Kith and Kin

chapter 5-2

Lisa wiped her tears and crumpled up the plastic wrap. She hoped Singer would take his new family out somewhere today. She needed to stock up on supplies. A glance at the bed confirmed that, in near-morning light, it no longer wanted to be snakes.

She curled into her pillows, twisted the sheets around her neck, and fell asleep.

*

Eleven a.m. More people were in the house. Lisa lay in bed with her eyes closed, listening to their voices. The baby gathered “ooh”s and “ahh”s, and she wondered what he thought of it all. Did he really want a bunch of strangers staring at him making noises? Probably not. Though he didn’t seem to cry, so that was good.

Unless he was numb. Lisa ran through her body seeking numb spots. Sometimes she … lost parts. She’d be lying there, flat on her back, and suddenly she no longer had a chest. Or an arm. Sometimes she lost the length of one thigh, or a large patch of her right shoulder. Numbed out, nerves silent, no longer reporting for duty.

When she concentrated very hard she could feel herself fading. She pictured her body flickering, the numbest parts blinking out. She knew she couldn’t actually become invisible, but sometimes it seemed like it might be worth a try.

The realness of this feeling—this flickering—started to feel more like a weight. She forced herself to get out of bed.

Car doors slammed outside. No engines started. She peeked around the edge of her window (far too obvious to pull the shades now), and yes, they were outside. With … Jake’s parents? Was that his brother? Hard to tell them apart from far away. And there was a stroller. Taking a walk?

The baby was black. That was surprising. The brother holding the little black baby was probably Jake, and Singer was dabbing something on the baby’s face. Oh, ha, the baby wasn’t a fan of that. Singer jumped back, but Jake laughed.

God, it was weird to see Singer like that. Part of this huge group of people. He looked even more out of place than his little black baby in a sea of white faces.

Yes. Taking a walk. Okay. Lisa waited until they’d moved beyond the hedges, mentally planning her attack. She’d make six sandwiches this time. And look for fruit. She needed bananas. Bananas would stay good for a few days. Apples would work alone, though if she had her own peanut butter to keep in her room, that would be better.

Singer probably didn’t randomly have extra jars of peanut butter living in his cabinets, but she’d look. That’d be the last thing she did, after making and storing her sandwiches, and trying to track down some fruit that didn’t need the refrigerator. Then she’d turn to the pantry in the hopes of finding doubles. She could eat beans out of the cans, as long as they had pull tabs. Add “spare can opener” to the list of things she’d forage for.

One more check out the front window. No one.

She had to be fast.

Lisa shifted the side table out of the way and opened the door. Bathroom? No. Food first. The bathroom was right across the hall and slightly easier to use when there were people in the house. And she was hungry.

Straight to the kitchen, then. Coffee. She could smell coffee. Coffee would wreck her body after this long, but suddenly she wanted it even more than a sandwich.

There were people in the house.

“We haven’t met. I’m Alice.” The woman in her kitchen—tall, fat, with hair like Shirley Temple—held out her hand. When Lisa didn’t take it, she made it into a wave. “You want coffee? Also, this is Emery.”

Dear god, the man on the other side of the butcher block island was hot. Shiny dark hair cut to his jaw, a little messy, blue eyes, dimples, little soul patch beneath his lip. These people were definitely not Derries.

Emery held up a hand. “Hey. Good to meet you.”

She should probably say something now. She didn’t.

Alice opened one of the cabinets. “Let me get you coffee. It’s the least we can do for being here. But seriously, have you ever taken a walk with Cathy and Joe? They’re hikers. I have some hope they won’t take the stroller too far off-trail, but I couldn’t wrangle a commitment out of them, so I decided to save myself and stay here. This fat girl don’t hike.” As she spoke, she poured. Then she set the mug on the counter near Lisa, but didn’t make her take it.

She had an accent. But it felt shifty. East Coast, definitely, though Lisa couldn’t get more specific.

“Shouldn’t we be building something?” The guy’s voice was also underlain with an accent, a little grit between his consonants. “I thought that’s the excuse you gave Mama Bear?”

“We’ll build in a few minutes. Though I think building a plastic playhouse for a kid who can’t even crawl is doing too much.”

Lisa reached for the coffee. The mug was wonderfully hot, too hot, but she gripped it in both hands, trying to suck the heat all the way into her bones.

Steam misted her skin. Coffee. An addictive substance, so no one drank it on the farm. The emphasis on clean living was one of the things she’d been so drawn to in the beginning. Sweet Angel talking about how she’d never felt as high on drugs as she did breathing fresh air and eating homegrown food. Abigail, holding up a squash like she’d conjured it, grinning, more excited to harvest vegetables than Lisa had ever been on Christmas morning.

The first sip scalded her tongue and burned down her throat. Lisa’s eyes watered, so she closed them and took another sip.

“I knew what I was getting into when I moved out here,” Emery was saying.

“That doesn’t mean you should let him take advantage of you.”

“Don’t be dramatic. He’s giving me lousy shifts because I’m the new guy.”

“You should be doing a lot more than inking butterflies on drunk college girls, Em.”

“When you want to do the back piece, babe, you let me know.”

“Soon, I hope. I’d rather not be living off my man and spending my savings on tattoos.”

“Please, your man loves my work. I bet if I asked, he’d buy it for you.”

“Do not ask Carey to buy my ink, Emery. I will knock your ass flat so fast—”

“Okay, okay.”

