“Oh shit,” Susannah is saying down the hall. She leans against the wall, then slides slowly to the floor. “Oh shit oh shit oh shit, Ethan, I didn’t know. I didn’t know.”
“It’s all right,” Marisa whispers to me. She’s standing before me in a T-shirt, holding my hand to her breast as if it’s an offering. “Do it. Do whatever you want. You can do whatever you want to me, and I’ll let you.” She’s breathing a little more deeply now, and she tilts her head back slightly, her lips parted. I can feel her nipple beneath my hand. Susannah is quietly sobbing somewhere down the hall, but I can’t look away from the woman in front of me. A small but insistent voice in my head says get away, but there’s a darker, voiceless urge. I hesitate, suspended between two wills. “Do it,” Marisa whispers, closing her eyes. My fingers barely clench, and she smiles, terrible and victorious.
She opens her eyes, wide, her smile gone. “Shit!” She glares at her feet. I look down. Wilson, whining softly, ducks his head in embarrassment. A puddle is spreading across the wood floor. Wilson has peed on Marisa’s foot.
Marisa’s lips curl back from her teeth, and she kicks my dog. He gives a sharp cry and skids a couple of feet across the floor.
Something falls away and in its place is a black revulsion. I shove Marisa away from me, hard enough that she staggers and has to put a hand against a wall to steady herself. I kneel down to check on Wilson, saying “It’s okay, boy; it’s okay,” and Wilson scampers to me and licks my hand feverishly, as if apologizing for being kicked. I don’t see any bruising or feel any broken ribs.
Marisa gives a low, disgusted laugh. “Poor puppy.”
I snarl, “You so much as touch my dog again—”
“I was talking about you.” Marisa has regained her composure, arms folded across her chest, T-shirt riding dangerously high. “I know you, Ethan. I know who you are. You and your little sister.”
Susannah is sitting on the floor behind Marisa, arms wrapped around her knees, crying to herself.
“You don’t know a thing about us,” I say.
Marisa sneers. “I know everything about you,” she says. “Poor little tragic orphan, so broken and fucked up you have to sleep with strangers and then pretend you’re in love so you can try to feel normal.”
There’s a blur of movement behind Marisa, and then Susannah is on her. Her first punch glances off Marisa’s face. Then she’s punching and screaming and trying to rake Marisa’s eyes. “You fucking bitch you don’t fucking know anything you goddamned cunt—”
I rush forward to pull Susannah off Marisa. My sister is a whirlwind of fists and fingernails and curses. I wrap my arms around her in a bear hug and lean back, trying to lift her off the ground. “Let go of me!” Susannah screams, flailing and twisting in my arms. “Put me down, let me go—”
Marisa stands there, her hair disheveled, a bruise on her cheek. She looks slightly dazed, as if surprised at the turn this has taken. Marisa stares at Susannah, who continues to struggle and scream. As small as my sister is, I can barely control her. “Get out!” I shout at Marisa. “Go!”
Marisa looks at me as if she’s just now registering that I’m there. The look she gives me is more frightening than anything else that has happened. Her eyes are empty, an utter void … no, that’s not exactly right. There’s intelligence in her look, but it’s cold, even malignant. She’s looking at me as if sizing up a fetal pig for dissection in freshman biology. Something clicks into place behind her eyes, and she smiles, slowly. “I’ll be seeing you,” she says. “You can count on that.” And she turns and walks unhurriedly down the hallway to my bedroom.
I have to drag Susannah into the den, trying all the while to keep her from scratching my face off. She’s cussing and spitting like a cat, and I almost stumble over my coffee table. Suddenly she sags in my arms, breathing through her mouth like she’s winded. I tense, my arms still around her. “You gonna be good?” I say.
“Yeah, fine,” she mutters. “Just, let go, okay? I’m fine.”
I let go of her and take a step back, my arms raised, ready to grab her if necessary. But she collapses onto the couch like she’s been deboned. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m sorry, Ethan; I’m sorry.”
“Okay,” I say. “Just … don’t do anything stupid.”
She shakes her head. “Is Wilson okay?” she asks.
I look around and see Wilson hunkered down in his bed, gazing at me. He doesn’t get up from the bed when I go over to him, but he thumps his little tail. He allows me to rub his ears, then noses me carefully. Then I hear a metallic scrape and I turn to see Susannah walking away from the fireplace, holding the poker that she has taken from its stand. I jump up and run after her into the hall, intercepting her just as she’s about to go through my bedroom door and bash Marisa’s head in.
I tackle Susannah cleanly, right at the waist, the poker clattering out of her hand as we fall through the doorway into my room. As I lay on top of my sister, trying to keep her pinned to the floor, a sandaled foot edges into my line of sight. I look up to see Marisa standing over us. She’s put her jeans on and is still wearing Susannah’s Get Up the Yard T-shirt. She walks past us as if we aren’t even there. I don’t turn around to watch her leave. The front door opens, then shuts.
Beneath me, Susannah is crying in hard, silent jags as if something
