Forty
Sam isn’t waiting for us in my driveway. After all the times he’s threatened to tell James about us, I thought for sure he’d use what happened with my father to do it.
“I’ve been thinking,” James says a few hours later, after I’ve rested and he’s fed us dinner. “Maybe we should get a place sooner rather than later.” He hops onto his own bed and spreads the newspaper he just stole from the Espinosas’ recycling bin across his quilt. “Like, next-month soon. I can’t afford the mortgage on this place and they’ll kick us out as soon as they realize Dad’s gone.”
Next month is too soon. Sam won’t be ready to leave yet. I sit up, ignoring the biting pain in my side, and ask, “How much do you have in savings?”
He doesn’t answer. I watch him stare intently at the paper, scanning row after row of apartments. I wonder if he’s seeing the same ones I see every month. Real estate doesn’t go very fast in Granite Falls.
“When did apartments get so fucking expensive?”
Which is why I’d been planning to find us a place outside of town before all of this happened. In a pinch, he should be able to afford a place over by the mill. That’s the slummy part of Granite Falls, which probably isn’t any safer than living with our father, but James can take care of himself. “How much do you have saved? I can write out a budget and maybe then—”
“Two thousand,” he says quietly.
I stare at him, positive I’ve misheard. He’s been making ten dollars an hour at the mill for a year—full-time hours, plus overtime which pays him time and a half. He should have a lot more money. Ten thousand, at least. Fifteen, easily.
He risks looking up at me and immediately averts his gaze to the newspaper. “Don’t look at me like that,” he mutters. “I’m doing the best I can.”
Leslie. The memory of her stuffing sixty dollars into the front of her panties flashes in my mind. Anger heats my body like tiny prickling flames. I’d bet my life he’s been paying for more drugs than he’s admitted. “You’re going to Leslie again, aren’t you? You said you weren’t paying her!”
He glares at me. “I’m not! She and I have an arrangement.”
“I don’t believe you. Where else did all the money go?”
He wads up the newspaper and throws it at the tiny garbage can between our beds. The crumpled ball is too big to fit through the mouth and bounces across the floor. “Between the groceries, your clothes, all the utility bills, and keeping the truck insured, we’re lucky to have anything saved at all!”
My mouth drops open.
“Who did you think paid for all that shit?” he asks. “Dad sure as hell didn’t. Dad didn’t even pay for Mom’s medicine and cigarettes. As soon as I got on with the mill, he stopped paying for everything except for the mortgage and all his fucking beer. As if that’s not bad enough, now we’re stuck with a huge-ass hospital bill because of him.”
I wither under his glare. It’s like I’m seven, watching our father knock James to the ground all over again. A naive burden—that’s all I am. That’s all I’ll ever be.
“I’m sorry,” he says when he sees my reaction. “I’m just frustrated. Maybe if we get something small—like a studio—and watch what we buy for awhile, I can save more up and we can look for something bigger. Something more permanent.”
There’s that “permanent” word again. Every time it comes up, the tickle of fear in the back of my mind flares into a blazing inferno. There is no “permanent” for my brother and me. In a month, I plan to walk out of his life—a life he threw away years ago to protect me.
I think somewhere in the darkest, most frightened corner of my heart, I’ve been hoping for a miracle that will let me keep Sam and James. Let me make them both happy. They deserve more than I can give them, but I’m too selfish, too loyal, and too in love to let either go.
“I’ll find a way,” James says. He must’ve misinterpreted my silence as doubt. Looking hurt, he slides off his bed and sits on the edge of mine. His palm on my cheek is gentle, reverent. “I won’t let you down. Promise.”
I’m sure he won’t. He never has.
I’ll be the one to let him down.
“There’s something I have to do tonight,” he says, frowning at his hand on my cheek. “Will you be okay by yourself for awhile?”
“I’ll probably take a shower and read or something. I’ve never felt this disgusting in my life.”
He grins and drops his hand. “Race you to the bathroom?”
“Uh, no.”
While he showers, I turn on James’s iPod, and plug it into the speakers on his dresser. Godsmack pours into the room at an ear-blistering volume, just the way he likes it. My skull, on the other hand, feels like it might shatter. I quickly shut it off, then face myself in our big closet-door mirror.
I’m a mess. The embodiment of all the horrible things my father did to me. I expected this since I haven’t been able to wash my hair since Sunday night and it’s already Tuesday. Apparently, steaming, starchy noodle water doesn’t agree with fine hair.
