The Other Sister, page 35
He’s leaving with the pills. He might not come back. I can’t let him.
“It won’t do any good,” I say.
That stops him, right on the threshold. Dad swivels around, his brows knitted tight together. “What are you talking about?”
I have to set the glasses down or I’m going to drop them. I wipe my damp hands on my slacks. I shouldn’t do that. There’ll be a smell, maybe a stain. “I told you, Dad. I didn’t get the pills from Geraldine.”
Because this isn’t about her. Geraldine is a distraction. Like Mom and Aunt Trish and Robbie, and everyone else.
This is about you and me.
“Marie, don’t say that.”
This is about everything you made me into. Everything I had to be. All my life. Your good daughter, your baby girl. Your perfect, obedient, loving Marie.
Because the price of being anything else was too high.
I shrug and slip my hand into my pocket. My fingers curl around the knife. “All right. I won’t say it.”
But it’s too late. And after all these long years of being exactly what my father needed, I have the highly dubious satisfaction of watching new reality forming inside him. All the things he has denied spread out from the back of his mind in long, slow ripples.
He doesn’t want to see, of course. Who would? He’s already trying to turn away. He scrubs at his face like he can wipe the truth off along with the sweat and condensation on his palms. “Marie, you know it hasn’t been easy for me, either, but I had to be strong. There was no one else to take care of you.”
Memory rises to the surface of my skin, the walls, the world around us. I remember his hands holding mine. I feel us together, sitting in my stuffy little bedroom.
We have to be strong, says Dad in my memory. Which time is this? Maybe none of them. Maybe all of them. I know it’s hard. I wish things were different. But they’re not. I’m counting on you, Marie. We don’t want anybody looking at this the wrong way. We don’t want anyone thinking that what happened to your mother was anything but an accident.
“Yes, Dad, I know,” I say, and I don’t recognize my own voice pressed flat under the weight of bitter memory. “You were always very clear about how things were.”
She was sick, Marie, says my memory of us together. Sick and weak. But that’s over. Now, it’s our job to hold things together. I need you, baby girl. Geraldine…we love her, but we can’t count on her. It’s up to you and me.
“Drink your drink.” I use my free hand to push the glass toward him. “Tell me how much you need me. How perfect I am. How much you depend on me.”
“You know all of it is true. But Marie, I never, ever…”
We have to be strong. We can’t let this tear us apart. I wish there was something we could do, but…
“It doesn’t matter,” I say, and I can’t tell whether I’m talking to the father who’s in front of me now or the one who was holding my hands when I was still nineteen. “What matters is that we’ve kept the family together.” I measure the distance between us. I feel the knife handle against my palm. I took my bandage off. I didn’t want it there tonight. The handle digs against the cut, seeking the blood.
Dad picks the glass up and looks into it. He raises it to his mouth.
He sets it down and, instead, takes my hand. Just like all those other times across the years. Those endless years of stage setting and secret smiles and silent approval and patience with my little flaws and my reasonless love of my scarred, unstable sister.
“Oh, my baby girl,” he whispers. “What’s she done to you?”
She, the syllable repeats heavily in my mind. He means Geraldine. The new reality has been revealed and he has examined it carefully.
And discarded it absolutely.
“She didn’t do anything, Dad.” I’m exhausted. I don’t want to fight anymore. But I will make sure he knows who is responsible for us being here now. “Nothing new anyway.”
“I know that’s what you want to believe, but I also know Geraldine. Here, I think you need this more than I do.” He picks up the glass and hands it to me.
I have never refused anything from my father’s hands. There was no time to form the thought before my body acted. I smell the acrid tang of the Scotch and I feel the cold curve of the tumbler.
Its twin is still sitting on the sideboard. I don’t know which one I’m holding. The realization catches me all wrong. I start badly, and Dad sees.
And Dad gives me that special little smile.
Gotcha.
The rules of a Household Tale are simple: If you are polite, if you share and keep your promises, you will be rewarded beyond your wildest dreams.
