* * *
Evan’s in a good mood when Kathy arrives to drop him off. I wait for him on the porch, giving him a big hug the moment I see him. He tells me he doesn’t have any cavities, which I take complete credit for. I’m the one who makes him brush his teeth every night.
Kathy gets out of her minivan, and my chest wells up with anger at the sight of her. I force a smile and look down at Evan. He holds up a small plastic bag with a new toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste.
“You should go show Daddy what you got from the dentist,” I say. “He’ll be impressed to hear how great it went. I’ll meet you there in a second.” Evan nods and rushes inside the house, excited to have brought home a gift bag from the dental hygienist. His happiness is almost enough to thaw me out, but when I see Kathy climbing the porch steps, I freeze solid.
“A lawyer?” I snap. “You got a fucking lawyer, Kathy?”
Her lips pucker in disapproval of my language, but she’s better at keeping her temper than I am. “She’s Evan’s lawyer,” Kathy says. “She wants what’s best for him.”
I scoff. “Oh, yeah. Sure. And you happen to be the one paying her bill so I wonder who she thinks is best. This is low,” I tell her, taking a step forward. I expect her to back up, but she doesn’t. She holds my gaze steady.
“I just want him to have a good home,” she says.
“He has me. I’m his home.”
She blinks, seeming moved by my statement. Maybe even ashamed. But I won’t let her trick me into giving up custody of my brother. Getting a lawyer, knowing I couldn’t afford to do the same . . . I have no trust in her anymore. She’s a judgmental bitch. And she’s not getting Evan.
“You can’t see him anymore,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest.
Kathy’s eyes flash with anger, but she quickly pulls it back. “Legally,” she says, “you can’t make that call, Savannah.” She lets the words soak in, demolishing my argument.
“Now,” she says, sounding confident. “I’ll be here on Thursday. Tell Evan I said good night.” She knows she’s right—my opinion wouldn’t hold up in court. I would need my father to side with me, and he isn’t exactly listening anymore.
When I get back inside, I find Evan and our dad in the living room. Evan is going on about the dentist, how scary it was but how the dentist told him he had smiling eyes. My father laughs a little, and I feel myself flinch, like somehow, I expect him to always be awful. At this point, it’s harder when he’s not.
I wait, my shoulder against the doorway, for them to finish talking. I haven’t seen Evan in four days, and I’m anxious to have him with me again. But I give them this moment.
When Evan is done with the story, I wave him over to me and hug him. Our father goes out to the driveway to work on his truck.
“I hated this weekend without you,” I tell Evan, gathering him up in my arms. “You know how boring and dumb Dad can be.” Evan laughs, that sort of infectious laugh that brightens any room. “Did you have fun at Aunt Kathy’s?” I ask, bringing him to sit on the couch. I wonder if he talked to the lawyer too, if my aunt involved him at all. But he doesn’t mention it, and my brother can’t lie.
“Murdock licked my face,” Evan says, widening his eyes as he gets ready to delve into every pointless detail. My aunt’s dog, Murdock, is a big, white beast of an animal. I used to love playing with him. But now I’m jealous because although I want Evan to have fun—want it more than anything—I wish it could be with me. I wish I didn’t have to work so hard just to have simple moments like this. “He’s a good boy.” Evan sounds just like our uncle Donavon. “But Murdock can’t have broccoli.” I imagine my brother fed him his share of vegetables whenever he could.
I sit on the couch and listen as Evan tells me the rest of his weekend adventures, which include a trip to the mall for new sneakers and a movie. I’ve never heard of the cartoon he saw, and for that matter, I can’t even remember the last time I went to a movie; I was probably with Patrick.
When my brother is done, I ask him to take out his homework. The assignments are modified so he can supposedly complete them on his own, but he never can. I help him with the worksheet, and at bedtime, when Evan comes to snuggle up in my bed, I brush his too-long hair and read him a story—same story every time. He listens, quiet and sweet. Just before he drifts off, leaving me to carry him back to his room, he whispers that he loves me. And I tell him that I love him too.
