Sticks and Stones (2 page)

Sweat trickled down her spine. She wondered if she’d left scratch marks in the sod again. Her knuckles felt bruised.

“Jesus,” Jack said. He pronounced it like
Jay-sus
and snapped his mouth closed when his brother gave him a look. The gratitude she felt was ridiculously overwhelming; she got the impression that they were used to keeping things close to the vest themselves.

The blue house’s door slammed open and Sandra was too exhausted to flinch. The boys’ father made his way fast across the neighboring lawn and onto hers. The older brother was already on his feet, and both boys stood straight and tall as their father pressed his lips thin at them, face sharp and cutting. He was an inch taller than the eldest, and Sandra felt particularly small down on the ground, not able to move because he was looking at her and demanding, “What happened?” Then he was looking back at the boys, asking, “What do you two think you’re doing?”

Sandra was pretty sure she would’ve gotten defensive if she were them, but they just stood calm. Jack said, “She fell down.”

The other said, “We thought she was going to hurt herself.”

“Some kind of seizure or something,” Jack added, and Sandra felt her cheeks burn red hot.

And then their dad was squatting just like the eldest had, rough-palmed hands warm against Sandra’s jaw, following her when she flinched back and turning her head this way and that, staring hard into her eyes and daring her to look away. She reeled. His hands hadn’t brought on a vision. She hadn’t seen a damn thing from him.

Her throat clicked dry when she swallowed.

“Didn’t hit your head,” he said. “This happen often?”

No
, she wanted to say. But the word got stuck, raw in her throat, and she shrugged instead, but even that felt like a lie. Fingers dug in a little tighter, like he wouldn’t take that as an answer, but then he just sighed, pulled back and Sandra’s eyes burned as though she’d forgotten to blink. “Come on then,” he said, voice a cross between gentle-softness and ruined-rough, a mix of the two boys again. He rose with a crackle of vertebrae, held a hand down low for her.

The oldest brother had picked up his grocery bags, standing with arms stretched low as they watched. Their expressions were unreadable and didn’t tell her a single useful thing.

Sandra let him grab her up, still no vision coming on, but there was a disorientating sway of air, vertigo of heat and sweltering light that wasn’t from the downing sun, a burn in her chest that breathed in tight and held on wrong, and then Sandra looked down at his hand and recognized the row of scars, the twist of silver on his skin along his knuckles, and she dropped his grip so fast it was like she’d been burned all over again.

He frowned at her, and now he was as tense as his sons, something dark and perilous swimming through his eyes. Snare-traps caught up in her skin and gleaming iron teeth sunk deep to the bone.

Sandra thought of fire. She felt it burn and char. She was full of holes and ash and too much blood, on her tongue and on her skin, and, for a moment, she wanted to hit this man, be vicious and angry and hateful because why did this have to happen to
her?

And she thought:
how many people had died
because she hadn’t done a single thing to help
them?

It was awful and she kind of just wanted to scream and keep on screaming and turn around and go into the house. But she couldn’t. Sandra
couldn
’t
. Not to them and she didn’t know
why
.

Sandra swallowed down the gorge in the back of her throat, unclenched her hands, and felt shivers dance across her nerves as she breathed deep and spoke.

“You’re going to die,” she said.

Chapter Two

Jack exploded.
“What the hell did you say?”

His father shushed him and looked at her and Sandra repeated, “You’re going to die – you’re going to burn up.”

Jack shifted again, bags rustling, an angry sneer crossing his face. His brother’s elbow found his ribs and his jaw snapped shut with a click of teeth. His father’s eyes were still on her, but she didn’t think he missed the petulant rustle of Jack’s bags.

He really was a force, Sandra realized, pulling everyone along in his wake. No wonder his boys listened so easily. No wonder he made her shiver with a single look. Like old gods and medieval men, he had time on his shoulders, and spoke words with his eyes and the mere twitch of his lips.

“You were working in a garage.” If it was possible, his body became more taut, more focused. “It was on fire,” she said. She could almost feel the smoke again, thick across her skin, dry and billowing inside her lungs.

