The Resurrected Compendium (15 page)

“Look at that,” Tyler murmured from behind her. He put his arms around her, hands on her belly. He jerked his chin toward their reflection in the elevator’s mirrored doors. “You are so hot.”

Oh, God, why did he have to pinch her belly like that? Why couldn’t he just put his arms around her, why did he have to jiggle her that way? Kelsey watched her expression — she might be grimacing inside, but no sign of it showed on her face. Frowning made wrinkles, and she wasn’t ready to start up on Botox yet.

They bypassed the lobby and headed down to the dock. Tyler left her behind halfway there to run, leaping and whooping, to greet his buddy. They pounded each other on the back, wrestling like middle-schoolers while Kelsey paused to adjust her flip-flop and tried to remember if she’d packed Bandaids.

“They’re idiots,” Jeremy said. “Hi, Kels.”

Jeremy, two years younger than Tyler, shared his brother’s lean build, dark hair and blue eyes, but nothing else about them was the same. He was still in school, working on his graduate degree in education, of all things. He read. Books, even. If he liked or approved of his brother’s relationship with Kelsey, he’d never said so, but unlike their father, who leered over her whenever he had the chance, he’d never creeped her out, either. If anything, Jeremy seemed to understand her better than his brother did.

“Can I get that for you?” He gestured at her bulging tote, which she’d set down so she could soothe her blister. “We need to get on the boat, apparently.”

Tyler was waving wildly. Duane had climbed on the boat, and Sheila was presumably already onboard. Kelsey smiled at him. “Oh. Sure, thanks.”

The dark-skinned man on the dock who took Tyler’s cash counted it very carefully. He pointed at the boat. “You know how to sail this?”

“Um, yeah.” Tyler snorted and rolled his eyes. “Me and my brother, dude, we’ve been sailing since we were kids.”

The man didn’t look impressed. “You go out, you make sure you can get back. I charge extra if you’re out past your time. And if I have to come get you…” He grinned widely. “You pay a
lot
extra.”

Tyler clapped him on the shoulder. “No worries, my good man. You stocked it up, right? Everything I told you to get?”

“No problem, fella. Everything you said.” The man slapped the roll of cash against his palm. “Go ahead, have fun.”

“Plan on it.” Tyler matched the guy’s grin, then turned to help Kelsey on board. “C’mon, babe, let’s check out the cabin.”

“You pay extra for stains,” the man said behind them.

Kelsey shivered in distaste and didn’t answer him. Perv. But she did glance over her shoulder to see if he was checking out her butt — bonus. He totally was. All those hours of crunches and squats were paying off.

In the flurry of activity as the men cast off or shoved off or whatever you did with boats, there wasn’t time for Tyler to take her below and show her the cabin. Instead, Kelsey found herself sitting with Sheila up at the front…what was it called? The bow? The prow?

“Hey.” Sheila had a friendly enough smile, even if it was as crooked as her teeth.
 

“Hi.” Kelsey settled onto the cushioned bench and shaded
 
her eyes to look out at the water.

She had nothing against Sheila. They were “friends” because their boyfriends were buddies and they’d been on this vacation together for four days already, and because the men went off to do man things sometimes and left the girls to “go shopping” and “get mani-pedis.” Fortunately, Sheila hadn’t been the sort to toodle around the junk shops in town or get manicures, so she and Kelsey had spent a few nice afternoons sunning by the pool without really talking much at all. Sheila wore SPF 45 and didn’t tan.

“Some adventure, huh?” It was the chattiest Sheila had ever been.

“It should be fun.” Kelsey shrugged. “I’ve never been on a sailboat before.”

“Oh…you don’t get seasick, do you?”

Kelsey’s stomach twisted at the thought. “God. I hope not. I don’t know.”

“You won’t,” Sheila said firmly. “Don’t think about it.”

But it was all Kelsey could think about now, the rise and fall of the waves against the boat and the wind pushing them faster and faster along the water. She’d wanted to go to the Caribbean, where the water would’ve been smooth and clear, nothing like the Atlantic Ocean with its gray-green water and whitecaps. The boat skipped along it as Tyler and Jeremy did things with the sails, and it tipped from side to side as they hooted and hollered.

She would not be sick. No. She would not be sick. She refused. Kelsey swallowed hard and repeatedly to tamp down the nausea.

