Sticks and Stones (9 page)

“Calm down,” Lem told him.

Jack grimaced and slumped down in the chair beside the little overflowing table – filled with magazines and Readers Digests nearly toppling to the carpeted ground.

“He’s doing fine. Woke up once during the night – the nurses have been good enough to keep tabs for me.”

Yeah, Sandra had seen some of the nurses. Even with the five o’clock shadow gone wild, Lem was nothing to scoff at. She bet they were helpful as all heck. Jack must’ve thought the same, with the smirk growing at the corner of his mouth.

Lem took his apple out and threw the paper bag at him.

Jack caught her looking and his grin winked out, all serious again, and Lem threw them a sideways press of lips.

“How long until he gets out?” she asked instead, going for distraction, and even Jack was interested in that.

“Not yet. The surgery went fine, the doctors say. He’s doing well. But it wasn’t a small scratch. He’ll be hurting for a while.”

“No shit.” A narrow-eyed look and Jack hunched his shoulders, mumbling a “Sorry.”

“I’ll ask the nurses when they come around if it’s okay for visitors. Only one at a time.”

Jack’s jaw locked and Sandra quickly shook her head. “Jack can go. I know Danny’s alright.”

This time, they both looked down at her. And wasn’t that great, nearly seventeen and she was still dwarfed by all the men in her life.

Lem seemed to get it, and a smile stretched across his face, one hand coming up to gently squeeze the back of her neck. “That’s alright then,” he said.

The other set of eyes on her weren’t so enthused. He only nodded.

Daniel was going to be okay
. Her and Jack … well, she wasn’t so sure. But that was okay as well.

She had time.

~

She did get to see Daniel that day.

Like her vision, he was still and drawn, looking young and small underneath the hospital blankets. The light scruff over his chin was tamer than Lem’s, even with the extra day. Those dark lashes too closely resembled bruises, and, as Sandra edged closer, she itched to smooth her fingers over them, over the sharp lines of his face and the swell of his bones, memorize him as he was, here and now, because this was one sure image to prevent her from making the same mistakes all over again.

A hand-width away and Sandra hesitated. He looked calm, like he’d just fallen asleep, and she didn’t want to bother him, no matter the urge that remained from the vision – to place her hand on his chest and feel that sturdy fall and rise.

“Hey,” his low croak made her snap upright, eyes wide and breath coming fast.

You know he’s
going to be alright
. But knowing and seeing him like this were two completely different things.

“I’m sorry, Danny,” she whispered.

He laughed.

One slow hand caught her wrist, dragging it down and fitting fingers to fingers, palm to palm. “Don’t worry about it,” he rasped out. He held on tightly and Sandra couldn’t let go.

~

They brought Daniel home.

He moved stiffly and slowly, but he was all quiet reassurances and softly hidden grins. Sandra snuck into his room while he lay on his bed, white bandage hiding the stitches on his left side. He welcomed her with a soft look, shifting over just enough for her to lay lengthwise next to him. She gently placed her hand just above the wound on his side, cool hand on his warm skin. His muscles rippled a little, like he was ticklish there, but he didn’t make her move.

“You and Jack,” he intoned, and there was no way he could have missed the tension.

Sandra sighed deep and pressed the top of her head back into his pillow, nose level with his shoulder. “He’s mad with me.”

“He thinks you could’ve stopped it. That you put me in danger.”

“I—” Sandra opened her mouth.

“You know I don’t blame you, but in Jack’s head… It’s going to take him awhile to forgive you. Seeing you trying helps.” She felt so defeated. “He’s not as angry as he seems,” Daniel added. “Trust me.”

“I don’t know. I think I really screwed up.”

