“There are times to stay put, and what you want will come to you, and there are times to go out into the world and find such a thing for yourself.” ~Lemony Snicket, Horseradish: Bitter Truths You Can't Avoid
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(Price: unedited)
He came home to a tea party.
Jewel was sitting smack-dab in the middle of the living room wearing a frilly pink skirt and a plastic tiara, pouring something – probably diet soda – all over her lap. One of the kitchen chairs was sitting on its side beside her, hair ribbons draped over one crooked leg. Her tea set, a coffee mug and a napkin, were filled with tiny white squares.
A bunch of half-dressed Barbie dolls were scattered over the green shag rug, one of which was sitting by Jewel’s pale leg, gelled hair limp and discolored. Soda was making a wide puddle around her.
It reminded him of urine.
Over the long, lonely years he had watched plenty of princess movies with her, but he couldn’t remember seeing a tea party staged quite like this. He sprung the rest of the way into the house, letting the door slam shut behind him. Shrugging his jacket off, he slung it over one arm.
“Jewel!” She kept pouring. The soda was sliding off her legs, her arms, turning the bright pink of her skirt a soggy mauve.
Trying to tiptoe through the minefield of dolls was hopeless. He winced when he heard something crack underneath his foot. Jewel jerked to life when she heard the crack. She dropped the bottle of soda and scurried over to him, scooping the maligned doll up into her arms.
“Jewel?” Price bent down and touched the top of her head gently.
She stared at him, eyes huge, blue clouded. The doll swung back and forth in her arms. He wondered what she was thinking – if she was thinking. If she was tired of her self-imposed silence. If she would ever talk again.
“How was your day?”
She reached up to take his hand. The doll fell to the floor with a thump. Her eyes flickered closed, open again. She gripped his hand more tightly. That was their signal: it was okay. Not great, but okay.
Livable.
She followed Price through the narrow hallway and into the adjoining kitchen. He picked her up, swinging her into a chair at the kitchen table. She gave him the smallest, faintest smile. Encouraged, he went over to the cupboard and rummaged for a bag of chips.
“You want to tell me what that whole thing was?”
She shook her head.
“Of course not.” He found a bag of cheesy potato chips and then when he looked in the dishwasher he found a chipped white bowl. “Hungry?”
Jewel just stared at him as he carried the chips and the bowl to the table. She didn’t hesitate to take the food, however, ripping the bag open and reaching inside. Price slid the bowl towards her. “Don’t make a mess, please.”
He took a fistful of chips. They ate in silence. He finished first and watched her, trying to understand how such a beautiful, open child could at once become so startlingly silent. Jewel had been the joy of the local church – the fearless child, whom everyone loved, who loved everyone.
She talked to strangers, she made people laugh. She danced to the sound of rain and sang hymns at the top of her lungs. She had been replaced by a sullen girl who hacked off her doll’s hair and only made noise when eating. She walked carefully now, on the balls of her feet. It was so different. Unsettling.
“Finished?”
Price threw the empty bag away. He filled a cup with water and handed it to her. When she drank he could see the pulse fluttering in her throat. It looked like parts of her were missing – the strong part, the joyful part. She was so fragile.
He thought this until she stopped drinking to drop the cup on the table. Water and glass shards flew everywhere, splashing onto the floor, on her already soaked lap, and tabletop. Price jumped up in surprise. “Jewel! We talked about breaking cups!”
It was the third this week. Since last week, she had broken five. He was going to have to go out and buy a whole new set of cups soon, which minimum wage did not provide enough money for.
She sat in her chair, absolutely frozen as he dashed to the sink and grabbed a wad of paper towels. He moped up the water, swearing under his breath. “Can you get the broom from the pantry?”
Getting the glass shards off the floor was hard – tiny pieces stuck in between the wooden slats. He was going to have to scrub the gaps with a toothbrush later, because Atticus would cut himself.
Atticus. “Jewel!” She was standing at his elbow. He felt her jump when he shouted. “Did Charliegh come by yet?” Out of the corner of his eyes he could see her hair swinging as she shook her head. Crap. He checked his watch. Charliegh was supposed to be dropping three year old Atticus off at 4:10, and it was 4:15.
