Family Ties (3 page)

CHAPTER FOUR

Rose opens the door smiling. “Good morning!”

“Good morning, Rose,” I return.

Her smile rapidly disappears. “What happened to your chin?”

“I slipped in the tub,” I lie.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” I smile to reassure her.

“Good. I have something for you.”

I give her a bewildered look and she hands me a brown paper bag. It looks like Arissa’s lunch bag yesterday, but this one has my name on it. I glance back at Rose.

“Lunch,” she says, still smiling.

I open up the bag. Egg salad sandwich, grapes, and carrot sticks. Tears well up and I hug Rose. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Arissa told me about your lunch yesterday. Did you eat breakfast?”

“Yes.” 

Rose gently places her hand on my face and her expression turns serious. “Anytime you need something, ask me. Okay?”

I nod, swallowing the emotions stuck in my throat. “Okay.”

No one has been this nice to me. Ever.

“It’s going to be a fun year,” Jason says as he sits down next to me at lunch.

“Really? What’s going to make it fun?” I ask.

“I’m going to try out for the basketball team and you girls are going to come to all the games and cheer me on!”

“I think you’re counting your chickens before they’re hatched,” Arissa points out.

“Whatever do you mean, Jericho?” he asks with feigned naiveté.

“I mean, one, you have to make the team and two, you’ll have to bribe us to come to the games just to cheer you on.”

He clutches his chest, “Oh! You wound me.”

I laugh. “You asked.”

“So what form are the bribes to take?” he asks.

“We’ll let you know once you make the team,” Arissa replies with a wink.

Jason nudges me with his elbow. “What would it take to bribe you, Parker?”

“A good book,” I answer without thinking.

“What makes a good book?” he asks, shoveling some unidentified protein into his mouth.

“Any book that makes you escape reality.”

They raise their brows at me.

Crap. They make it so easy to drop my guard. Even if I just met Jason yesterday.

“I mean this world is full of terrorists, school shootings, and murders. It’s nice to read something that makes you forget about it.”

They look lost in thought as if it never occurred to them.

“Deep, Parker,” Jason says. “Very deep.”

CHAPTER FIVE

Father storms into the backyard from the house, his face red and scrunched up, interrupting my break. I scramble to stand before he reaches me. He snatches my upper arm and yanks me to my feet.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

He drags me into the house and into his room, then throws me on the bed. My heart beats frantically against my ribs.

He takes some of his work shirts out of the closet. “You didn’t iron these!” he yells, throwing them on me. He takes out the rest of the shirts and throws them on top. “Iron them all!”

I don’t protest; it would only make it worse.

Since my lie about slipping in the tub passed without question, he stopped caring about whether my bruises were visible or not. Arguing with him means inciting a beating. A beating I prefer to avoid.

“Worthless!” he shouts, storming out of the room.

I push the shirts off me and onto the bed. I re-iron and hang them carefully to prevent wrinkling. Then, I finish the yard work.

Yelling overwhelms me when I open the sliding glass door and I hide. I don’t want to get caught up in their fight just for walking by.

“Give me your credit cards, Tibby!”

“Go to hell!” Mother screams.

“Give them to me!”

“No!”

Their faces are red as he lunges for her purse. She moves too slow and he jerks the purse out of her hands, thrusting his hand inside and digging out her wallet. She swipes at the wallet, but he holds her off with the other hand. He manages to unfasten the clasp and dig out the cards he demanded of her with one hand. He makes a beeline for the kitchen with her at his heels like a child trying to reclaim her confiscated candy. He cuts up the cards and she falls to the ground, gathering up the pieces as they drop.

“I don’t work all day for you to spend it all,” he snaps.

She stands, her chin jutting out, and spins in a huff. He follows her to the bar where she grabs a bottle of scotch and hurls it at him, still clutching the credit card snippets in the other hand. He steps to the side and barely misses getting hit. The bottle crashes into the kitchen wall, sending broken glass flying and amber liquid trickling down the wall. Father stares at it before turning back to Mother with his lips pressed tight and his fists clenched.

