Sister Pact (13 page)

Just by looking at his house, John Strickland's life looks normal. Suburban. Safe.

“You ready?” Emery asks.

“I guess.”

We walk to the front door, and before we can knock, the door swings open as two guys from the football team leave. There's a sea of people blocking the entrance, and we have to push our way in. Loud music is playing, and my head gets overwhelmed by it all.

I recognize a girl with jet-black hair with a purple streak through it. I think her name is Trudy. She's backed against a wall, holding a bottle of wine and drinking from it like it's an exercise water bottle. James Everett, one of the lacrosse players, is leaning over her. He's kind of a dog. But Trudy doesn't seem to mind. She holds his face in her free hand, her silver bangle bracelets slide down her arm.

“Let's make this quick,” Emery says.

What's got her so on edge?
This is more her crowd than mine. I think about asking her, but with the music blaring, it's not like I'd be able to hear her answer. I look at her for direction, and Emery pulls me into what is supposed to be the living room but has become the dance floor with all the furniture removed.

“Hey, beautiful.” Some guy I don't recognize grabs me by the hips and pulls me to him. I push him away. “What's wrong? I'm not your type?” Laughter erupts around him.

“Ass,” I mutter under my breath.

Emery finds one of John's guys, a blond one, six feet tall. She leans in and brings his head toward her ear. He starts to argue. She pulls him to her again. He points.

“He's back here, second door on the right,” she says as she pulls me through the mass of people, past the line for the bathroom, and to one of the bedrooms.

Emery pushes open the door. John Strickland is lying there, Tiffany Minor draped across his chest, her eyes closed almost entirely. He's smoking weed. The smell assaults me as I walk in. It's cloying and sweet and completely inviting.

John sees me and pushes Tiffany off him, handing the joint to Emery. She brings it to her mouth. “Thanks.” She pulls hard and hands it back.

“No problem.” He grabs my hand and leads me through the crowd and up the stairs. I don't ask where we're going. But when I get there, I know it's his bedroom. I start to get nervous. He laughs.

“Don't worry. I'm not going to do anything to you.”

“Why am I here?”

He motions to the bed. I balk. He sits and pats the place next to him, then holds up his hands in mock surrender. “I'll be a complete gentleman, I promise.”

I sit. He inhales, then offers the joint to me. I take it. It doesn't seem right not to. Impolite even.

“There are things about your sister that only I know.”

I cough a little. Not sure if it's the pot or what he said that gets caught in my throat. “Why would you know about Leah?”

“You'd be surprised how much I know. About you too.”

“Like what?”

“Like that pretty boy swimmer you're after is a complete ass and not worth your time.”

“Why would you say—”

“And that clean-cut dork you're dating is too judgy for you.”

He starts laughing—a horrible laugh that's fueled either by the drugs or my humiliation. My hand flies out—like it's not even part of me—to smack him across the face. He blocks me, grabbing my wrist. He holds on tight till the feeling goes completely out of my hand. When I let it go limp, he releases it. “Before you get all violent, I'll tell you something I've never told anyone but Leah. I loved her. I had a thing for her since we met.”

“What?”

“I was her in-between guy. Whenever someone hurt her, whenever someone cheated on her, she came to see me. And I made her feel better. I was happy to.”

I sit there looking at this guy's face and realize he's telling the truth. As much as he knew it to be at least. And I'm pissed at Leah again.

John Strickland hands the joint back to me. “Here, this'll take the edge off.”

I take another hit. My head starts feeling woozy. My whole body gets warm. He goes across the room and pulls out a stack of pictures, which he hands to me. They are of Leah and John Strickland together. All sorts of places. In the woods by a stream. Climbing a mountain. At the movies. In bed.

“This was after she caught Bruce Williams with Ashley Swain. The next set is when Jimmy Rollings turned out to be doing Darla Anfinson.”

“I don't understand.” I flip through the pictures. Leah without makeup, laughing, her hand held in front of her. Leah natural and with her guard down. He wasn't her in-between guy. He was her secret love. “How could I not know?”