CHAPTER TEN
“I can’t believe you went to Cameron Ramsey’s house,” Retha says, looking back at me from the front seat. The sun is shining bright this morning, and it’s almost enough to make me feel hopeful. “But really,” she says, “the bigger crime here is that you didn’t jump his sexy-ass bones.”
“Do you actually mean the things you say?” I ask her, smiling sweetly.
“Absolutely. He’s hot, Savvy.”
“Hey,” Travis says, taking his eyes off the road to look at her.
“Aw . . . I’m sorry, baby.” She leans over and pecks his lips. “I mean he’s hot for Savvy’s standards.”
“Right,” Travis says. We all know that Cameron’s hot by anyone’s standards. But when Travis glances back at me to grin, I notice the dark circles and pale skin. I’d hoped a day away would have cleared things up a little. Instead, he looks worse.
“So, um . . .” I start. “How did it go yesterday?”
Retha looks at Travis, and then turns toward the window. I feel the air thicken in the car. “Bad,” she says quietly.
I’m not sure if she means the hearing or if Travis got high. Possibly both. Retha and I tell each other nearly everything, but when it comes to Travis’s addiction . . . neither of us is entirely upfront. But I’m sick of being left out of this conversation.
“Are you using again?” I ask Travis, meeting his eyes in the mirror. I feel Retha turn to me, probably surprised that I’d just come out and ask.
Travis swallows hard and shakes his head. “Don’t turn this into an NA meeting, Savannah,” he says. “I’m just in a shitty mood. My dad’s coming home this week.” He pauses and stares out the windshield. “Ain’t the justice system grand?”
“Travis, I—”
“I’m good,” he says. “I promise.”
He glances back at me and smiles. But my face stings. He promised last time too. Exact words. There’s a chill down my back as Travis focuses on driving. I look at his arms, but they’re covered with long sleeves. I swallow down my fear and wait for my heart to slow. I wait for denial to kick in.
By the time we pull into the school lot, the three of us are joking again—even if it’s hollow. Retha schemes how to hook me up with Cameron. Now that she knows why he’s at Brooks, minus the personal details, she likes him that much more. He’s one of us.
Retha can barely contain her excitement as we walk into class. “And you know I’m going to that party with you,” she says, weaving her head like I’m about to fight her on the issue. But I’m glad she’ll be there with me. I mean . . . if I go at all.
Travis doesn’t say much and heads straight to his desk. I watch after him, and then I notice that Cameron isn’t here. I wonder where he is.
“I’ve got just the right bikini for this,” Retha continues. “Those prep boys won’t even know what to do with themselves.”
I smile. “I think we both know what they’ll be doing with themselves.” We both crack up. “Besides,” I say, “I’m not sure I should go. I don’t belong there.”
“Oh, no,” she says. “You’re going to that party. You deserve to be happy, Savvy. Stop trying to mess it up.”
“You just want to show off in your bathing suit.”
“Hell yes, I do. So don’t ruin this for me.” But I know she’s mostly kidding. She wants what’s best for me. It helps when it’s fun for her, too.
We’re all a little surprised when Mr. Jimenez walks in with his leather bag and sets it on his desk. We were kind of hoping to have a substitute or even another sho
rtened class.
“Hey, Mr. Jimenez,” Gris calls out. “How’d jury duty go? Did you get the gig?”
“Sorry, no,” he answers, taking off his glasses to clean them.
We groan our disappointment. Jury duty is almost like being famous. At least around here.
“Why not, man?” Gris asks. “You’d be perfect for it. Hell, you work here.”
Mr. Jimenez puts his glasses back on, his expression serious. “Exactly the problem,” he says. “I knew the defendant.”
We all go quiet, and I silently take stock of the classmates who left at the beginning of the year. Their faces blur together and it’s a reality check. It doesn’t matter who it was because it could be any of us.
Retha goes to her seat, and a second later Cameron walks in the door, and my heartbeat skips. He murmurs hello to me, simple, like I didn’t just have dinner with his family last night. I’m not sure what I expect him to say.
