He raises his head, opens his mouth like he’s going to try to say something, and I clamp a hand over his lips. “Please,” I whisper, as I lift my hips. I sound like I’m begging, and I hate him for making me do it. My lips find the hollow of his throat. “Please.”
He grabs my head in both hands, forcing me to look at him. “Goddamn you, Lane,” he says through clenched teeth, but he pulls me closer, his hands already ripping my shorts down over my hips. And if he’s rougher than he needs to be, if there’s a knife’s edge of violence to his touch, who am I to complain? After all, it’s no more than I deserve.
They buried her in a white casket lined with pink satin. Dark hair curled like silk against her tiny skull. Rosebud mouth. Lids stitched closed over the Roanoke eyes. Fifteen pounds and twenty-seven inches. Six months old.
Emmeline Justine Roanoke
Beloved Daughter
Cherished Sister
Our Beautiful Girl
Now that Allegra was over her “mood” and we were back to talking, she had enlisted me to help find her mother’s diary. The few pages she’d found last year had been wedged into a crack between boards in the hayloft, but she’d never come across the rest of the diary. Today we were tearing apart the library looking for it. Allegra had the idea maybe her mother had stashed the diary in among the regular books. Perfect camouflage, according to Allegra.
“Why do you want to find it so much?” I asked, pulling a stack of books off the shelf.
Allegra paused in the act of flipping through pages. “Because I don’t know anything about her. Not really. Only stupid stories from Granddad that sound like they’re made-up she was so perfect. I mean, duh, clearly she wasn’t a saint.”
I had to laugh at that. “I don’t think any of them were. Or us, either.”
“Don’t you want to know more about your mom?” Allegra asked. “If you could find out what she really thought or felt, wouldn’t you want to know?”
“Not particularly.” I set the first stack of books aside and reached for another. The library was cleaned regularly, but still dust had settled and my nose itched. I scrunched up my face to hold in a sneeze. “My mom’s brain isn’t a place I want to spend quality time.”
Allegra’s eyes flared, her hands tightening on the book she held. “Well, I’d like to know why my mom was so quick to abandon me. At least yours took you with her.”
“She didn’t have much choice,” I said. “Considering I was inside her.”
Allegra rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean.”
“Have you ever tried looking for your mom?”
“No.” Allegra bit her lip, kept her gaze on the book in her hands.
“Never?” I couldn’t believe the lure of the computer hadn’t called to her, at least once.
Allegra shrugged. “Okay, yeah, I googled her a couple of times. Nothing ever came up. She obviously doesn’t want me to find her.” The sadness in her eyes surprised me. Here she was, longing for her mother, and most days I wished my mom had been the one to leave me behind.
“Honestly, Allegra, you might have gotten the better end of the deal. Living with my mom wasn’t exactly an advertisement for family.”
Allegra got that look on her face, the same one she’d had at the swimming hole, like something was pushing its way out of her, her lips already forming the words I was dying to hear.
“What are you girls doing?” Gran asked from the doorway, and the moment passed, quicker than a snap of my fingers. My chance to know what Allegra was keeping inside whisked away again.
“Looking for my mom’s diary,” Allegra said without turning around.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Gran said. “I want all these books put back when you’re done. Did you hear me, Allegra?”
“Yeah, whatever,” Allegra mumbled.
Gran ventured a little farther into the room, sidestepping our piles of books. “If there’s something you want to know about your mother, you can always ask me,” she said.
Allegra didn’t even look up. “I’ve tried that before. You never want to talk about her. And all I get from Granddad are stories about how she could commune with the animals and wandered around singing happy songs.”
“Like Cinderella?” I asked.
“Exactly,” Allegra said, “slutty Cinderella,” and we both cracked up.
“That’s not true,” Gran said.
“Please,” Allegra said. “All Granddad does is sugarcoat.”
I sat down on the floor and started sorting through the books, looking for one that didn’t belong.
“You know,” Gran said, stepping around me. “I have no idea where Eleanor’s diary is, but I have something else you might find interesting.”
“What?” Allegra asked, hopping to her feet.
