Chapter Eight: Caleb
Why do things get harder right when I need them to be simple? Why is life always like that? I lie on my bed and stare at the cracked ceiling. I got home from Claudia’s after three, and I’ve barely slept. I took a very, very long shower and then lay awake, flinching every time Katie’s mattress springs squeaked.
I should be happy. I played my part last night. When I left Claudia, she had a half-drunk, sleepy smile of satisfaction on her face, and I had two hundred dollars in my pocket. A stipend, she whispered. So I could get started on the commission.
Yeah. Right. I’m a fucking prostitute, no matter what she calls it. I press my knuckles over my eyes and clench my teeth. What if I got in my truck and started to drive? How far would I get on two hundred bucks?
I sit up and push those thoughts away. I didn’t go to Claudia’s for myself. If I’d been doing anything for myself, it would have been staying with Romy on that bench. Maybe tasting her mouth, maybe asking her out, maybe trying to figure out what her story is. But my sister needs me, and then there’s Romy herself. It’s not fair to try to get closer to her, not while I’m screwing Claudia for grocery money.
“Goddammit,” I mutter, tossing my sheet aside. “I might as well go stand on a fucking street corner.”
I take another shower, turning the water up as hot as I can take it. I rub my reddened skin with the towel and then pull on a shirt and jeans. Amy’s expecting us by noon, and Katie’s probably still asleep. I pad into the hall and knock on her door.
“What do you want?” she snaps groggily.
“I’m headed to Amy’s. Still want to come?”
“I have to take a shower.”
“I’ll wait.”
The bed creaks as she gets up, and I wince. I hate that noise. I remind myself to break out the WD-40 sometime when she’s at work. Her door swings open, and my sister stands before me. Her thick brown hair is tangly around her shoulders, and her freckles stand out on her pale face. She looks sleepy and young. For a minute, I lose ten years, and I reach forward to tousle her hair like I used to. She ducks away, scowling. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Sorry,” I say, coming back to myself. “You had a … fuzz in your hair.”
She drags her fingers over the top of her head. “Give me thirty minutes.”
“No problem.” I head into the kitchen and brew myself some lethally strong coffee, mentally reviewing what I’m going to say to Amy. She’s your sister, too. We don’t need much. Just a few hundred. It would mean a lot.
If Amy would give me a little more, if she’d cover some of the medical bills, maybe I could get out of this thing with Claudia. Maybe I could ask her to keep it professional. Maybe she’d actually buy a painting from me without all the rest of it. Maybe I could get back what little self-respect I have and forget last night ever happened.
Katie comes out of the shower as I’m buttering toast. “I’m ready,” she says. “Think she’ll have decent food there?”
I take a bite of toast. “Did you eat anything with your morning meds?” I glance at her med organizer. At the beginning of every week, I fill it with the pills she takes each day, morning and night, meant to keep her afloat. I keep the rest locked up so she can’t overdose. We took her back to the psychiatrist on Friday morning, and he added a peachy pink one to the roster. Seroquel. He said it would help. I’m not sure yet. She seems even loopier than usual.
She shrugs, slow and heavy. “I can’t remember. I think I got up, but …”
I set down my toast and walk over to the box to peek inside the “Sunday AM” compartment. I draw in a slow breath and keep my voice low and quiet. “You didn’t take them at all.” And the clock on the microwave tells me it’s nearly noon. I should have gotten up and made sure she took these. “I don’t know if you should take them now, or—”
“God, you never say exactly what you’re thinking, do you? You’re broken, Katie. Drug yourself up, Katie. You’re not good enough, Katie.” She stomps over to the box and snatches it from my hand. The pills for this morning bounce out of their little compartment and scatter across the counter. She picks one of them up and jams it into her mouth, tears glittering at the corners of her eyes.
I want to argue. You’re beautiful, Katie. I love you, Katie. I’m sorry sorry sorry that I was so weak. I wanted to save you, Katie.
But even ten years ago, it was too little, too late.
Nothing I say now is going to change that, and right now, she needs to burn off the anger. So, while she continues to snap and curse at me, I fill a plastic cup with water—a glass would be too dangerous, so they’ve long since been packed up and stored—and I set it on the counter for her before walking away. “I’ll be in the truck.”
I close my eyes as the cup hits my back and splashes water across my shoulder blades. My jaw is clenched so tightly that my teeth hurt. I run my hand through my dripping hair, but I don’t turn around.
“I took them!” she screams at my back. “Happy now?”
“We’ll go when you’re ready.” I walk out the door but hover in the hallway to make sure she’s coming. I don’t want her to decide to do something crazy. I’ve locked up all the knives and scissors, so there’s nothing within easy reach, but you never know. There’s a black, burned spot on the ceiling of the kitchen that tells me I need to pay attention.
She comes out a minute later, tears dry, still seething but no longer out of control. She’s quiet until we reach my truck, and then she says, “You’re a dick.”
“No argument there.” I open the door for her and watch her put on her seatbelt.
We drive to Amy’s in silence. I want to say the right thing, but I know it doesn’t exist. I’ve been trying for the last few years. At first, I was sure I could get the old Katie back. I was sure she’d understand that I’ve always been there for her, no matter how far apart we were. I even invited her to live with me as soon as she got out of the foster care system. I figured she’d never want to live with Mom and Phil, not after what he did to her. And I don’t care what anyone—including Katie—says. I know what he did. I thought all those years of therapy would have helped her come to grips with that.
I was wrong.
