Family Ties (2 page)

CHAPTER TWO

I jump and scan the living room, den, and hallway. Every muscle in my body tenses as his dark form appears in the hallway.

“I
asked
, where the fuck have you been?”

I throw my hands up in front of me and cower. “Across the street meeting the new neighbors.”

He struts nearer, still cloaked by the darkness. The clinking and swishing of ice and bourbon in a double old-fashioned glass grows louder and the bourbon aroma becomes more pungent as he closes in. His gray eyes zero in on me. “Did you have permission?” he asks with a measure of sarcasm to toy with me.

I know the tone well. Anything less than meekness right now is unacceptable to him. Yet I still feel the need to explain. “No, I—“

“What have we told you about that?” He surges forward in two long strides. His white undershirt hangs over the waistband of his khaki work pants.

I flinch and step back. “Do not leave without permission.”

“And what’s your punishment for breaking the rules?” he asks, backing me into the front door.

Every strand of his short, dark blond hair is still in place from this morning. He smacks his right hand against the door above my head, and pins his flabby body into mine. The bourbon is heavy on his breath and I turn my face away. He brings his hand down from the door and slaps my face in one swift motion.

“Look at me, dammit!” he demands, waiting for my compliance, which I give. “What is your punishment?”

“Whatever you say it is.”

“What did she do now?” an exasperated voice asks.

I peer behind my father to silhouettes of my mother and sister, standing in the shadows with shopping bags in their hands.

“She was off meeting the new neighbors,” Father answers, stepping back.

“Before we do? What the fuck were you thinking, Sara?” Mother asks. I know she doesn’t expect or want me to answer that. “Who knows what they thought about her,” she says to no one in particular, then glares at me as she moves in. Her dark hair in loose curls, framing her face set with green eyes. “How could you do this to me? So help me, if they decide not to talk to us because you did something clumsy or stupid, you’ll be grounded for the rest of your life!”

“They have a girl my age,” I blurt out in a weak attempt to defend myself.

“What makes you think anyone would like you?” Father asks.

“She does like me!” I cry out with more courage. “She even asked her mom if I could stay for dinner before I left.”

Father raises his eyebrows then looks back at Mother. “Well, Tibby, looks like we have a bona fide social butterfly here.”

“More like social cockroach,” Victoria adds, her green eyes glinting. Her dark hair is pulled back into a ponytail.

“Shut up!” I yell at my sister. The only thing we have in common is the DNA giving us Mother’s dark hair and differing shades of her green eyes.

Father slaps my face again. “Go mow the lawn.”

“But-“

He raises his hand and I recoil. He smacks the door again with the palm of his hand to emphasize his unspoken point. I follow orders like an obedient slave and head outside.

“Sara!” Arissa calls.

I spot her in her front yard out of the corner of my eye. I continue on without acknowledging her. I don’t know if my parents or tattletale sister are watching. I feel like I’m getting off easy and I don’t want to ruin it since I abandoned the chore to follow Arissa.

Arissa continues to yell for my attention for several minutes. I sigh with relief when she stops.

A large hand clasps my shoulder five minutes later. I jump and spin.

Andrew.

I turn back and continue to mow.

Andrew follows. “Arissa says you’re ignoring her.”

“I have to finish mowing the yard,” I respond matter-of-factly.

He tries to get in front of me, then changes his mind.

“What happened to your face?” He lifts his hand to my cheek.

I dodge his hand. “Don’t.”

“What happened to your face, Sara?”

“I hit myself in the face when I was starting the lawn mower,” I answer as I keep pushing the mower forward.

Father steps out of the house. Noticeably absent is the glass normally glued to his hand. “Leave my daughter alone,” he demands.

“I’m sorry.” Andrew says, stepping away from me. “I’m Andrew Jericho, your new neighbor.”

“Simon Parker.”

“I was just checking on Sara. My daughter, Arissa, was worried about her because she wasn’t responding to her attempts to say hello.”

