted when I get home.” He eased the rest of his body through the doorway and pulled the door shut. The wooden frame rattled, and then a second later, the myriad of metal locks clicked into place, one by one, until one half of the Miller family was again locked in. He stood there on the porch, behind the front door in the real world, for a minute or two.
She wondered if anyone saw him leave. That Nosey Nellie, Mrs. Garriga, was probably watching. But there was one thing about Mrs. Garriga she knew for certain—she was all talk, and didn’t have the balls to do anything. The longer she let things go, the more juicy a tale the old bitty got to tell to her friends later.
She imagined he was lingering on the porch to see if she tried something stupid, like running through the front door twenty seconds after he had. Part of her wanted to do just that—get the keys, break the damned locks if she had to, and escape the Miller house, forcing the end of the game. Let him return to an empty house and wonder where they’d gone. But what about the young girl? What would happen to her once he realized the house and the game had been abandoned?
Poor, poor Fido.
No, she wouldn’t run. Not yet. He was likely watching the house from up the street. And she knew he’d chase her down and kill her in the middle of St. Augustine Place if he caught her trying to run. Or worse, kill the kids for her folly.
No, she decided as she listened for his heavy, plodding footsteps crossing the porch and going down the drive. Calling Grandma Miller was not only her best option but her only option. She just prayed the old woman was home and not sitting in front of a slot machine somewhere on the Vegas Strip.
35
Summertime, and the Living’s Not Easy
“I’m hot,” the young boy whined.
“I am, too.” The power had only been off for fifteen minutes at most, and the house already felt twenty degrees warmer. It hadn’t gotten that hot so quickly, but she knew it would soon enough if the power didn’t come back on. The small drip of sweat down her back had turned into a flowing river. She felt sticky all over. Every stitch of clothing hugged and squeezed her slick skin. “Why don’t you take a shower?”
“But, Mommmyyy! I’m hot! Why would I take a shower if I’m hot?”
“A cold shower, dummy.”
“A cold shower? Why would anyone wanna take a cold shower?”
She knew of a few reasons. At school, leering boys would sometimes joke about needing a cold shower after “Double-D Debbie” jiggled down the hall. And while she wasn’t entirely sure why they needed a cold shower, she assumed it had something to do with the things between their legs that magically sprung to life in Debbie’s presence. “To cool yourself down, silly.”
“Oh. Yeah.” The young boy giggled.
“Go on and try it. I bet you’ll like it.”
“Okay. But, Mommy?”
“Yes?”
“I’ll be back,” The Boy said in a robotic, lifeless voice and then disappeared up the stairs.
The bathroom door slammed shut, followed by the sound of the shower faucet turning on. Have to make it quick. Pick up the phone and call Grandma Miller before he gets back. I don’t know how long he’ll last in the shower.
She held the receiver to her ear and tapped the hook switch several times until she heard the hum of a dial tone in her ear. There was a steady tone, and then five fast tones, followed by a steady tone again. Messages. There were messages. She stared at the keypad. It had been so long since they had any messages to retrieve that she couldn’t remember the password.
1-1-1-1? No.
0-0-0-0? No.
6-9-6-9? No.
1-2-3-4. Bingo, she was in.
The electronic attendant said, “Hello. Your mailbox is full. You have… twenty-nine new messages… and… six saved messages. Main menu. Press one to hear new messages. Press two to hear saved messages. Or press pound to exit the system.”
She pressed one.
“First new message. ‘Hey, yeah, Bill. Todd Rudledge here. Just wanted to see if you’ve given any more thought to switching to BX Health. The coverage looks comparable, and the rates are competitive. Anyway, give me a call when you’re back from vacation. Bye now.’”
Press one to replay message. Press two to save message. Press three to erase message. Press four to skip to the next new message. Or press pound to exit to the main menu.
She nervously pressed two. He might want to hear the message later when the game was over. “Message saved.”