“What the hell did you do that for?”

“For this!” she screams, throwing the useless bits of plastic at him. “I work too, you fucking bastard!”

“Fucking bitch!”

He takes a step towards her, but she snatches another bottle, brandishing it like a knife.

“Put it down,” he orders.

“What if I don’t?”

“Put it down,” he repeats through gritted teeth.

“Why should I? I’m not Sara. You can’t order me around,” she goads. “You don’t want me spending money, but you can drink until you can’t see straight. It’s a wonder you can get it up at all anymore.” She chucks the bottle, hitting the wall wide to the right of the first one.

Father charges and tackles her to the ground.

“Get off me!” she yells, throwing her fists wildly.

“I can’t get it up anymore, huh?”

“Yeah. Not like there’s much to it when it is anyway.” She laughs sadistically.

“I’ll show you.”

He pins her arms over her head with one hand and rips her blouse open with the other; pearl buttons skitter across the wood floor.

I sneak back outside before I see anything else. I sit in the middle of the grass and sing to make sure I can’t hear anything going on inside.

Every show or song I know is because of my friendship with Arissa.

A second voice joins mine, startling me, and I check over my shoulder.

“What did you stop for?” Arissa asks.

“You scared me. What are you doing back here, Riss?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” She plants herself next to me. “I was at the front door and no one answered.”

“Oh. Well, Ozzie and Harriet decided to fight, then make up on the spot.”

“Ew!”

We’re quiet for a moment. We never really talk about the differences between our parents. It would violate the rule about not talking about family. The one I sometimes break without giving details when I’m frustrated.

But, I notice things and I know she does as well. It’s hard not to. It’s even harder to ignore it the more I get to know her and her parents.

“Do your parents fight?” I ask.

“If they do, I’ve never seen or heard them.”

“That must be nice.”

“What?”

“Peace and quiet.”

“Oh.” She pauses briefly, as if she’s never thought about it before. “Yeah, I guess it is. Do you want to sleep over tonight?”  

“Su—“

“Sara!”

Father stands in the sliding doorway.

“Call me,” Arissa whispers as she gets up to leave.

“What was she doing here?” he asks, scowling when I step into the house.

The stench of liquor permeates the air.

“She wants me to spend the night,” I answer.

“Why didn’t she come to the front door?”

“She said she did, but no one answered.”

He mumbles something under his breath.

“Can I sleep over at Arissa’s?”

“Shut up and clean the mess in the kitchen,” he orders instead of answering my question.

“Bu—“

“Don’t start with me!”

I look down at the grungy area rug. The previous owners left it when they moved out. It was already old when my parents bought the house and they never replaced it. Too busy shopping and drinking to think about a new area rug.

“Get in there!” He seizes me by the arm again, jolting me out of my subservient trance and hauls me to the kitchen.

Amber liquid stains the wall and coats the floor along with sharp glass. 

He shoves me into the mess and I slip, throwing my hands out to catch my fall. A sharp jarring sensation shoots through my left elbow as my hand hits the ground. I roll to my right, oblivious of the liquid and glass, screaming as pain takes over.

“Shut up!”

I hold my arm and cry, “I think my elbow is broken.”

This isn’t the first broken bone threatening to suffocate me in agony and blackness.

“Don’t be such a fucking baby. Clean up this mess.”

I push myself up with my left arm cradled to my abdomen. On my way to the sink I notice blood seeping from the glass shards stuck in my hands and arms. The systematic process my brain uses for these situations kicks in: do this first, then that. Drudgery.

I rinse the blood off, then pick out the glass. My arm rings out in agony when I move it, making it useless for my task.

I do the work with my right arm, and if it wasn’t for my injured elbow, it would be almost comical. I survey the kitchen and start with the edges where there is no visible glass.

My right arm is sore by the time I finish and take some ibuprofen.

Searing pain continues to radiate from my elbow in the shower. I want to give up while getting dressed as the spikes bring me to tears once more. I know my family won’t help me if I ask them to, so I grind my teeth and do it myself.