My father chuckles. “Well, Sara gets focused on her chores. She likes to get them done quickly.” 

He’s so preoccupied with Andrew that he doesn’t see me roll my eyes at his farce. My parents put on a show when the world is watching so no one will suspect what happens behind closed doors. I finish with the front and move to the backyard while the two men talk.

Father finds me in the back, his drink back in its regular position. He stops the lawn mower and gets in my face, fresh alcohol on his breath. I hold statue still and eye the grass.

“That was a gutsy move, going to someone’s house without permission and making a friend.” He meanders behind me to the other side, his warm breath trailing behind him, then moves his face into mine again. “If you tell them anything about us you’ll wish you were dead.”

My stomach tightens. He never says anything he doesn’t mean or won’t follow through on.  

I discover my family ate without me when I return inside. I sit at the table but my mother stops me.

“Clear the table and do the dishes first,” she orders.

I add leftovers to my plate, then do as I’m told before sitting back down to eat.

I climb into bed later, pulling the covers tight around me to the sound of muffled arguing between my parents.

This is how it’s always been as long as I can remember. Father, with a drink his hand and his other ready to strike. Mother, emotionally unavailable to me, uncaring about how Father treats me, and fawning over Victoria. Her very own clone.

I don’t know why it’s this way. They never talk about or give a reason for it. If I ask, I’m punished. It only took two beatings to learn not to ask anymore.

It’s just the way my life is.

I squeeze my eyes shut and will myself to sleep.

CHAPTER THREE

Freshman Year

My parents allowed my friendship with Arissa to continue. They had no way of forcing it to end after Father met Andrew. For the sake of the illusion, I’m permitted to hang out with Arissa when I ask, as long as my chores are done. They’ve already agreed to let me go to our high school football games with the Jerichos.

Arissa and I spent the rest of the summer getting to know each other, including her teaching me more about pop culture. Sleepovers consisted of a lot of movie marathons, binge watching TV shows on cable and Netflix, and listening to music while thumbing through magazines. She never questions why I don’t know these things, but takes my story at face value when I tell her I prefer reading.

We walk to Encinitas High School for our first day of school together and sit next to each other in first period history with Ms. Hutchinson; a short, rail thin woman with no shape. A white sundress hangs from the thin straps and a white cardigan covers her shoulders and arms. Her blonde hair is swept back into a bun at the nape of her neck. She peers over the top of her glasses perched on the end of her nose. Her silver eyes appear to sparkle when she smiles.

She calls roll from the paper she holds in front of her. We raise our hands when answering as she asked us to so she can learn our names. Next, she hands out a paper with her class rules on it and how she will calculate our grades.

We have the same routine for second and third period classes. My stomach is protesting my lack of breakfast by the time we arrive at the cafeteria.

Arissa’s name is written across the front of a brown paper bag in Rose’s flowing script. My lunch is in a plastic bread bag from the last of the bread I used. We lay out our lunches on the cafeteria table. Arissa has an egg salad sandwich, carrot sticks, jello, and a juice box. Me, with a mere apple and two slices of white bread.

I glance at her lunch then look at mine, trying not to squirm as queasiness erupts inside.

“Let’s share our lunches,” Arissa suggests without a hint of pity. “I really want apples instead of carrots.” She hands me half of her sandwich and moves her carrots sticks in between us.

I follow her lead and slide my bread and apple in the middle.

“So what do you think of Ms. Hutchinson?” she asks.

“She’s nice, but how skinny can you be?”

Arissa laughs. “Codename: Carrot Stick.” She picks up a carrot stick and waves it.

Other students sit next to us with their cafeteria food and we peek at their trays. Runny white stuff approximating mashed potatoes; a brown rectangle masquerading as meatloaf; limp overcooked green beans; and a thick gray mass called chocolate pudding. We giggle and eat our shared sandwich.

“If you think it’s so funny why don’t you eat it,” says the boy sitting next to Arissa, sliding his tray towards her.

“No, thanks,” she says, pushing it back.

“What about you?” He shifts his dark hazel eyes to me.