“Next new message. ‘Denise, hiiiiiiiiii. It’s Joanne. Joanne Garriga from next door. I know you’re on vacation, but I wasn’t sure if we were supposed to collect your mail. Mr. Buchanan says it’s piling up over there. I can hold it, no problem. I guess if you hear this, just give me a buzz, okay? Okay.’”
This time after the instructions, she pressed three.
Message erased.
“Next new message. ‘Good morning, William Miller. I’m calling about the warranty on your—’”
She didn’t need to hear the entire message before pressing three.
Next new message.
“… press one to make a payment on your Riverside Cable account now. Press two to make a payment arrangement. Or press three to speak to a billing specialist. Press nine to repeat these options.”
She tapped three.
Message erased.
“Next new message. ‘Yeah, Bill. It’s Mike. Not sure if you’re checking emails on vacation, but we really need to talk about the Hillings account ASAP. I know you’re technically out, but please call me at the office or at home. This can’t wait until next week.’”
She hit two.
Message saved. Next new message.
“Yeah, Bill. Mike again. Call me.”
She didn’t wait for the attendant to complete their menu of options before she pressed two.
Message saved. Next new message.
“Yeah, Bill. It’s Mike. Again. Where the fuck are you, man? We need to talk. Call me. I’ll try your cell. Again. Okay.”
She pressed two.
Message saved.
The uneasy feeling in her stomach grew stronger with each new message. Mike sounded concerned. Angry and concerned. Mike had no idea where Billy was.
Next new message.
“Your shutoff has been scheduled due to nonpayment. To make a payment by phone and avoid interruption, press zero to speak to a representative.”
She swallowed hard and pressed two.
Message saved. Next new message.
“Bill. It’s Mike. This is serious. Where are you? Call me. Today. I mean it.”
She tapped two.
Message saved. Next new message.
“Hello! It’s Grandma Miller. Just wanted to see how everyone is doing. I know you’re planning your staycation thing this week, but I haven’t heard from you in a few days, and I’m getting worried. Give an old lady a call, won’t you, Billy? Love you! Mwah!”
Grandma Miller, she cried as she pressed two.
Message saved. Next new message.
“Seriously, Bill. If I don’t hear from you by the end of the day, you’re fired.”
She wanted to throw up.
Message saved. Next new message.
“Hi, it’s Joanne again. From next door. Mr. Buchanan said you stopped the mail. There was some overflow, so I have it here whenever you guys get back. Alrighty. Enjoy your vacation!”
Message erased.
That’s why Mr. Buchanan never came back around, she realized at once. He must have snuck out to fill in the form or… used one of the confiscated devices to do it online before the internet got shut off.
Next new message.
“Your desk and office have been boxed up, Bill. You can pick your stuff up at the front desk whenever you pull your head out of your ass. Your severance will be sent separately. Good luck, man. It’s a tough market out there. What the fuck were you thinking?”
Message saved.
Billy had been fired. Did he know? Where was he? If Mike didn’t know, then who did? She thought of the note he’d read before they’d all agreed to play the game. Now she wondered if Billy had written it at all.
Next new message.
“Billy? It’s your Ma. Call me, okay? I’m worried. Mwah.”
Message saved. Next new message.
“It’s urgent that we speak with you today. Your shutoff has been scheduled due to nonpayment. To make a payment by phone and avoid interruption, press zero to speak to a representative.”
Message saved. Next new message.
“Hello? Is anybody home? It’s Grandma Miller. Billy? Where is everybody? Denise? Mary? Junior? Toby? Justin? Alex? Hello? Will somebody please call me back? Anybody? It’s Grandma Miller. Mwah!”
Message saved. Next new message.
“This is Go-TEL. We need to discuss the past due balance on you cellular—”
Message saved. Next new message.
There was some sobbing before, “I’m sorry, man. I am. But where the hell are you? Call me. It’s Mike. We’ll work something—”
Message saved. Next new message.
