Unspeakable Things(52)
“Great! I’ll stop by tomorrow and we can work out the details.” I slammed the phone into the handset just as Dad appeared.
“Who was that?”
“Mr. Connelly asked me to help sell popcorn for the band trip,” I lied, sort of. “Can I go tomorrow?”
He studied me, sniffing the air. “If you get your chores done first.”
“I’ll get up early for that. Thanks, Dad!” I whisked around him before he changed his mind. “I better get back to work. Meet you by the trail.”
“Stop.”
My skin grew itchy. I turned to face him. He was inspecting me, his eyes sharp. “We’ve done enough work for the day.”
I stood in his crosshairs, not speaking.
“You rinse off and do the dishes. Your mom and I are running to the liquor store. We’ll pick up your sister on our way back.” There was nothing on the surface of his words, but a monster raged below.
I nodded. Something must have happened at the party, something even worse than the usual stuff. Dad grabbed a shirt and the VW keys. He stepped back into the sunshine and took Mom’s hand. It wasn’t until the van pulled off the driveway that my skin stopped prickling.
That’s when I realized I had the house to myself! That hardly ever happened. I hurried through the dishes, wondering if I’d have time to drink sun tea and read the Flowers in the Attic book I’d finally gotten to the top of the library waiting list for.
I scratched at a mosquito bite and sniffed my armpit. It’d been a couple days since I’d showered. I figured I’d better take care of that first. I ran into my room to grab my favorite white sundress, the one with the red and navy-blue detail at the hem. I always brought clothes into the shower with me. In television shows, I saw girls walk from the bathroom to their bedroom wearing just a towel. This wasn’t the kind of house where you could do that.
Inside the bathroom, I locked the door even though I was the only one home. A leaf was sticking out of my hair. I tugged it loose, tossed it into the garbage, and undid my hair ties before freeing my braids. Our water was so hard that I needed to brush my hair before the shower because there’d be no getting a comb through it wet.
I dropped onto the toilet to pee, letting my shorts and underpants slide to my ankles. I checked my underwear for a spot of blood like I always did. Nothing but the shadow of a good old-fashioned skid mark toward the rear. I pointed my toes and my bottoms fell to the floor. I slid out of my Coca-Cola T-shirt and padded toward the shower.
The faucets squawked when I turned them, and the gassy smell of hard water crowded my nostrils. When the temperature was just south of warm, I stepped in, letting the water spatter my face before sticking my head underneath, holding my wounded hand out on the other side of the shower door. The water drummed on my neck. I’d created a protected spot over my boobs. I cupped them with my good hand to feel if they’d grown. The boys on the bus said more than a handful was a waste, but I didn’t know whose hand they were talking about.
I eyed Mom’s black-handled razor. She’d forbidden me from shaving until high school. She said there was no hurry to grow up and that my body naturally had hair, and that’s about when I’d stopped listening. Sephie had started shaving last summer, and her legs were curvy and creamy perfect. Maybe I could just shave mine up high, where Mom wouldn’t even notice as long as she never saw me in a swimsuit. She hardly ever took us swimming anyways.
I gripped the razor. The first sweep of the blade was highly satisfying. It carved a clean path right through my long, dark thigh hair. Within minutes, I had a whole quarter of a leg clean-shaven. It would be crazy to stop.
I leaned over to have a go at the rest.
That’s when I heard the chopper overhead. My stomach dropped. There was an army base by St. Cloud, but they never came out this far. I hoped the helicopter in these parts didn’t mean another boy had been attacked, a boy who lived nearby.
A boy like Frank.
I shook my head. Frank was safe. We were country kids.
I positioned the shaver head over my left ankle’s outer knob. I pushed in and swicked, just like I’d done with my thigh. I was two inches up my calf before the blood started, a shock of red against newly skinned muscle. It didn’t hurt until the water hit it, and then it was the purest pain I’d ever experienced. I jumped out of the water stream. Blood gushed from my ankle. The razor held a ribbon of flesh as long as my pinkie finger. I tapped the shaver on the side of the tub until the skin came loose and washed down the drain. The blood was still flowing, a violent red at my ankle, shark-water pink as it neared the drain.
Why wasn’t it stopping?
I began to worry I’d bleed out and Dad would find me naked in the shower. I twisted off the faucets and leaned as far out of the tub as I could until my fingers just barely grazed the edge of the toilet paper. I managed to pull it toward me, close enough to grab a wad that I shoved at my ankle. Jeez Louise did I wish Sephie were here so I could ask her what to do. I might need a blood transfusion before the hour was out.
Sephie.
I still didn’t know where she’d gone the night of the party.
CHAPTER 33
“Sephie?”
She hadn’t wanted to talk yesterday afternoon when Mom and Dad brought her back after their liquor-store run. Said she had to study. Expressed zero interest in my shaving trauma. Closed herself in her room until suppertime, came down to eat and clean up, and then straight back she went.