“That food is only good for one thing,” I answer.

“What?”

“A food fight.”

He laughs and his eyes gleam. “What would you do if I threw it at you then?”

“I’d tell a teacher.”

“Hmmm.” He runs a hand through his long, dark sienna hair with curls at the end. “Afraid of having fun?”

“I don’t want to get in trouble,” I state. 

“Ah! You’re a Miss Goody Two-Shoes.”

“Miss Goody who?” I ask, thinking he is talking about a teacher.

He laughs again. “Miss Goody-
you
.” He locks eyes with me, still chuckling. “I’m Jason Waters.”

“Sara Parker.” I eye him.

“Arissa Jericho.”

“Well, it’s been real. See you two later,” he says, standing, then leaves with his tray.

Arissa leans over the table and whispers, “He likes you.”

“Shut up!”

“No, you shut up.”

The giggling starts all over again.

I convince Arissa to go to the library with me before lunch is over so I can check out a book. I like to read, but my parents won’t let me to go the public library. I might make friends there. I always go to the school library when school is in. I leave with
The Complete Works of Shakespeare
.

The walk home feels longer because of the heat and we get sticky with sweat. Rose is at their front door calling us in. We tell her about Ms. Hutchinson, Jason, and the rest of our first day of school over lemonade and peanut butter crackers.

“Sounds like you girls had fun,” Rose states.

I pick up my backpack and tell Arissa, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Can’t you stay?” she asks.

“No. I think my parents left me with a list of chores. Besides, Victoria will tell on me if I’m not home when she gets there.”

“Can you come over later?”

“I’ll ask.”

I stuff a load of laundry in the washer, then work on weeding the vegetable garden. Victoria arrives home while I’m taking a break after moving the clothes into the dryer.

“You’re not doing chores,” she says.

“I’m taking a break.”

“You know what happens if you’re not done when Mother and Father get home.”

“Duh, Victoria.” I set my glass of water down and return to the backyard to get away from her.

I stop again to fold the laundry and put the clothes away. Then, I finish in the garden, pick a few vegetables for dinner, and turn on the sprinklers.

Victoria lies prone on the TV room floor, watching cartoons and coloring. I press my lips together as wash the vegetables and place them in a colander to drain.

She gets to do whatever she wants and I’m stuck doing all the work.

Mother drives in as I turn off the sprinklers. Victoria runs to her squealing about her first day of school while Mother cooks dinner and I set the table.

“My teacher, Mr. Fawkes, lets us chew gum in class,” Victoria brags.

“Lucky you,” Mother responds with a warm smile. It’s a smile she only gives my sister.

“He read a book to us today. He said he’s going to read to us every day after lunch recess.”

“Are you the teacher’s pet already?” I ask.

“Shut up!”

“Leave her alone,” Mother commands.

I pause at the rebuke. “I had a good first day of school,” I announce in an attempt to share with her like I did with Rose.

“Your sister was talking,” she scoffs.

My gut tightens like I was just punched. It’s always Victoria. Never me. “Then can I go to Arissa’s?”

“Yes, but what is the rule?”

I sigh and reply in monotone, “Do not talk about the family.”

I run across the street and knock on the door. Andrew answers.

“Is Arissa around?” I ask, smiling.

“We were about to eat dinner.”

My smile drops to a frown and I look down. “Okay. Well, tell her I came over, please.”

“Would you like to join us?” he asks.

I brighten up again. “Are you sure?”

“I’m positive.”

“Can I use your phone to ask my mother?”

“Sure,” he says, letting me in. “Rose! Get the phone for Sara!”

Rose comes out of the kitchen, drying her hands with her apron. “Is everything okay?”

“She came over to see Arissa and I invited her to stay for dinner. She wants to call her mom.”

“Well, come on then.” She beckons me to follow her into the kitchen. She takes the cordless phone off the wall and hands it to me.

“Hello?” answers Victoria.

“Let me talk to Mother.”

“What for?” she asks.