“Billy, Denise… I’m coming out there.” It was Grandma Miller again. “You’ve made me do this. You’re not answering any of my calls or messages. All I have to say is you’d better be dead when I get out there. Otherwise, I’ll kill you both myself for ignoring me. Hope all is well. See you in a day or so. Love you. Mwah!”
She let the full message play and waited for the timestamp. It was two days ago. That meant Grandma Miller was due to arrive any time now, if she hadn’t gotten into town already. But she hadn’t heard anyone at the door. The buzzer hadn’t so much as made a peep since Mr. Buchanan rang it a bit excessively.
She knew Grandma Miller wouldn’t stop at a hotel or to eat, especially if she thought her Billy was in trouble. She’d probably come with the cavalry, breaking down the door and everything. At least, she hoped Grandma Miller would bring help. No matter how sturdy she appeared, the woman was almost ninety-five freaking years old. One good slip and fall could do her in. Still, showing up and being there might be enough. He feared her. Hell, everyone did. He’d shit a load of bricks if he heard her at the door.
Next new message.
She hung up, held down the hook switch, and then released it. The voice attendant’s monotone voice had been replaced by the hum of the dial tone. Carefully, she placed the receiver on top of the phone, just as he had done. She kept fidgeting with it, moving it this way and that until it looked picture-perfect. If she couldn’t spot the difference, he sure as shit wouldn’t be able to, either.
Okay, she thought. She’s coming. Grandma Miller is coming. Help is coming. This will all be over soon. Probably today. She’ll come, and everything will be okay. I’ll tell her about Fido. Poor, poor Fido. Maybe we can still find him. Grandma will get the power and internet back on. We can call Mr. O’Hare at Daddy’s job. Go to the Grub Mart and get some real food. Yes. That’s what we’ll do. Everything is going to be all right.
Relief washed over her. The muscles in her shoulders finally dropped and the ball of angst that had moved into her stomach vanished. She smiled then. And why not? Grandma Miller was coming. She might even be here before he got back with the ice. And my, won’t he be surprised when he walks in and sees her scowl? She saw it so clearly in her head and tried not to laugh aloud as she pictured the look of absolute horror on his face when he walked in and saw Grandma Miller. Hands on her roomy hips, foot tapping a mile a minute.
But what she didn’t know was that she was on the smooth part of the roller coaster before it gets bumpy and climbs higher and higher into the heavens—that’s when the fear takes over and panic sets in. Staring down at the drop from the top of the world, knowing any little miscalculation could derail the whole goddamned ride and kill everyone instantly. As with any good thrill ride, there would be screams. Lots of screams to come. And yes, there would be blood. She just entered the home stretch. The clock began ticking down to the end.
“Mom?”
The young boy entered the kitchen while she was lost in her granny rescue fantasy. Everything is going to be all right.
“Mom?”
Everything is going to be all right.
“Mom!”
Everything is going to be—
“MARY!” the child finally screamed.
She spun around, slapped out of her daze by the sound of her name. Her true name. The panic returned instantly. The child has broken the rules. Broken character. There will be punishment. Maybe for us both. He mustn’t find out. Help is coming. Everything will be all right. If we can just—
“Mary,” the child cried, holding up a hand. “I’m bleeding, Mary. Why am I bleeding?”
Mary looked at the young girl no longer pretending to be a boy and saw the fresh blood smeared across her fingers. And then she looked lower, between the girl’s legs, and saw the red-stained cotton undies she wore. The girl, Mary’s younger sister, had gotten her first period.
“Oh no, Alex,” Mary cried, softly at first and then full-on sobbing. “Oh, no.” She ran to comfort Alex, who had begun to cry as well. Mary threw her arms around Alex and rocked her gently side to side. The child thought she was dying, slowly bleeding to death from her “hoo-hoo.”
“I don’t wanna die, Mary! Help me!”
Mary laughed a little, recalling how she also thought she would exsanguinate through her vagina when she had her first menstrual cycle only a few years earlier. “You’re not going to die, silly. Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up. I’ll show you what to do.”