“Go stand by the door.” He said. “If she comes, get Atticus for me.”
He finished cleaning the kitchen, still waiting for the phone to ring. Unease settled heavy in his stomach. “Jewel?” One word; all he seemed to be saying these days. The house was too silent. He could hear Picasso, Jewel’s kitten, mewling from his cage in the hall. The kitchen clock ticked loudly. But he heard no movement, no life. The doorbell chimed suddenly, and then he heard it: the patter of footsteps.
Charliegh was standing in the doorway, bouncing Atticus on her hip. She looked tired, the bright McGowan Markets insignia on her visor standing in stark contrast to the pale residue of her skin.
“Hey, Price.” She smiled slightly.
He extended his arms for Atticus. “Hey. How was he?”
“Cross as usual. He cried when I gave him animal crackers.”
Frowning, Price straightened the collar of Atticus’s dinosaur printed shirt. The kid had crumbs on the sides of his mouth, and his hands were red with cold. “He hates winter.”
“Babies don’t know seasons, silly.” That was Charliegh – straight to the point. Whimsical, just like a girl. She had this funny look on her face when she smiled at him, something akin to pity. Price hated that.
Who didn’t hate pity? It was a requirement. Like how a bunch of people from church went to that dead kid’s party over the weekend – they didn’t go because they had known him, they went because they to appease their conscience.
“You clearly haven’t spent enough time around Atticus.”
“Three hours is enough!” Charliegh cracked her back. “I don’t know how you stand it.” There it was again – pity. Maybe admiration. But he wasn’t going to kid himself. Splashing interrupted their conversation. Wet was soaking through his socks, and when he looked over he saw that Jewel had gotten another bottle of diet soda out of the fridge.
This time, she was lying on her stomach in the living room pouring in onto the wood floor, watching it make a lazy caramel descent into the hallway, streams of fizz that almost looked like oil.
“Shoot.” Price handed Atticus back to Charliegh. “Hold him for a sec.”
He collected the bottles from Jewel and made her go upstairs to change into a clean skirt. Moping the floor was more difficult. It was sticky, and the air smelled like sugar. Charliegh put Atticus on the sofa and helped pile the Barbie dolls back into their box. Price gave her an extra five dollars when they were done.
“Don’t give me money.” Charliegh shoved the money back into his hands. She crossed her arms defiantly. “I’m doing it for Atticus. He’s a good kid. I don’t need paid any more for that, thank you.”
Price rolled his eyes. “Just take it. You know I hate owing people time.”
“Yeah, but this doesn’t count.”
“Charliegh.”
“No, Price. Stop trying to buy the world.”
“I’m not…” Annoyed, he pocketed the money. “You know what? Fine. Pull a blonde on me.”
Charliegh started laughing. “You love me.”
“My dad loved you.” He didn’t know why he said it. It had been there, compressed in the back of his throat, and all of a sudden it flew out. It was true. His dad had been a father to them both. A father to the fatherless.
Price cleared his throat. When he looked back at her, she had her head tipped back. She was staring at the ceiling like it had answers, like it was going to tell her all the reasons why people fail. She wiped her eyes.
“He was a great.”
Price shoved his hands in his pockets. His fingers were curled into fist, tight against his thighs. “You should go. Don’t you have piano, or something?”
“Flute.” Charliegh smiled again. The girl was one giant, sopping ball of happiness. Even when she cried, she was optimistic.
“Bye.”
She took the hint. “Bye, Price.” She stuck her arm into the living room as she turned. “Bye, Atticus!”
When she left, Price slammed the door shut behind her. Was. Was a great. For God’s sake, he wasn’t dead! He was like one of those soldiers – on leave. From family. From life. From responsibility. They didn’t know if he was okay, or even if he was coming back. They just knew that one moment he had been there, and the next he was gone.
The worst part was that knowing his dad was dead to everyone else. The moment he left was the moment they turned their backs. It took a lifetime to build bonds, and one mistake to break them.
