Sovereign Ground (Breaking Bonds) (15 page)

“Oh, that’s cute.” Cori untwines one arm and
points at the lingerie in my cart, then to me. “Sparrow picked out the same
one—but hers is for dancing on stage and stripping.”

There is a tiny gasp in response to Cori’s words.
Leah turns into a candy cane: her face fades white, highlighted by blotches of
red on her cheeks, neck and ears.

I’m confused by all the nervous chatter, because
no one really seems to be saying anything. In the midst of the giggles and
excuses, I get that Leah and Marta are leaving. I think I wave.

“You’re welcome.”

I’m not mad at Cori, it isn’t like she lied or anything.
But thankful? No.

“Look, Baby.” She uses my stage name, as though I
don’t remember who I am. “I did you both a favor.”

“Don’t speak to me like I’m a child.” I enunciate
every word, mimicking her.

“When you were a child, you thought like a child,
reasoned like a child. It’s time to put childish things behind you.” Cori
laughs at what she obviously thinks is a joke. “I freed you both. You don’t
want to be “prayed for” and “felt sorry for” at all their young women meetings,
do you? You saw how Marta already knew who you were. You don’t need to be their
project. You can move on, live your life, and she can dust off her sandals.”
Cori pretends to wipe her hands in time to the last three words. Leah wasn’t
even wearing sandals.

I picture the suitcase. It’s a symbol to me, what
life could have been like had I not been sent off with a garbage bag and a door
slam. This makes me think of Thom. I haven’t even talked to Thom in—at least six
weeks, the day before Lorna kicked me out. You know, that really isn’t his
fault, though. How would he know where I work? Where I went? Maybe I should
call him.

Cori stares at me expectantly.

“Leah’s a nice girl.”

“I’m sure your little Christian friend is nice.
But nice girls don’t get their hands dirty. They aren’t there when you need
them for a real mess.” Cori’s lips curl into a surprisingly bitter snarl. “You’re
welcome.”

“Are you saying that you will be?”

Cori bites her lip, so I clarify.

“You’ll get your hands dirty, be there for the
real mess when I need you?”

Cori’s face instantly relaxes and she looks hard
at me, without distraction. “Yes.” But she turns away quickly. “Now go back to
your stories.” She uses a trashy imitation of a Southern accent. “I need me, my
stories.”

Somehow, I don’t believe her. I turn to the
shelves of paperbacks and trace a finger along the cover of an author I have read
but don’t really like. “Cori?”

“Yeah?” She drills her right fingers across the
shopping cart.

“Does it ever get easier?” I don’t look at her,
but instead concentrate on the shiny torso of an iconic hero about to shroud
his female counterpart. All these books have the same covers—just slightly
different costumes.

“You want this book, right?” Cori points inside my
line of sight.

“Okay.” I have already read that one, but I can
tell she’s using her teaching voice.

“I don’t want a book like that. It’s fantasy…fan-tuh-sicle.”
Cori probably means fantastical. I nod to let her finish. “I wouldn’t buy it and
I think you’re wasting your money. Yet, it’s a commodity.”

Oh, I’ve heard this tirade enough to finish it for
her. “Just because someone doesn’t think sex should be sold because they
wouldn’t buy it, who are they to regulate it?” I make sure to use a monotone
recitation-type voice.

“Exactly.” Cori looks a little smug. “Simple
economics: the buying and selling of goods.” Here it comes. “And Baby, I am good.”
She flips her hair for me.

Our laughing ushers in a few minutes of silence
and it takes courage to break it. “You still didn’t answer my question, Cori.
Does it ever get easier?” Maybe I should tell her that I heard her crying in
the bathroom stall last week. The dressing room toilet was busy, so I snuck in
there to wash in-between dances. I know the scrubbing is pointless, I just
can’t stop. The fact that Ms. “It’s okay if it’s consensual” cries on the
toilet at work scares me.

It scares me even more than the thought of meeting
my grandfather.

Cori loops her painted fingernails through the
metal slats on my shopping cart. She smiles and takes a deep, preparatory
breath. When she holds her finger out, I interrupt her.

“The truth.”

She deflates and looks away. I’m not moving until
she answers.

“Yes, and no.”

“Good enough.” I push the cart past her. “And I’m
buying both of these books.”