Forcing my eyes away from the mangled, tangled bird’s nest on my head, I lift my t-shirt and tug down the waistband of James’s flannel pants to inspect the bandage. There are ugly bruises blooming all over my neck and hips. Thankfully, my mind blocks the memories of how I got each one.
James breezes into our bedroom wearing a towel, looking refreshed and genuinely happy to be on his way to wherever he’s going. I right my clothes before he sees what I’m doing.
His pale white chest and arms seem much brighter and closer in the small confines of our room, but for once, I don’t freak out. “You’re not going to see Leslie tonight, are you?”
“Nope. I wish you’d take a shower while I’m here. Have you ever gotten a burn wet?”
I shake my head.
“Make it a cold shower,” he says. When he turns on his music and grabs fresh jeans from the dresser, I know I have to get out of our room.
I wander out into the living room, avoiding the kitchen. I guess the pan of meat spattered so much grease that it started a little fire right before the cops burst through the front door. When he thought I was sleeping this afternoon, I heard James sweeping up plastic and scraping the noodles off the linoleum with a paint scraper he borrowed from the Espinosas.
The music cuts out abruptly. I hear rustling and then James stuffing his keys into his jeans pocket. “I’m going to leave you my phone,” he calls from our bedroom. “If you need anything or if something happens, call Alex. Promise.”
Alex? The second he walks out that door, I’ll call Sam and beg him to pick me up so I don’t have to smell the stench of burnt meat. His mom should be home by now. I close my eyes and picture myself sitting on one of the floral couches between them with something mindless and funny on the television in front of us.
A few seconds later, I hear James set his cell phone on the little entryway table that used to house our father’s boxing magazines. He must’ve gotten rid of the magazines when he ripped all the boxing crap off the walls last night while I was at the hospital.
“You sure you don’t need me to stay with you?” he asks from behind me. “Say the word and I’ll stay.”
“I’m fine,” I say. “I’ll probably just take a shower and go to bed.”
He rests his chin on my shoulder. One of his big hands drifts from my waist to my hip, while the other finds my ribs and squeezes. I know I should push him away, but staring at my father’s empty, rust-orange recliner and smelling smoke and garlic makes my head hurt even worse. I lean into him and close my eyes. I need this. I need him.
He presses his cheek against mine and his hands inch forward, pulling me against him in a backward kind of hug. His fingertips are very close to both places a brother should not touch his sister, but he doesn’t do anything inappropriate. Just turns his head to give me one of his sloppy wet kisses.
“Hey!”
Laughing, he gives me one more quick squeeze and pulls away. “This weekend is Fourth of July. If you’re feeling up to it, I still want to drive to the coast.”
“How long do you want to stay?”
“Just a day trip like you wanted. Long enough to toast some marshmallows and watch the fireworks. And if we get there and we’re having a good time, we’ll camp overnight. No pressure. I’ve been dying to get out of here,” he says, gesturing to the room around us. “It’ll be good for us.”
I’m not sure I’m up for this trip, nice as it sounds, but I’d agree to anything right now with how badly my head hurts. When he’s gone, I’ll call Sam. Maybe he’ll help me take a shower. Then we can go to his house and I’ll beg Liz for recipes that don’t have noodles, red sauce, garlic, and hamburger.
I follow him to the front door, careful not to look at the kitchen, and give him a one-armed hug to protect my side. “Thank you for taking care of me today,” I say and stand on tip-toe to kiss his cheek.
As soon as my lips touch his freshly shaven jaw, I realize my mistake. I haven’t kissed him since before the night in our bed when everything changed. I jerk away, right as he turns his face into mine. His hands slide into my hair and keep my head in place.
“Do that again.”
My mental warning buzzer goes crazy. His breaths are shallow, and his body heat melts into mine. I ignore the comfort of our bodies pressed together the same way they’ve been pressed together so many times before and force myself to think. If I do what he’s telling me to do, if I kiss him again, he’s going to direct my mouth straight to his. A small, traitorous part of my body wants that closeness with him, even if I don’t mean it the same way he does.
There are no innocent kisses between us anymore. I need to remember this if I’m ever going to fix what has twisted between us.
I will my warning buzzer silent and wait for James to open his eyes. I am stronger than that traitorous part of my body. I am stronger than him.
Slowly, his eyes slide open. “You won’t kiss me?”
“No.”
He sighs and closes his eyes again. For a second, I think he’ll kiss me anyway, but then he releases me completely. “I’m sorry,” he says, and walks out the door without another word.
As soon as his truck backs down the driveway, I pick up his cell phone on the table and dial Sam’s number. It rings.
In stereo.