Take It To The Grave Bundle 2: Take It to the Grave parts 4-6

Lucy kept the smile on my face, but it was hard, admitting that, thinking about that. Alice had been in prison, Frankie was dead and Caleb and Sarah were the only people I could really connect with—and they’d only had eyes for each other. We would go out to watch the latest movie at the local cinema, and I’d talk about the movie, but then catch them staring at each other, as though a wealth of meaning was being exchanged right under my nose, and I was clueless to it. Excluded. More and more, I began to feel like the third wheel, the hanger-on, the one who had to be tolerated when they’d actually prefer to be alone with each other. The one who didn’t matter. Fortunately, Lucy was there to make me feel less lonely.

Damn straight.

Shut up. You hid Frankie from me.

For your own good, Maisey.

I still couldn’t believe it. How could I hide something like this from me?

I’d so wanted to talk to my sister about what had happened to Frankie—and the fact that Alice was put away for it. God, there was so much confusion, so much guilt, and nowhere and nobody to talk to about it, to unload...to just unpack it and sort it out and make some sense from it. Lucy tried to, admittedly, but it always felt disjointed, like building a jigsaw puzzle only to find you were missing some critical pieces that would help form the full picture. Every time I tried to snatch a moment with Sarah to talk about it, she’d shut me down. “Put it behind you.” “Put it in the past.” “For God’s sake, don’t worry about it, Maisey, and just have fun.”

I used to wonder what was wrong with me; if Sarah could do it so easily, why couldn’t I? It was easier when we were all together, and we had something to do, but when Sarah and Caleb went off together and I was alone, well, that was the hardest time. Being alone with my thoughts and nothing to distract me. My conscience was a bitch to me, and it was difficult to hide from the self-righteous whinger. I couldn’t even talk to Alice. Peter rarely organized a prison visit. I didn’t have my mom around. I certainly wasn’t the apple of Peter’s eye. I remember wishing that Alice could be like a normal mom. I used to fantasize about her holding her arms out to me, embracing me, hushing my tears and soothing my fears... Yet she was now unreachable. I remember wishing I could bring Frankie back, along with every torment that came with him, just so I could have my mom back, too.

“You wanted me and Sarah to get married? Oh, that would have been terrible.” Caleb laughed, and Lucy was grateful for the distraction he provided, and for the fact that he thought marrying my sister would have been terrible.

He waved his hand as he shook his head. “Oh, no, no, no. We were great together as kids, sure, but...” He pointed to the majestic residence that was now plainly visible against the lightening sky. “There is no way I could give her that.” Caleb shrugged. “That’s not my thing, you know? I want something...different. Something a little more genuine. A home, not a house. Friends, not guests.”

“Yeah, I get what you mean,” I said, feeling just the slightest bit naughty, as though it was a betrayal of my sister to talk like this behind her back—but it felt wonderful to find a sympathizer, a person with a similar view of the extreme, almost pretentious display of wealth we were now surrounded by. It was like peeking through a window with a friend and sharing a giggle at the ridiculous decor and lifestyle within. Conspirators sharing a secret, that’s what we were; and I didn’t realize how long I’d gone without that kind of connection.

No matter how brief or shallow it seemed, it was real enough for now.

Again, I’m right here.

Shut. Up.

“Oh, hey, do you remember that time Sarah and I snuck in to watch you in that school play?”

“Oh, God, do I ever,” I said, covering my face briefly to hide my embarrassment. Of course I remembered that play. Some well-meaning teacher had steamrolled me into it. It was my most awkward, painful stage. Alice was in prison, everyone knew what had happened to Frankie, that my mother was locked away for it. I became that freak, the one with a mom behind bars, the one whose brother had drowned in the backyard pool. At the time, I couldn’t really discuss it with anyone, and it was probably the one thing I wanted most to talk about, so wasn’t really interested in talking about anything else. Watching some TV program, or picking out the hottest jock on the field, all seemed kind of juvenile in comparison to the heavy crapstorm in my head. I became one of those loners in the cafeteria, head down, pushing around the apple wedge that was slowly turning brown... Thank God for Lucy. She kept me company.

It’s nice to be appreciated.

My teachers had begun to notice. They couldn’t really do anything, though. I mean, I spent most of my time studying, doing homework—my grades weren’t slipping, I wasn’t skipping homework. There was nothing to actually show that I had a problem. At least, that’s what Peter said at the teacher-parent interviews when the staff at the school raised it with him. As far as he was concerned, there was no problem.

“Mrs. Jeffries made me do it.” Lucy chuckled again.

“Uh-huh. Come on, I remember you used to be quite the little actress, always putting on these shows for Sarah and me...”

“That was just for you two. But Mrs. Jeffries twisted my arm.” At that point, it had sounded so tempting, especially when an adult was actually praising me and complimenting me about my acting. I found my own little escape in that play.

