“Except for leaving to spend the night with friends and never coming back?” my dad asked. I responded with a glare. He changed the topic, “I can’t help but notice you got tattoos.”
I looked down. The shadows of my tattoos were visible through the sleeves of my dress shirt. I pressed my sleeve down so it was flat against my arm, making the tattoos, clear. “Watercolor tattoos, by friends. An artist friend I owe a lot to offered to outline them, another friend inked them.”
I had set rules for myself, to avoid getting caught up in this energy, yet I was baiting my father. I could see him squirm, wanting to say something. Question was, would he be willing to criticize the tattoos so soon after my homecoming?
“What?” I asked.
“I’m glad you’re safe,” he said, with almost no affect. “You know I never harbored any ill will.”
“I know you didn’t.” I held my tongue before I added anything else. That wasn’t ever the problem, was it? I shrugged, my hands in my pockets, and looked at the baby. “Who’s this?”
“Ivy,” my mother said. “She’s one and a half.”
“Hi Ivy,” I said. She responded by pressing her head against our mother’s shoulder. “Busy soaking it all in, kiddo, so you have some good stories to tell your therapist, ten years down the line?”
“Blake,” my dad said, the word a warning.
Without looking away from Ivy, I kept my voice calm, the tone almost light, so the vibe wouldn’t upset her. “How hard did you look, Dad? Mom? I got in touch with some of my old friends, you know. Seeing what happened. My friends, the only ones you actually called, said you stopped asking about me after a month.”
“You were almost an adult, and the police weren’t interested or helpful. We called around, trying to figure out where you were staying, but nothing turned up. I’m not sure what we were supposed to do.”
I smiled a little as Ivy reached out for my offered hand. Her hand seized my index finger, and I wiggled it, ‘shaking’ her hand. Besides, why devote any more attention to your son, when you could just start over? Have that beautiful baby girl you wanted, right?
“You’re quiet,” my mother said.
“Nothing to say,” I said. “Is it okay if I send Ivy some presents for the special occasions? Birthdays, Christmas?”
“You don’t get to pick and choose,” my dad said. “Family isn’t a halfway thing.”
“Nevermind, then. If it’s one or the other, I’m out. Again.”
“Blake!” my father said, raising his voice.
Ivy recoiled at the sudden shout, withdrawing her hand from my finger as her face screwed up. Tears imminent.
Damn it. It was too easy, to lash out, to retaliate, to get sucked into this atmosphere.
“Sorry, Dad. Sorry, Mom. My bad, Ivy,” I said, my voice soft. I didn’t wait for a response. I walked past them.
I stopped in my tracks as a door opened and Callan stepped out of the nearest room. Aunt Irene’s eldest. A man in white scrubs followed him.
“Ellie?” the man asked.
Callan was Irene’s eldest, second oldest of the cousins. If Ellie followed after him, then they had to be going down the list, seeing the cousins in order of eldest to youngest. I watched as Ellie stood, looking out of place and deeply uncomfortable in a dress that didn’t suit her. Her eyes had thick eyeliner, her lips had lipstick too red for her complexion. Her slouched posture and narrow, flat-chested figure evoked mental images of a weasel. She was visibly nervous, but not in the same way Molly was.
The door wasn’t the hollow plywood door that you saw in most homes. It was wooden, through and through, and it closed behind Ellie with a heavy thud.
“No kidding. Blake?” Callan asked, as I started to walk around him.
“Hey,” I responded.
“You’re wearing jeans? Paint-covered jeans? Now?”
I looked down at the jeans, the lap striped with narrow streaks in various colors, then met his eyes, shrugging. “Doesn’t matter.”
“Why the hell did you come?” he asked. “Most of us thought you were dead or something.”
“Got a call,” I said. I glanced back at my parents. The lawyer found me, alive and well, without much trouble. “I was wondering how the family was doing, and figured this was maybe the last time we’d all be together. Thought I’d check in, see how things were, say what needed to be said.”
“If you think you’re going to worm your way in-“
“If I was, do you think I’d be wearing these jeans?” I asked. More exasperated than anything, I told him, “Fuck off, Callan. Save your energy for attacking the others. I’m a non-threat. Promise.”
He scowled a little, then summarily fucked off. He took a seat on the deacon’s bench, beside Molly. His hand settled over hers, and he leaned over to murmur in her ear.
I made my way out of the small crowd that had gathered around that heavy wooden door.
Paige fell into step beside me as I walked to the end of the long hallway. I stopped by the narrow window, where the dim light of the setting sun filtered between the curtains and through the sheers.
“Jesus fuck,” she said, for the second time.
“Hey, Paige.”
She reached out, arms extended for a hug, and I flinched. I stepped back, and nearly knocked a picture off the wall behind me as I bumped into the wall.
She looked stricken. Her arms dropped to her side. Her hair was done up in a french braid, and she looked as comfortable in her clothing as her older sister hadn’t. It was how she’d always been. Prim, proper, preppy. She was almost into her twenties, now, but I could see where she could easily be at home in the world of ties and pantsuits.
“No, I just-” I said. “I… reflex.”
I made myself reach out to hug her. It was clumsy, not natural in the slightest. Her head banged against my ear hard enough to be painful, her arms squeezed me in excessive care.
“What happened?” she whispered, as we parted.
I knew what she was asking, but I answered a different question instead. “I didn’t see any reason to stay, so I left.”
“You ran away.”
“I always think of little kids leaving with a bundle on a stick, when I think of ‘running away’.”
I shrugged. The shrug was getting to be habitual, to the point where I felt like my attempts to take all of this in stride were more acting than reality.
“Not a word, not a call? I mean, I know we weren’t close, but I thought maybe you’d say something, let me know you were okay.”
“I didn’t make it hard to find me. I figured I’d go back or whatever if anyone bothered enough to track me down. But they didn’t, so I didn’t.”
“Did you go someplace, or…” she trailed off, as if afraid to broach another boundary, as she’d done with the sudden hug.
“I was on the streets, just for a bit. It was worse than you’d think. A bit ago I met people, and I got help. I know how lucky I am, that I made it this far.”