Mayday (7 page)

The RV became Basil's second home, and eventually Crow's sanctuary.

What a tangled web Basil and I did weave.

• • •

Basil's hand jammed the accordion bus doors, and he staggered up, collapsing next to me in the front seat. I chuckled and turned away, again letting my head
thunk
against the window. Shane must've done that often, as it felt so natural.

“See, Crow and my mom have always had this thing,” Basil said.

“Yes, they did. I know about your family. I know Dove and the officer.”

He frowned. “Crow tells you more than most. So tell me about yours.” He nudged my shoulder. “Your and Crow's dad. Where's he at now?”

“Kentucky.”

“Kentucky.” Basil rolled his eyes. “Great accent.”

“Well, first Alaska, and then recently Kentucky.”

Basil held up his hand. “Okay, dead.” It was a possibility, and it both ended all the family talk and provided a nice reason for my sudden appearance at Crow's tree house.

The bus bounced on, slow and hypnotic. A stray leaf of romaine lettuce fell from my hair. I peeked at Basil, so comfortable in this crazy world of mine.

“Hey, Basil, why do you put up with Mel?” I lowered my voice. “And what do you see in Crow?”

The instant the words were out, I wished I could reel them back.

Please, don't make a joke about this.

To Basil's credit, he did not. He straightened, bit his lip, and nodded.

“Fair questions. Mel is a wind, nothing more, you know? Light, breezy. She never takes you anywhere you don't want to go. She's a head case, but a predictable one. End of story.” Basil paused, then whispered Crow's name. “Remember the twister that blew through last year? Probably not, you were in Alaska.” He rolled his eyes. “Sky here turned green and the air hung, thick and heavy, waiting. The world was still, birds muted. There was a moment before the winds, an eye of the storm. That's Crow. That heavy place where every word is important and everything she does is symbolic and you're always a moment from a tornado. That's life with Crow.” He peeked at me. “I couldn't live without her, but—and no offense to your sister—sometimes the drama gets so heavy you need a light breeze, you know? Just a day at the beach. Enter Mel.”

I wondered at the deepest words he'd ever spoken. “Ever told Crow that?”

He frowned and eased back in the seat. “No. I guess I haven't.”

We rode the rest of the way in silence. I hopped off at the Park-n-Ride in Maple Grove and trudged toward Elm Creek. Though Basil's words were still with me, he followed a few steps behind. The walk to Dove's took four thousand and three steps, just over an hour. I'd always been into counting, a little obsessive/compulsive tendency that must have slid down Mom's DNA strand into my own mind, and apparently my soul's.

Basil caught up to me.

“You do know where you're going.”

I paused. No talk. It cluttered up my thinking. “Yeah. Three thousand five hundred steps that way.” I pointed.

He bit his lip and shook his head. “You're a little more like Crow than I thought.”

I can't explain the feeling I had with Basil at my side and Dove minutes away. The whole going-back thing, you'd think, would be déjà vu at every turn. But it wasn't. I mean, this wasn't. I'd lived to eighteen. My life had filled with five more years of strange twists and vivid memories, and in this young body I felt oddly detached.

I was a visitor.

Until I reached Dove's plot.

Her lot bordered Elm Creek on the back, shielded on either side by pine trees both tall and full. The grass was wild, just like Dove. Gardens filled the back half of the acreage. “After all,” she said, “I should leave some land for David.”

Later on, those gardens would take over the entire property.

I stepped into the tall grass and ran my fingers over its gentle wave. Maybe this is where the field in Lifeless's dream was born. Dove worked the flower bed and slowly stood as Basil and I approached.

“Dove. It's been so long,” I said, and broke into a broad smile.

She leaned hard on her hoe. “Do I know you?”

“Well, I've heard so much from Crow, I feel like I know you already.”

“That's a pile of crap.” She bent over and worked more dirt. “I don't know who you're talking about.” She looked up. “Nice of you to come, Basil. School treating you well?”

“Day in, day out. You know.” Basil stepped forward. “Ma, this is Crow's half sister. She needs to find her.”

Dove paused. “Half sister. Where you from, half sister?”

I peeked at Basil, couldn't recall what I'd told him. “Wisconsin?”

“Now I know she's full of crap.” Dove turned her back.

Basil walked toward her and whispered in her ear. She peeked over her shoulder and breathed deep. “I'll be right back.”

