The Narrows(27)

When she heard her mother’s bedroom door open and the old shower pipes clank and shudder in the bathroom, Brandy climbed out of bed. She combed her hair in the bevel glass then pulled it back into a ponytail. Then she bladed her body, sucked in her belly, and flattened her nightshirt against her chest to examine her profile. Her breasts were too small, her hair too frizzy, her nose just a vague, upturned nub between eyes that, in just the past year or so, had grown too widely spaced apart. She thought her legs looked funny, too. They were too wide in the upper thighs and too narrow at the calf. She lifted one foot and flexed the calf muscle, pointing her toes down like a ballerina. Had she continued with the track team through last year, her legs might have had a more even, tapered look.

Girls on the track team don’t get asked to the Harvest Dance by boys like Jim Talbot, she thought. And boys don’t like girls who run faster than they do.

She pulled on a pair of lacrosse shorts and glanced one last time with some dismay at her reflection in the bevel glass. Then she went downstairs to prepare breakfast.

She heard the screen door banging against the frame from the hallway. Entering the kitchen, she froze. The porch door stood wide open while the screen beyond banged and clattered in the breeze. Matted wet leaves lay in clumps on the tile and there was grit and debris like sprinkles of pepper on the kitchen counter.

Her initial conclusion was that someone had broken into the house at night while the three of them slept, and a cold dread overtook her. Suddenly, the rattling water pipes upstairs sounded as insubstantial as noise coming through a television set. Brandy went to the door and examined the lock and, to her immediate relief, she found that the lock had not been busted. This had not been done by any intruder. This had been the work of her stupid, careless brother.

Upstairs, she stormed into Matthew’s room, her brother’s name already on her tongue, but caught herself when she saw that his room was empty. The place was also a pigsty. Why the little brat couldn’t take his dirty clothes down to the laundry room, she’d never understand.

She was back down in the kitchen scrambling egg whites when her mother came down in her waitress uniform. Wendy pinned up her hair, went to the coffee machine on the counter, and poured herself a steaming mug.

“Got time for some eggs?” Brandy said, scraping the eggs from the pan into a plate.

Her mother sipped the coffee loudly. “What is this mess?” She was looking at the muddy leaves and dirt on the kitchen floor.

“Matthew left the door open when he went out this morning.”

“That kid,” Wendy sighed.

Brandy took the plate to the table and set it down beside a glass of grapefruit juice. “Can I have the truck for the day if I drive you?” she asked her mother, thinking it might be a good idea to head into Garrett and put the dress on layaway before someone else grabbed it.

“You know I don’t like you driving around when I’m not home.” Wendy went into the laundry room and reappeared a second later with a whisk broom. She opened the porch door and propped open the screen then proceeded to sweep the dead leaves and dirt out onto the porch.

“What’s the difference if you’re home or at work?”

“If I’m home I can come get you if something happens.”

“What would happen?”

“Brandy, you’re sixteen. You just got your license three months ago. Anything could happen.”

Brandy scraped her fork along her plate and said, “You know I’m careful. I’m a good driver.”

“You’re an inexperienced driver,” her mother said. “What if you blow a tire?”

“I’ll change it.”

“We don’t even have a spare,” Wendy said, sweeping the last of the filth out the door.

“Then I’ll leave the car on the side of the road and walk home, just like you would have to do if you blew a tire.” She set her fork down, her eggs only half-eaten. “It’s not fair that we have to share the one stupid truck.”

“That’s the thing that’s not fair, huh?” said her mother, lingering in the open doorway. A slight breeze caused her apron to flap. She was looking out at something in the yard.

“We can’t keep using Dad as an excuse for why we don’t have shit around here,” Brandy said.

In a small voice, her mother said, “Watch your mouth.” Then she stepped quickly out onto the porch.

“Mom.” Brandy felt instantly horrible. She turned around at the table and, from the kitchen windows, saw her mother cross down into the yard. She was still clutching the broom.

Brandy got up and stood at the back door. The pickup’s keys still hung from the pegboard on the wall by the door, so she knew her mother wasn’t just going to climb into the truck and drive away. Instead, Wendy Crawly went over to the line of hedges beside the garage, where she crouched down, the broom poking out from under one arm like a jousting pole. For one heartbreaking moment, Brandy thought her mother had broken down, fatally injured by her daughter’s careless comment.

When Wendy stood back up and turned around, Brandy could see her mother clutching something in one hand.

Heading back toward the porch, her mother asked her if she had actually seen Matthew leave the house this morning.

Brandy shook her head. “No. What is that?”

Her mother mounted the porch steps and set the broom against the railing. The thing she held looked like an article of clothing, wet and speckled with mud. “It’s one of your brother’s shirts.” Water dripped from it onto the porch.