Lilith Saintcrow - Harmony, page 26
But it sounded really good, or so the non-Harmonies agreed.
Not a single one of them had left.
53
Rumors
By the time we finished clearing the pavilion for lunch, rumors were already flying.
“Cops just hate people who’re different.” Clover took one end of a bench, I took the other, and we carried it to its allotted table. Buzzing and soft consternation echoed under the soft chorus of Harmony’s Sunday.
Dad followed, hefting a long wooden bench all on his own. “You sound like Shade.”
Hearing him say Mom’s name was…weird. She hated to be called Ellen, it was always her middle name or nothing. “She was right.” My voice sounded a little funny, probably because I was breathless. We were moving fast. Everyone was hungry, I guess, and relieved. “They’re mean.”
Dad shook his head. “Just people with jobs, that’s all. Your own grandfather was a cop, dumplin’.”
“Yeah, well, maybe that was why Mom knew.” I straightened from setting the bench down, realizing Clover was standing right there too. “Clover?” Trying not to sound anxious. “What’s going to happen? What did he want, did you hear?”
Clover shrugged. “I’d have to talk to Father. I do know they didn’t like us in California, and that’s part of why we moved.”
“What was the other part?” Nobody talked about it, really. Sometimes they mentioned little things about California, like remember the old place and where we used to, but as for what made them move, all I had was the hints in the newspapers.
“Well, we got this property, and Father Jim said maybe it was a good idea to go somewhere we weren’t paying rent on the land, and where there were actual seasons too.” She stretched, her fists pressed into her lower back, leaning and pressing like it felt good. I didn’t feel any pain from her, though. “He was right, of course.”
Maybe I could find out some more, if I just knew the right questions to ask. “Do you miss California?”
“Not much. This is home.” She pointed. “Over there, Earl. Heavens, you’re strong.”
Dad hefted another bench like it weighed nothing. “Comes from healthy living.” The line between his eyebrows was getting deeper, though. “Val takes after her mama, though. Teensy as a baby bird.”
“I could still get taller,” I objected, the way I did every time he said that.
“Sure you could.” His big booming laugh was cut in half by the bench hitting the floor precisely where it needed to be. “And I could shi—I mean, I could poop roses.”
It was funnier with the shit, but I guess it was hilarious enough for Clover, who also laughed, cupping her hand over her mouth like she was afraid of getting caught. Maybe she was, because Father was up at the stage, his arm around a blinking, much calmer Mother Carole. Owen wasn’t at the piano, and Sarah had disappeared too. I heard little snatches while going around to straighten tables and get the silverware containers on each one, the benches and chairs pushed in just so, each table surface checked and wiped so Harmony could eat neat and mannerly.
Something about drugs. No, it was from California. I heard some guy saying he used to be blind. No, no, the cop has a kid with some sort of disease and he wants Father to…Detective means someone’s dead, doesn’t it? No, it could be something else. Drugs. No, it can’t be, they’re all organic. If the cop had anything, he would have arrested him, right? He’s helping out with an investigation. Drugs. It’s all right, Father will tell us. It’s just like California, they won’t leave us alone. Father will tell us. I don’t know about you, but he’s a good preacher. They sure don’t look like druggies, except their hair…
We had Sunday lunch as usual, cleaned up like usual, but nervousness settled and smoked through the air. There was going to be a Meeting Circle when the visitors went home. There wasn’t going to be a circle, just a talk. Father was considering moving us again. Poor Father. Someone had Done Something and Father had to turn them over to the authorities.
The last gave me a shiver. I wasn’t quite sure what I was thinking, but it wasn’t pleasant, and it had to do with smoke and a bright shiny metal slide.
“Hey.” Ben caught my arm, stepping out from between two cafeteria tables with dark wooden tops. His skin almost matched their shine, a gloss-healthy deepness. “I have to talk to you.”
“I’m kind of busy—” I began, his his face changed just a little, and I braced myself. “Okay. What?”