Dove disappeared into the trailer. From the beginning, she was my protector. I never witnessed this until I came as Shane, but I always felt it to be true. She wouldn't let anybody near me. I loved her so.

Dove poked her head out the door. “Come on in, Basil, Shane. Don't make too much noise.”

We followed her into the trailer. Inside, it was dark, not a light on, and we stumbled toward the back bedroom.

“Crow?” Basil called. “It's me. You back here?”

“Yeah, I want to see Shane.”

Crow's outline sat on the bed cross-legged. I pushed in front of Basil, toward the smell of cigarette smoke and alcohol, and sat on the foot of the bed.

“Good to see ya, Shane, you little witch.”

“Keep talking,” I said.

There was silence here, and finally I turned to Basil. “You can go.”

Basil shifted. “It's my mom's place. I've known Crow a lot longer than—”

“You can go, Basil.” Crow said quietly.

He tongued his cheek and backed out. “Yeah, right. I'll be with Mom if you need me.”

Our shadows looked at each other for five minutes. “So, how are you getting along? Do you need anything?” I asked.

“Why didn't you let me kill her?”

Kill her? Oh, Jasmine.

“I appreciate how enjoyable that would have been for you, but I'm telling you that in the long run, murder's more a negative than a positive.”

Her voice quieted. “Maybe. What time is it?”

“Six or so.”

“I need to get home.”

“I know.” I shifted on the bed. “Why'd you do it? Why push Jasmine through?”

Crow gave a heavy sigh. “She called me a psycho bitch, and I held it together. But then she called you one, too.”

“There was no more?” I asked. “That's it?”

She hung her head. “Nobody says anything about my sister, real or you.”

I scooted up next to Crow. “I'm gonna turn on the lamp. Close your eyes.”

Click.

“Holy . . .”

Crow's skin was ashen, her cheeks drawn. She sat amid beer cans and cigarette boxes and books. She winced and slowly opened her eyelids. Crow had no whites, only reds.

I reached over and hugged her, felt her collapse against my side.

“Shane, Jasmine said your name, but inside I heard Adele's. I looked at her face, but I saw Jude's. I couldn't help it. I lost it.”

I know. You'll always protect Adele.

• • •

It was my first memory and, oddly, one of my most potent.

A Dad memory. It should have been precious.

Mom worked late at the library, while the two of us struggled to get Adele into bed. A number of obstacles stood in the way, the largest being “the tub”: a soapy, drippy experience that left all three of us soaked.

“Run the water, Coraline.” Dad frowned at Adele's diaper. “I'll go to work on the back end.”

I jumped to the tub and soon had it filled with foam. “Ready, Daddy!”

He nodded. “Okay, here we go. One. Two . . .” He yanked off the diaper. “Three!” He hoisted her off the counter and plunged her deep into the water.

For a second all was quiet.

Then little Addy wailed.

“It's all right, darlin'. Just a bath.”

She arched her back and screamed. Dad repositioned her and swore. “That water is scalding hot!” He drew Addy out, her skin mottled and red, and wrapped her loosely in a towel. “To the car, Coraline! We need to take her in.”

I remember little about that urgent-care visit, except for the fish tank. I plastered my face against the glass and cried.

Addy's skin eventually returned to a proper shade, so the episode turned out well.

Until Mom came home, heard the story, and flew into a rage. Dad slept on the couch that night. I know, because I snuggled with him.

“I can't do this, Cor,” I remember his whisper, as well as my toddler resolve.

After that, I made a promise to myself.
I will never let Addy get hurt again.

• • •

“You know,” Crow rasped. “You said you watched my silhouette through the window? That's true. I pace to stay awake. If I sleep and he comes . . .”

“You don't need to tell me.”

“But I do; I've got to tell someone. If I sleep, and Jude slips in . . . I don't trust him. He wants to do a lot more than touch her, I just know it. I've told Mom again and again . . . how he looks at Addy, what I've heard in the hallway. She doesn't believe me. Since Dad left, she believes nothing I say. But Mom's not dumb. She sees it, and I see the knowing in her face, but Jude's got her all tangled up in his psycho-babble. He says Addy needs a strong male in her life. He says I'm bitter and trying to turn the family against him, and Mom buys it because she wants to, she needs to. She buys it all and ignores it all and there's not one person in this damn world who believes me.” Crow's body shook. “I keep it from Addy 'cause I don't want to scare her, but you, you've
got
to believe me.”

