Girls of Brackenhill(10)

He never spoke to her. Never said her name. Just his hands, cold, on her thighs, her stomach. Later, when she got breasts, he would touch them, pinch her nipple.

All she ever heard was the sound of his breathing, the feel of hot air against her neck as she pretended to sleep. He didn’t seem to care if she stayed curled away from him, staring at the wall, willing it to be over. Pretending to be asleep.

She swore to herself that she’d tell.

Next time.

If he did more than touch.

He never did more than touch.

She never told.

She asked her mother, later and more than once, Why do you love Wes? Her adoration of him always felt like a mystery—some secret Hannah would be let in on later, when she was older and could magically understand love. He was repulsive to her, even before that first night in her room. His eyes were mean, his teeth yellowed, his skin sallow and gray. Hannah had found a picture a long time ago: Mom in a simple white dress, Wes actually handsome in a tux. She and Julia, chubby preschoolers, clinging to Mom’s legs, the skirt puddling around them. Everyone had been smiling.

Her mother closed her eyes, tilted her head toward the ceiling, sighing. He wasn’t always like this. He’s sick, you know? Or sometimes she’d just say, out of nowhere, We need him. He gets a check from the government. We get to live here because of him.

And sometimes, I stay for you. For both of you. She’d find her mother sometimes in the kitchen alone, clutching a plastic tumbler of wine, crying. Hannah never interrupted her, never let her know she saw.

If her mother left him, where would they live? Sometimes when they drove, Hannah would study the streets from the back seat. Every house looked lived in. It was possible there wasn’t anywhere for them to go. No houses left. She knew people lived on the street—her mother had called them homeless. That would be their family.

If her mother could stay for Hannah and Julia, Hannah could keep quiet for her mother.

Hannah wanted desperately to ask her sister: Does he come into your room too? But she never did. She was always afraid Julia would go through the roof. Her sister was unpredictable—wild mouthed and untamed. She’d never be able to take the words back, and if she told and they ended up homeless, then what? It was like shaking a bottle of soda and popping the cap off. Who knew what would get caught in the fray? Besides, Hannah was happiest when Julia was happiest.

The next summer her mother drove them to Brackenhill for the first time. At the time she simply said, “I work too much. You’re alone all day here. That’s not a summer vacation.” Only later she wondered if her mother had known the whole time.

After that first summer at Brackenhill, her fate was sealed. She knew she’d never breathe a word. She’d had three months of magic and exploring and woods and her sister. The smell of the river. The feel of the water. Fresh-baked banana bread and peas straight from the garden. Music and laughter and games and jokes. Faerie houses and hidden trails. Flowers and sunshine and swimming pools. An uncle who taught her about trees and animals and plants and nature. An aunt who taught her how to bake, cook, even clean. The enchantment of a castle. Her room in the turret. And Julia, her best friend, even seemed lighter, happy and free, and they’d never had so much fun in their whole lives. If Hannah told, what if her mother took it all away? What if her sister, thirteen then, had to get a summer job? Brackenhill would be over. No. She’d hold her breath through a hundred nights of drunken fumbling, cold hands, hot beer breath, if it meant she could come back.

Floating in the pool now, Hannah thought of her friends at home, Tracy and Beth, how she should be mad that she was missing a real summer. Her first teenage summer of boys and freedom and biking around town. The community pool. She wondered if Pete Reston would be there, a lock of blond hair falling into his eyes, his mouth turned up into a smirk, like he was always teasing her, and his smell like watermelon candy. And Tracy and Beth had been fighting almost constantly, Hannah stuck in the middle.

Hannah thought of Julia’s best friend, Miranda Pike. The gaggle of popular girls Julia and Miranda had slipped into: lip gloss and long hair in a cloud of perfume and pink. Her sister’s new boyfriend, Josh Fink, cute and nice. Dimples on both cheeks when he lightly punched Hannah on the arm. And the way he said her name, Hah-nnah, so that it sounded older and like she was one of them, not the pestering younger sister. When Mom worked nights and Julia walked Josh right past Wes in the living room and into Julia’s bedroom, locking the door, Josh still grinned at her, even as he followed her sister around like a dog.

“Do you miss the Fink?” Hannah asked.

“No.” Julia sighed, her fingers skimming the water, picking up a leaf and twirling it.

“Why? Did you break up?”

“Who would break up with Josh Fink?” Julia laughed, but it sounded forced. She adjusted her hat and kicked against the side of the pool, and the tube propelled away.

“Then what?” Hannah pressed. Julia had always felt like her equal, her very best friend, but this year had somehow spun away from them. Lost, somehow, in ways Hannah couldn’t figure out. Her sister, previously so fresh faced, open. And now? It was like Hannah couldn’t get a good look at her. Every time she tried, Julia turned around, closed her eyes, bent her head. She was pulling away, even before Brackenhill, and Hannah felt desperate to keep hold of her.

Julia sighed again. So much sighing, which was also new. “Hannah, drop it. I’m fine. I’m just . . . bored here, I guess.” But her eyes were closed, her fingertips tapping the hollow of her throat.