Cori lets me drive her car to my place. I’m one
week away from going and getting my license and a car. In a way, I wish I would
get pulled over without a license. That’s stupid though—we’re nowhere near the
reservation. Hayden wouldn’t be the one who walked up to the car. Anyway, he’d
probably give me the ticket. With my luck it would probably be Clint who pulled
me over and I’d have to give him a few free dances to get out of it.

“I don’t want to be alone tonight.” Even though I
didn’t mean to say it, I’m glad after the words slip out.

“Come stay the night with me.” Cori continues to
stare out the window of her car. Sometimes it seems the lights and music in the
TorchLight leach all the party from us, and we go home empty.

“Okay.” I turn to get on the freeway.

Chapter 19

I try to synchronize the echo of my high heels to
Cori’s as we click our way past the pool. “Wanna go for a swim tonight?”

“Sure,” Cori says. “Wait, is it the weekend?” She
wrinkles her nose in disgust.

“Oh yeah, never mind.” I forgot it’s Saturday.

“I’m done with work tonight, Baby.”

“No kidding.” Last time we snuck in to swim on a Saturday,
the weekend night guard caught us. He said we could swim anytime as long as we
didn’t wake anyone up, but he watched us from the edge of the pool. Everything
costs.

Cori stops at a rectangle of locked mailboxes. She
holds her hand out and I give her back her key chain. I sleep at her place at
least once a week. We never stay at my house, though. She can’t stand my
arranged chaos. It’s okay, I keep a change of clothes and a swimsuit in my
backpack now.

Cori grabs a handful of envelopes and junk mail,
then tucks them under her arm.

“Anything good?” When I get mail, I go through it
at my lock box.

“Never is.”

“I’ll go through it.” I don’t get personal mail,
so the most fun I have is looking at coupons. Maybe I should call Thom and let
him know that I have my own place. I could take them out to dinner. Yeah. My
heart drums in excitement. Why wait? I’ll call Thom tomorrow and take him for a
Sunday brunch. He’ll probably think I’m calling to ask for money. I’ll show
him.

“Why are you smiling?” She hands me the stack of
letters.

“I just decided to do something.”

“Illegal?” She mounts the first step.

“I’ll ignore that.” But I giggle with her. “The
last month and a half has flown by. I just decided to take my brother out to
brunch tomorrow.”

“I haven’t seen either of my brothers in years.” She
stops on the stairwell and looks up at the stars.

What a beautiful night; summer’s merely days away.
And since it’s been such a cold spring, summer couldn’t come soon enough. “How
many brothers do you have?”

“Two, but one left when I was a teenager. As far
as I know, no one’s spoken to him since.”

“And you haven’t seen the other in how many
years?”

“Five.” She starts to climb the stairs again. “Or
five and a half years.”

I wish we could stay out in the cool night. Maybe
I can sleep on her deck.

“But that doesn’t mean he hasn’t seen me.”

“What?” I can’t help but laugh at her whimsical
tone.

“I took some, um, pictures a few years back.
Before I even left Utah.” She pauses with a lusty look. “I always wondered if
he would tell me, or my parents first when he stumbled across them.” She starts
to look through her key ring. “And he will stumble across them. He looked at
porn often enough.”

I don’t have a reply for her. Thom will see my
billboard, any day in fact. But it’s tasteful—not porn. Although Rodrigo’s
offer pops in my mind once in awhile—I mean, I want to get a car soon. Plus, I
won’t be able to dance forever. I need to start thinking about the future. But
the thought of an immediate family member looking at pornography of me—I start
to shuffle through her mail for distraction.

I’ve seen this handwriting before. The return
address is Utah, the envelope similar to the unopened one I found in the
Steinbeck I borrowed. I lift the letter without speaking and hold it in front
of me.

Cori drops her keys. We both bend quickly to
recover them, but she’s faster. I lose my balance and step back. She stands
with the keys in her hand, looks at the letter again. Clink. The keys are at her
feet. This time I inspect the return address myself. Lehi Brower. It has to be
her fiancé, uh…ex-fiancé.

Cori takes the letter, and I wonder if I imagine
that her hand trembles. I pick up her keys and unlock the door.

“Make yourself a drink.” She leaves me and closes
the door to her bedroom.

I drop my backpack on the couch and walk to the
kitchen. I’m hungry, but I don’t know what sounds good, so I just look through
the fridge and cupboards. In a way, I’m working up my courage to look into the drawer
where I last saw Lehi’s other letter. I hear my pulse in my ears as I snoop.
The letter sits right on top, next to a few pens and pencils. I flip it over.
It’s still sealed.