She would. Not. Be. Sick.

19

Hey, fatty.

Hey, girl.

Kathy doesn’t want to turn and look, but there’s no way she can keep avoiding her. She will just keep going until she gets what she wants. So, clutching her towel around her as best she can, though it barely covers her, Kathy turns.

“Where’s your robe? Why are you in the hall without a robe? You know how I feel about that.”

“My robe’s too small.”

As soon as the words come out of Kathy’s mouth, she knows she should’ve kept quiet. It’s true, the robe
is
too small and has been for months. It’s not Kathy’s fault that she only just now noticed.

“Too small? Too small, eh? It’s because you spent too much time stuffing your fat face, isn’t that right, piggy? Isn’t that right, pig-girl?”

Kathy wants to scream. The robe got too short in the hem, then in the arms. She had it since she was a little kid, and she’s twelve now. She grew four inches in the past year. She can’t help it if she grows, can she?

“Come here.”

Reluctantly, bare damp feet dragging on the worn hall carpet, Kathy does as told. The old woman’s gnarled, scraping fingers claw at her. They yank the towel, and though Kathy does her best to clutch it tight, Grandma is stronger. She slaps Kathy’s belly and thighs and butt, each blow stinging more in humiliation than actual pain. But it’s worse when she doesn’t hit, because then she just…touches.

“You giant lump. You huge, gross slob. You’re a whale, you know that? Look at yourself. I said look!”

Fighting tears, Kathy looks at her body. She’s growing hair. Her breasts have started to feel tender and swell. The book the teacher gave them in school says that’s all normal, but Kathy doesn’t want it to happen to her. She doesn’t want to get bigger. She’s big enough already.

“Turn around. Bend over.”

The bath water was barely hot, but the winter air is chilly in here. That’s why she shivers, Kathy tells herself, knowing it’s a lie. She bends to touch her toes. The fingers pry
 
her open. Invade. Kathy takes short, shallow breaths to keep herself from screaming.

“You repulsive, fat cow. You make me want to vomit. You hear me? I’m going to vomit!”

“No, Grandma, don’t do that.”

Grandma slaps her on the butt again. Tells her to turn around. Kathy reaches for the towel, but Grandma snatches it away.
 

“You’re such a glutton, I’m surprised you don’t puke, yourself.”

Tonight for dinner, Grandma made meatloaf. Mashed potatoes. Boiled red beets, string beans with cheese and fried onions on top, macaroni-and-cheese. Dinner rolls. Salad with bleu cheese dressing. For dessert, cherry pie with ice cream. Grandma loads Kathy’s plate, and Kathy must eat what’s put on it, every crumb, every speck. Grandpa doesn’t have to, but then Grandpa can only eat what Grandma cuts up to feed him in tiny bites, like a baby.

If Grandma also eats the food she’s put on the table, Kathy knows she will be okay. But there are plenty of nights Grandma will pass up the meat, the vegetables, maybe nibbling on a saltine cracker and sipping her diet cola. Those are the nights Kathy knows to risk a beating or other punishments rather than filling her belly with whatever Grandma’s made, because chances are good it’s been spiced with something other than love.

Tonight, Grandma had eaten some of everything, nowhere near as much as she made Kathy eat, but still. She ate it. Now she makes coughing, gagging noises and bends over her chair like she really will puke. Then she sits up straight.

“Go get me the bucket.”

Kathy shakes her head, and Grandma is quick to slap her face.

“Get. The. Bucket.”

It’s under the sink in the bathroom, stinking of the blood that leaks out from the cloth pads Grandma uses when it’s her period. Kathy hasn’t started hers yet; she hopes she never does, because all the other girls in school and the teacher and the book the teacher gave them on puberty says there are maxi pads and tampons made of cotton that you throw away…not these cloth pad Grandma soaks in the bucket under the sink and washes to use again and again. The bucket has an inch or so of bloody, stinking water in it. Kathy dumps it, but it still stinks.

Still naked, she brings the bucket to Grandma and holds it out to her.
 

“Here.”

Grandma holds up a small bottle. She opens the top. She hands it to Kathy.

“Drink a mouthful of that.”

“What is it?”

“You never mind, pig-girl. You drink it. Just a mouthful. Or more, what do I care?”

Grandma’s laugh is sharp. It cuts. Kathy reads the bottle. The label says IPECAC.