“Nobody knew. It was between us.”

He puts his hand out, and I give him the pictures. I rub my eyes. Her voice comes to me. When we were at the Cape that last time. She told me about him.
I'm myself. I don't have to keep proving myself. Being me is good enough.
I remember. But if she really felt that way about him, why did he call himself her in-between guy?

“She was so beautiful, wasn't she?” He looks up at me. I nod. “I always believed we'd be together in the end, you know? When all the high school bullshit was over.”

I don't know what to say.

“You want to know about that night, the party?”

“Yes.”

“She was here with me. She found out Sean was cheating on her. She couldn't face him. She left. But she was worried about you. I was going to send someone after you.”

That's where she went.

“But she wanted to go. And on her way to get to you, she saw something that upset her. Even more than Sean cheating on her did.”

“What?”

“I don't know exactly.”

“It's my fault. It has to be. If she hadn't left to get me—”

“No. There was something tragic about Leah. She always said she felt doomed. Heavy. That's why she kept going all the time, dancing, working, playing. She couldn't not move or the heaviness got her.”

I point to the pictures. “Not with you. She was quiet and still with you.”

He rubs his hand over his stubble. “Obviously that wasn't enough.”

“I think something happened with my dad. After she left you that night.”

“Something was up. I should have known something was up.” He lowers his head into his hands. “She told me to take care of you. She made me promise.” He looks up at me through his fingers. “She told me she was leaving.”

“Leaving? Where did she say she was going?”

“Well, she always planned to go to Chicago. I mean, we planned that. My uncle lives there, and he would have helped us. I was going to go to become a welder. She was going to dance at the Chicago Dance Conservatory. I was going to pay for her so she wouldn't have to count on your dad for anything. But I didn't think she meant she was going to…”

This news shocks me. My head feels like it's filled with cotton. Chicago? When? I start to get mad. Leah had so many secrets, and she didn't tell anyone all of them.

“I thought she was going to get a head start. I told her I'd bring her enough money, and she said okay, but I should have figured that's not what she meant. I guess I should have known.” Misery leaks out of him and runs down his face.

“It's not your fault,” I say. “It's mine. It's hers.” And now I sound just like her.

He brings me to him, holds me against his brick wall of a body. He lets me cry. “Shh. It's not your fault.”

He tips my face to his so gently, I can't believe it. He kisses me. Slow and long and hard. I feel him pour his feelings for Leah into me, and it feels good because I know we both miss her, and no one but us knows how bad that feels. Kissing him makes that feel less bad but also wrong, because I'm not Leah and he's not Nick. And even if I'm not in love with Nick, I think we're dating. Sort of. Isn't that what sleeping with him implies?

“We can't.”

He shakes his head and smiles. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean. I…”

“It's okay.”

“Look, if the pills I gave you didn't work for you, I have others. Some of these”—he reaches into his nightstand and grabs a Ziploc bag of unmarked pills: blue, red, orange—“are like taking candy.”

“I don't know…”

“I'm not trying to push you to do this. God knows I have plenty of customers, and I won't take money from Leah's little sister. I just think this has to suck for you. I want to help if I can.”

“I don't know.”

He pulls out a small red one. “Ritalin to help you focus. I gave you Adderall at the pep rally, but maybe it was too strong to start with?”

I nod.

“This one is to take the edge off. Valium. This one is a Xanax. A very weak one. To bring you down. To take the edge off. I can keep you supplied. But you have to promise not to do what she did. I mean that. I can't have you doing that.”

I nod.

“I can get you anything you need, but you can't let it get out that I'm giving these away. Leah was the one soft spot I had. Now she's gone, I'm back to being one hundred percent asshole.”

He doesn't seem like an asshole, yet all the stories I've heard about him…like how he attacked a kid's car. “Last year,” I say. “The crowbar. Whose car was it?”