“I do.” I rocked her gently and stroked her hair. “I so believe you, and you need to believe me. Nothing's going to happen to Addy. We can stop him. . . . I promise you: we can do it.”

Crow squeezed tighter and I squeezed back, and it felt so good to hug myself. I never let anyone get this close at thirteen, but she just let me in. Way in. Crow was changing, softening. And that might be good.

Except that hardness alone kept me sane.

“Last time you ate?” I asked.

“Two days ago.”

Inside, I boiled. This woman who gave me shelter cared little about my life. Were all mothers like that? “Dove's just letting you die back here!”

Crow straightened. “No. She's letting me live. My way.” She rose from the bed. “Gotta get home. The Monster will be home soon.”

“I'll go with you.”

Crow pushed by me, wobbled, and regained her balance. She reached back and squeezed my arm. “You should have let me kill her.”

I shook my head and grinned. “With a trophy? Where's the glamour in that?”

Crow chuckled and marched toward the door, paused but did not turn. “Don't leave me, Shane.”

“I'm not going anywhere.”

“I'd ask you to sleep over tonight if I didn't live with him.”

“I'm not afraid.”

Crow spun around, her lips curled. “All right. But I'll tell you right now, I don't sleep much.”

“I know. We'll watch together.”

Side by side, we pushed out into the last rays of sunlight. One week till Mayday. One week to change Addy's world.
Soon Crow, I'll need you, too.

THE THOUGHTS OF C. RAINE

Home is where one starts from.

T. S. Eliot

CAN YOU LIKE YOURSELF MORE WHEN YOU AREN'T YOURSELF?

I only know that we stepped into Mom's house at eight o'clock, and I had an admiration for Crow—for me—that I'd never before experienced. I was proud of her, which I guess meant I was proud of me. I had to admit, for a girl who defined life in terms of degrees of failure, it felt good.

Awkward.

“Follow me.” Crow walked into the kitchen and stopped. She spun and hustled me out, but a voice didn't let us get far.

“Look who dragged in!” Jude the Monster rose from the table and took a step forward. “You look half dead, Crow. Get some sleep tonight, will you?” His eyes roamed me, finally settling on my face. “And what's your name, young lady?” He held out his hand.

“I'm not a lady. I'm a girl. Then again, I'm told you're not much of a man, so let's just skip the intro part.” I turned to Crow, her red eyes wide with shock. “Is your mom or Adele around? I'd like to meet them.”

Jude dropped his hand and cursed. “Another Crow.”

I shrugged. “I'll take that as a compliment.”

Crow rounded my shoulder with her arm, pulled me through the kitchen and down the hall. “That may have been the single best moment I've experienced in thirteen years of life.”

“Glad to provide it for you.”

“Mom?” Crow called. “Mom!”

“We're in here.” Adele called from the bedroom.

My heartbeat quickened, and Crow opened the door, collapsed on her bed. “I'm really hungry. Any leftovers?”

“Where were you?” Mom didn't turn. “Dove's, I assumed.”

They say that when you die, your whole life passes before your eyes. I didn't believe that, especially given that I had some experience in the matter. But as I stood, my gaze again fixed on Addy, the one I'd come back to save, and yeah, the dam broke and the memories flooded.

I saw her take her first steps. I did, not Mom or Dad. Me.

I caught her when she fell off the monkey bars. Well, I broke her fall a little.

I taught her to ride her bike.

So many successes. One failure overshadowed them all.

“My fault,” I said, and jarred my gaze free of Adele. “I was showing Crow where I lived.”

Mom whipped around. “Which is . . . ?”

“Alabama.”

Mom's face twitched. “I'm guessing you're Shane Owen Raine.”

“That's what they're calling me. I admit the last name was borrowed without permission.”

I tried hard to stay callous, detached. But the whole scene was too much: Mom barking at me; Addy leaning against the bedpost, her knees tucked up beneath her chin; and Crow collapsed on a bed, looking very similar to the crooked soul I'd seen in the hospital.

I wanted to scream, It's me. I'm back! I'm Crow's soul-mind, whatever that is. Do you have any idea what's going to happen in just a few days?