“When?” he asked, as though he was even entertaining her delusions and Sandra thought hard, breath catching for real because she wasn’t sure.

There had been papers. Burning. Right there in the garage. She just had to think, to remember, and not run away.

His hand came around her shoulder and Sandra jerked up, staring in surprise. Something softer overtook his face. He nodded once. Sandra’s chest lightened as she inhaled deep and closed her eyes.

“There was a calendar on the wall.” Her arms trembled and his hand squeezed a little more. She ignored the flames, ignored the burning hands that weren’t really hers –
but they were, oh god they
were, they were burning, searing bubbling and
– ignored the boots that were melting on her feet and her fingers scrambling at the floor. The fire edged closer and her shins pulsed in rapid bursts of pain. The papers were in flames. Sandra couldn’t see the month. The pages were ash at the corners, embers of red, curling away. But then the top sheet burned through, fell away –
October
underneath. “September,” she said, voice hitching. “It had to be September. The calendar—”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know,” she shook her head fast and his touch stilled her. “Your legs are broken. You can’t run.”

Another squeeze on her shoulder and he asked, “You see me there?”

“Your hands,” she said. “I see your hands.”

His support fell away and Sandra opened her eyes. The oldest brother’s expression was as inscrutable as ever, but Jack was wearing a puzzled frown, eyes searching like he didn’t know what to think, but at least he wasn’t sneering anymore. Sandra didn’t think she’d be able take it if they burst out laughing at her. Enough folks thought she was crazy.

And then their father said, “I applied for a job a Garrison’s Garage today,” and stared down at her hard. “But you didn’t know that, did you?”

“No, sir.”

“You aren’t having a laugh, are you?”

“No, sir,” she whispered.

He made a thoughtful sound, fingers tucking up in one pocket of his jeans. A lone mosquito buzzed around Sandra’s ear as she waited. “This happen to you often?” he asked.

“Now and then, sir.”

His free hand jutted forward, even though he had all but manhandled her already, and said, “You can call me Lem.”

Sandra shook his large, calloused hand, and he gently squeezed back like she was something precious, and then Lem smiled. And the last of the tension bled right on out of those boys. A hand clapped down again onto her shoulder, resting a second longer because of the flinch and softly squeezing. And then he turned around and went back the way he had come, leaving her alone with Jack and his brother.

She stared at them and they stared back; something in their eyes seemed more humane, the way they rested. Sandra tried a tentative smile and the older brother stepped forward, offered his hand like his father had.

“I’m Daniel.”

His hand was warm and dry, big fingers wrapping around hers twice as large.

“Jack Daniels?” Sandra asked, voice still quiet, but all that got was a snort from Jack.

“Like we haven’t heard that before.”

Daniel made a soft sound, and it took Sandra a moment to realize it was a laugh, quiet and barely there. But the wide-eyed grin Jack sent his way made Sandra know he didn’t do it often, made her proud that she’d help put it there, and that tiny, hidden little smile nearly took her breath away.

~

Lem didn’t take the job, and Sandra didn’t know if it was because he believed her or if he just wanted to be safe. He found work, instead, at the butcher shop down on the other side of town. Sandra didn’t know if that was any better but at least she hadn’t seen anything about it. Not yet. But the next day, when Sandra clambered up their front stoop and tentatively knocked at their blue door, Lem touched her shoulder and she stopped smelling smoke on him.

~

“They do that often?” Daniel asked. The two of them sat on the back porch of her house, which was more like a sheet of rotting wood held up by four cement cylinders than a porch. Sandra had snuck two cold cans of pop from the fridge and the bubbles fizzled in her throat on the way down. The muscles in his lean arm bunched a little as he took a sip and Sandra watched from the corner of her eye.

She wanted to pretend she didn’t know what he was talking about, but that would be stupid when her parents may as well have been yelling right beside them.

So she shrugged instead.

“Don’t really notice anymore,” she said.