From the living room comes the sound of Grandpa farting and crying out. He’s probably pooped in his pants again. Grandma will clean him up, cursing and making fun of him while he says nothing. He might cry. Kathy hates it when he cries.
 

“You drink it. I’ll be back in a bit. You do not go anywhere. And God help you if you put that towel back on. And Kathy…you use that bucket.”

The ipecac is sickly sweet but goes down hard, making her gag until the taste fades. Kathy wants to go to her room, or at least put her towel on, but if she does, Grandma will punch or kick her. She might cut Kathy’s hair again, and it’s only finally growing out to look at least a little bit cute.
 

The feeling, when it comes, is familiar. A boiling upward. Hot liquid, chunky and thick, chokes her and she opens her mouth to spew it into the bucket. Stuff splashes on her face, and Kathy can’t even catch her breath to cry out. She can’t breathe. She pukes, again and again.

Oh, God, oh, no, she’s going to fill the bucket. It’s going to fill and overflow. It will spill.

Desperately, she tries to hold back, but her entire dinner shoots out of her. The sound of it hitting the mess already in the bucket triggers another wave of nausea; she can’t stop herself. She pukes again, holding her stomach. Naked, her wet hair hanging in her eyes, Kathy crouches on the cold floor and sicks up everything she’s ever eaten.

A shadow falls over her. Grandma. Kathy cringes, waiting for a kick or a punch, but Grandma only laughs.

 
“Nobody will ever love you like I do,”
Grandma says.
 

Kathy can only hope that nobody ever does.

20

Sheila had been pretty sure Kelsey was going to blow chunks by the way she’d gone so pale beneath that ridiculous tan she had going on, but apparently the girl could rally. Probably had a lot of practice, she thought. Didn’t people who binged and purged develop some sort of super control over their vomit reflex, or something?

As soon as she thought it, Sheila felt bad. Kelsey’d never done anything mean to her. It wasn’t Kelsey’s fault that Sheila found everything about her ridiculous, from her fake blonde hair to her eyelash extensions and her gel-tipped nails and that God-awful tan. Not only ridiculous, but frankly, sort of insulting to women. Kelsey was the sort of useless woman Sheila had avoided all through college and continued to avoid as best she could — well, when they weren’t dating her boyfriend’s best friend, anyway. Sheila had been with Duane for four years. In that time, she’d met no fewer than seven women Tyler had “dated,” a term he used pretty loosely, sometimes as shorthand for “met at a party and banged a couple times.” Kelsey had been around the longest of any of them, probably because she was the prettiest, had the biggest boobs and also, Sheila thought as she watched the other woman stroke suntan lotion over her tan, owned the least self confidence.

“Are there sharks out here, do you think?”

“Just great whites, but only if you’re Roy Scheider.” Sheila waited, but Kelsey gave her a blank look. “Jaws?”

“Oh.” Kelsey leaned to look over the side of the boat. “I wonder if we’ll see any.”

“I hope not. That shit scares me.” Sheila gestured toward the back of the boat, where Tyler and Duane were whooping and shouting. “They want to find some of those wrecks or something. Go scuba diving.”

Kelsey looked at her. “Oh. Do you want to do that?”

Sheila shrugged. “Sort of. What about you?”

“Oh, I think it would be really neat.”

Okay, so maybe the other woman wasn’t as ridiculous and useless as she’d thought. One of the women Tyler had brought along on one of these vacations had gone willingly enough into the ocean, not on a rented sailboat, but a chartered stingray snorkeling expedition. She’d listened to the guide explain what would happen and watched the video along with the rest of them. But when she got in the water and the rays started swarming, coming in to feed from the frozen squid the guide had passed out to everyone, she began screaming and crying. Not just wincing or getting out of the water like any normal adult would, but screaming and sobbing in terror, clinging to Tyler’s neck and refusing to put her feet down. He’d not only had to carry her to the boat, but sit out with her for the rest of the tour. Sheila had no use for women like that. She’d assumed Kelsey was more of the same, but so far, despite the perfect hair, nails, makeup and bikini bod, the other woman hadn’t done any of the normal “stupid-girl” tricks Sheila had grown accustomed to seeing with Tyler’s girlfriends.
 

“Have you done a lot of sailing?” Kelsey asked.