Mr. Jimenez looks at Cameron, and then at the rest of us. He slaps his hands together. “There is some good news, though,” our teacher says. “Field trip time.”
Several people cheer, but Mr. Jimenez is quick to squash our dreams. “Don’t get too excited,” he says. “We’re just going to the computer lab.”
I groan. The computer lab sucks. The Internet connection is on the school server, which blocks anything good. The only time we use it is when there’s a major assignment or dreaded test prep.
We end up having to split into two groups, and of course, I’m in the one with Gris and not Retha, Travis, or Cameron. The day is long, and I begin clicking random bubbles to get through the test faster. I’ll take my time on the actual GED.
We’re all tired at the end of the day, and when I return to class, Cameron is already gone. I’m a little disappointed. What if he changed his mind about the party? What if he changed his mind about me?
Retha and Travis waited for me, and the three of us head out. Travis says that he’ll drive us to the party on Saturday; he doesn’t ask for an invite, even though I’m sure Cameron would have no problem with him being there. It’s Travis—he doesn’t want to be around people. I wonder how much worse he will get once his father is home.
“I’ll bring the groceries by later,” Retha says to me as I climb out of the car.
“Sounds good. Thank you.” They leave, and I go to the curb to wait for Evan’s bus.
* * *
Evan doesn’t have any homework, so I let him color while I go to the kitchen to make dinner. Although the food I bought was for him, I couldn’t get nearly as much as I’d hoped. Retha will drop off the bag of groceries her mom grabbed for me, one filled with cereal and canned goods. But for now I open a can of chicken noodle soup—extra noodles—and heat it up in a pan.
I take out Evan’s favorite blue bowl from the cabinet and the chipped one for myself, and fill them. I grab both before heading into the living room. I set them on the coffee table and gather up Evan’s crayons to put them back in their box. He scrunches his nose and crosses his arms over his chest. He looks just like me when he does.
He’s upset, but I don’t want to indulge him and make it worse. I ignore the start of his tantrum and sit on the floor in front of the couch. The soup is still hot, so I tell Evan to be careful, and blow on my spoonful before taking a sip.
“I don’t want to eat this,” Evan whines from behind me. “I want dogs ’n’ cheese.”
“I didn’t have enough for hot dogs,” I tell him. “This is what we have for now.”
“Savannah.” Evan’s voice rises. “I want dogs ’n’ cheese.”
“Stop it,” I say, sliding his bowl in front of him. “I told you I don’t have any damn hot dogs. What do you want me to do?”
“Dogs ’n’ cheese!” Evan shouts, kicking the coffee table with his new sneakers.
“Stop!” I yell, turning to look back at him. I put my hand on his knee, but he kicks again and knocks over his bowl of soup. The hot liquid pours onto my jeans, and I jump up.
“Damn it!” I yell, and swipe at my clothes. Evan starts to thrash on the couch, and I reach to take him by the shoulders. “Evan, knock it off.”
He rips away from me, and his arm swings out and hits me in the mouth, pinching my lip against my tooth.
“Fuck,” I say to myself. I touch my lip, and when I bring my fingers down, I see that I’m bleeding. All at once the exhaustion, old bruises, and loneliness collide. My eyes blur with tears, and I stand there as Evan slides off the couch onto the floor, sobbing and miserable. He calls for our mother.
I back away, tears trickling down my face. Evan will probably cry himself to sleep tonight. I’ll probably do the same.
I wipe my cheeks and go into the kitchen to grab a piece of ice for my mouth. As I stand there at the freezer, I touch the cold cube to my lip with a wince.
There’s a knock at the front door. I quickly cross the house to open it, passing by Evan, who’s still crying on the floor. I’m relieved to find Retha on my porch, holding a brown grocery bag. Travis stands behind her.
“Jesus,” Retha says when she sees the ice at my lip. “You all right?”
“Yeah,” I say, and hold the door open to let them in. She pauses in front of me, gauging the situation.
“Your asshole father home?” she asks.
“No.”
“Good.” Retha heads inside and sets the groceries on the kitchen table. “And I brought those hot dogs.”