Gran scanned a row of books, standing on tiptoe to reach the top shelf. She pulled down a wide, thick book, covered in faded black fabric, the pages bunched and uneven. “Here it is.” She sat down in one of the armchairs near the fireplace, and Allegra and I stood on either side of her, both of us peering down at the book on her lap.
“What is it?” I asked. The front of the book had no markings or title, and the whole thing looked homemade.
“A hair book,” Gran said, lifting the cover gently.
“What the hell is a hair book?” Allegra asked, raising her eyebrows in my direction. I mouthed, “I have no idea,” and turned my attention back to the book in Gran’s lap.
Gran sighed, gave Allegra a long-suffering look. “A hair book is exactly what it sounds like. A book of hair.” Gran opened the book, and there, right on the first page, was a collection of hair. Some of it short and wispy, as though saved from a baby’s first haircut, other locks longer and thicker and bound to the page with frayed ribbon.
“This is a Roanoke family heirloom,” Gran told us. “Your granddad’s grandma started it, and everyone’s added to it over the years.” Gran flipped to the back of the book. “This is your aunt Penelope’s hair.” Gran ran her thin fingers over a heavy braid, tied at the end with a dull white ribbon. “We cut it right before she was buried.” The hair was dark, like Allegra’s and mine, but gilded with a hint of blondish highlights as the sun coming through the library window hit the strands.
“She fell down the stairs, right?” I asked. I wanted to reach down and touch the braid, but I wasn’t sure if Gran would allow it. Her fingers on the braid looked possessive, like she might pinch me for getting too close.
“Yeah,” Allegra said. “It was the middle of the night. Snapped her neck.” She made a harsh clicking sound between her teeth.
“Oh, Allegra,” Gran said. “Don’t mock. It was horrible. Horrible.” She ran the braid between her fingers. “I raised her from the time she was a baby.”
“How old was she when she died?” I asked.
“Barely fourteen,” Gran said. “Still a little girl. I’ll never forget how she looked. Tangled up in her white nightgown.” I glanced from the book to Gran’s face, searching for tears, but Gran’s expression was as placid as ever. She turned the page.
“Now this,” she said, tapping a smattering of hair glued to the page, “this is your mother’s hair, Allegra. And this”—she pointed to an identical lock next to it—“this is your mother’s, Lane. I kept a bit from haircuts they got when they were young.” She smiled down at the page. “Camilla raised an absolute fit about it. She hated this book. Thought it was disgusting and creepy.”
“It is disgusting and creepy,” Allegra said, but with a tone of voice that conveyed how much she loved its strangeness.
I couldn’t resist the urge any longer, leaned over and ran my finger along my mother’s hair, Camilla, 1981, age 10, written above it in a careful hand. Both my mother’s hair and Eleanor’s hair were exactly like Allegra’s and mine, down to the coppery undertones nestled in all the dark. I doubted you’d be able to tell our hair from theirs if ours made its way into the book someday.
Gran started to close the book
, but Allegra’s hand stopped her. Allegra turned the final page even as Gran tried to rise up from the chair. “What’s on the last page?” Allegra asked. The book fell back open on Gran’s lap, a few wispy tendrils of hair attached to the page with a pale yellow ribbon. Emmeline, 1984, 6 months.
“Oh,” Allegra breathed out. “The dead baby.”
“Did you cut it yourself? Before the funeral?” I asked, and Gran gave me a startled look. Maybe surprised I could be as unfeeling as Allegra when the mood struck me.
“Yes,” she said.
“She died in her crib,” Allegra said, glancing at me.
“Yeah, you already told me.”
“You were the one who found her, right?” Allegra asked, poking Gran in the shoulder. Twisting the knife.
“She looked like she was sleeping,” Gran said. “Except her little lips were blue. And she was so cold. I thought if I warmed her up, she’d be all right. Your granddad had to pry her out of my arms. I cursed him something awful. Swore I’d never hold another baby again.” Gran took a deep breath and closed the book. She looked up at Allegra. “Of course, you came along and made a liar out of me.” Gran still wasn’t crying, but there was a slim crack in her facade, like the tiniest fissure in a smooth pane of glass.