“Come on.” He tugged my arm; I followed to one of the side doors, propped open. Outside, it was so bright it seemed bleached after the electric light inside. Sunshine makes things look different than electricity can. It gilded the edges of Ben’s fuzzy hair and brought out the highlights in his skin. Smooth and gleaming, he was just like a statue. With that nose and his carved mouth, big shoulders over a back narrowing perfectly to his hips, he could model if he wanted to.
He dropped my arm, and I jerked down the hem of my T-shirt. It was too short, especially if I was going to be moving fast and bending to put things away or clean them, but it was what I’d grabbed from the laundry this morning and that was that.
Ben glanced around, making sure we were alone. Or at least, as alone as you could be with a crowd of people milling around the Pavilion, the Harmonies doing tasks and the visitors chatting, breaking up into groups, chasing children, whispering about what they’d seen, or felt, or heard.
“Look,” he began, “it wasn’t right, okay? I know it wasn’t, but that’s just how she is.”
I stared at him for about five seconds, trying to catch up. “Who?”
“Ingrid.” He folded his arms, his own blue T-shirt straining over muscles. “She’s got it rough, with that sister of hers, and her dad being boxed twice too.”
I opened my mouth to ask him what boxing was, decided not to halfway, and searched for something appropriate to say. Sunshine lay over my shoulders, a warm, forgiving touch. I settled on a cautious, “I don’t hold grudges.”
“Everyone says that.” He rolled his eyes. “And nobody means it. I know Father’s pissed off, but her family’s got all it can handle, all right? Can you just…look, please, just don’t hold it against her.”
Wow. “You really like her.” I could have clapped both hands over my mouth and smacked myself at the same time. It just fell out. “I mean, sorry. You’re really nice, Ben.”
He brushed aside my faint attempt at a compliment with the contempt it probably deserved. “Yeah, well, listen. You won’t stay golden forever, you know? You might need someone to help you out one of these days. Right?”
Duh. Then again, I couldn’t blame him for thinking I was stupid. Maybe I am, but most of the time I just don’t say a goddamn thing and people think I haven’t noticed.
I do, though. All the time. “What do you want me to do? She and Gabby were, like, my only friends. I don’t care about the rest of it, I just wish…” I couldn’t even say what I wished. I settled for the most banal thing possible. “I wish she’d relax, okay? We’re fine.”
He examined me intently. Thin threads of hazel in his irises glinted. “Okay,” he said, finally. “I’ll tell her.”
“Look, if Ingrid needs anything, all she has to do is tell me.” I remember her knocking Sandy Gibson over, before she even knew me. “I can’t control what Owen does, okay? But I’m not some backstabbing bitch. She’s got nothing to worry about from me.”
“Good.” He looked like he wanted to say more, but someone called his name and he whirled guiltily away, setting off at a fast walk.
I stood there, in the sunshine, cold all over.
54
You Never Admit
“Dad?” I pulled my knees up on the futon couch, careful to still keep my boots dangling off the edge. No reason to get gravel or mud where he slept.
“Hm?” A splashing—he was washing his hands, again. He did that a lot, maybe trying to get the engine grease all the way out instead of just mostly gone. “You should go get some sun, dumplin’.”
Was he trying to say he wanted some time to himself? I’d lived in places this size with Mom before, but maybe he needed some space. Still, I forged ahead. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.” His elbow moved—he dried his hands on the neatly mended blue towels. I wished I’d said a more cheerful color, like deep orange, or bright green, or something like sunflowers. Instead, I’d picked boring old blue. “What’s on your mind?”
There was no other way to say it. “Are you happy here?”
His elbow paused. His shadow moved, a restless little twitch, as he hung the towel up carefully. “Oh, I’m comfortable anywhere.”
It was the sort of thing Mom might have said, so I persisted like I would have with her. “But are you happy?”
