An Honest Lie(36)

Summer had immediately understood that she and her mother couldn’t talk about their plans to leave for fear of being overheard. She stared at him silently, the answer burning in her eyes but held wisely on the tip of her tongue.

Their old Tin Crap had been sold long ago, “for the financial benefit of the compound.” So Lorraine, with no access to a car and being twenty miles from the nearest hospital, took her fifteen-year-old to the infirmary, where Sara’s father had seen to her.

Summer would remember his words exactly, the hard-to-cover excitement on his face as the latex of his examination gloves slapped cheerfully against his skin.

“It’s just a small break.” He asked her to turn her head from side to side, which hurt to do. “I don’t want to cause more harm by trying to reset it.” He leaned back decidedly, though he’d barely examined her. Her fifteen-year-old horror seemed like vanity—she’d have to look like this, a crooked nose for the rest of her life.

Her mother lowered her eyes and said, “Tom, she’s a child, like Sara. She cannot be punished because of my decisions.”

Summer didn’t understand what her mother was talking about. And by the time she would, her mother would be dead.

“Your decisions affect everyone, Lorraine.” And then he dropped two pills onto the metal counter and walked out, his back sending a clear message.

Her mother gathered her from the bed—scooping the pills into her palm, her petite frame so strong in the moment she had to be—and dragged Summer back to their room, locking the door behind them. She pressed her fingers to Summer’s lips and said: “You know I trained a little as a nurse. I didn’t make it through the program, but I know a little bit. Do you trust me?”

“Yes, Mama.” She allowed her mother to push the pills between her lips, taking a sip of water to wash them down. At one time, her mother had wanted to be a pediatric nurse.

“Here, drink this.” She handed her a bottle with a straw in it. But before she could lift it to her lips, her mother grabbed her wrist and said, “Summer, it’s not water...go slowly. It will help with the pain.”

Her mother set her nose and gave her three stitches where her nostril had split open. When she was done, Summer asked for a mirror. Her mother hesitated, but in the end, she brought it to her, her eyes earnest as she watched for her daughter’s reaction. She stared at herself in her mother’s handheld mirror and thought, Oh, good, you’re Frankenstein’s monster.

“You won’t be able to open your eyes in the morning. They’re going to swell shut. There will be bruising, too.”

But Summer didn’t care. All she wanted was sleep. She tried to close her eyes, but her mother hauled her into a sitting position, propping pillows around her until she felt like a stuffed animal.

“I can’t let you sleep. You might have a concussion.”

“Ever again?” Summer slurred.

Her mother laughed softly. “No, just for a little while. I need to make sure your eyes don’t get weird and you don’t throw up.” Her mother’s voice was light, but Summer knew that she was worried.

That night, as she sat propped in bed like a stuffed animal, high on painkillers and vodka, she listened to her mother talk about her father. She didn’t often speak of him, especially how he used to be, and Summer loved those stories. Things had been good before they went bad. Fighting to stay awake, she bit the insides of her cheeks as she listened to the good parts. Her mother told her she had her father’s nose and that his had been broken, too. “In a fight,” she said with a sense of pride in her voice. She wondered if her mother had been there for the fight and wanted to ask. Instead, she lay very still and listened to the emotion beneath her mother’s words. She’d heard love. In a way, her mother had given her her nose, a shape she now shared with her father. Why did he have to die? Why had they had to come here? Why couldn’t her grandparents have loved them better? With the way things were, everyone suffered.

When she was finally allowed to sleep, she settled into her pillow as her mother sat on the edge of her bed and stroked her hair.

“Mama...?”

“Go to sleep, love.”

“We have to get out of here.”

The stroking stopped. “I know.”

They tried to leave two weeks to the day after it happened.

That was the beginning of the end.



12


Now


“Ihave a surgeon in LA who could fix your nose.” Tara briefly made eye contact with Rainy in the mirror before she stood back to examine the feathered sleeves of her top. “He’s the best.”

“I can see that.” Rainy lacked the will to smile, so she made large eyes instead—I am so, so interested eyes. She knew from living in New York for a decade that not every nose was equal and that some of them cost more than a new car.

“Well, it wasn’t my nose I had done, just some other...work,” Tara rushed. And then, as if the need to explain was pressing on her, she detailed the work done to her face as she vigorously washed her hands. “So, noses—easy-peasy. If it was a break, even a long time ago, he can reset the bone.” She waited for Rainy to say something as she dried her hands.

“Some things are best kept broken.” She didn’t look at Tara as she shook the water from her hands and stepped to the towel dispenser.