But if you are selfish, if you are cruel and careless, if you break that promise you made to the stranger in the woods, you are doomed.
—Out of the Woods: Musings on Fairy Tales in the Real World,
Dr. Geraldine Monroe
MARIE, SEVENTEEN YEARS OLD
STACEY B’S SANDWICHES AND STUFF
1.
Marie wouldn’t have been there at all, except she needed her purse. Not the plain, square one that she used for every day. The cute little beaded one she kept for special occasions. Occasions she didn’t want Dad to know about.
She really should tell him. She knew that. She was a good girl and she loved her father. Only bad girls lied to their fathers.
She knew both these things were true. She just couldn’t make them hold together. Somewhere along the line, she just stopped trying.
Mom was back in the store, maybe closing up, maybe getting a new case of beer. It was six o’clock and dark outside already. The snow was just starting to come down. At least she didn’t have to worry about Geraldine. Geraldine had gone to Becca Mayor’s party, which meant she’d be out until at least midnight.
Which meant Marie had to get out of here before Mom finished whatever she was doing in the store. Because without Geraldine here, Mom would make her stay and help make dinner and take care of anything else around the house.
Marie sprawled belly down on the lower bunk where Geraldine slept. The sheets smelled like her sister’s mix of Enjoli perfume and weed. She fished a quarter out of her pocket and loosened the screws on the vent. The angle was awkward, but she’d had practice. She’d grab the bag and be back outside before anyone even knew she’d come home.
After all, why should it just be Geraldine who got away with things? Why’d Marie always have to be the perfect one?
Well, as of tonight, everything was going to change.
She reached into the vent and wrapped her fingers around the beaded bag. There was two hundred dollars in there. She needed to get it out of the house and somewhere safe. Two hundred dollars was a bus ticket. Another two hundred was a cheap motel room. But only as long as no one found out she had it or could wonder what she did with it.
David would hang on to it for her. She could trust him.
Marie heard the front door open and she froze.
“…boots were made for walkin’…” Mom bellowed off-key and Marie cringed. She was trapped now. Unless…She eyed the window. Well, why not? Geraldine did it all the time.
Mom was banging around the kitchen, singing loud and off-key. Marie yanked the purse out of the vent and stuffed it under her shirt. Her heart hammered and for a moment she felt dizzy with excitement. Was this how Geraldine felt all the time?
She leaned the vent cover back in place. She’d put the screws back later. Marie shimmied off the bed and tiptoed to the window.
A car’s headlights flashed on the other side of the blind. Marie froze again. Nothing to worry about. Just traffic. Dad wasn’t here. He was working late. He’d said so.
But then she heard the gravel crunch, and the sudden silence of an engine shutting off.
Mom was still singing about boots and walking and just what she’d do. Marie stood with her hands on the ice-cold aluminum frame and tried to make up her mind.
She heard the door open again.
“I’m glad you’re in such a good mood, Stacey,” said Dad. “I’ve got some news for you.”
2.
Oh, no. Oh, darn, oh shoot, oh shit. Marie cursed and prayed. But it was too late.
“News?” Mom was saying. “Oh, joy. More earth-shattering developments from the world of the Mighty Monroes.”
Dad laughed, and Marie felt her stomach churn.
“I think you’re going to be interested in this. I was out at Ed’s.”
“Ed’s? What…?”
“Pete’s gone, Stacey. Packed up and skee-daddled.” Dad drew out the word.
What? Uncle Pete left? Marie drifted toward the door. Why? Have he and Aunt Florence made up? Did he go to get them? She had a fleeting vision of the rusted red pickup pulling back up the drive, with Walt and Ruby hanging out the sides and waving.
But the silence on the other side of the door stretched out until Marie thought something was going to break. “Where’d he go?” Mom asked.
“What’s the matter, Stacey? You don’t look very well. Do you need your pills?”
“Go to hell, Martin. I asked where Pete went.”