He opened the door the rest of the way and regarded me with his bright, bright blue eyes. His hair had grown a little bit, and it looked nice. Less military, a little softer. You could see the teenage boy he must’ve been, though it was weird to think of either him or Mom as my age. I mean, Mom was easier, but Dad…he might as well always have been a grownup, right? He just looked like it. Always serious, and always careful.
After a few moments of considering, he leaned gingerly against the doorway’s side. “Just what are you asking, Val?”
“I want to know if you like it here, if you’re happy.” That summed it up. Mom would have understood what I was asking, and I felt a sharp uneasy pinch behind my breastbone. “That’s all.”
“You think I’m not happy?”
Did he mean he wasn’t, and was just too polite to say so? Maybe I should try to read his mind. It was bound to be better than Travis’s. “I want to be sure, Dad. That’s why I’m asking.”
“Well, I figure this is good for you. Someone always here when you’re home from school, neighbors to help out, you know. Your friends, too. I never hear you talk about your old friends.”
That’s because I didn’t have any. Well, there had been Tamara, but that was more like we’d been tossed into the snakepit together and took turns fending vipers off with sticks. It wasn’t like we were soulmates or anything. “It’s fine here.” And it was. I was learning how to use what Sarah had given me, I was maybe doing some good…but there was Ingrid, and Owen, and that whole mess.
And there was boxed. What the hell was that? It sounded nasty, and there was something nagging at the back of my mind. Sooner or later it would come back, probably in the middle of the night when I had nothing else to think about.
Mom called that the Memory Fairy. She likes to sneak up when you’re not looking.
“Just fine?” Dad nodded, a few quick little jerks of his chin, making a decision—or getting ready to make one. “I can rent another place. Not back there, they were gonna clean out a unit but I’m not sure they still will. Be a couple weekends of haulin, but we can do that easy. Hooker’ll help.”
I knew Hooker thought he was crazy to live with a bunch of Christers out of town, as he put it. But Dad was thinking farm, and wholesome, and things like role models and safety and community.
Then there was Clover. Would she still be around if we moved? Probably not, no matter what she promised. She wasn’t going to choose to go off with some guy she pretty much just started dating and his teenage kid, not when she had a whole life here with people that knew her. Who called her Queen Clover behind her back, sure, but who also made lunches with her, sang with her, did laundry with her.
A place to belong, the thing she wanted most in the world. Who would give that up for some guy and his weirdo teenage kid? “I like it here.” Mostly. “I just…I mean, I got dropped on you and then all this. I want to make sure you’re happy.”
“You didn’t get dropped on me. You’re my daughter.” He looked almost angry, a simmering in his forehead, a spark in his pale, pale eyes. “I’m beginning to think I shouldn’t have left you with your mom.”
My jaw threatened to drop. I sat straight up on the futon, dropping my boots to the floor. “What does that mean?”
“I mean I thought she was the best place for you, but I’m not so sure now. No friends, living in that busted-down condemned place, and you thinking you have to—”
“There was nothing wrong with the farmhouse!” I didn’t realize I’d yelled it until I found myself on my feet, everything inside me on fire. “Mom was fine! It was all fine!”
“Uh-huh. That’s why she cashed every check she said she lost, or someone did.” Dad had gone pale. His five o’clock shadow hollowed his cheeks, turned his chin into a defiant bristle. “That’s why you’re worried you cost too much. Sure, it was all fine.” A slow, ponderous shake of his head. “I kept my peace, thinking it was good for a girl to be with her mama, but now, dumplin’, I’m thinking I was wrong.”
I don’t think either of us quite believed he’d said it. My heart chakra lit up, red and furious, and my hands curled into fists, short nails digging hard into my palms. I could almost hear my knuckles creaking. “Well, if you thought she was so bad, why didn’t you ever visit?”
“Because she’d take you and disappear like she did the first time.” Dad’s own fists loosened, his fingers spreading helplessly. “I know women do that, dumplin’. I figured as long as I kept paying, well, she’d have to stick around. I thought…never mind what I thought.” He rubbed at his face, palms scraping bristles. “I shouldn’t tell you these things.”