Instead, I eased onto Crow's bed and glanced around at everything that once had been mine. “It's nice to meet you, Ms. Raine.”

“Yeah.” Mom said, nodding slowly. “Seeing as how you live here, it's nice to finally get a look at your face.” She glanced at Crow. “Meat loaf in the fridge.”

Crow looked at her hard. “The Monster's in there, too.”

Mom wiped her brow with her middle finger. “That monster is my husband, a fact I hoped you would have accepted by now.”

Crow shook her head.

“What?” Mom raised her eyebrows. “No comeback? No sick, perverted accusations against him? Shane, you're already having a positive effect.” She glanced at the three of us. “I need to consult with Jude.” Mom kissed Adele and left the room.

A strange silence settled over us. Adele, immune to the gravity of such moments, found her voice first.

“The girl from the bus. So you're the one Crow's told me about these last nights. You've really been living in our backyard?”

I peeked out the window. “Yeah, I hope that's okay.”

She grinned. So gentle, so at ease with whatever came into her life. Adele plopped down next to Crow and stroked her hair. Crow slowly closed her eyes. “Thanks for anything you did for my sister.” She paused. “I'm sorry for Mom. She's having a rough day.”

Crow shot up to vertical, red eyes wide. “It's more than a day. We can pretend later, but I'm not lying to Shane: this is every morning, this is every night, this is her.”

Addy lowered her head and folded her hands.

“And I'm getting it. I'm getting it all, you know that,” Crow continued. “But you know how half of this is Jude speaking through her. He puts on that therapist face and pretty much convinces her the sky is green. He's taking over the house, Addy.”

Addy peeked up and whispered, “I don't want to talk about this again.”

Crow glanced at the door and lowered her voice. “But we have to. Jude isn't right.”

“He's friendly enough.”

“To you. Do you notice? Only to you. Touchy, waiting, watching.”

Addy rubbed her arms, “I don't know what you're saying.”

“Why did Dad leave? I know I made it tough. I get that, so I'm not innocent.” Crow peeked at me, her face softening. “But I've been thinking lately: there must have been another reason. That reason is Jude.”

Keep talking, Crow.

“Dad's probably happy, wherever he is. Adele, we don't have to stay either. You and I could—”

“I'm not leaving Mom. She needs us. I need her.”

How many times I'd danced around the issue:
Run away with me! We could do it.
Each time it came back to the same thing. This curious, unreasonable connection between Adele and Mom. Though Mom was little more than an extension of Jude, Addy would not let her go.

The sisters fell silent.

“The main thing is that you two stay together,” I said. “And more than together, trust each other, trust that you have each other's best interests in mind.” They glanced at me, and at each other. Then they hugged.

I should have been a therapist.

“So you're the daughter of my ex-husband.” Mom strutted in. “Given your age, my ex would have likely rushed from Regions Hospital, where I had Crow, to the bedside of his mistress, who would have been busy producing you.” She paused. “Then again, Crow's entrance into the world would make almost any man do that.”

Her face darkened, the face that blamed Crow for Dad's departure. “Yes, Crow would make any man hungry for a different home.”

“No, Mom,” Addy grabbed Crow's wrist. “You need to stop saying that. He loved us both.”

Crow stormed out of the room, and my gaze followed. Those digs had been so common, so everyday; I never felt their cruelty, not from the inside. But now, I saw the sickness of the words, the disease that spread through the house.

“Maybe Dad was a polygamist,” I said. “Or a sperm donor. Or maybe you just forgot that you had a third child, ever thought of that?”

Adele burst out laughing, and the dark shadow passed from Mom's face. She chuckled. “I declare, you are something.” Her eyes narrowed. “You are something. You know, you do look like Cameron. It's in the eyes.” She sighed. “So the school wanted to know if I claimed you. I told them that depended on whether you tilted toward Crow or Adele.”

“Two fine choices, if you ask me. What do you think?” I asked.

“Time will tell. I don't know where you rightfully belong, so I won't sign anything legal, but if you can keep Crow on the straight and narrow, you can stay here for life.”

• • •

Straight and narrow. I hated those words, and they kicked me into a memory.

Confession time. Aside from my little thirteen-year-old flirtation with an empty garage and Jude's Winstons, the only place I ever drank or smoked was at Dove's. I did no other drug, and committed no crime other than those against my own body. I couldn't afford to—I had to be coherent for the nights.