She reluctantly broke their embrace, forcing Alex to separate from her, and wiped the tears streaming down the young girl’s cheeks. Mary was about to take Alex by the hand and lead her back upstairs to the bathroom to tell her all about the wonderful world of becoming a woman when she realized an awful truth. He might get home before Grandma Miller arrives. Alex can’t have her period. In the game, Alex is a boy, and boys don’t menstruate. She’ll be breaking character if she has her period. Breaking the rules.
“Alex?”
“Yeah, Mary?”
“You can’t tell Junior.”
36
The Second Interlude
Cast-Iron Cassie boarded the stuffy Delta 747 at five fifty on Saturday morning, several days after initially deciding to fly east and one day after leaving her last message on the Miller’s electronic voicemail. She hated leaving messages because she knew people—sometimes the Millers—sat by their devices, screening their calls.
Why have a telephone if you’re not going to answer the darned thing? It’s just rude, she would say when she finally got her Billy on the line, and he’d try to soothe the scorned old woman with some fanciful story about running errands or running the kids somewhere, but, somehow, she knew. Cast-Iron Cassie always knew. That woman could smell bullshit from twenty-five hundred miles away over antiquated copper wires.
She also hated the sound of her own bassy, throaty voice. Mary sometimes saved the messages just to play them back when she visited around the holidays. Oh, Grandma, you’re so funny, Mary would cackle as Cassie cringed, listening to the sound of her own pre-recorded voice. Mary was a good kid, one of the best. This was her only vice, so Cassie let it slide. Besides, she knew Mary adored her, and it was all in good fun.
Now, if it had been Junior pulling the playback shenanigans, she would have whopped that boy’s behind until it was redder than a lobster’s ass. And she would’ve enjoyed that. Junior was no Mary. If Mary was the saint of the family, then Junior was its resident sinner. And Junior’s proclivity to darkness only worsened when he started listening to Dakotah Dark, the Swedish occult rock star who performed a black mass onstage—and not long after, disappeared in Berlin after a supposed car crash in the early eighties. Rumors persisted that Dark had conjured something on that stage. Something unholy.
There was always something off about Junior. Even before the music.
He wasn’t the oldest of the Miller brood. Justin was the firstborn, but even he was afraid of Junior.
What Cassie didn’t know was that more often than not, Justin would give in and just do whatever Junior wanted, like spying on Mary in the shower through a peephole he’d dug into the wall or browsing the web for graphic torture videos. They’d watch the latest uncensored ISIS beheading, or drug mules being gutted by the cartel. The stuff gave Justin nightmares and Junior an erection.
Junior was obsessed with death as a kid. Rather than put a struggling insect or animal out of its misery, Junior liked to watch them die… as slowly as possible. A bunch of kids got caught throwing rocks and sticks at some stray cats near the train yard near St. Augustine Place. Junior was not among those detained, but Cassie was not only sure that Junior had been there, but that he’d been the ringleader. But Billy stuck up for Junior, defended the boy as usual. You got him all wrong, Ma. Junior’s a good kid and would never do something like that. Not in a million years. She heard his words in her head as though he were saying them now. Junior’s a good kid.
In the animal world, some mothers ate their young. And there had been plenty of times since Junior had been born that Cassie had wished to the Almighty that Denise had devoured that infant. She’d been around long enough to know how to spot rotten fruit, and Junior was rotten to the core. And that was the one thing no parent, no matter how hip, wanted to hear.
I’m sorry, dear, but your kid is a bit of an asshole. More tea?
No parent took that news well. Most of the time, an asshole kid meant asshole parents. But that was not the case with Junior. Billy and Denise were wonderful parents and good people, although Cassie would never admit either. No point in giving anyone a swelled head.
She had bought a seat in economy, knowing full well she’d get an upgrade at the airport, which she did. Now she sat in the window seat of the last row in first class, chewing at her fingers—something she hadn’t done since she was a teenager. For a brief time, around the onset of puberty, Cassie suffered severe bouts of anxiety and would sometimes gnaw her fingers almost right down to the bone.