Daniel frowned down at his can. At least, Sandra thought he was frowning. He played his expressions so close that it was sometimes hard to tell.

“They don’t yell at me,” she added, like it would make it better and he looked up, serious as he stared at her. “They don’t pay me any mind at all.” But that just made him frown harder, so Sandra went back to looking at her can of Coke. It wasn’t the real kind, ‘cause her mom only bought cheap brands at the store, saving up for the liquor mart next door. But the condensation beaded along the can and the drink went down smooth and it felt nice in the hot air. The metal left her fingers damp and she had to run her wet hands along her shorts.

Dust motes danced up between the dry blades of grass as Daniel slipped his feet to the ground. Sandra was a little jealous of his boots. They made him even taller. She wondered if she’d ever grow as tall as him. “Come on,” he said, rolling to his feet and holding one hand down to her to help her up as well.

“What?” she asked, but she’d already given him her hand.

“Come on,” he said again and, when he tugged her to get her walking, Sandra imagined his hand lingered just a little bit longer than it had to.

She still didn’t smell any smoke on him.

~

The inside of the blue house was different than she’d imagined.

It was sparse. They hadn’t brought much furniture with them and the kitchen was furnished with one tiny rickety table and a rag-tag mix of mismatched chairs – one with its back missing. Some of the cupboards were missing their doors. But Daniel didn’t seem to be embarrassed by it, and Sandra figured why should he be when they could still hear her parents shouting all the way from here. She hoped the neighbors didn’t call the police again. She told the truth when she said it didn’t bother her, but getting officers involved was another matter altogether.

Daniel set his empty can on the kitchen counter and motioned for her to do the same. Sandra finished it off quickly and held back a burp as the bubbles tickled their way down to her stomach.

Their house sprawled back further than hers, bedrooms all near the rear of the lot. There were still some boxes piled up in the hall and Sandra was sure not to bump into them when Daniel led her by. They stopped at a closed door and he knocked fast, loud in the silence and there was a curse on the other side, Jack’s voice full of frustration as he tripped over something, got to the door, flung it open in a shirt and boxers, flushed to the gills and breathing hard.

“What?” he growled, saw Sandra hiding behind his brother’s shoulder, flushed even harder, and half hid behind his door. “What the fuck, Danny?” Sandra saw a skin mag on his rumpled bed and turned as red as a tomato, quickly looking away as Daniel’s eyes sparked to life.

“Company,” he said and Jack growled at him, slamming the door shut.

“We’ll be in my room when you finish up,” Daniel added through the door, and something hard hit the wall. Daniel nudged Sandra on, to the next door down and she hesitated in the doorway, only moving in when he pressed on her back.

She’d never been in a boy’s bedroom before.

Especially not a high school boy’s room.

She didn’t think her cheeks were ever going to stop burning.

The bed was the only place to sit and Sandra sat tentatively on the edge, keeping her eyes on the floor as Daniel threw himself down sideways beside her, legs hanging over the side.

“What are we doing, Daniel?” she whispered.

“It’s quiet here.”

Sandra twisted her neck around. His head was nearly touching the wall, arms cradled beneath him and eyes closed. “I told you it doesn’t bother me,” she said.

“It bothers me,” he said, a sliver of gray peeking out from his lashes, lighter than his father’s. Sandra didn’t think that was exactly true, but it made her belly flutter low all the same. He tugged on the back of her shirt and Sandra let herself fall, the dark bedspread soft under her neck. They stared up at the ceiling in silence until Jack joined them. And then he shoved Sandra over, laid himself down by her other side, and Sandra fought to keep from blushing as they all stared up at the ceiling together.

~

On Monday, Sandra left the house early, parents getting a good start on their daily quota of vitriol, the kitchen already down one bottle of rye. It was a cool morning and she’d left fast, forgetting her summer coat. She was shivering by the time she made it to school. Jumping on her toes, Sandra tried to decide if it was worth going in or waiting. Most of the kids weren’t lingering, still dressing too stupidly for the weather in shorts and t-shirts and short cotton dresses. Leaning against the cold siding, rough brick pressing into the knobs of her spine, Sandra watched that familiar black truck pull up. The boys got out quickly, Lem on his way to work, and Sandra thought his eyes found her before he pulled away from the curb, giving a fast nod.

