Page 35 of River & Rue

I can’t stop him. Can’t dodge. I can’t even get my hands up.

All I can do is brace myself as he grabs me in a hug and pounds my back with a smut book.

An hour later, I’m lying face down on a heated massage table as Dr. Liu turns me into a pincushion. I only know it’s happening because she informs me before each needle goes in; I haven’t felt a single poke, only increasing relief as my muscles quiver and relax.

The room is dim and warm. Ambient music plays in the background, complementing the trickle of water in a fountain near the door, and a diffuser pumps essential oils into the air.

The earthy aroma reminds me powerfully of my great-aunt Katherine.

I’m only vaguely aware of Dr. Liu moving around me and the pulsing waves of heat in my lower back, hips, and legs. Floating in the liminal space between sleep and wakefulness, I think of the woman I’ve called Granny since I could talk.

I was five the first time I heard someone call Katherine a witch, and I was confused because it wasn’t Halloween. As I grew up, I heard people call her much worse—in grocery stores and restaurants, at school events, and on the sidelines of soccer games. All because she didn’t conform to social norms. Because she didn’t dress, act, or talk like a typical grandmother.

To me, though, she’s never been strange or scary. She’s simply Granny. The backbone of our family and the only grandparent I’ve ever known.

In fifth grade, a kid in my class announced at recess that Granny worshipped the Devil and our whole family was going to Hell. He knew it was true because it came from his dad, a local pastor.

At first, it felt like I’d been hit in the stomach with a baseball bat. But as everyone backed away from me like damnation was contagious, I got angry. I told that kid his dad was an idiot. Granny didn’t believe in gods or devils, so how could she worship one? He stuck his nose in the air and said, “Have fun burning for eternity with your loser family.”

I punched him in the face, broke his nose, and was suspended from school for two weeks.

My parents came to pick me up. I sat in the hallway outside the admin office and listened to my mom yell at the principal until my dad dragged her out. We stopped for ice cream on the way home, and they transferred me to a non-religious school.

The night Granny found out what happened, she asked me to come outside with her. I knew instantly what was happening. It was in my dad’s encouraging nod and how my mom stiffened, then sighed.

I stood up from the couch, nervous but excited. This was an Ashburn rite of passage, after all.

And it was finally my turn.

• • •

My hands tucked beneath my thighs, I swing my feet back and forth beneath the bench. The wood is cold. The air too. But I don’t mind. Granny’s arm is around my shoulders and she’s warm.

Across the backyard, the full moon sits behind leafless trees. It looks pretty cool, like the glowing white surface is full of cracks.

“I seem to remember that whenever there’s a thunderstorm, you build a fort in your room and fill it with blankets and pillows. Is that right? And you put up twinkle lights and fill a basket with books and games?”

So far, this is a pretty normal conversation. I love talking to Granny, but I’m kind of bummed. I’m also annoyed at Wilder for making me think this was a big deal.

“Yep. I stock up on snacks and drinks too. Sometimes candy if I can find Dad’s stash. He moves it a lot though.”

“And why do you do all that?”

I give her a look. “You know—because the thunder scares Ivy. She only feels safe in my fort.”

“Hmm.”

I frown. “What does this have to do with Rob being stupid?”

Her arm falls away from my shoulders as she faces me. “Everyone has a place they feel safest, River—a fort they retreat to when they’re scared. Sometimes a fort is built with blankets in a brother’s bedroom. Most often, though, we build them in here.”

Her finger taps my forehead, a zing of pressure and heat that makes me gasp.

“The strongest forts of all are built when we’re unable to face the very fears that created them. Left untreated, our fears become convictions we repeat, over and over, until our internal walls are so high and impenetrable, nothing can get inside to challenge them.”

“You mean like how Ivy thinks she’ll be struck by lightning if she’s not in my fort? And how Rob was so sure he was right even though his dad is a liar?”

She nods, and I nod back like I understand. But I’m pretending; I don’t understand. How could Rob let his dad build a fort in his head with lies? Doesn’t he know how to think for himself?