She wondered if anyone saw him leave. That Nosey Nellie, Mrs. Garriga, was probably watching. But there was one thing about Mrs. Garriga she knew for certain—she was all talk, and didn’t have the balls to do anything. The longer she let things go, the more juicy a tale the old bitty got to tell to her friends later.
She imagined he was lingering on the porch to see if she tried something stupid, like running through the front door twenty seconds after he had. Part of her wanted to do just that—get the keys, break the damned locks if she had to, and escape the Miller house, forcing the end of the game. Let him return to an empty house and wonder where they’d gone. But what about the young girl? What would happen to her once he realized the house and the game had been abandoned?
Poor, poor Fido.
No, she wouldn’t run. Not yet. He was likely watching the house from up the street. And she knew he’d chase her down and kill her in the middle of St. Augustine Place if he caught her trying to run. Or worse, kill the kids for her folly.
No, she decided as she listened for his heavy, plodding footsteps crossing the porch and going down the drive. Calling Grandma Miller was not only her best option but her only option. She just prayed the old woman was home and not sitting in front of a slot machine somewhere on the Vegas Strip.
35
Summertime, and the Living’s Not Easy
“I’m hot,” the young boy whined.
“I am, too.” The power had only been off for fifteen minutes at most, and the house already felt twenty degrees warmer. It hadn’t gotten that hot so quickly, but she knew it would soon enough if the power didn’t come back on. The small drip of sweat down her back had turned into a flowing river. She felt sticky all over. Every stitch of clothing hugged and squeezed her slick skin. “Why don’t you take a shower?”
“But, Mommmyyy! I’m hot! Why would I take a shower if I’m hot?”
“A cold shower, dummy.”
“A cold shower? Why would anyone wanna take a cold shower?”
She knew of a few reasons. At school, leering boys would sometimes joke about needing a cold shower after “Double-D Debbie” jiggled down the hall. And while she wasn’t entirely sure why they needed a cold shower, she assumed it had something to do with the things between their legs that magically sprung to life in Debbie’s presence. “To cool yourself down, silly.”
“Oh. Yeah.” The young boy giggled.
“Go on and try it. I bet you’ll like it.”
“Okay. But, Mommy?”
“Yes?”
“I’ll be back,” The Boy said in a robotic, lifeless voice and then disappeared up the stairs.
The bathroom door slammed shut, followed by the sound of the shower faucet turning on. Have to make it quick. Pick up the phone and call Grandma Miller before he gets back. I don’t know how long he’ll last in the shower.
She held the receiver to her ear and tapped the hook switch several times until she heard the hum of a dial tone in her ear. There was a steady tone, and then five fast tones, followed by a steady tone again. Messages. There were messages. She stared at the keypad. It had been so long since they had any messages to retrieve that she couldn’t remember the password.
1-1-1-1? No.
0-0-0-0? No.
6-9-6-9? No.
1-2-3-4. Bingo, she was in.
The electronic attendant said, “Hello. Your mailbox is full. You have… twenty-nine new messages… and… six saved messages. Main menu. Press one to hear new messages. Press two to hear saved messages. Or press pound to exit the system.”
She pressed one.
“First new message. ‘Hey, yeah, Bill. Todd Rudledge here. Just wanted to see if you’ve given any more thought to switching to BX Health. The coverage looks comparable, and the rates are competitive. Anyway, give me a call when you’re back from vacation. Bye now.’”
Press one to replay message. Press two to save message. Press three to erase message. Press four to skip to the next new message. Or press pound to exit to the main menu.
She nervously pressed two. He might want to hear the message later when the game was over. “Message saved.”
“Next new message. ‘Denise, hiiiiiiiiii. It’s Joanne. Joanne Garriga from next door. I know you’re on vacation, but I wasn’t sure if we were supposed to collect your mail. Mr. Buchanan says it’s piling up over there. I can hold it, no problem. I guess if you hear this, just give me a buzz, okay? Okay.’”