I’m not worthy of their help.

Father is watching a football game on DVR and Mother is in their room. I choose the lesser of the two evils.

“Mother.”

She looks up from the TV, pursing her lips. “What do you want?” 

“I need to go to the emergency room,” I answer.

“What for?”

“I think my elbow is broken.”

Her annoyance is evident in the look she gives as she rolls her eyes. “You
think
?”

“Yes. It feels like the last time my leg broke.” During Winter Break when Father slammed it in the car door because he said I was too slow. We told the ER doctor that it happened while skiing even though I’ve never been outside this city. The doctor never questioned why we didn’t go to an ER closer to where we said we were. If he had, my parents were ready to tell him that they thought it was just badly bruised since it wasn’t a clean break. “That’s why I need to go. I’m not a doctor.”

She presses her lips into a line. “I’m busy and you’re not dying. We’ll go to the doctor in the morning.”

I keep my arm against my chest while using the phone in the kitchen. “I can’t sleep over,” I tell Arissa.

“Why?”

“I hurt my elbow and Mother said she’ll take me to the doctor tomorrow.”

White lies. I perfect them with each one I tell.

“What happened?”

“I tripped over one of Victoria’s toys and jarred my elbow when I tried to break my fall.”

“Ouch. Are you okay?”

“I think so. I just took something so it won’t hurt so much.”

“Okay,” she says, accepting my story. “Maybe tomorrow.”

“Yeah. I’ll call you or come over.”

CHAPTER SIX

Mother and Victoria are preparing to leave when I stumble out of bed in the morning.

“Where are you going?” I ask, fighting the grogginess in my head and supporting my left arm across my torso.

“What do you care?” Victoria asks, her lip curled in a sneer.

“Because Mother said she’d take me to the doctor this morning, Smarty Pants,” I answer, annoyed.

“Don’t call your sister names,” Mother scolds while searching through her purse.

“Are you going to take me?” I ask, ignoring the rebuke and the fact that she always prefers my sister over me.

Her medium green irises flash annoyance at me. “You’re not ready.”

“I can be.”

“You have until I find my keys,” she states, her tone indicating she’s not kidding. If I’m not ready, she’s leaving without me, broken elbow or not.

I rush to my room, ignoring bursts of pain as I hurriedly put on shirt, run a brush through my hair, and brush my teeth. Mother is still digging through her purse as I run into the foyer.

“Look who’s Speedy Gonzales this morning,” she says, full of sarcasm.

“Still can’t find your keys?”

“No. We just decided to wait for you,” Victoria answers, then sticks her tongue out at me.

I look around, remembering her fight with Father yesterday. I head to the bar where he tackled her. The keys are fanned out from the keyring on the floor. I pick them up and take them to her.

She snatches them from my hand and scoffs as if she owes me some monumental favor she doesn’t want to fulfill. Like she’d ever do me a favor. “Let’s go,” she says.

We arrive at the doctor’s office and they make no move to get out.

“You’re not coming with me?” I ask.

“Are you a baby?” Mother asks. “We’ll come back when we’re done.”

Soft music plays over the sound system as I enter the office. Young kids sit in front of the large fish tank in the wall, pointing at the fish as they spot them. I head to the reception desk to check in and explain to the woman in scrubs behind the desk why I don’t have an appointment.

“Hold on a minute and let me talk to Dr. Bannister.” She leaves her seat while I sit and stare at the fish tank.

“Sara.” A nurse holds the door open. She takes my vitals at a small station, then ushers me into an exam room. “Dr. B will be right with you.”

I climb the step stool, the paper crinkling as I settle on the exam table. The door opens a few minutes later and Dr. Bannister saunters in while reading my chart. 

His grey eyes brighten as he smiles under short, golden hair. “Good morning, Sara.”

“Morning, Dr. B.” 

“So how did you hurt your arm?”

“I slipped and fell in some broken glass while cleaning the kitchen. A sharp pain shot from my elbow when my hands hit the floor.”

The truth wrapped in a lie. Everyone buys the lie so they don’t have to face the ugly truth.