I have no idea if Phil started up on her again when she went back there. Shortly after she turned eighteen and moved back in with them, I got drunk enough one night to go over to their house. I backed Phil into a corner and told him I’d kill him if he laid a finger on her. I wasn’t a little boy anymore and he couldn’t slap me around like he used to. I practically begged him to try, just so I could kick his ass. He was shaking. He knew I was serious. He might have fooled my mom, but he couldn’t fool me.
My mom threatened to call the police if I didn’t leave.
Katie stood next to her as they watched me go. She looked triumphant. That hurt worse than anything else.
But I have to wonder if Phil couldn’t help himself. Once a perv, always a perv, and Katie decided not to go to California with Mom and Phil when they moved last May. She showed up at my doorstep instead. I thought that was a good sign, but she still acts like she hates me most of the time. Every once in a while, I feel this glimmer of affection, like her old self is trying to break through, but it never lasts long.
I pull into Amy’s driveway. She’s got a nice life, our older sister. Her husband, Derrick, seems all right. He and I used to toss a football back and forth when I was a kid. And my nephews are adorable. Even Katie can’t be miserable when they’re around, which is one of the reasons I wanted her to come. As we get out of my old pickup, Amy appears in the doorway with Reeve on her hip. His chubby hands are fisted in her shoulder-length brown hair.
Katie grins and skips over to them, like her outburst in the kitchen is a distant memory. I twirl the keys around my finger and get out of the truck. Amy and I have never been that close, but she’s the only family member I have who’s even halfway healthy, and I think that’s good for Katie. When Katie came to live with me, I reached out to Amy, trying to reconnect. Sometimes I think Amy wishes I hadn’t.
My phone buzzes with a text. Claudia. Melvin doesn’t come back until tomorrow. Come over again tonight. I shove my phone back in my pocket and follow Katie along the flagstones toward the front door. Derrick owns a landscaping business and his yard is always perfect. “You guys ready for lunch?” Amy calls.
“Yes!” Katie cries, then puts her arms out to take Reeve from Amy.
With a glance at me, Amy hands the toddler over and watches as Katie lifts the boy high in the air, his legs kicking furiously. I can tell Amy’s worried but trying not to show it. “Derrick and Damien are out back. We’re trying to exhaust the kids before it starts to rain.”
As if on cue, there’s a distant rumble of thunder. It’s sunny right now, but I can see the storm clouds gathering. We trail Katie and Reeve inside, where they head to the deck off the kitchen. Through the slider, I see Amy’s already got the meal set up, and my stomach growls.
She smirks. “Saved your appetite for my house, huh?”
“We don’t have a ton of food back at the apartment.” It’s the truth, but it still makes me feel like a loser. “I’ll pick up some groceries tomorrow.”
Amy tucks her hair behind her ear and goes into the kitchen, where she takes some potato salad out of the fridge. I hear the sound of laughter through the screen door. Katie and Reeve, along with Derrick and Damien, who’s five, are out back by the swingset. I wish I was out there with them, especially when Amy says, “How much do you want this time, Caleb? Spit it out.”
My fists clench. She’s making me feel like a beggar. “Katie has a new prescription. If you could just cover—”
She turns around and stares at me. “Another one? Who’s her doctor again?”
I roll my eyes. It’s not like she ever takes Katie to her appointments. I’ve asked her a few times when it was really hell on my schedule, but she’s always got something to do. “Dr. Prihadi.”
She makes a face. “Does he even speak English?”
I run my tongue along my teeth. “Perfectly, seeing as he’s from Grand Rapids. He makes time whenever she needs to see him. And trust me, she needed it this week. He said this Seroquel med might help with her depression because the other pills weren’t enough. But it’s expensive.”
“Is she in therapy?”
“Yeah. She switched up. She’s seeing a Dr. Lancaster? She goes to sessions on her lunch hour. She says she can walk there.”
“How do you know she’s actually going?”
I lay my hand flat on the counter, even though I want to slam it down. “Do you expect me to stand guard over her twenty-four-seven? I have to work. I pick her up and drive her anywhere she needs to go. I take her to all her appointments. I make sure she takes her meds. I put out the fires. I pay the fucking rent—”
Amy’s mouth twists with anger. “You come into my house and say words like that where my children can hear you?”
I take a step back as my temples throb with dull pain. “I’m sorry. It’s been hard lately. I’m trying to make more money.” And if you knew how, you’d think less of me, assuming that’s even possible.
She crosses her arms over her chest. “Derrick could use some guys for fall clean-ups. Long days, but he pays cash.”
“Amy, my schedule’s really weird. I have lessons during the day, classes in the afternoon and at night, all day on Saturday—”
“But obviously they’re not paying well.”
“Could you loan me five hundred, then? I’ll pay you back.” It feels too shitty to ask for it outright.
“I’ll talk to Derrick.”
“Katie’s your sister, too,” I say quietly. “And Mom’s not sending money anymore. She said she would. That she’d do it for Katie. But I think she’s decided she’s done. And now you—”
Amy flushes a lurid shade of pink. “Don’t start, Caleb. I don’t need to be reminded. It’s not like I don’t have responsibilities, too. We’re not exactly made of money here.” She gestures around like that should be obvious, but all I see is a nice house and a nice backyard, new SUV in the drive and new clothes on her back. “If you’d let go of this ridiculous dream of being some grand artist and join me here in the real world, maybe things wouldn’t be so hard for you,” she hisses. “Now. I’m going to take this salad out there, and we’re going to have a nice meal, and you’re going to watch your mouth in front of my boys. If you want a single cent from me, don’t ruin this for everybody.”
She marches toward the door, potato salad in hand, and I hear the words she leaves hanging silent and unsaid in the air between us. Like you ruined everything else.