Cori sniffs loudly. “What are you doing?”

“Oh, um,” I’ve been caught, but I won’t admit it,
“Looking for something to eat.”

She sniffs again.

“I can’t believe he found me.” She says the words
so rapid that I feel like I’m a step behind in processing it. Cori strides to
the window and lifts one slat in the blinds. I step up behind her and she gasps,
spinning. “Oh, scared me.”

I try to smile, but I’m sure she’ll notice it’s fake.
She doesn’t. Should I offer her a tissue?

 “I need a drink. Let’s get a drink.” She’s back
in the kitchen before I’ve taken a step.

“What were you looking for?” I glance back at the
window before following Cori into her kitchen area. She opens a cupboard, slams
it and looks in another.

“What?” She faces me and I watch her chest rise
and fall. “I was looking…” Her eyebrows bunch in confusion. “…for a cup.”

“Out the window?”

A tiny line of dark red trickles from her right
nostril. She sniffs again. I step into the bathroom and grab a handful of
toilet paper. “Your nose is bleeding.”

“Oh, allergies. I always get allergies this time
of the year. Allergy time.”

I grab her upper arms. They feel so tiny in my
hands. “Cori. What is wrong with you?”

“Nothing, why are you asking?” She twists and
pulls free. “You won’t believe me.”

“Try me.” I’m about to demand to see the letter or
go to the drawer and find out for myself why Lehi’s contact would freak her out
so much.

“Shadow people.” Her voice is deep, a creepy
forced-calm.

If my heart jumped in agitation before—it pummels
me now, rivaling the climax of the men’s fancy dance my dad did.

 “Are you sure?” I demand. Cori pants like she’s
stolen my breath, for none comes to me. The shadows that follow me hunt Cori as
well, or have I brought them to her?

“I see them everywhere.” A drop of her eyeliner
flows down her cheek. Her eyes focus behind me. She looks like a lab I once saw
on a Humane Society commercial.

Fear-chiggers burrow into my skin and I turn. I
don’t see any shadow people, but I keep looking. Sometimes when I see them, I
try to tell myself it’s a chimera. But since Cori sees them too, I cannot
pretend any longer.

“Cori, they’re following me. I brought them.”

She steps back as though I have leprosy and I rush
to explain. “My grandfather put a curse on me, when I was…” Cori spins, pulls a
glass from the cupboard and hurls it at me.

“Get away from me.”

I duck in time. “Cori, I’m sorry.” The glass
didn’t break, and I step over it onto the carpet. Once I have my backpack she
reaches for another. “Please don’t.” I dread her ostracization as much as I
fear my grandfather’s spirits.

A shrill, horrible scream slices through her lips.
The second glass whooshes by my ear. “Take them with you and go back where you
came from!” She opens a drawer and a glint of metal flashes. Her burgundy
fingernails twine around the wooden handle of a kitchen knife. Almost as if in
a time warp, I feel like I watch from outside my body as she lifts it slowly.

“I’m going to call the cops.”

“You haven’t figured out that they’re on his
side?”

I want to ask what happened to the Cori I know,
but if I have ever seen terror, I see it now.

“And I have no other choice but to be on his side
too.”

I fear whatever she is afraid of more than I fear
her even though I sense she will kill me if she can.

She lifts the knife. “This will be a mercy to
you.”

When she reaches me, I swing my backpack to knock
her away. Cori falls back and the knife drops. Before she has a chance to
retrieve it, I grab her keys and leap through the door, barely closing it
behind me before I hear her grasp for the handle. I don’t take the stairs to my
left, where we always come up. Without questioning where my feet will take me,
I run to the right around the face of her apartment complex. As I approach a
decorative light illuminating the walkway, I swing my backpack again and break
it.

A shroud of darkness drops and I crouch at the
sound of her voice. “Stay in the shadows with the demons.”

A window between us brightens. Then a second. A
neighbor fumbles at a front door. Cori moves like a wraith, slipping inside her
apartment. Her door closes silently.

“Are you okay?” A man wearing only lounge pants
stands two doors down from the broken light. “I heard a scream.”

“The light shattered on me.” I stand. You would
think I lied all the time the way that slipped out.

“Oh my gosh. Are you okay?”

“It scared me.” I step backward without looking.

“Let me call the night guard.”