“Why do you care?”
“Fine. Never mind. I’m calling Ed.”
“No need. I’ve got all the information you could want right here.” There was a noise. A rustling. A click. “You know I’m always looking out for you, Stacey.”
Marie eased the door open. From here, she could see a slice of the front room and her mother’s back. Mom stood beside the dinner table, staring at something box shaped. Marie couldn’t see Dad. But she could hear him.
“He’s left you, Stacey,” said Dad, satisfaction dripped from each word.
Mom grabbed the table edge. “What…are you talking about?”
“I’m so sorry. But it’s better this way.”
“You’re lying.”
“No. He sold you out for five thousand dollars, and he left.”
Dad’s hand came into view. His index finger touched the thing on the table. Marie realized that box was Dad’s recorder, the one he used for taking notes and leaving himself reminders. There was a click, and then Uncle Pete’s voice crackled through the room.
“Look, Martin, I know this is rough. But let’s face it, you and Stace don’t exactly get along anymore. Why not just…” There was a pause and more static, and then Dad’s voice.
“I’ll give you five thousand dollars.”
“What?” said Uncle Pete.
“Five thousand dollars,” repeated Dad. “I’ve got it right here.” There’re some clicks and rustlings. Marie pictured a briefcase being opened, and an envelope being extracted, like in a spy movie. “It’s all yours, if you leave us alone instead of taking her with you.”
Mom’s breath was harsh and ragged. Her hands gripped the table and leaned over the box. Marie couldn’t move, couldn’t register any fact except that Mom was going to leave. Mom was going to run away with Pete and leave her behind, with Dad and Geraldine, and no way out.
“It’s not for me, Pete,” Dad’s voice said. “It’s the girls. She’s their mother.” More crackling paper. “Please. I’ll get more, if you’ll just leave us alone.”
“Martin, that’s not what this is about,” Uncle Pete answered. “I love her.”
“I know. You always did.”
Mom had gone completely rigid. Don’t take it, Marie could practically hear her thinking. Don’t take it.
But there was only the rustle of more paper and the whisper of fabric. The envelope was being stashed.
“She’s hurting, Martin. They all are. You…you expect too much.”
“I know. I don’t blame any of them. I’ve been neglecting her and the girls.”
Another pause. “And now a change of heart?”
“You opened my eyes, big brother,” answered Dad, and Marie could hear the smile in that recorded voice. “I’m turning over a new leaf.”
He meant it, too. He always meant everything he said. Pete had to believe him. Everybody always believed him.
Tears streamed down Marie’s cheeks. She didn’t wipe them away. If she moved, she might catch someone’s eye.
Another pause stretched out on the recorder. Maybe Pete nodded, maybe not, but there was a crunch, like gravel under boot soles.
“Good luck,” called Dad’s voice.
Uncle Pete said something back, but Marie couldn’t understand it.
Dad in the here and now reached out and snapped the recorder button off.
“He didn’t take it,” Mom whispered. “You’re lying. He wouldn’t.”
“Is he here?” asked Dad. “Did he tell you what happened? Call him, Stacey. Go ahead. I’ll wait. He won’t answer. He’s already gone.” He came around the table. Marie saw his silhouette, tall and strong, coming to stand so close to Mom.
“Liar!” Mom spat. Marie slapped her hand over her mouth. Her knees buckled and she sank down.
“You love me, Stacey.” Dad’s voice didn’t change at all. It stayed absolutely even and certain. “I know that. Pete is a distraction. I understand. I’ve had a few myself, but I always come back, don’t I? Because I love you and you love me.”
“You hate me, you son of a bitch. You don’t love anybody but yourself!”
“You’re not going to get me mad, Stacey.” His hands flashed out and gripped both her wrists. At the same time, his voice remained impossibly gentle. Why didn’t he get angry? What would it take? “Test me all you want, but I promise you. I’ll never break. I’ll always love you. No matter what you say. No matter what you do.”