“You think I’ve never thought that? I kissed this girl once. He liked her. Real bad. She was two years older than him, but hell if that made any difference. Twelve years old and he thought he was on top of the world. I knew, of course, but she kept chasing after me. I was fifteen and she wouldn’t take no for an answer. Makes a guy feel good about himself. Jack gave me a black eye and didn’t talk to me for three weeks.” His hand touched her side, nearly mirroring her position, except he didn’t have to be careful, and his fingers ran across the ribs through her shirt. “I won’t lie. Jack can hold a grudge. But once he makes it through, he’ll come back stronger than ever.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I think that was the most I’ve ever heard you say.”

She couldn’t be certain, but she thought Daniel rolled his eyes. “I talk.”

“Mm-hmmm.”

His fingers jabbed her, and this time it wasn’t anything other than a tickle. Sandra nearly choked herself hoarse trying to keep her voice down. They laughed until Jack came in, and then she slunk out, went to her room, and tried to have faith that Danny was right.

She’d gotten pretty good at waiting.

~

It felt strange, returning to school. Their world had changed in some pivotal way. Danny was hurt, but most people didn’t care. Most didn’t even know. There were a few well wishes, but Danny had never gone to school in Rustic and the kids didn’t remember him so well – he was off their radar, just a far-off fixture in that black truck of Lem’s when the bell rang each day.

Some of the girls cared more than others. But that was just because they liked to stare and flutter their eyes, prancing around in their short skirts and belly-baring tops.

Jack was less kind about this than her.

And Sandra wasn’t very kind at all.

But some of the girls were okay, and some of the boys were, too. And then there was Tommy.

Tommy who was missing.

Sandra had seen him at the start of the school day. But it was second period and he hadn’t shown for class.

Tommy never missed class. Easing up on his chase of her hadn’t eased him up on anything else. He still took his education seriously. To a fault, at times. Not that Sandra blamed him. Just because she couldn’t see herself going to university didn’t mean it wasn’t important.

But Tommy was missing.

A flicker –
because
Jack was pounding Tommy Madison
’s face in
– and Sandra shot up from her desk, only catching the surprised half-end of Mr. Rollin’s stuttered comment before she was gone, door slamming hard into the classroom wall. The halls were clear and she ran fast, feet pounding along the old tile and rubber floors.

Outside
. They were outside, and Jack was so mad. He was caught up, wasn’t thinking straight, wasn’t even
seeing
, and no one else was around to stop him. He wasn’t going to stop.

One more door and Sandra banged outside, raced across the lawn and around the side of the school. They were behind the shop class, no windows and no overlooking classroom, and Tommy’s face was already covered in blood. Jack hit him again and, as Sandra ran, his fingers wrapped tight around Tommy’s neck. Tommy fought, but he wasn’t as big or as strong as Jack. His legs kicked, uselessly, futile fingers scratching at Jack’s arms –
almost there, almost there!
“Jack!”

Falling forward, a trip-fall and Sandra crashed into them, both the boys, and Jack still didn’t let go. Tommy’s struggles got weak and his face went red, a little blue and purple and Sandra tore at Jack’s hold. “Jack, stop it, stop it! Let go!”
Oh god, Jack
. He was going to kill him.

She could see it.

She managed to curl her fingers beneath his, between Tommy’s flesh and his. Sandra tugged hard, so forcefully she was sure she’d break something. But Jack’s fingers came away. He didn’t swing at her. Didn’t even try to touch her and, as soon as his grasp was free, he fell back, breathing hard and shuddering onto the grass.

Tommy gasped. Wide-eyed, he was shaking just as bad. He gripped weakly at the grass, flinched away from her, but then let her help him up. Blood gushed from his nose and Sandra thought that it was busted. The blood was all over his face and green shirt. A bruise bloomed on his right cheek.

“What the hell?” Sandra gasped. Jack pushed himself up, sitting now. “Seriously,” she said. “What the hell, Jack?!” Still shiver-shaking, he turned his head away, didn’t answer and Sandra turned her bewildered gaze to Tommy, still holding onto one shoulder as he pressed at his nose, neck an angry-purple red. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Tommy sputtered through his hand. “One second he says he needs to talk, the next he’s jumping me.”

