Page 126 of River & Rue

The look in my father’s eyes was different that night too. I followed him down to the basement as usual, but instead of his hand or a wooden spoon, he pulled off his belt. The big shiny buckle glinted in the harsh light of the hanging bulb. After, I was relieved they hadn’t given me dinner. Throwing up would have made things worse.

I cleaned up as best I could, told Teddy I was okay, and read him stories as usual. But in the morning, he saw the blood gluing my nightgown to my lower back.

The following night, he asked to be excused from the dinner table to use the bathroom. I watched him go with a sick feeling in my stomach.

He was gone a long time.

Our mother had just stood up to check on him when he reappeared. He had our dad’s electric razor in one hand and a fist of shiny blond curls in the other. His face was red, his eyes full of angry tears. He’d shorn his hair to the scalp.

He yelled, “I’m not a doll!” and threw his hair at our mother’s feet. She shrieked like he’d thrown a bucket of blood.

We’d celebrated Teddy’s ninth birthday the week prior, and I was a few months shy of eleven.

That was the beginning of the end.

River’s arms spasm around me. His heart pounds against my back. I can’t say it yet, but I think he knows. The truth sits in the water with us, clinging to our skin and clothes.

“They blamed me for his behavior. I was the wild one, the tomboy with dirt under my fingernails. They thought I’d poisoned his mind. There were more punishments, but I barely remember them. What I remember most is that for a few days after he cut off his hair, Teddy had this lightness about him I’d never seen before. It was like he’d dropped some invisible weight or shed skin that didn’t fit him. I was so happy for him. But I was scared too. So fucking scared.”

A shiver quakes me, clicking my teeth together. River toes the stopper from the tub.

“Let’s get you dry.”

He helps me to my feet, then lifts me out of the tub and sets me on the bathmat. I stand like a mannequin as he pulls off my shorts and T-shirt. He hesitates before removing my bathing suit. Before he can ask, I pull it off myself.

He towels me dry, his touch careful. So gentle. When he moves behind me and sees why I never wear two-piece bathing suits, he only pauses a moment.

“Be right back.”

He returns with clothes and dresses me in sweatpants, a long-sleeved shirt, and my coziest socks. Then he picks me up and sets me on the bed in a nest of blankets.

“I’m going to get dressed and come right back. Do you want to stay here or come with me?”

I burrow deeper in the blankets. He presses soft, warm lips to my forehead.

I blink—he’s gone.

I blink—he’s back.

He sits behind me again. A cradle of heat. A steady heartbeat. Salt, cedar, and citrus. He’s here.

But I’m elsewhere.

“After that, Teddy stood up for himself more, pushing back against our mother’s control. And she… she was obsessed with the idea that she was being punished for her sins, and if she could cure Teddy, God would save them both. He was never hit like I was, but the scars our mother gave him were so much worse than mine. Constant degradation, forced conformity, isolation, religious shaming—all of it presented as an act of love and fear for his soul.

“She started taking him to counseling sessions with her pastor. Teddy wouldn’t tell me, but I’m positive she threatened me in order to make him go. After a few weeks, though, he almost looked forward to them. It was an escape from home, and even though it was still torture, at least the pastor didn’t yell at him or call him horrible names.

“But the wrong person found out why he was at church Tuesday nights. They spread vicious rumors. Our parents’ friends started snubbing them—excluding them from events, ignoring them at church. Our father started drinking a lot, getting angrier faster. Our mother became even more fanatical.

“My mattress had been moved to the basement after Teddy cut his hair, but I still snuck into our old bedroom every night to tell him stories. One night, I found him tearing the seams of his clothes. All the outfits our mother had sewn for him were in pieces. And I remember this feeling… it was like watching him slide toward a cliff and knowing I wouldn’t be fast enough to save him. A few weeks later, I stole our dad’s wallet and we ran away for the first time.

“Over the next year, we must have run away a dozen times. We were always caught. If not by them, by another adult. We made it as far as the highway once. A lady pulled over and asked if we needed help. I told her we were going to see our nonexistent grandparents in Eugene and needed a ride. I was so fucking relieved when she said she’d take us. But she was lying. I didn’t recognize her, but she knew who we were. The troubled Baker kids. She took us to the police station.

“Seventh grade was really rough. Teddy was still at the elementary school, and now he didn’t have a single person looking out for him. My bullies were suddenly bigger and meaner too. Between them and home and constantly worrying about Teddy, I started failing my classes.

“Then our class took a field trip to the library. It was the first time I’d been, and it was like I’d walked into a dream. The head librarian, Ms. Lakin, was this fierce older woman who scared everyone but me. She saw something in me—maybe herself, I don’t know—but when we were leaving, she pulled me aside and told me to come back. So I did, almost every day. Once I knew she was safe, I started bringing Teddy.

“Ms. Lakin was like our grumpy fairy godmother. She’d open the library’s back door for us an hour early and turn a blind eye while I helped Teddy fix his clothes. I even trimmed his hair every few weeks. And we’d go straight there after school so he could change before we walked home. But even though our mother never figured out where we went, she was still a shark. Teddy’s growing confidence was blood in the water for her. By the end of the year, she was driving Teddy and I was walking alone.