He smirks. “One of Leah's disappointments.”

I try to picture my warrior sister retreating to her warrior protector.

He shrugs. “When she told me, I wanted to take the crowbar to him. I told him that he better stay away from her. If he came near her again, no one would stop me.”

It must have been nice to have him looking out for her when no one else did.

“But the damage was done. He'd already gotten Vanessa to set Leah up. She took a picture of Leah smoking weed and that was enough to get her kicked off the dance team.”

My head swims.

“This is a lot to take in, I know. And none of it really matters anymore. What's done is done, and you have to move on. I know Leah wanted you to. She loved you.”

I give him back the pictures. “She loved you too.”

“Yeah. If only love were enough, like in those stupid-ass country songs.”

I smile. “I better go. Thanks.”

“Sure thing, Allie. If you ever need anything, I'm here for you. Crowbar at the ready.”

I wave to him from the door. He is already rolling another joint. I almost ask him if he sees her too, but I don't. Crazy is not something you talk about, even with your dead sister's ex–secret love.

I find Emery talking to some guy in the living room, both of them drinking out of those stupid red Solo cups. “You done?” she shouts above the music.

I nod. We weave our way to the door, the pot and the info making me sway.

“What did you find out?” Em's eyes dart around, and I wonder what's making her so jumpy. She do more than a little weed?

“Just more pieces of the Leah puzzle.”

“Spill,” she says as she opens her car door and we both climb in.

“Let me ask you this: If Leah had been kicked off the dance team, would she still be able to audition for colleges?”

“I guess. It would make it harder, for sure. Senior year is the audition year, and she wouldn't have recommendations. She wouldn't have tape of roles she'd won. So the rumors are true?” she asks.

I swivel to face her. “What rumors?” I demand. No amount of pot can mellow the fire that's racing through me right now.

“About Leah being kicked off the team.” Emery looks uncomfortable, like she wishes she hadn't brought this up.

That just makes me angrier. “You knew about that and didn't tell me?”

“I wasn't sure. Vanessa isn't exactly a reputable source, especially when it came to Leah.”

“You should have told me.”

Emery puts her head on the steering wheel and closes her eyes. She turns to me, one perfect tear running down her face. Emery cries cleaner than anyone I know. “I know. I felt like it was my fault.”

She must mean because she gave her the weed. As Emery starts the car, I see Leah standing there in the street.

Her makeup is smudged as if she's been crying. “I miss John Strickland,” she says.

I wake up in my own room this time. My head is heavy, filled with all the things I've learned about Leah in the last few days and the remnants from the drugs I took to make those things feel less horrible.

Dr. Applegate is always talking about not holding in feelings like that's the real path to mental health. Leah kept more secrets than anyone I know. Look where that got her.

I lie back down and force myself to remember the rest of what happened on the Cape. We came back from the beach. It was cold and I shivered when the wind blew. Leah told me she had a secret love. When we turned the corner, we saw three cars parked in the driveway. Three was bad. Of course we recognized Dad's and Mom's. But the third one? A silver Kia sedan.

“Crap,” Leah said.

“Who do you think—”

“I've seen that car before. At Dad's office.”

“You know whose it is?”

Leah's face got cloudy. “Yeah. That new girl. Danielle. I saw Dad getting texts from her when he dropped me off at rehearsal last week.”

“What's she doing here?”

Leah shot me a look. “I'm pretty sure it has nothing to do with business. Not work business anyway.”

The front door slammed open. Danielle came running out, her hair messed up and her shirt untucked. She dropped her keys twice and barely got the front door to the Kia open before she backed out of the driveway.

“Shit,” Leah said. Even ducking under our towels, I was pretty sure she saw us when we pulled away. Then it got to me. Why were we ashamed? Shouldn't Dad be? He was with her. When we were here. We could have walked in on them. “Come on,” she said. “We can't stay out here forever.”

The shouting that was coming from inside the house was loud enough to hear three houses away. The sound of glass being smashed made us pick up our pace. We had to get inside and stop whatever they were doing to each other.