Sandra shook her head. “I don’t…” She
didn
’t
want to understand. But Jack had been
so
angry lately.
Not your fault
, she wanted to tell Tommy. It was hers. Only hers and – “What did you say to him?”

“Hell if I know.” Tommy poked at his nose and winced. His whole face was swelling slightly, eyes red and puffy. “Fuck,” he said. “
Fuck
.”

That may have been the first swear Sandra ever heard come out of Tommy Madison’s mouth.

“He’s … he’s just stressed right now,” she said, cringing even as the words tumbled free.

“No way,” Tommy said, all sass and sarcasm, and then, “I don’t even know what happened.” Glaring over her shoulder and apparently feeling much braver now, he added, “You’re fucking crazy.”

“Tommy—” she tried. Sandra was pretty sure Jack already knew he wasn’t alright.

“Uh-uh. No way.” Tommy shook his head and seemed to regret the action. The blood bubbled out of his nose. It glinted on his teeth. “What
was
that?”

“I don’t know. What was that, Jack?”

“Fuck you.” Growling at them both, Jack finally got to his knees, and then to his feet.

“I really don’t think that’s in the cards anymore,” Sandra said, too angry, and there was a moment’s pause, his bruised, hurting eyes going big, body going still. Then, he snorted. And it wasn’t funny, but Jack laughed. Crazy laughed. He sounded one beat away from falling off the edge for good.

Tommy tried to get his feet steady. Sandra tried to help. Jack was still laughing.

“Wow,” Jack finally said, throat hoarse.
“Wow
.
”
Sandra didn’t appreciate the shock in his voice. As if he’d never thought about it. She was sure he had.

She knew she had.

Tommy swayed and Sandra clung to his shoulder and waist a bit harder, dirt and grass stuck beneath her fingers and to his clothing. He used the hem of his shirt to wipe at his nose. “I mean, really, man … if you couldn’t tell she was having headaches then maybe you didn’t want to know.”

Sandra winced as Jack spun around, eyes full of crazy again, something colder this time. The knees on his jeans were green with grass and he had a little blood on his shirt himself. She was sure it wasn’t his.

“You were helping her to—”

“Oh, you
knew
,” Tommy snapped. “You had to know! And maybe if she didn’t feel like she had to try so hard to
hide
it then—”

Jack stepped forward with an incoherent snarl, loud enough to cut Tommy off in return.

“Not helping, Tommy,” Sandra whispered next to his ear. Tommy wobbled and wavered in her grip. He wasn’t going to take another hit without going down for good.

“Goddamn it. Both of you.” Sandra had never heard that kind of voice from Tommy before, low and furiously hissed and raw. “You’ve both got problems. I don’t even want to know anymore. I’m done caring. The both of you can just stay the hell away.” Tommy stepped back, arm out, and Sandra was forced away. His shoulder pushed her to the side, got him free for good, and then he was striding past Jack, too, not touching, but close enough to let the other boy know that he wasn’t scared.
Didn’t
care.

“Tommy…” Sandra whispered after him. She wanted to apologize, wanted to help make it better, just
wanted
… It shouldn’t have to end this way.

“Look,” Tommy turned around. Jack may as well have been part of the lawn, with how much attention he was afforded. “I don’t blame you, Sandra. But there’s no way I’m getting involved in this. Not again. I’m sorry, but the bastard’s a fucking kind of crazy all on his own. I really am sorry.” Giving a helpless half-shrug, and one last look with his face still smeared with blood, he took off across the lawn toward the student parking lot, the thick bruise that wrapped all the way around his neck darkening with each passing moment.

Sandra didn’t blame him.

Two and a half years and she was going to be the freak again.

And this time, it wasn’t even her fault.

Sandra thought Jack was lucky it was his final year or he may have never graduated from school. Who was going to suspend him two days from summer break?

Jack looked down, picked at his dirtied shirt, wouldn’t look her in the eye. “Let’s go home.”

Her bag was still back in class. She didn’t care. “Fine.”

It was going to be a long walk.

