BETH
Thump, thump, thump. My eyes flash open and my heart pumps in my ears. The cops. No, the boyfriend. Sometimes he knocks in the morning to confuse me into opening the door. I blink when I see the shadow of curtains against a window. Curtains. I’m not home. I inhale and the fresh oxygen mixes with the adrenaline in my bloodstream. Old habits die hard.
“Elisabeth,” Scott says from behind the door. “Wake up.”
Shit. Six in the morning. Why can’t he leave me alone? The bus doesn’t arrive until seven-thirty. A half hour is plenty of time to get ready for school. I roll out of bed and pad on bare feet to the door. The bright light from the foyer hurts my eyes so I squint and barely comprehend that Scott’s shoving a bag into my hand. “Here. I got your stuff.”
I wipe the sleep from my eyes. Scott wears the same T-shirt and jeans from last night. “What stuff?”
He drops his I-mean-business glare and my lips tug up. It’s a look he gave me when I was little, especially when I wouldn’t eat my vegetables or when I begged him to read to me.
Scott’s answering smile is hesitant. “I went by your aunt’s and picked up your clothes. That Noah guy was there last night and he showed me what was yours. I’m sorry if I left anything behind. If you tell me something specific maybe I can swing by one day after work.”
I stare at the bag. My stuff. He got me my stuff and he talked to… “How’s Noah?”
The hesitant joy on his face fades. “We didn’t have a heart-to-heart. Elisabeth, this doesn’t change any of my rules. I want you to settle here in Groveton and let your old life go. Trust me on this one, okay, kid?”
Okay, kid. It’s what he always said to me, and I find myself nodding without realizing it. A habit from childhood—a time when I believed that Scott hung the moon and commanded the sun. A bad habit for a teenager. I stop nodding. “I can wear my clothes?”
“Skin has to be covered and no rips in indecent places. Push me on this and I’ll burn every stitch in that bag.” Scott inclines his head toward the kitchen. “Breakfast in thirty.”
I cradle the bag in my hands like a newborn. My stuff. Mine. “Thanks.” The gratitude is stiff and awkward, but give me credit—I said it.
* * *
I slide the low-rise, faded blue jeans to my hips and a contented sigh escapes my lips. How I missed you, old friend. Jeans that hug a little too tight. Small rips on the thighs. The other pair, the pair I really love that has rips right below my ass, Scott would soak in gasoline. I carefully fold them on a hanger and store them in the closet.
For the first time in two weeks, I feel like me. Black cotton tee that clings to my waist. Silver hoop earrings in my ears. I change the hoop in my nose for a fake diamond stud. As I check myself out in the mirror, I revel in the lightness because I know the moment I step into that kitchen, I’ll grow heavy again.
Right at six-thirty, I enter the kitchen. The red breaking of dawn splatters across the sky. Scott fries bacon at the stove and the smell makes my mouth water. Allison is perfectly absent.
I take a seat at the bar that has a glass of orange juice and a plate. I assume the other place setting is for him. In between the plates is a stack of buttered toast and sausage patties. “Is it turkey or tofu or whatever you try to pass off as food?”
Everything in this house is healthy. I pick up the toast and smell it. Hmm. White bread and it smells like butter. I stick out my tongue and barely lick it to see if it is. Scott laughs. Embarrassed, I roll my tongue into my mouth and close my eyes in ecstasy. Mmm. Real butter.
“No, it’s not turkey. It’s real. I’m tired of watching you not eat.” He places a plate of bacon and eggs between us as he sits. “If you’d try Allison’s cooking, you’d see it’s not half-bad.”
I bite into the toast and talk between bites. “That’s the point. Food shouldn’t be half-bad. It should be all good.”
Scott assesses my outfit before spooning some scrambled eggs onto his plate. “I like the stud. When did you pierce your nose?”
“When I turned fourteen.” I help myself to bacon and sausage while staring at the eggs. Scott made great eggs when I was a kid. Too bad I told him I hate them.
“Your mom wanted one. She talked about driving into Louisville to get one several times.” Mom liked to talk to Scott while Scott raised me. She moved into Grandpa’s trailer when Dad knocked her up and her mom kicked her out. Scott was twelve when I was born.
My heart sinks. Mom never told me she wanted a nose ring. She never even noticed when I pierced mine. Why it bothers me, I don’t know. Mom doesn’t tell me a lot of things. I tap my fork against the counter. Screw it. I’m eating the eggs. Who knows when I’ll get another decent meal. Scott flashes a smug smile when I fork eggs on my plate.
“Is that a baseball thing?” I ask.
“What?”
“Ryan has that same I-know-everything smirk when he thinks he’s one-upped me.”
Scott sips his orange juice. “Have you and Ryan been hanging out at school?”
I shrug. Hanging out. Annoying the piss out of each other. Same thing. “Kind of.”
“He’s a good kid, Elisabeth. It would do you good to make more friends like him.”
Noah’s a good guy. Isaiah is the best, but Scott doesn’t want to hear that. “I go by Beth.”
As if I hadn’t said anything, he asks another question. “How’s school?”
“I’m gonna fail.”
He stops eating and I shove food into my mouth. I’m beginning to hate these silences.
“Are you trying?” he asks.
I contemplate my answer while savoring a piece of bacon. On my last bite, I decide to go with the truth. “Yes. But I don’t expect you to believe me.”
He tosses his napkin onto his empty plate and stares at me with sincere blue eyes. We both have Grandma’s eyes. Dad did too, except Dad’s never looked kind. “I’m not smart. I can throw a ball, catch a ball, and hit a ball. It made me a rich man, but it’s better to be smart.”
“Too bad for me, I can’t do any of that. Smart included.”
“Allison’s smart,” he says and he holds up his hand when I roll my eyes. “She’s real smart. Has a master’s in English. Let her help you.”
“She hates me.”
Scott falls into one of his long silences again. “Let me handle that. You focus on school.”
“Whatever.” I glance at the clock: six forty-five. We managed to have a conversation without yelling for fifteen minutes. “Shouldn’t you be heading to work?”
“I’m working from home today. We’re going to do this every morning. I want you up at six and out here for breakfast by six-thirty.”
If he’s going to cook, I’m not going to argue. “Okay.”
Scott gathers his dishes and goes to the sink. “About last night.”
And things were going so well…. “Let’s not discuss last night.”
“You were shaking.”
I stand, feeling suddenly fidgety. “I should get my backpack together.”
“Has someone hurt you? Physically?”
The dishes. The dishes should go in the dishwasher. I pick them up. “I really need help with Calculus. I want to drop it.” Why am I telling him this?
Scott takes the dishes from me and I don’t like being empty-handed. He places them on the counter and crosses his arms over his chest. “What happened after I left town? My dad was dead and buried. Did my brother take his place as residing bastard?”
I’m shaking again. It’s either that or we’re having an earthquake. My head jerks back when the reality of what I let happen smacks me head-on like a Mack truck. I’m an idiot. He maneuvered expertly around my walls. “Fuck you.”
I expect Scott to yell at me or reprimand me. Instead, he chuckles. “You’re still as stubborn as you were at four. Go get your stuff ready for school. I’ll drive you in today.”
I hate him. “I’ll take the bus.”
Scott turns his back to me and loads the dishwasher. “I’m making pancakes tomorrow.”
“I won’t eat.”
He laughs again. “Yes, you will. Allison’s making goat cheese tofu casserole tonight.”