“Get behind me,” Leah said as she cracked opened the door.

Dad's legs. Those were the first things I saw. He was wearing his khaki shorts. Cape wear. No shirt. He was holding his shirt in front of him with his hands that were fending off plates that Mom was throwing at him.

“Stop it!” Leah called. “You have to stop.”

Dad moved to block us, but Mom stopped throwing and started crying. She rushed to the bedroom.

Dad said, “We're leaving.”

“No,” Leah said. “We have to help her.”

“She's crazy. Can't you see that?” Dad's hands were covered in scratches and tiny dots of blood that seeped out from where she'd gotten him with the plates. I couldn't stop staring at the blood.

“What's
she
doing here then, Dad?”

“I don't answer to you. But Danielle was on the Cape and was dropping off a file for me.”

“Yeah, Dad. Not buying it.”

I watched Leah and Dad, helpless. Their interaction was like the worst and most dangerous tennis match ever played. It made me wonder what exactly was in that text Leah saw.

Dad looked at me for support, but I just inched closer to Leah.

His eyes went to the floor. “I had no idea what she planned.”

Was he talking about Danielle or Mom now?

“I never wanted to hurt you or your mom. It's not…” His eyes got teary. “She needs help. You know that right?”

“And doing your intern is your way of scaring her straight?” Leah's eyes stayed fixed on him the whole time. She didn't give him any wiggle room. I'm not sure now if that's what made him snap. Or if what Leah said next was. “We aren't going anywhere with you.”

Dad looked at us, incredulous. “Really? You want to stay with
her
?” He pointed to the bedroom. “She's not a wife to me, and she's definitely not a mother to you. Not like what you deserve.”

“Better than you,” Leah said.

And just like that, she slew him. For a second he looked completely broken. Then he strode to the kitchen, where Mom had left her purse, opened it, and took out her wallet. He pulled out the cash and credit cards. “See how you all do without me.”

I didn't watch as Dad left. I couldn't. All I could think was how were we going to get home with no money. No credit cards. Mom was in the bedroom, completely distraught and useless. I remember I sat down. Glass from the broken plates jabbed at my legs, but I didn't care. He'd left us with
nothing
.

“Come on. You're freezing,” Leah said. “Get changed. I have to go out for a little while. You watch Mom.”

“I'm coming with you,” I insisted.

“Then we have to get going.” Leah talked to me the whole time I was changing. “It's going to be okay. We're going to be fine. I'll make sure.”

“Okay,” I said, but I didn't know how to do that when I felt like I was free-floating in space with no sign of the ground. I couldn't stop crying. And I was so cold. I'd never been that cold.

Leah pulled a sweatshirt over my head. She smoothed my hair down. “We can't be like Mom. We have to be stronger.”

Then she went to Mom's purse and grabbed her bottle of pills. She poured one in her hand and took it to the counter. She took out a knife and cut it in half. Leah handed me one and put the other one in her mouth.

I didn't want to take it. I shook my head, but she said, “It's okay. Mom takes like two of these at a time.”

I remember the sound of the cabinet opening and closing, the tap being turned on. She handed me a glass of water. I swallowed the pill. “Wait here,” she said. She took the rest of the water and another pill into the bedroom.

I tried to listen to what Leah said to Mom, but I couldn't focus. When Leah emerged, she put the pills in her own purse. I knew she didn't want Mom to be left alone with a full bottle. We'd never talked about it before, but I knew. I may have been young and stupid, but I wasn't
that
stupid.

Dad hadn't stocked up yet, and there was nothing to eat at the house, so we walked the one and a half miles to the grocery store. Next door to it was a store that advertised the Best Price for Gold in big letters in the window.

“Wait here,” Leah said.

“Don't.” I pulled at her wrist. She was already fiddling with the clasp on the gold heart bracelet Dad gave her.

Her eyes were wild. “You think this matters? This is shit.”