I walked on that stage, and suddenly I was someone else. I wasn’t Maisey, that girl whose mom was in prison. I was whatever I needed to be to make people laugh, or cry, cheer, gasp. In that first play I was Lucy from Peanuts, and being gently bullied into participating in that performance had been a blessing in disguise. We loved the experience so much, we decided to keep the name.

I had an opportunity to get out of my skin, but more than that, I was doing something separate from the family that went completely under my stepfather’s radar. Extra credit. Please. It had been so damn satisfying, so triumphant, to step into the spotlight, and the man who ruled my life was completely oblivious to it. Just like Sarah’s friendship with Caleb...it was our way to hold on to some power, to have some independence that Peter couldn’t strip from us because he had no idea we’d been so daring. He underestimated us, there.

“I still can’t believe Dad didn’t find out.” Caleb chuckled. “Do you remember that one night when Sarah and I were sneaking out to go to a movie, and the drainpipe pulled away from the house when we tried to shimmy down it?”

Lucy laughed on cue, although inside I withered a little bit. Yeah. I remember Sarah and Caleb trying to sneak out and leave me behind. Was it supposed to have been a date? Whether it had or it hadn’t, I remembered the sharp pain piercing my lonely little heart that they had excluded me, once again.

Caleb’s laughter died, and the amusement left his eyes. It was so sudden it took me a moment to recognize its absence. He cleared his throat as he turned to face the direction we were walking in. “Well, that was a long time ago, I guess.”

My mouth quirked. I guess I wasn’t the only one to mourn those brief, treasured, carefree moments of our youth.

“You should come visit,” he said quietly. “Your mom—I think it would do her good.”

Lucy arched an eyebrow. “Do you think she’d notice I was there?”

Caleb frowned. “It could help her.” He sighed. “Look, I know she says some crazy shit sometimes, but...that’s not her. It’s the drink. Having you there, well, it could straighten her up a little.”

I doubt it, Lucy muttered.

I agreed with Lucy. Sometimes it was hard to remember what my mother was like, before the drinking. So much had happened.

“I don’t know,” I prevaricated.

“Don’t decide now. Give it some thought.”

I nodded, reluctant to give myself the responsibility of my mother’s salvation.

We’re not doing it, Lucy stated baldly. Nuh-uh.

Shush. There’s no harm in thinking about it.

I’m not letting you deal with that woman. She screwed up royally the first time.

Let’s just think about it. We won’t be alone. Caleb will be there.

For once, Lucy went quiet.

We walked in silence some more, and my legs were trembling with the effort of plowing over a sand hill. Caleb looked lost in thought, or maybe he was reminiscing. Those fun times together were far too rare, and I’d wished there were more of those memories, that we’d had more opportunities to create those light moments to counteract the dark.

I remembered when the final, all-consuming dark arrived. Sarah had woken me up in the middle of the night, sobbing as if someone had died. Not Frankie, though. She didn’t sob like that when Frankie had died. I remembered my alarm at her tears; it was so unusual, so weird to see Sarah display that kind of emotion. She was always the one to whisper to me that everything was okay when I wanted to blubber. She was always the strong one. It had startled me, and I must admit, a fear had been born in me that day, that my sister could react in a way that I’d only ever seen in Alice.

“What’s wrong?” I whispered, trying to channel a little of Sarah in my tone, a little comfort, a little calm, when quite frankly she was freaking the crap out of me. I sat up in my bed, and she sat beside me, sobbing ever so quietly.

“Caleb’s gone,” my sister wailed softly.

My eyes widened. “Gone? What do you mean, he’s gone?” Did she mean he’d tried to shimmy down the drainpipe without her this time? Is that why she was upset? Perhaps then she might have a clue to how I felt, the night they broke the guttering.

“He just left,” Sarah whispered, her cheeks shiny in the moonlight streaming in through my window. She leaned over to rest her head on my shoulder, and I hugged her, patting her hair in a clumsy effort to soothe her.

I frowned. “When is he coming back?” I tried to keep the panic out of my voice. Caleb couldn’t leave. We were a family. He was part of our secret little clique, not only a co-conspirator, but a much needed support, and the buffer between his father and us. If he left—I swallowed, not wanting to think about what would happen, how things could go back to the way they were before Caleb had moved in with us, or how it could possibly be worse. Caleb was our safety zone. I didn’t want Caleb to leave.

“Where is he? I’ll go talk to him,” I said, and went to push the covers off.

Sarah shook her head, her shoulders shaking in grief. “No, he’s already gone.”

I blinked, stunned. “But...why?” I whispered. Why would he leave? Why would he abandon us? I thought we were good, solid. How could Caleb just...leave? Lucy woke up, listening intently.

“He doesn’t love me,” Sarah whispered, and the heartbreak, the loss, the anguish, in her voice gave me the chills.