“I’m sorry,” Jack whispered when they were halfway there.

I know
. Sandra slipped her hand into his. He gripped it tight, torn skin rough against hers, and she could see a different future sweeping out before them.

Chapter Nine

Sandra didn’t
talk to Tommy again until she was well into the twelfth grade and eighteen years old.

He smiled, and there didn’t seem to be any hard feelings left, but it wasn’t the same. Conversations were awkward and Tommy kept his distance, and even though it was nice, Sandra realized she didn’t need him.

She had never really needed him.

He was still a class friend, just like all the other girls and boys of their year, but nothing more. They didn’t talk in the hallways, not more than a hello or a nod, or a question about the latest project or assignment. They didn’t hang out after school or go to each other’s homes or pay for another horrible movie at the tiny town theater. And as much as Tommy had helped her before, Sandra realized they hadn’t really exactly done any of those things then, either.

The student body was a little more wary of Jack when he came around, Lem’s big black pickup truck rumbling out front. The stories ran rampant; Tommy had never told anyone the whole tale and, for that, Sandra was thankful.

Jack was trying hard, she knew.

He spent most of his days at the shop, t-shirts slowly turning a blend of oil and grease stains.

After his injury, Daniel had whiled away his off days at home. He had developed a good tan, not that he’d suffered from a lack of sun before. But Max Taylor was a good boss and made him take it easy, scheduled fewer hours than Lem and his brother. Sandra could tell Danny didn’t much enjoy the waiting, no matter what spirit the time off was offered in. There was too much sitting around. He liked to be busy, liked to use his hands.

Sandra would hurry home during her lunch breaks just to give Daniel something to do.

Even now, with his brother all healed up, Jack was so careful around them. Both of them. Like Danny might break. Like she would, too. Like he still didn’t trust her. Or like maybe he didn’t trust himself. Sometimes Sandra just wanted to punch him. Make him get over it in the only way the boys knew how.

She’d promised to fix things.

But they weren’t getting fixed.

They were just getting broken in new and different ways.

It felt like things were falling apart.

~

Sandra found an old photograph shoved into the corner of the kitchen’s bits-and-bobs drawer.

It could’ve been forgotten, except that it was well creased and worn down at the edges, corners rounded with age and one side tacky where tape had once mended a rip. In it, there were two little boys, one older than the other. A younger Lem. No mother. Jack was all big grins and missing teeth. Daniel had dirt on one cheek, a hole in one knee, and mud across his shirt, but he was just as happy, that hidden smile existing even back then.

The colors were yellowed, faded, but not enough to mask Lem’s eyes.

Lem’s gunmetal, light gray eyes. Lem’s Daniel-carbon-copy eyes.

The hand coming down on her shoulder made her jump. Sandra gave Lem a sheepish grin. “I was looking for the scissors,” she said.

His eyes were dark now, dark,
dark
.

Her smiled got caught somewhere inside her throat, a lump big enough to make her ache.
Oh Lem
.
What did you do?
Dan Murray’s eyes had gone dark. They’d nearly looked black in the end. Lem’s eyes had looked dark even before Mr. Murray.

Lem took the photograph from her lax fingers. “You know,” he said, and Sandra couldn’t quite make herself shake her head. She
did
now, didn’t she?

There was something wrong with some people. Something wrong
inside
of them. Sometimes that wrongness
grew
.

She felt a little like crying.

“Hey now,” he said, “none of that.” His lips quirked. “It’s all fine.” Except it wasn’t.

“But,” Sandra brushed one finger against the picture in his hands, “you…”

Lem shook his head, smiled fondly down. For a second, it was like Sandra was there, watching Lem urge the boys into place, a stranger behind the camera and weren’t those boys sweet? He secured four-year-old Jack with one hand on his slim shoulder, let seven-year-old Daniel rest back against his outstretched arm. “My boys saved me,” he said, bringing her back to the present. “They don’t know what I was before, what I could’ve become.”

