Part 14 (1/2)

The doctors don't know if he's going to make it.

They say we should pray.

Gram's done a whole lot of praying. She's the one who sits by his side, day after day. Iris says it's too hard to see her little boy that way. She's only been to the hospital two or three times. Makes Gram mad.

Makes me mad too. Iris doesn't give two squirts who she p.i.s.ses off. All she cares about is herself.

It's Been a Month A month of worry, of guilt, of my having to play the role of ”Mom” even more, because Gram isn't there to help me do it. A month of Mary Ann, withdrawing into a silent, blank-eyed world where accidents don't happen, especially not on her watch. I try to help, but she isn't ready to quit blaming herself.

A month of mounting bills- doctor bills, ambulance bills, hospital bills-that Gram is determined somehow to pay. Where there's a will, there has to be a way.

A month of Iris diving deeper and deeper into bottomless bottles of numb.

She Has a New Boyfriend A big-boned truck-driving son of a b.i.t.c.h, with eyes like a crow's-black, dead.

I've seen eyes like those before, on another of Iris's bada.s.s lays, one I can't forget. I do my best never to think of him, what he did. Try never to remember that place in my childhood, but sometimes it pops into view despite all my efforts to keep it hidden. I was almost ten, and we lived in Pahrump, the b.u.t.thole of Nevada. Iris worked at a cathouse, making money her usual way, only without walking the streets.

Walt was a miner, and though he was a regular paying customer at Mimi's, he had an appet.i.te for younger meat. Iris was younger then too, but even at twenty-six, she was way too old for Walt.

Still, he paid for her, then he followed her home. She let him move in for a while.

I remember his sour sweat, coming in after working backhoe.

I remember how he touched Iris, and how she didn't care that her kids could see.

I remember his Marlboro breath falling all down around me when he said, Let me show you something.

On Another Day It wouldn't have happened, couldn't have happened.

Too many witnesses around.

But for some odd reason, that particular afternoon, Iris had taken the other kids to play in the park. You stay and start dinner, she said.

We won't be gone very long.

I didn't mind. I was too old for swings, and I've always liked spending time by myself.

But it wasn't more than ten minutes before Walt came through the door. He didn't ask where Iris was, or why the house was so quiet.

He didn't say one word.

I opened a can of refried beans, spooned them into a pot. I had no real reason to be afraid. So why did my hands shake? I kept my back to him but could feel his eyes, carving into me. Finally, he started toward the living room. Bring me a beer, sweets.

I dug one from the fridge.

But he wasn't on the couch, as expected. Back here, he called from Iris's room. He was already out of his jeans. I didn't know much then, but I knew there was something very wrong about that. Still, I took him the beer, holding my breath against his stench. He grabbed my hand, jerked me hard against him.

Let me show you something.

I tried to run, but he was faster.

Tried to fight. He was stronger.

Tried to scream. He choked my cries.

When He Finished (Thank G.o.d it didn't take long), he rolled off me with a grunt.

Reached for his beer. Slammed it.

Ripped and pried, swallowed up by the shame of what that meant, I crawled into the bathroom to scrub away the evidence.

Not that I'd dare tell anyone.

Not when he followed me, stood in the doorway, watching me, finally said, Tell a soul, I'll do your sister, too. He knew that was a bigger threat than saying he'd hurt Iris or some other TV kind of s.h.i.+t. Because I knew he would come back for Mary Ann. She was only eight. If he did this to her, she'd die for sure. It had almost killed me. I'll probably always link s.e.x with pain.

All That Comes Back Like a sucker punch, mirrored now in Harry's corpse-cold eyes, moving all over my body- climbing up, s.h.i.+mmying back down. I hate them. Hate him, because he's no different from Walt.

Iris doesn't notice, or maybe doesn't mind. She's always saying, You be nice to Harry.

We want to keep him happy.

She's bold about bringing Harry around, bold because Gram is mostly at the hospital.

Her path has only crossed Harry's a couple of times, and when that happens, their dislike for each other hangs thick in the air like smog.

Iris pretends that it doesn't.

Iris is good at pretending.

She breathes make-believe.

Not Sure If Harry is tuned in to how Iris earns her booze and pill money. Don't think so, though. She has always tried to keep pleasure and business in two different boxes.

Ugh. Bad double meaning there. A sick sort of laugh escapes and Iris, who is at this very moment sitting across the room from me, asks, What's so funny?

Which makes me bust up even more. All I can do is snort, ”Nuh ... nothing.”

Harry, who is sitting next to Iris, slurping a Keystone, b.u.t.ts in. Then why the h.e.l.l are you laughing? Those crow eyes take even bolder liberties with my body, and there's something in his voice- something far beyond mean.

Something approaching s.a.d.i.s.tic. People don't just up and laugh for no d.a.m.n reason, do they, little girl?

Anger firecrackers. I want to yell. Instead I keep my voice very low. ”I don't know who in the f.u.c.k you think you are, but you're nothing to me. I don't answer to you.”

Fists knotting, Harry jumps to his feet. Iris reacts by jumping to hers. W-wait, baby. No need to get mad.