Despite my reasonably responsible attitude toward substance abuse, I found myself in juvenile detention four times, four of the most terrifying nights of my life. I was never there for more than a night, and never for an instant was I frightened for myself. Though Jude's nighttime visits to our room had long since ended, fear for Addy's safety died hard, if at all.

I was sixteen when I had my first juvie sleepover. The night had started innocently enough. Basil came over to the house and picked me up on his new pea-green snowmobile. Proud fool. I threw on my leather jacket and ran out the door. Mom called, “Basil, now keep that daughter of mine on the straight and narrow.”

This frustrated me for two reasons:

• Mom was acting like a mom. There's a joke.
  
• Had Mom ever seen the inside of Basil's room, she'd have discovered a boatload of dubiously acquired electronic devices. I will not say he was a thief. Thieves actually believe they are taking someone else's property. Basil simply possessed an entitlement mentality—he felt entitled to Jack Logan's iPad and Mr. Scapelli's laptop.
  

“Sure thing,” Basil answered. He smiled and messed my hair. “Crow on the straight and narrow. You can trust me.”

We ended up at the Shack, home of the most incredible pizza pies. If I remember correctly, Basil ended up with a hot pepper fleck lodged in his eye, which swelled to the size of a golf ball. He whimpered and whined until I demanded he take me home.

We sat and talked on his sled in my driveway. That's when I noticed it, the bungee basket, not exactly standard equipment for a new snowmobile. I lifted the lid. Five cans of spray paint.

Basil offered a sheepish smile. “I thought maybe—”

“What maybe were you thinking?”

“Why let jocks have all the fun?” He climbed off the sled, removed a can of paint, and shook. “Big game tonight. I thought we could head over to East High and show some school spirit. I always thought you and I should paint this town.”

“Have a nice night, Basil.”

I slid off his machine and took one step.

“Hey, Crow.”

I turned. I should never have turned, but I did, and Basil released a blast of paint that speckled my hair, my coat, my shoes.

“Jerk!”

I stumbled through the front door at exactly nine o'clock, an important detail here, and tripped over a pile of Mom's junk. I reached the bedroom and vented to Addy, who spent the rest of the evening removing all hint of yellow from my hair. The next morning, a Saturday, not five minutes after Addy left for basketball practice, Principal Hawkins and Basil's dad showed up on my doorstep with “evidence” that I had defaced archrival East High School. Apparently, the letters
C R
had been sprayed all over their school in bright yellow paint.

“It wasn't smart, Crow. I could overlook you defacing their field house, but the school itself?” Officer Dewey shook his head. “Signing your initials doesn't show much remorse. Not smart.”

“What's not smart is your thinking I'd do that. Have you spoken to Basil about last night?”

Dewey cleared his throat. “I took that liberty, Crow. According to my son, he had you back here by nine. Where you went after that is, sadly, a bit unclear.”

“Unclear?” Principal Hawkins stepped into the house. I pointed to his foot.

“Can he do that? Legally, can he do that?”

Dewey gentled out the steaming principal and asked for my mom. I explained to all of them that I was in my bedroom out of habit, one formed from spending my childhood protecting my sister from a psychotic stepdad bent on sexual abuse.

Mom offered a nervous laugh. She much preferred the principal's rendition of the previous evening.

“Crow, I'm sorry, but it's the right thing to do.” She opened the closet and removed my leather coat, speckled with Basil's stupidity. Mom assumed her most pained look. “No parent likes to see her daughter in trouble.”

It did not matter to them that
C R
also stood for Central Rules, or that yellow was our school's color. Nor did it matter that sportos
always
spray-painted after said contest.

My jacket flecked yellow.

I had signed my handiwork.

They found their culprit.

Case closed.

The cost of covering for my friend was steep. Mom let me sit in juvie for the remainder of the day and throughout the night, I believe as much for my attempted whistle-blowing as any perceived misdeeds. Sunday morning she skipped church to pay me a visit.

We stared at each other on a television monitor, the phone crackling and whistling. “When are you going to stop?” she asked. “What exactly does ‘straight and narrow' mean to you?”

“Death, or killing Basil, whichever comes first.”

Mom's jaw tightened.

“Wrong answer?” I looked away, and then stared her straight in the eye. “‘Straight and narrow'? How about marrying a guy who prefers you over your daughter?”