Allegra hesitated for a second and then leaned over like she was going to give Gran a hug. Gran made an impatient sound, batted Allegra’s arms away as she stood. I already knew Gran wasn’t a hugger. Maybe now I knew why. Maybe that final embrace with Emmeline was the last one Gran ever wanted.
—
When Tommy pulled up to the end of the drive to pick up Allegra and me, Cooper wasn’t with him. “He’s meeting us at the party,” Tommy said with an apologetic smile.
“Why?” Allegra asked.
“Don’t know,” Tommy said, but the flush on the tops of his ears gave him away.
“Did you know he wasn’t coming?” Allegra asked me, as she climbed into the passenger seat and I got in back.
“No,” I said. “But it’s not a big deal.” But inside I had a feeling it was. Ever since the day we’d spent in his bed, things had been different between Cooper and me. Nothing had changed to an outside observer. We still spent time together, still slept together, still gravitated toward each other whenever we were in the same room. But underneath something had shifted, at least for me. Every time I saw his face, I could feel a dark swirl of meanness and fear rising up in me, the emotions so entwined I couldn’t distinguish where one ended and the other began. I told myself to stop, but I couldn’t seem to find the switch that turned off my own worst impulses. Instead, I avoided conversation, ducked out from beneath Cooper’s arm, and never let my eyes meet his when we had sex. I tried to tell myself Cooper didn’t notice the difference, but maybe him not coming with Tommy tonight meant he did.
The party we were going to was being held at some guy’s farmhouse. His parents were out of town and the whole place was overrun with kids. There was a huge bonfire burning in a pit in his back lawn, and already the ground was littered with crushed beer cans. My eyes were immediately drawn to Cooper, who was leaning back against the deck, a beer in his hand. A girl I didn’t recognize was draped along his side.
“Oh my God. I can’t believe that slut is here!” Allegra said in a voice designed to carry.
“Who?” I asked, looking away from Cooper.
“Becca James,” Allegra said. “The one eye-fucking Cooper. They dated a few years ago, before he dumped her lame ass,” Allegra practically yelled. “She’s been trying to get him back ever since.”
I glanced over at Cooper and Becca again. Her face was tipped up to his, her body turned toward him. He wasn’t touching her, but he wasn’t walking away from her, either.
“I’m gonna go get a beer,” Allegra announced. “Want one?”
“Sure,” I said.
Allegra stalked off with a blistering look at Becca, and Tommy stepped up next to me. “Cooper had a fight with his dad today,” he said, voice lowered.
“I thought that was over,” I said. “I thought Cooper ended all that.”
Tommy’s smile was sad. “I don’t think it ever really ends, Lane. I mean, his dad doesn’t beat him bloody anymore. But they still hate each other. It’s always going to be a battle.” Tommy laid a hand on my arm. “It might be better to stay away from him tonight. When he gets like this…he does things he regrets later.”
Allegra sidled up with three beers balanced between her hands, and Tommy and I each took one. I let my mind linger on what Tommy had said. I didn’t feel jealousy over Becca or concern about Cooper. What I felt was a weird kind of relief. I knew how to hurt him now. And how to let him hurt me back. The dance was a familiar one. My mother had helped me memorize the steps long ago.
Allegra popped the top of her can, gave Cooper a swift once-over. He still hadn’t moved from his spot beside Becca. Allegra turned her attention to me. “Screw him, Lane. Plenty of other guys around here. Wanna meet some?”
“Sure,” I said. “Why not?”
“Allegra,” Tommy said. “Maybe you shouldn’t—”
But Allegra was already waving to a group of guys standing near the bonfire. “You have to meet Nick Samson,” Allegra told me. “He’ll be a senior this year. He played football with Tommy. He’s completely adorable.”
I let her drag me toward the bonfire, Tommy choosing not to follow. Nick turned out to be a thick-necked, dark-haired boy with hands like paddles. When he smiled at me, a wad of tobacco peeked out from his bottom lip. Not exactly my idea of adorable. I looked back at Cooper, saw he’d turned his whole body in my direction, Becca finally forgotten. Tommy had one hand on Cooper’s chest, like he was holding him in place, and Allegra stood off to the side watching, gaze darting among all the various players. My eyes met Cooper’s, and something dark and electric sizzled through the air between us.