“No,” I said. “It's yours.”

“He thinks he can buy my love? He's wrong about that.”

When she came out of the store, she looked different. Or maybe it was that pill I'd taken working. We bought peanut butter and jelly and bread and milk and a big bag of potato chips and a small spiral notebook with a tin can–colored gray cover. We stopped at the ice cream stand on the way back even though we were freezing. We each got a vanilla soft serve dipped in chocolate.

Leah talked to me the whole way home. I remember every word. “We are going to be fine. I promise.”

“Even with Dad gone? We'll figure it out?”

“Definitely.” She took another bite of her ice cream.

“Who's crazier: Dad for marrying Mom to begin with or Mom for staying?” I asked as someone drove a little too close to the grass we were walking on and Leah flashed them the finger.

“We are for letting them fuck with us. We're just pawns in their stupid, dirty little war. I'm sick of it. If I'm ever as miserable as they are, I'm getting out.”

I nodded. I knew what she meant. But I started to cry.

“Shh. Come on. I don't mean now or anytime soon. I'm not going anywhere. I promise.”

“Yet,” I said.

“Okay, how about this? Since we both come from the same line of crazy, we could make a pact.”

“A what?”

“A promise to each other. That if we ever wanted…we'd do it together.”

I repeated what she said about going in the water earlier: “It's easier when you do it with someone.”

“Exactly.”

We were back at the house. Leah opened the front door, tiptoed around the broken plates on the floor, and walked in to see Mom. I put the groceries away. Except for the potato chips, which I brought out to the porch with me. Leah came out with a bottle of wine, a corkscrew, the notebook, and a pen.

I knew I wasn't feeling right with the pill in me, but I didn't say no to the wine. Being with Leah felt reassuring. An island of safe in a sea of danger. She showed me the front cover. “War colors.”

“Yeah,” I agreed and took a swig of wine.

“Perfect for our battle plan. First thing,” she flipped it open to the first page, “is we make me the general.”

“Hey!” I pretended to be annoyed.

“You'll make an excellent foot soldier
and
historian.” She handed me the notebook and pen.

“I guess I could do that.”

Leah's face got serious. She gestured with the wine bottle. “You know how Dad says crazy runs in the family?”

I nodded.

“He's right. But from both sides, not just Mom's. Dad's need to control every single thing and person, his need to be perfect, is so fucked up. He's sicker than Mom.” She drank from the bottle, then looked me dead in the eye. “I mean, that's totally mental. He has to keep his kingdom, his dominion, his serfs in line; he'll totally lose his shit. Completely.”

She was right. Of course she was. I started crying, but I knew what she meant. She handed me the bottle, and I drank and gave it back.

“The most important thing is we never do it alone. We tell each other.”

I nodded. That made it sound okay. Like it wasn't even dangerous. “And we have to have iron-clad reasons. Sound ones. We need to agree, each of us. Because sometimes things seem worse than they are, so we need the other to verify.”

I nodded and wrote it all down.

Leah put her hand over the book and put her face in front of mine. “The point is that we have each other and I never want to see you look like you did today—hopeless and powerless. Because you're not.”

“We're not,” I said. “We aren't hopeless, neither of us.”

She nodded her head and took a drink. “We are not. But we do need to build an arsenal.” She pulled the bottle of Mom's pills out of her pocket. I guess my eyes got a little wide because she said, “Relax. We'll just take a couple at a time. Mom won't miss them, and it'll get her to cut down. Win-win.”

That's how the pact started. That night. And when we started it, I totally believed in it. But by the time we got up the next morning, Mom was awake and cleaning up, and I felt it a little less. Nobody talked about what had happened, so I let myself believe that nothing significant had. Leah sat in the back of the car with me and held my hand as Mom drove us home. I played with her silver ring and held onto the notebook that held our promises to each other. And in that time, our pact made me feel stronger, reassured me that Leah and I were on the same side, even if I didn't mean it deep down. I figured she didn't either.