“Just give her the phone, Victoria,” I say, annoyed.

“Don’t boss me!”

I hear Mother in the background asking Victoria who is on the phone.

“It’s Sara,” she states. 

Rustling crackles through the receiver as it changes hands.

“What do you want?” Mother asks, impatient.

“Arissa’s parents asked me to stay for dinner. Can I?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because
I’m
fixing dinner,” she answers.

“But if I stay here, you won’t have to listen to me and Victoria fighting.”

She is silent for a few seconds. “Be home by seven o’clock. You still have homework to do.”

“But I don’t have homework today.”

“Seven o’clock, Sara,” she repeats, raising her voice.

“Okay,” I relent. “Seven.”

I sit down to eat as Arissa and I recount our day again with Andrew.

“It sounds like an adventure, girls.”

Arissa and I grin.

“If you girls wash up, you’ll have some time before Sara has to go home,” Rose says as we finish eating.

We leave the table and head to Arissa’s room.

“Did you tell your mom about school?” she asks, sitting on the bed.

“I tried, but she was more interested in Victoria’s day. That’s when I asked if I could come over,” I answer, sitting next to her.

“What’s wrong with your mom?”

“I don’t know. Sometimes I think that maybe I’m adopted.”

“Do you think it’s possible?”

“It would explain why I’m not like them. But I look a lot like my mother.”

“Yeah,” she agrees softly.

I hug one of the pillows to me, playing with a corner. “You’re lucky. You don’t have a brother or a sister.”

“I wish I did.”

“But then you wouldn’t get all the attention.”

“How do you know?”

“Look at me and Victoria. She gets all the attention.”

“Maybe. But I had friends before moving here with brothers and sisters and they
all
got attention.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

Father sits in his chair, drink in hand, watching a baseball game when I return. “Go do the dishes,” he orders, never taking his eyes off the game.

Dishes and serving bowls are spread over the table, pots and pans cover the stove, and several mixing bowls litter the counter.

I peer into a serving bowl on the table and contemplate whether the red mush is worth saving or not. Cafeteria food would be preferable to Mother’s cooking.

I load the dishwasher and hand wash everything that doesn’t fit. I’m scrubbing around the stove burners when Father comes in.

He picks up a pot from the dish drainer and inspects it. “You call this clean?”

“What?”

He thrusts the pot in my face.

“It
is
clean,” I protest.

“Look at all that.” He points inside the pan.

“I don’t see anything.”

“Are you blind?”

There is nothing where he points but the bottom of a clean pan. “It’s clean.”

He makes a fist and slams the side of it down on top of my head.

“Ow!” I yell, grabbing the counter for support as my knees buckle. I fall to the ground anyway. I cover my head and the room spins as tears rush out.

“Stop crying!”

I attempt to stifle the sobbing as I cower, but it only makes me cry harder.

“I said, quit crying!” he yells, kicking me in the stomach.

I gasp for breath as pain spreads out from my center. The vocal crying stops, but the tears still flow as the world whirls around me.

He throws the pan at me, connecting with my chin. “Now get up and wash that pan again.” He marches out of the kitchen, leaving me on the floor.

I lie still until the spinning subsides. Every move I make hurts my abs and my head while I finish in the kitchen.

I head to the bathroom, taking cautious steps, and stand in front of the mirror, drawing my dark hair away from my face. My emerald eyes are rimmed in red.

I test my swollen chin with a finger and wince from the raw pain.

This is how it is. Methodically completing my assigned chores and checking for injuries. One dreary day after another.

I draw a hot bath, then undress and check my stomach. No bruising yet, but it’s red too. I  check the top my head with my fingertips. Tender, but no bump formed yet. I turn off the water, climb in the bathtub, and I sit back with my eyes closed and daydream.

Mother, Father, Victoria, and I are at the beach. Victoria and I run around together in the shore breaks while Mother and Father watch us. Father’s arm drapes around Mother and she rests her head on his shoulder.

A family. Like Rose, Andrew, and Arissa.