Oblivious, Nick leaned over and put a hand on my waist, got right down to business. “Wanna take a walk?” he asked, his voice a low rumble.
“No, she doesn’t fucking want to take a walk with you,” Cooper said from behind me. Before I could even react, he’d shoved me aside and taken a wild, but hard, swing right at Nick’s head.
They fought fast and furious, Nick grunting with exertion while Cooper saved his energy for punching. Nick was bigger but Cooper was angrier, and they might have gone on beating each other all night if Tommy and a couple other guys hadn’t pulled them apart. Allegra stood next to me, her whole body vibrating with excitement. “They were fighting over you,” she whispered. “That’s so cool.”
“It’s not cool,” I said, watching blood drip from Cooper’s lips. Nick’s school ring had caught him on the teeth, and he leaned over, spat a sliver of ivory into the grass. His hands shook with rage, but his eyes were distant. I wondered if he pictured his father’s face when he hit Nick. Or maybe it was my face he longed to punch. I remembered his words about not wanting to turn into his father, about how every day he went without hitting someone took him a step further away from that destiny. Tonight, Cooper may have taken the first swing, but I’d led him right into the ring. I doubted he’d ever forgive me.
I knelt down beside Nick, took his hand and helped him stand. “If you’re up for it,” I told him, “I’ll take a walk with you now.”
“Sure,” Nick said, his voice stuffy around a probable broken nose. It didn’t slow him down any though. He shook out his knuckles, wiped blood off his cheek with one hand. Now that the fight was over, everyone went right back to drinking like nothing had happened. They were used to swift flashes of violence. Especially from Cooper.
I didn’t look at Cooper as Nick and I walked into the darkness. Outside the ring of light, Nick turned to me, pushed me back against a tree. His mouth was too wet. His tongue too meaty. He smelled like stale sweat and beer. I let him touch me, lift my shirt, and shove his hand down my shorts. I let him do what he wanted because I couldn’t think of a single reason why I shouldn’t.
When I open my eyes, Cooper’s already awake next to me. I can tell from his breathing. I’ve never slept all night in a bed with him, and if I ever pictured it happening, it was not like this. The smell of alcohol is strong, leaking out of my pores onto the soft cotton sheets. Sunlight streams in through the window and colors my naked skin a warm honey yellow. I turn my head to look at him, and my brain protests the movement, sends the room into a fast spin. My stomach somersaults up into my throat.
“Oh, shit,” I moan and cover my eyes with one hand.
“You’re hurting,” Cooper says. It’s not a question, and he doesn’t sound particularly sympathetic.
“Yeah, I overdid it.” My voice is husky and weak.
“Want me to get you some water? Or something for your head?”
“No. Just give me a minute.” My whole body throbs, not only my head. “How long have you been up?”
“A while. I’m gonna go make some coffee.”
I peek out at him from between my fingers. “Okay. Thanks.”
Cooper rolls away from me, his spine stretching underneath his sun-brown skin. Once he’s left the room, I force myself to sit up. The pounding in my head increases, and I take a few deep breaths, tell myself I’m not going to be sick. I manage to find my shorts and underwear tangled on the floor, but I don’t see my bra or shirt anywhere. For all I know, they’re still in Cooper’s truck. I grab a faded T-shirt of Cooper’s from his dresser and pull it on.
I make my way gingerly down the steep staircase, narrowly avoiding tripping over the black Lab sprawled at the bottom. I squint against the morning sunlight flowing in through uncovered windows. Already I smell coffee brewing. Cooper’s house is clean and spare, the colors light. I imagine there’s relief in stepping through this front door after a day at the dank garage. He loves this house; it’s obvious with one glance. It’s there in the polished wood floors and the fresh paint, the framed photographs on the mantel and the easy charm. It’s a good room, a good house, and I feel childishly jealous.