This time after the instructions, she pressed three.
Message erased.
“Next new message. ‘Good morning, William Miller. I’m calling about the warranty on your—’”
She didn’t need to hear the entire message before pressing three.
Next new message.
“… press one to make a payment on your Riverside Cable account now. Press two to make a payment arrangement. Or press three to speak to a billing specialist. Press nine to repeat these options.”
She tapped three.
Message erased.
“Next new message. ‘Yeah, Bill. It’s Mike. Not sure if you’re checking emails on vacation, but we really need to talk about the Hillings account ASAP. I know you’re technically out, but please call me at the office or at home. This can’t wait until next week.’”
She hit two.
Message saved. Next new message.
“Yeah, Bill. Mike again. Call me.”
She didn’t wait for the attendant to complete their menu of options before she pressed two.
Message saved. Next new message.
“Yeah, Bill. It’s Mike. Again. Where the fuck are you, man? We need to talk. Call me. I’ll try your cell. Again. Okay.”
She pressed two.
Message saved.
The uneasy feeling in her stomach grew stronger with each new message. Mike sounded concerned. Angry and concerned. Mike had no idea where Billy was.
Next new message.
“Your shutoff has been scheduled due to nonpayment. To make a payment by phone and avoid interruption, press zero to speak to a representative.”
She swallowed hard and pressed two.
Message saved. Next new message.
“Bill. It’s Mike. This is serious. Where are you? Call me. Today. I mean it.”
She tapped two.
Message saved. Next new message.
“Hello! It’s Grandma Miller. Just wanted to see how everyone is doing. I know you’re planning your staycation thing this week, but I haven’t heard from you in a few days, and I’m getting worried. Give an old lady a call, won’t you, Billy? Love you! Mwah!”
Grandma Miller, she cried as she pressed two.
Message saved. Next new message.
“Seriously, Bill. If I don’t hear from you by the end of the day, you’re fired.”
She wanted to throw up.
Message saved. Next new message.
“Hi, it’s Joanne again. From next door. Mr. Buchanan said you stopped the mail. There was some overflow, so I have it here whenever you guys get back. Alrighty. Enjoy your vacation!”
Message erased.
That’s why Mr. Buchanan never came back around, she realized at once. He must have snuck out to fill in the form or… used one of the confiscated devices to do it online before the internet got shut off.
Next new message.
“Your desk and office have been boxed up, Bill. You can pick your stuff up at the front desk whenever you pull your head out of your ass. Your severance will be sent separately. Good luck, man. It’s a tough market out there. What the fuck were you thinking?”
Message saved.
Billy had been fired. Did he know? Where was he? If Mike didn’t know, then who did? She thought of the note he’d read before they’d all agreed to play the game. Now she wondered if Billy had written it at all.
Next new message.
“Billy? It’s your Ma. Call me, okay? I’m worried. Mwah.”
Message saved. Next new message.
“It’s urgent that we speak with you today. Your shutoff has been scheduled due to nonpayment. To make a payment by phone and avoid interruption, press zero to speak to a representative.”
Message saved. Next new message.
“Hello? Is anybody home? It’s Grandma Miller. Billy? Where is everybody? Denise? Mary? Junior? Toby? Justin? Alex? Hello? Will somebody please call me back? Anybody? It’s Grandma Miller. Mwah!”
Message saved. Next new message.
“This is Go-TEL. We need to discuss the past due balance on you cellular—”
Message saved. Next new message.
There was some sobbing before, “I’m sorry, man. I am. But where the hell are you? Call me. It’s Mike. We’ll work something—”
Message saved. Next new message.
“Billy, Denise… I’m coming out there.” It was Grandma Miller again. “You’ve made me do this. You’re not answering any of my calls or messages. All I have to say is you’d better be dead when I get out there. Otherwise, I’ll kill you both myself for ignoring me. Hope all is well. See you in a day or so. Love you. Mwah!”