“Lem,” she whispered, didn’t know what to say, and he shook his head again.

“There’s something wrong inside of me,” he told her, “and I fight it every day.” He reached out, slipped the picture into the drawer, pressed it to the very back, wedged it beneath the pliers and the screwdriver. “Don’t you tell those boys, Sandra,” he said, voice a sudden hardness, and her breath caught, old Lem, strong Lem, wolf behind his eyes, and this time she shook her head. “I’ve done right by them,” he said and Sandra wanted to tell him he didn’t need to explain. He
never
needed to explain. She understood. She really did.

“Their mother…” his voice closed off, clearing it roughly as he looked away, fingers smoothing over the counter as he shut the drawer, like he was shutting the secrets inside, like they could somehow stay that way, secure and unknown in the dark. “She was a bad seed. Should’ve known, really … but she gave me those boys, so how could I hold a grudge?” She’d never seen him so unsure, not even that time in her bedroom, and Lem quickly pushed himself away from the drawer, from the counter. He found a glass and moved to the sink, letting it gush clear and fast, until the glass was full.

“And then I had to take care of them,” he continued. “And …
things
… kept happening. Daniel’s too young to remember, but that man tried to take him away and…”

Sandra’s own throat closed up with the implication, arms held tight as she stared at his back.

“Things started slipping. I pushed through. The boys needed me so I…” Lem raised his hand, gripping the glass, but didn’t take a sip. It sounded like he could use it. “I worry about Jack,” he admitted.

Sandra moved, covered his hand with her own. “We look after him. Me, you, and Danny.”

“He’s got so much anger in him.”

“He’ll be fine.”

“You see that?” Lem quirked one brow, smile hinted at through the lines of his mouth. The water sloshed in his glass. His hands were unsteady.

“Woman’s intuition,” she said.

His laugh was a deep, rich sound. “I knew I was missing something.”

“You asked me to look after them, remember? You know I will.”

“I know you will,” he repeated. “Always.”

“Always,” she said, like a promise.

Lem gulped his water. The glass landed on the counter too loudly. He left her there, standing in the murky light of the kitchen, twitching with secrets, something oily pressing up the bones of her spine. Something had clawed its way into Mr. Murray’s skin, she realized. Something had crawled inside of Lem. He’d sliced and diced Mr. Dan Murray and he’d liked it.

Sandra pressed fingers to her lips, to her eyelids, and felt like crying even though her eyes were dry. She didn’t believe in demons, never really had. But maybe that was just a fancy way of describing a tarnished soul. Maybe there were angels inside of people, too. Maybe kids were angels. And then the world got to them and they never got to be angels ever again.

That seemed about right. The world was just that cruel.

Lem was tarnished, but he was good, too. He had saved her. All of them had. Jack and Daniel and Lem.

They were her heroes.

Sandra was pretty damn sure that they were going to change the entire world one day. And she’d help them. Lem could watch his boys and be so
proud.

They’d change everything.

Down the hallway, Lem entered his bedroom. The door snicked closed, and the silence pressed down. Sandra’s heart stuttered in her chest.

It felt like a bang.

~

Halfway through the year, the school’s darling, Jonah Miles, asked Sandra out. Daniel had returned full-time to the garage and the boys and Lem were set to work late, finishing some big project Max Taylor had rigged up. They always came home talking about struts, grommets, rotors, and many other things that Sandra couldn’t make heads or tails of.

But they were gone. So Sandra invited Jonah over, brought him inside their home and pulled him into the living room.

She wasn’t embarrassed by their sparse house, even if they’d lived there going on three and half years now. Jonah was nicely shaped, a member of the school’s volleyball team, and he’d lent her his leather jacket for the evening. It wasn’t as big as Danny’s canvas coat, but it still wrapped her up nice and made her feel safe and snug. There was a spattering of freckles over his face and Sandra stole two of Lem’s beers from the fridge to get her courage up. Jonah wasn’t pressing, but he was definitely interested. He’d been sneaking feels all evening and Sandra shivered every time his fingers crept up her spine. There were flashes of
almost-somethings
, but so far no visions and Jonah was in the clear.