The boys were still looking around and it took Sandra a moment to realize they were looking for her. Daniel’s lips were pressed as grim as she’d ever seen, eyes flick-flicking back and forth, back and forth. A beam of sunlight seemed to move back to let him see, or she moved forward –
and she didn’t remember doing that
either
– but suddenly he’d caught sight of her and Sandra found herself walking toward them. She didn’t like that look on his face. He was serious enough as it was without worrying over her too – and wasn’t that a surprise? No one had ever really worried about her before.

“Hey,” Jack’s grin lit up his whole face, fast and easy, and Sandra privately mused that no one else at school could make him to do that. He was smiling for her.

Daniel caught her by the shoulders, staring hard, making her wonder what exactly he was looking for. He felt hot through her shirt, hands planted big on her shoulders. He let go too soon, stepping back with a satisfied nod. And then he stripped off his brown canvas jacket and shoved it over her shoulders. He nodded again to Jack and turned across the street.

Sandra threw Jack a questioning look as she pulled the jacket tight, feeling a thrill at the long sleeves as she slipped her arms in, swimming within the fabric, but feeling inexplicably safe as she burrowed inside.

Jack shrugged. “We heard your folks this morning.”

“I said they don’t bother me.”

He was quiet as they walked back up the sidewalk. “Maybe that’s why,” he said when they reached the door, leaving her confused as he led her into the school.

When classes ended, Daniel and Jack squeezed her in the truck next to them, all four of them snug as a bug in a rug. And it should’ve been uncomfortable – Jack’s elbow was in her side and Daniel’s shoulder was practically in her ear. But it wasn’t. Sandra was still deep inside Daniel’s jacket and she couldn’t keep the grin off her face as Jack complained about the teachers and kids and homework and Daniel quietly ribbed him back, insults so vague and well-timed that it took them all awhile to catch on.

And then Sandra was fending off a poking-war between the two, crouching as low as she could get and laughing until tears came to her eyes.

~

Garrison’s Garage caught fire in an electrical storm two weeks later. It was September twenty-fourth and Sandra paid rapt attention to the news as her parents slumbered on the couch. The woman with the blue blouse and painted lips told her there were no causalities.

Sandra couldn’t keep the smile off her face, even long after Daniel and Jack showed up at her front door, faces too serious as they searched her own. But she didn’t care. It didn’t matter if they saw her different now.

Lem was safe.

“Thank you,” Daniel said, when it seemed like they’d sat on the back porch so long that the sky was turning gray. Grass crinkled up against the bottom of his faded jeans, green finally beginning to win out through the yellow.

Jack nodded, still serious as could be, and Sandra smiled back at them.

When Lem got home, the boys climbed over the fence in the backyard, back into theirs, and he chucked Sandra under the chin as she stood on her side of the property line, something warmer in his eyes than she’d ever seen from him before.

“Attagirl,” he said, and her heart nearly burst.

~

Most of the school seemed to realize Jack wouldn’t tolerate any kind of pranks or insults to Sandra Daron now that he was in town. But he was in an older class and they weren’t joined at the hip. Sometimes the braver (or stupider) kids forgot and went back to their old game of targeting the weird kid.

Sandra had been feeling odd all morning and spent her classes ignoring the whispered giggles and slit-eyed jealous glares of Lucy Myers and her flying monkeys. Some of the boys were laughing in the back of the class, too, but Sandra was pretty sure those ones weren’t about her – Terrence Higgs had brought some dirty cards to school – and Sandra couldn’t make herself care anyway. Her nerves were all in a jumble. Her stomach kept turning somersaults and her bones ached just enough to not let her forget about them, like she was getting sick even if the flu wasn’t going around. Something felt wrong, brittle, like all her insides had been replaced inside with weak glass, fissures running throughout her core.