She let the full message play and waited for the timestamp. It was two days ago. That meant Grandma Miller was due to arrive any time now, if she hadn’t gotten into town already. But she hadn’t heard anyone at the door. The buzzer hadn’t so much as made a peep since Mr. Buchanan rang it a bit excessively.
She knew Grandma Miller wouldn’t stop at a hotel or to eat, especially if she thought her Billy was in trouble. She’d probably come with the cavalry, breaking down the door and everything. At least, she hoped Grandma Miller would bring help. No matter how sturdy she appeared, the woman was almost ninety-five freaking years old. One good slip and fall could do her in. Still, showing up and being there might be enough. He feared her. Hell, everyone did. He’d shit a load of bricks if he heard her at the door.
Next new message.
She hung up, held down the hook switch, and then released it. The voice attendant’s monotone voice had been replaced by the hum of the dial tone. Carefully, she placed the receiver on top of the phone, just as he had done. She kept fidgeting with it, moving it this way and that until it looked picture-perfect. If she couldn’t spot the difference, he sure as shit wouldn’t be able to, either.
Okay, she thought. She’s coming. Grandma Miller is coming. Help is coming. This will all be over soon. Probably today. She’ll come, and everything will be okay. I’ll tell her about Fido. Poor, poor Fido. Maybe we can still find him. Grandma will get the power and internet back on. We can call Mr. O’Hare at Daddy’s job. Go to the Grub Mart and get some real food. Yes. That’s what we’ll do. Everything is going to be all right.
Relief washed over her. The muscles in her shoulders finally dropped and the ball of angst that had moved into her stomach vanished. She smiled then. And why not? Grandma Miller was coming. She might even be here before he got back with the ice. And my, won’t he be surprised when he walks in and sees her scowl? She saw it so clearly in her head and tried not to laugh aloud as she pictured the look of absolute horror on his face when he walked in and saw Grandma Miller. Hands on her roomy hips, foot tapping a mile a minute.
But what she didn’t know was that she was on the smooth part of the roller coaster before it gets bumpy and climbs higher and higher into the heavens—that’s when the fear takes over and panic sets in. Staring down at the drop from the top of the world, knowing any little miscalculation could derail the whole goddamned ride and kill everyone instantly. As with any good thrill ride, there would be screams. Lots of screams to come. And yes, there would be blood. She just entered the home stretch. The clock began ticking down to the end.
“Mom?”
The young boy entered the kitchen while she was lost in her granny rescue fantasy. Everything is going to be all right.
“Mom?”
Everything is going to be all right.
“Mom!”
Everything is going to be—
“MARY!” the child finally screamed.
She spun around, slapped out of her daze by the sound of her name. Her true name. The panic returned instantly. The child has broken the rules. Broken character. There will be punishment. Maybe for us both. He mustn’t find out. Help is coming. Everything will be all right. If we can just—
“Mary,” the child cried, holding up a hand. “I’m bleeding, Mary. Why am I bleeding?”
Mary looked at the young girl no longer pretending to be a boy and saw the fresh blood smeared across her fingers. And then she looked lower, between the girl’s legs, and saw the red-stained cotton undies she wore. The girl, Mary’s younger sister, had gotten her first period.
“Oh no, Alex,” Mary cried, softly at first and then full-on sobbing. “Oh, no.” She ran to comfort Alex, who had begun to cry as well. Mary threw her arms around Alex and rocked her gently side to side. The child thought she was dying, slowly bleeding to death from her “hoo-hoo.”
“I don’t wanna die, Mary! Help me!”
Mary laughed a little, recalling how she also thought she would exsanguinate through her vagina when she had her first menstrual cycle only a few years earlier. “You’re not going to die, silly. Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up. I’ll show you what to do.”