The injustice of it made Price furious. His father made him furious. He pulled his hands out of his pockets and tried to uncurl his fists.
But when he tried, his fingers were stuck, nails digging into his palms, anger freezing his bones and joints and blood shut.
***
The same boy had been walking past the café for the last hour. Price, sitting in a window booth, was staring him down. Back. Forth. Back. Forth. The boy walked – or waddled, because he was a chubby kid – down to the end of the street.
He’d touch the edge of the stop sign and turn around, continuing his relentless circle to nowhere. He looked vaguely familiar, with square, boxy glasses and a heavyset face. Limp brown hair brushed his shoulders, flapping as he paced.
Price fiddled with the handle of his coffee mug. Fifteen more minutes until his mother’s shift ended. They only had one car, and something was wrong with the engine. It was ancient, and he was surprised it hadn’t been acting up earlier.
He had scheduled an appointment in the city to get it fixed, because Redemption didn’t have a mechanic, and skipped school to drive out this morning. It had cost a fortune. Pretty soon, he would have to take up another job. Pushing carts barely put him at minimum wage.
Price shook his head. Yesterday had thrown him off. The look in Charliegh’s eyes when she mentioned his dad. His hatred. Was he being paranoid? Had he really seen wistfulness on her face?
“Sweetie.” Lily was standing beside him. Her hair was falling out of its clip, strand falling around her tired face. Her hands were red and cracked. She kept glancing back at the counter, as if expecting her manager to jump out from behind it and scream at her for leaving.
Price tried to smile. It felt like a grimace on his lips. “Mom. Work was good?”
“The same as yesterday.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “What about the car? Is that good?”
Price shook his head. He slid out of the booth and zipped his jacket up. The clock on the far wall said 8:30, and Jewel had to be in bed by nine. “The transmission’s busted. It’s in the shop until Friday, so they gave me a rental.”
The boy watched them walk out. Price glared at him until he looked away. The rental coughed when he twisted the key, but slowly inched to life. Lily touched the dashboard lightly.
“This is nice.”
“Smells like cigarette smoke.” Price spun out of the parking lot, wincing. The car jostled as it drove, making each bump in the road feel like a gaping pothole. Jewel was waiting on the front porch in her nightgown when they got home, golden curls tumbling over her small shoulders.
She looked like an angel, white swirling around her ankles. Price felt fear rise up and grip him like a vise. What if she never spoke again? What if something happened? What had happened, besides The Failure?
“Darling.” Lily stooped down and kissed Jewel’s cheek. Price was struck by how alike they looked – crescent dimples, half-moon smiles. Eyes like ice, shimmering chips of clouded blue.
“I told you to go to bed, kiddo.” Price took his sister’s hand. He hated how she never listened to him. He was the one who fed her, put her to bed, drove her to school in the morning. Yet it was Lily she gravitated towards, the center of her fragile universe. She looked at her mother like she was the sun and the moon and the stars.
Price was the empty space, filling in the gaps between them. He was a placeholder.
“Price?” After she had been taken inside, Jewel had crawled obediently into bed. She tugged the frill of her pink comforter up to her pointed chin. Price had been bent over, switching on the owl nightlight beside her bed. He froze in surprise. Price. Her first whispered word in weeks. Warmth flooded his chest. Carefully, he sat on the edge of her bed. The springs dipped to accommodate him.
“Yeah?”
She was silent. Color was seeping into the room: pink, purple, silver. A constellation of glitter revolved on the ceiling, beams of light from the nightlight piercing through the dark. He laid his hand on her forehead. Her skin was chilly to the touch. He watched her lips move, how she was struggling to speak.
“Hey.” He kissed her cheek. “It’s okay, kid. You don’t have to say anything. I get it.”
I get why you stopped talking. I get why you withdrew inside yourself. I get it because I’m doing the exact same thing.
She let out her breath. Her eyelids flickered shut. Price waited, holding her hand, until she fell asleep. He sat for a long time in the dark, watching bright dots alternately shadow and reveal her face. I wish I didn’t, but I do. I understand.
***