Their voices misted her like the steam, absorbing through her skin without any conscious effort. The coffee was too bitter and yet it tasted miraculous. She hadn’t missed coffee, not really, but standing in Mother’s kitchen feeling hungover from bad sleep, it felt like time had folded. She was her old self and her new self and the farm had never existed. Maybe she was just here for a visit, to see the new baby. She wouldn’t want to hike either, so she’d stay back with the fat woman whose name she’d already forgotten, and Emery of the glossy black hair.

She wanted to touch his hair. The thought invaded, twisted, sinking into her guts.

Praise for Anthony Grace. Anthony. With his wild Jesus locks and his mischievous eyes that were always a little sharper than Lisa expected them to be. Anthony was love, love was Anthony, but Anthony (like God) was always watching.

What was she doing standing here drinking coffee? They could be back any minute. All those people, filling the spaces, their voices far too loud.

Lisa, hands shaking, set the mug back on the counter and turned to get out her bread.

Six sandwiches. Three bananas taken from a six-banana bunch. Would they mind? No. Singer had offered her food. What else? No secondary jar of peanut butter, but she did find a crummy old can opener. If she brought beans to the bedroom, she’d also need a spoon. Eating them cold didn’t sound terrible, but it didn’t sound good. And what would she do with the liquid? She could rinse them in the bathroom, but that was almost as tricky as coming out to the kitchen to do it.

“There’s leftover soup and cupcakes in the fridge.”

It took a full minute for Lisa to realize the woman was talking to her. She turned just enough to look up. “What?”

“Leftovers. Soup, cupcakes, maybe lasagna. If there’s lasagna, you should have some. Cathy picked it up from Genova’s.” The woman crossed the room, never coming too close, and checked in the refrigerator. “God, Lisa, let me reheat this for you. It’ll only take a minute. Do you eat meat?”

Lasagna? Lisa’s mouth watered. “Yes.”

“I’m cutting you some. Give me like two minutes in the microwave. You keep doing what you’re doing.”

She hadn’t even thought about how she might look to them, with her twelve slices of bread, her production line of peanut butter and jelly. Lisa hastily wrapped everything up and took it back to the bedroom, adding two apples at the last minute. Apples weren’t her favorite food, but they were better than nothing.

She contemplated hiding. But the microwave went off and drew her back to the kitchen (after a check out the window; still no one in sight).

And the smell. The melted cheese, the sauce, the meat.

“Here. Try it. If you don’t want it, Emery will eat it. Won’t you, Em?”

“It’s not Mrs. Murphy’s, but it’s good.”

“Here, here. No lasagna can be as good as Mrs. Murphy’s. I think because she poured all of her passion and suffering into making it.” The plate, too, was placed on the counter.

Lisa wished she remembered the woman’s name. “Thank you.”

“No problem. You want anything to drink? Heavy cream, maybe?”

“Alice, quit it.” Emery sighed. “I love how you’ll gut anyone who polices your body, but you feel free to police everyone else’s.”

“What? Listen, not everyone can be as healthily round as myself, but I’m saying I can see bones.”

“Excuse Alice. She has no manners.”

“I have tons of manners.”

Alice was the woman’s name. And Emery’s dimples drew Lisa’s attention like headlights on a dark night. She focused on her lasagna.

Anthony never had to warn them about lust for other men, because the women all tried to outdo one another’s devotion to him. There had been no question that they all wanted him. At least, almost all. She fought a sudden memory of Abigail’s eyes, imploring her to please take her place, and please, please, don’t tell anyone. Anthony had never seemed to notice who arrived, and maybe she should have made more of that at the time. Were they all interchangeable to him?

Stop it. Eat your lasagna and stop thinking about him.

The reheating was spotty, still cold in some places, fiery hot in others. It didn’t matter. Lisa devoured the lasagna, mixing the flavors in her mouth, trying to chew it until it had no structure so she could better taste it. They’d had good, clean food at the farm, but they hadn’t had anything indulgent.

This lasagna, with its stringy melted cheeses, its intensely delicious tomato sauce, was indulgent. No one needed to eat like this, but oh god, Lisa couldn’t stop herself. No flickers, no numbness; food this heavy tied her to the world.

In the background Emery and Alice continued to argue about Emery’s job, their voices a pleasant static soundtrack.

As Lisa was scraping the last of the cheese off her plate she heard a low bell sound.

“And that’s Care. Fair warning, Lisa, the hikers are returning.”

That was to her address. Oh, right. The hikers. The people. Singer’s people.

She moved to wash the plate, but the woman, Alice, waved her off.

“Oh, let me. I’m the one shoving food at you. I guess you aren’t coming out for fireworks tonight?”

“Fireworks?”

“Fourth of July.” When Lisa shook her head, Alice laughed. “Yeah, didn’t think so. Singer and Jake and Miles are supposed to pick us up at seven, so you’ll have the place to yourself for a while, at least.”

She could shower. She might even be able to shower without thinking someone had been in her room while she was gone. But how could this strange woman know she was desperate to be alone? Telepathy wasn’t real, was it?

Lisa, suddenly overwhelmed, mumbled, “Thanks again,” and got back to her room before the front door opened.

Her heart didn’t stop pounding until the side table was once more pushed up against the door and the blinds were pulled all the way down and tightened until almost no light got through.

The bed looked safe, like the absolute only place in the world she could be. She tumbled into it, a little too warm in her hoodie after the lasagna, and curled into a ball.

No snakes. No ropes. No niggling feelings she couldn’t explain. It felt good to be full. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt sated, and she wanted to keep the feeling as long as she could, wrapping her arms around her legs like she could hold it inside.