She reluctantly broke their embrace, forcing Alex to separate from her, and wiped the tears streaming down the young girl’s cheeks. Mary was about to take Alex by the hand and lead her back upstairs to the bathroom to tell her all about the wonderful world of becoming a woman when she realized an awful truth. He might get home before Grandma Miller arrives. Alex can’t have her period. In the game, Alex is a boy, and boys don’t menstruate. She’ll be breaking character if she has her period. Breaking the rules.
“Alex?”
“Yeah, Mary?”
“You can’t tell Junior.”
36
The Second Interlude
Cast-Iron Cassie boarded the stuffy Delta 747 at five fifty on Saturday morning, several days after initially deciding to fly east and one day after leaving her last message on the Miller’s electronic voicemail. She hated leaving messages because she knew people—sometimes the Millers—sat by their devices, screening their calls.
Why have a telephone if you’re not going to answer the darned thing? It’s just rude, she would say when she finally got her Billy on the line, and he’d try to soothe the scorned old woman with some fanciful story about running errands or running the kids somewhere, but, somehow, she knew. Cast-Iron Cassie always knew. That woman could smell bullshit from twenty-five hundred miles away over antiquated copper wires.
She also hated the sound of her own bassy, throaty voice. Mary sometimes saved the messages just to play them back when she visited around the holidays. Oh, Grandma, you’re so funny, Mary would cackle as Cassie cringed, listening to the sound of her own pre-recorded voice. Mary was a good kid, one of the best. This was her only vice, so Cassie let it slide. Besides, she knew Mary adored her, and it was all in good fun.
Now, if it had been Junior pulling the playback shenanigans, she would have whopped that boy’s behind until it was redder than a lobster’s ass. And she would’ve enjoyed that. Junior was no Mary. If Mary was the saint of the family, then Junior was its resident sinner. And Junior’s proclivity to darkness only worsened when he started listening to Dakotah Dark, the Swedish occult rock star who performed a black mass onstage—and not long after, disappeared in Berlin after a supposed car crash in the early eighties. Rumors persisted that Dark had conjured something on that stage. Something unholy.
There was always something off about Junior. Even before the music.
He wasn’t the oldest of the Miller brood. Justin was the firstborn, but even he was afraid of Junior.
What Cassie didn’t know was that more often than not, Justin would give in and just do whatever Junior wanted, like spying on Mary in the shower through a peephole he’d dug into the wall or browsing the web for graphic torture videos. They’d watch the latest uncensored ISIS beheading, or drug mules being gutted by the cartel. The stuff gave Justin nightmares and Junior an erection.
Junior was obsessed with death as a kid. Rather than put a struggling insect or animal out of its misery, Junior liked to watch them die… as slowly as possible. A bunch of kids got caught throwing rocks and sticks at some stray cats near the train yard near St. Augustine Place. Junior was not among those detained, but Cassie was not only sure that Junior had been there, but that he’d been the ringleader. But Billy stuck up for Junior, defended the boy as usual. You got him all wrong, Ma. Junior’s a good kid and would never do something like that. Not in a million years. She heard his words in her head as though he were saying them now. Junior’s a good kid.
In the animal world, some mothers ate their young. And there had been plenty of times since Junior had been born that Cassie had wished to the Almighty that Denise had devoured that infant. She’d been around long enough to know how to spot rotten fruit, and Junior was rotten to the core. And that was the one thing no parent, no matter how hip, wanted to hear.
I’m sorry, dear, but your kid is a bit of an asshole. More tea?
No parent took that news well. Most of the time, an asshole kid meant asshole parents. But that was not the case with Junior. Billy and Denise were wonderful parents and good people, although Cassie would never admit either. No point in giving anyone a swelled head.
She had bought a seat in economy, knowing full well she’d get an upgrade at the airport, which she did. Now she sat in the window seat of the last row in first class, chewing at her fingers—something she hadn’t done since she was a teenager. For a brief time, around the onset of puberty, Cassie suffered severe bouts of anxiety and would sometimes gnaw her fingers almost right down to the bone.