Something was going to happen. Marie could feel it. Something new. Something bad.
I have to stop it.
“I’m leaving!” Mom shouted. “You can take your house and your family and your endless goddamn Monroe pride and shove it…”
Geraldine would stop them. She’d scream at them, get them looking at her.
“You think you know why he took that money, don’t you?” Dad was turning her around now, slowly, like he was dancing with her. “You think he’s going to use it for a bribe for poor Florence, so she’ll allow his whore mistress and bastard daughter into her house.”
What’s he mean? Move, Marie! You have to! There’s nobody else.
“You think Pete’s coming back for you, Stacey. But he’s not. He’s not ever coming back for you, or your sister, or your bastard.”
Marie threw the door open. She hadn’t turned the lamp on in the bedroom, so there was no flash of light. At the other end of the hall, Dad bent Mom backward, until she was flat on the table. Marie tried to gather the breath to scream. She meant to run toward them, like she knew Geraldine would, but she couldn’t. It was like a nightmare. Her body would not obey her. She couldn’t get the signals right.
She could see, though. She could see how her father was holding her mother pressed down with his hands, and how he had his body shoved between her legs.
“I called Florence, you know. She wasn’t that hard to find. We had it out, she and I. She was almost ready to do it, do you know? Pete had just about talked her round. I’m sure that money would have sealed the deal, if he’d ever intended to come back for you. But he won’t, Stacey. He won’t ever hurt any of us ever again.”
“Let me go!”
“Not until you say it, Stacey.”
Marie finally convinced her feet and legs to inch her forward along the wall. He’ll see me. I won’t have to scream. I can just stand here. That’ll be enough. He’ll stop just as soon he sees me.
“I just want to hear you say you know how much I love you, and how important you and the girls are to me. We are each other’s everything, Stacey. Just like it’s been from the beginning.” He yanked her hands together, pinning her down. She struggled, trying to kick, but she couldn’t.
Mom screamed. She screamed again, but nothing happened. There was no one to hear, except Dad and Dad didn’t care.
And Marie…Marie couldn’t move any further.
Dad got his hand up under her denim skirt. There’s the sound of ripping fabric. Mom screamed again, longer and louder this time. She screamed like it was the end of the world.
“Get off me! Get off me! Get off me!”
“I’m your husband, Stacey.” Dad’s fingers were at his fly now. He yanked open the button and the zipper. “You chose me. Forever. You said so, the very first time.”
Marie saw his penis, swollen and red. She saw his hand grab it and she saw him shove.
“Stop it! Stop it! Stop it, you son of a bitch!”
“There’s only me, Stacey. You know that. I’m the only one who loves you.”
Marie whimpered. And Dad heard, and he turned his head. And he saw his daughter.
“No one else will ever love you. You’re mine. Those girls are mine. I will never let you go. Never let you go. Love you. Love you.”
And he smiled at Marie and he didn’t stop even once. Not even when he watched her turn and run back into her room, with his voice a hot, sick smear of sound behind her.
“Loveyouloveyouloveyouloveyoualwaysloveyou. And. You. Don’t. Ever. Leave.”
The miller was frightened and did what he was told. The next day the devil returned.
—“The Girl without Hands” from Kinder und Hausmärchen Vol. 1, Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm, 1812
MARIE, PRESENT DAY
THE ROSE HOUSE
1.
My father is watching me.
It’s always the same, whether he’s miles away or right in front of me, like he is now. The touch of his gaze wraps me up and pins me down. Especially when it’s that sad, patient expression he uses every time I disappoint him. Like now. Like then. Like always.
Life isn’t flashing in front of my eyes. I’m wading through it, like I’m in mud up to my knees, and my life is composed of all my father’s sorrow.
I need you, Marie. I need you to keep it together. I need you to be strong. We all do, Marie. Please. I know it’s hard, I do, but we have to stay strong. Otherwise they’re going to think Geraldine had something to do with your mother’s accident. And you don’t want that, do you?