“Let’s take a look at the source of your troubles,” he says.

I offer up my arm, wrenching my face in agony and biting my lips together as he tests my range of motion.

“How did you get these cuts?” he asks.

“There was broken glass on the floor.”

“Hm.” He appears to consider the validity of my response as his brow furrows. “I want to get some x-rays.” 

He leads me to a big room at the end of the hall. I remain in the doorway as he sets a plastic chair for me next to the long table of the giant x-ray machine.

“You’re not pregnant, are you?” he asks, draping a heavy blue apron over me and one over himself.

I stare at him, dumbfounded.

He laughs, breaking the tension. “I have to ask. It’s a standard question for females. Arm up on the table.” He arranges it the way he wants with the inside of my elbow facing up. “So are you?” He moves the big metal x-ray over the table to my elbow.  

“No.”

“That’s what I thought. Don’t move,” he says once the shadow of an X marks my elbow. Mechanical punching, whirring, and clicking fills the room after he steps behind a wall. He returns, putting me through the same process with two more positions.

Dr. B walks me back to the exam room and helps me back up on the table before leaving.

I’m curled up, on the brink of sleep, when the old woman comes in, covering me with a warm blanket. I’m out before she finishes tucking it around me.

“Sara,” a quiet male voice wakes me. “I have your x-rays.”

“Is my mother here yet?” I ask groggy, pushing myself up.

Dr. B frowns. “I’m afraid not.”

She’s too busy for me.

He turns on the light board, sliding the x-rays into it. “It looks like you have a fractured elbow.” He taps his finger on the middle x-ray. “You’ll need to wear a cast for six weeks.

“I need to let your mom know before I put the cast on. Do you know where she is?”

“She dropped me off and went somewhere with my sister. You can try her cell phone or my father. He should be at home.”

He returns after talking to my father and sets my arm in a yellow cast, handing me a prescription when he finishes.

I step outside and position myself on the curb for a long wait.

My parents allow me to spend the night at Arissa’s that night. Arissa, Rose, and Andrew take turns signing my cast. Andrew pops popcorn to snack on while we play card and board games.

My family didn’t offer to sign my cast. Playing cards and board games would never happen in the Parker house. At least, not with me included in them.

“Does it hurt?” Arissa asks once we’ve settled into bed.

“It did before, but the ibuprofen helps.”

“Would you be mad if I said something uncool about your parents?”

No one’s ever said anything bad about my parents to me before, but I can’t imagine disagreeing with anyone’s poor opinion of them. “I don’t think so.”

She rolls to her side, propping her head up on her hand. “I think they’re mean. They make you do everything and Victoria gets spoiled.”

“I think they like her better than me.”

“I like you better than Victoria.”

Tears well up and my throat feels like something is stuck in it. No one’s ever said they like me better than someone else.

I kept to myself because my parents didn’t allow me to make friends. They shut down any attempt to do so, so I stopped trying. I became the quiet one in class. The one no one bothered and the one always picked last for anything.

“Your parents are nice enough when I’m over, but I don’t think they like being nice,” she adds. My parents don’t like people in the house, so she doesn’t come over often. When she does, it’s only long enough to work on homework.

I choke back the tears. “Are there other nice parents like yours?”

“Of course there are.”

“Seriously?” I ask, still believing the Jerichos are an anomaly and all parents are like mine. I want to believe there are more parents like Arissa’s, but it doesn’t seem real. Not when all I’ve known is my father’s brutality and my mother’s apathy.

“Seriously. What about all those books you read?”

“Those aren’t real, Riss.” My life has always been clearly defined by my parents and I never attempted to relate the imaginary stories to it. Until meeting Arissa, I never thought my life could be different than it is now.

“They aren’t,” she agrees, “but there are people like the characters in real life. Didn’t you meet your friends’ parents before?”

“I never had friends before you.”

“Why?”

“My parents don’t like me talking to other people.”

“I think it’s sad you never had a friend before.”

“I don’t really mind. I like having you for a friend, Riss.”

“I like having you for a friend too.”