“Did she say that?” My heart chakra rotated, a pinwheel of painful flame inside my ribs. “Did she?”
“Hell, whenever I asked, you guys took off to some-damn-other-state or another. I didn’t need a dictionary to figure that out.” He dropped his hands. “Val, honey, your mom was…complex.”
Didn’t I know it. I remembered things, too. Waking up in the middle of the night. We have to go. Now. How she wouldn’t talk to him on the phone unless she needed money. Counting change out for the electric bill, and her staring at me like I could either make the bill smaller or the pile of cash we had larger—or like she couldn’t believe this was her life, trapped with a kid instead of being on the road, free and wild and magic and beautiful like she was meant to be.
Oh, God. The pain was coming. Not a pinch or a poke or a stab, but a big orange-red monster I’d been pushing away, avoiding, hiding from all this time. “If it wasn’t for me, you guys wouldn’t have split up.” My cheeks were so hot I thought steam was going to come off them. “Right?”
“What? No, Val. It’s not like that—”
But it was. And now I thought about all the times she told me I was her practical starchild, how she would snatch the tarot cards away and say oh, honey, don’t try too hard, how she always bemoaned I got none of her talent, how she told Nadine it was a good thing I had some looks because she despaired of me ever having anything but a wooden, numbers-and-lists head…
If Mom was here after Sarah pushed the button inside me, she would have acted thrilled that I could finally do all the things she talked about. But I knew better, way down deep where the things you never admit about the people you love crouch.
“Val. Valentine!” Dad called my name. I heard him through the fog, but I was already out the door, clearing the steps with a jolting jump, and crunching on gravel as I plunged into the hot midafternoon sunshine, bolting for the dark line of woods in the distance.
55
Boxed
Thud-thud-thud of feet in steeltoe boots, my skirt catching on all sorts of underbrush, my hair tapped and poked and clutched by sapling branches. Splashing when the ground went downhill, tripping and using my hands to pull up on roots and branches where it rose, I skinned my palms and didn’t goddamn care. I went down once or twice, barking my knee a good one on a rock, letting out a weird choked sound halfway between a laugh and a scream. Leaves whipped my face, and when I finally spilled out into a solid flood of sunshine and tripped for the last time, I went face-first into fragrant meadow grass. It was only slightly damp; the impact bounced all the sense out of me and made me realize that sound was my own voice, shouting language that would have, in Mom’s phrase, made a trucker blush.
I curled onto my side, knees pulling up, tight as a snail inside its shell. How were they able to breathe like that? I didn’t know, but I knew if I uncurled, I would start screaming again. There were no tears, just the anger, the drythroat scrape-rusty ranting over and over. “I hate you!” I yelled into the grass. “I hate you I hate you Ihateyou IhateyouIhateyou!”
I don’t even know who I hated. Dad, or Mom, even though the Universe would surely strike me down if I dared to say that to either of them or even think it? Sandy Gibson or the Bathroom Bro? Teachers? The whole fucking world? Myself?
All of the above?
I yelled and rolled around in the grass like a toddler having a meltdown in the candy aisle. It was stupid, it was childish, it was completely uncool.
I didn’t fucking care. I writhed. I kicked the ground, the juicy smell of crushed grass and mud rising around me in a simmering green stink. I flailed and curled up again, flailed and curled up. It only took a few repetitions before I was exhausted, so I lay in the damp and the heavy sunlight, shady fingers creeping across one edge of the meadow as the trees reached up and the sun retreated.
It was exhausting. How do really young kids keep it up? I sagged, limp and defeated, against dirt and grass. My hair was probably full of bugs. The green and white T-shirt, a little too small on me, was never going to be clean again. I lay on my side, resting my head on my arm, hip and shoulder pressing into last year’s dead stalks, this year’s growth waving softly as the evening breeze came up. It wasn’t full summer’s oven-draft, but it held a promise.