She tried not to think on how she kept wishing for bigger palms, longer fingers…

Jonah Miles was plenty enough for her.

Quite handsome, really.

His lips were cool, a little too soft, and he fumbled with her shirt on the living room couch. His fingers skirted over the faint scars over her stomach, didn’t even see them, and Sandra tried not to think on how a hot mouth drifting across her skin would feel.

Jonah didn’t believe much in foreplay.

He rubbed a bit at her breasts, had problems with her bra, and, if this was what the school’s playboy had to offer her, she wasn’t looking forward to much from the rest of her generation.

Still, she let him continue. His bare chest was nice, very well toned, lithe and a little narrow –
how the girls
in her class liked, oohing and ahhing as he spiked
the ball over the volleyball net,
but Sandra wasn’t so sure; her boys were better. She let her hands play across his stomach and Jonah grinned at her, hair flopping forward into his eyes. He unzipped his pants and pushed them down and Sandra didn’t look because she didn’t want to think about the
last
time
on a cement floor and—

Jonah sucked his mouth against her neck and Sandra arched up, gave him room to get the rubber on and finally slide in.

It wasn’t anything special.

It didn’t hurt this time, but it didn’t feel too good either. Even if Jonah seemed to enjoy himself. His quiet grunts stopped as soon as they started and Sandra frowned until he pulled free, grinning and giving her a sloppy kiss.

She’d expected more for her
real
first time.

Jonah left and Sandra cleaned up the beer bottles, going outside to stash them in the bottom of the trash. Jack was going to get the blame, she knew. He’d put up a stink. He was the only one who didn’t replace Lem’s beers when he took one.

Shivering in the cool air, she thought she should feel better. She’d
let
a boy touch her. She’d let him rut against her and … wasn’t she supposed to feel different? There had been the closing awkwardness, the urge for him to go so she could just shower, get ready and climb into bed.

She was a little surprised not to see some kind of sign on her forehead.

Sandra ‘C
.
’ and Jonah M
.
had sex
.

But then, she wasn’t anything special. Jonah Miles had slept with a lot of girls. Maybe a few of the teachers, too. There had been a few flashes in there, arms and creamy skin and soft breasts as he rocked into them.

You
’d think he’d be better at it
.

She was certainly disappointed.

Climbing into bed, Sandra curled under the covers and ran her fingers over her breasts, slowly moving her hands lower.

What would Jack be like? Or Danny? They’d both had a few girls.

She bet they wouldn’t taste like peanut butter cookies and smell a little like dirty old gym socks.

She could just pull Jack down or climb onto Daniel’s hips and—

But no, those were the kind of thoughts that were best left completely un-thought. Tucking her arms back over the top of her quilt, Sandra closed her eyes and tried to fall asleep.

When she dreamed, it was a dream full of swirling color and lights. There were people moving to a strange beat. There was noise and music, foggy-distant. Sandra was in a bubble and she was there but she wasn’t, darkness and blinking lights and shadows converging and separating and flowing into each other and the next.

And then it all cleared.

And the color was jewel-toned prom dresses. The darkness was suits and smart jackets. The lights were above and on the walls and on the stage, and the music was slow but loud as couples danced and flowed across the gymnasium floor. Jack took her hand.

She’d never see him dance.

The bullet took him in the chest.

The next one took her in the stomach.

In her dream, her fall rattled her head, her hands, all her bones.

In her dream, she lived long enough to see Trevor Davis shoot into the panicking crowd again. Her beating heart echoed the shots. One, two, three, four. And—

Sandra woke up. Her heart paused, then it thumped, beating furiously. For a very long moment she was sure it had stopped for real.

Then she got out of bed, went to the bathroom and threw up in the white ceramic toilet bowl. All she could see were Jack’s opened eyes, and how he’d been dead before he had even hit the floor.