She walks straight to the couch and sits near where Evan lies on the carpet. Travis takes the chair across from her, putting his sneaker on the edge of the coffee table and avoiding the spilled soup.
Retha tightens her jaw; I know she hates seeing Evan like this, but she’s better at hiding it. She’s better at playing tough. “What’s going on, Evan?” she asks him. “Did you hit your sister again?”
Evan sniffles and lifts his eyes to look at Retha. She tilts her head, letting him know she’s not messing around.
“Yes,” he says quietly. He sounds sorry, and I lower the ice from my lip so he won’t feel guilty.
“Why?” Retha asks him.
“I wanted hot dogs,” he says, starting to cry again.
“No,” she says, holding up a warning finger. “No crying. You need to apologize to Savannah. Right now.”
Evan’s unable to actually stop crying, but he looks over at me. “I’m sorry, Savvy,” he says in his little voice.
“It’s okay, buddy.” His apology hurts my heart. “Just don’t do it again.”
He nods, and Retha reaches out her hand to him. “Come here,” she says. Evan immediately climbs onto the couch and snuggles up to Retha. She kisses the top of his head.
“Hey, Evan,” Travis says, leaning forward. “I brought you something.”
Evan wipes his sleeve under his nose. “What?” he asks.
Travis pulls out a package of Hostess cupcakes from his jacket pocket, and my brother practically jumps out of Retha’s arms. She’s quick to grab the back of his shirt to stop him.
“Not so fast,” she says. “First you need to clean up the mess you made.”
His bottom lip juts out, and I worry that he’ll have another tantrum, but he listens to Retha better than he listens to me. Evan gets on the carpet, and I help put the noodles in the tipped-over dish, while Travis grabs a towel from the kitchen to soak up the broth.
When it’s cleaned, Evan waits patiently on the couch, his feet swinging because they don’t reach the floor. Retha pretends to look him over like she’s still deciding if he deserves it. Then she asks Travis for the cupcakes.
“You get one,” she tells Evan.
“Right,” I add. “The other will be in your lunch for tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay,” he answers immediately, too excited to actually consider the consequences of having to wait.
Retha gives him a cupcake, and then me, her, and Travis head into the kitchen to put away the groceries. I set a pot of water on the stove and get out the hot dogs
and mac ’n’ cheese for dinner.
“You spoil him,” Retha calls, sitting in my father’s chair at the table. Travis puts the boxes of cereal in the cabinet.
“Hardly,” I say. I lick my lower lip, tasting blood. Travis comes over to the stove and asks to look at it. He examines my lip and tells me that I shouldn’t need stitches. We joke that he’s the expert on stitches since he’s had to get them too many times to count.
I must look pathetic though, because he wraps his arms around me and gives me a hug. His jacket smells like leather, smoke, and motor oil. It’s a cologne all his own. I straighten and thank him. Times like this, you can’t give in to the emotions of it all. It’ll bury you.
My friends wait while I make dinner, and then I give them their own portion of food. All of us sit at the table, like a family—a dysfunctional one, but a family nonetheless. Evan smiles, looking around at us.
And I think that this can work out. When there’s this much love, it has to work out.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The week passes quickly. Cameron jokes with me a little in class, updating me on his preparations for the pool party. On Thursday I let Kathy take Evan, refusing to speak even a word to her when she does.
It’s also the day Travis’s dad comes home. But no one wants to talk about that. Doesn’t mean I don’t worry, though. Part of me hopes this will be the last time Travis’s dad gets out—that next time he’ll stay in jail. But it seems like the law only gets involved in our lives to ruin them.
By Saturday the scratches from the cornfield have healed, and I have only one new bruise—which will look awesome with my bathing suit.
My phone rings early in the morning and I dash out to answer it, worried it’s Kathy and that something has happened to Evan. I pick up the phone and run my other hand through my tangled hair.
“Hello?” I ask, my voice thick with sleep.
“Savvy?” Retha chokes out. She’s crying, and I tighten my grip on the phone, panic breaking across my chest.