“Thanks.” He steps inside after I answer and
leaves his door wide, as though I’m to follow him. Instead, I run to Cori’s car.

At home, I don’t even try to sleep. I have no one.
I’m too afraid to shower, to close my eyes. I can’t even play my flute—and that
always sends the fear away. I could drive to Thom. No. Even if Lorna would let
him help, what could he do? I slide down, between my crammed bookshelf and the
stack of books waiting for another shelf. Normally I find solace in this spot,
but now I can’t stop shaking. If I weren’t cursed then—I wouldn’t be so alone,
tainting everything I go near. Someday I’ll have to go to the source. A sob
escapes. I would rather die than meet my grandfather. If he could command
spirits to cause this much trouble, what will he be like?

My hands massage each other without lotion. I grab
my wrist. I never wear Hayden’s watch at work, but it’s an extra appendage the
rest of the time. I even wear it to shower. I turn over my arm and trace the
iridescent swirls in the abalone face. The second hand turns a full revolution.

I have wished I could call Hayden a dozen times,
but never more than right now. I stand and reach to the top of the bookshelf
where I hid his box. With the white rectangle in my grasp, I slide down against
the wall into a crouch again. The paper is almost fuzzy from the caresses of my
fingers. I know what it says, though the letters have faded to vague. I rub the
note to my cheek again.

“There is always time,” Hayden promised.

How wrong he is.

My back is uncooperative and my joints seem
soldered together when I wake. Hayden’s note sits next to me on the floor, an
autumn leaf—discarded after the season has passed. I return it to the box and hide
everything back on the top of the bookshelf. Even though I only slept a few
hours, sitting up against the wall and without a blanket, I’m fine once I get
moving.

Cori.

Her name enters my mind like it belongs there.

“Go away,” I tell it.

A mixture of dread for her and panic for me infiltrates
like the exhale of a cigarette. It surrounds her name, burning in my lungs.

Hunger, or the need for purposeful distraction, propels
me into the kitchen. Eat instead of worry. Red and black squares layer the
sink. All of my plates are dirty, and I’d rather use a bowl than wash something.
My bowl matches my plates and I rub the corners. The “Asian flair” contrasts
with the southwest pastels that Lorna preferred. Cori was with me when I bought
these, she helped me choose. Plus, if Cori and I ever eat out—we go to sushi. Even
my dishes say her name.

I add a handful of Cheez-Its to the bowl. Usually
a few crackers are all my stomach can tolerate the morning after I work. The
sound of crunching keeps me company.

Cori.

She’s all I have. Any interaction at work is conniving,
drunk girls, Brody—trying to get me upstairs, Clint—asking for a free dance, or
strangers who I can’t seem to wash off. Cori, my only sister.

I don’t know if I can trust her, I don’t know if I
can make it right, if she will help me—forgive me. The only thing I know is
that I need someone bigger than me. I can’t fight the curse on my own. I need her.

I’ll take a shower, then go to Cori’s and convince
her we’re safer in numbers. She talked about the shadow people in the very
beginning. She has her own to deal with, so I don’t even blame her for sending
me away. Hopefully, I’ll be able to show her how much we need each other,
before she starts throwing the knives.

The hot water nearly puts me to sleep. One thing I
love about living on my own is taking showers for forty or fifty minutes. Cool
air encircles me when I finally push the curtain aside. Blood throbs in my
temples and I drop to sit on the edge of the tub. Sitting prevents the dingy
white walls from spinning too fast. Little vapors of steam lift from my arms
and legs. I inhale a slow purposeful breath…

Clank.

Dishes settling in the sink? I exhale.

Chink. Clank.

Shivering, I reach for my towel. It’s tedious
opening a door without sound. I scan the entire studio. Only a putrid smell waits—something
rotting. The dishes again? I lift a comfy pair of jeans from a pile on the
floor. Dressing isn’t as quick when water droplets cling to quivering legs. Oh,
the smell: it makes me nauseous.

 I let Brita die.

The weight of this truth isn’t diminished by the
randomness. I did let her die.

Cori will die too, because of me.

The putrid smell reaches my brain. I feel it in
there and sob from the weight of death. The cold metal of Cori’s keys pinch in
my grip while I pull a T-shirt over my head. I don’t bother to look for a bra.

I’ll never see this apartment again.

Dread vices around my chest. Empty eyes search me
through a tunnel of memories. Eyes barreling toward me like a freight train.
Nowhere to turn.