Red

No, he saved all his hatred and bitterness for her. He always had. And she didn’t know why.

Suddenly furious at the unfairness of it, she jerked her chin up. She looked at her father, not bothering to hide her contempt. “May I go now?”

“You’ll go when I say so.”

“Why do you think I’m asking?” Idiot. Asshole.

At her tone, a mottled red started at the base of his thick neck and crept upward. He grabbed her arm again, but this time he twisted it until she cried out in pain. “Where’d you get the right to put on airs?” he snapped. “Just like your mother, thinkin’ you’re some kinda queen.” He dragged her to the room’s single window, twisting her arm again, forcing her to face her reflection. Tears stung her eyes and she fought to keep them from spilling over. “Take a look, girl. What man’s ever goin’ to marry you? Tell me that.” He shook her so hard her teeth rattled. “I’ll probably be stuck looking at your ugly mug for the rest of my life. Now get outta here, it makes me sick to look at you.”

He flung her aside, so violently she hit the wall, much the same as her magazines had only moments before. Her head snapped back, cracking against the wallboard. Pain shot through her shoulder. She sank to the dirt floor, thinking, oddly, of the pretty pink and white linoleum at Miss Opal’s. Flecked with silver, it was always so clean it shone.

Shaking her head to clear it, she sucked in a deep breath and using the wall for support, eased to her feet. Her father had returned to his place in front of the television, and she saw him bring the bottle to his lips. She stared at him a moment, hatred roiling inside her, the urge to lunge at him, to claw and hit and scratch, thundering through her. Its beat matched that of the blood pounding in her brain, and she pictured herself doing it. Just walking up to him and smashing her fist into his face.

Becky Lynn squeezed her eyes shut, fighting back the urge. She wouldn’t lower herself to his level. For even worse than living the nightmare that was her life, was living his. Becoming like him.

Besides, he’d probably beat the hell out of her before she could get in the first punch.

She limped to the kitchen. Her mama and Randy were there. Her mother chattered softly about the things that needed to be done that weekend, and Randy stood by, his stance uncomfortable and stiff. Neither of them met her eyes, but Becky Lynn could see it in their faces, in their downcast gazes: If it wasn’t you, it might be me.

She couldn’t say they were wrong. She knew they weren’t. And she knew that was why Randy never inter-ceded for her, why her mother never openly tried to comfort her. They didn’t want to incur Randall Lee’s wrath.

Becky Lynn squeezed her fingers into fists. She’d inter-ceded for Randy before; she had stepped into the line of fire on his behalf. She had done the same for her mother; she still did.

They didn’t even have the guts to look at her.

She drew in a shuddering breath, pain spearing through her shoulder once more. She was so weary of living alone with her fear. With her despair. Wasn’t Randy? Wasn’t her mother? It hurt to hold it in, day in and day out. Didn’t they long, as she did, to share their pain? Didn’t they long to have someone to whisper with in the dark, to hold on to and love?

Tears stinging her eyes, Becky Lynn shifted her gaze to the other room, to the magazines scattered obscenely across the floor. Her gaze landed on an old Vogue, on model Renée Simonsen’s beautiful, smiling face.

Someone to whisper with in the dark, she thought, hopelessness clutching at her. Someone to lean on, someone who would give her one perfect moment without fear. Her eyes swam; the model’s face blurred. Turning her back to the glossy image, she crossed the kitchen and began to help her mother with the peas.

3

“Becky Lynn, baby, come here.”

Becky Lynn stopped at the front door. Feeling like a prisoner who had gotten caught a moment before she’d made her escape, she turned to her mother. The other woman stood just outside the kitchen; she wore the floral print housecoat Becky Lynn had bought her two Christmases ago. The rose pattern which had been so vibrant and pretty when she’d purchased it, looked tired and gray. Like her mother. And everything else in this house.

Becky Lynn gazed at her mother’s gaunt face and shadowed eyes, pity moving over her. And fear. Fear that by age thirty-six she, too, would look beaten and without hope.

She pushed the thought away, and forced a smile. “What is it, Mama?”

Her mother’s lips curved into a wispy smile. “I thought I might brush your hair.”

Becky Lynn hesitated. She’d planned to hike to the river before it got too hot, and spend her day off from Opal’s sunning and reading. She had several magazines, a soft drink and a sandwich packed in her knapsack. It would be her last opportunity before school started; she’d been on her way out the door.

She darted a glance over her shoulder, to the bright day, and bit back a sigh. Her mother derived too much pleasure from it to deny her this ritual. The river would wait.

“That sounds nice, Mama,” she said, smiling again. She set down her knapsack and crossed to one of the chairs around the kitchen table, choosing one that faced the window.

Her mother positioned herself behind Becky Lynn and began, with long, smooth strokes, to pull the brush through her daughter’s hair. Familiar with the ritual, Becky Lynn wasn’t surprised when her mother began to tell a story about her own childhood. The only talks they’d ever had, the only moments of mother-daughter comradeship, had been while her mother ran the brush through her hair.

Becky Lynn had often suspected that she was her mother’s favorite, although she never understood why. Perhaps because her father hated her, perhaps because she looked so much like her mother’s father or because she reminded Glenna Lee of someone else she’d once known, someone who had been kind to her. Whatever the reason, she held that suspicion to her as if it were the most prized possession on earth.

“It’s the color of strawberry soda pop,” her mother murmured after a moment. “You get it from your Granddaddy Perkins. You never met him, he died just after you were born.”

About the time Daddy lost the farm, Becky Lynn thought. Because of his drinking. And laziness. But she didn’t say that. “What was he like?” she asked instead, even though she already knew. Her mother had talked about Granddaddy Perkins many times before. He had adored his only child. And Randall Lee had despised him.

She sensed her mother’s smile. “He was a nice man. A good husband, a good daddy.” She laughed lightly, the sound faraway and youthful. “He called me his little princess.”

A lump formed in Becky Lynn’s throat. How, after being someone’s princess, had she ended up with a man as base and cruel as Randall Lee? Why had she married him?

And why did she allow him to treat her and her children so badly?

Becky Lynn wanted to ask her mother, the questions teased the tip of her tongue. She swallowed it. She couldn’t ask; her mother had been hurt enough. “He sounds nice, Mama.”

“Mmm. He was nice.” Her mother continued brushing, but Becky Lynn knew her thoughts were far away.

After a moment, the older woman murmured, “Did I ever tell you about the dress I wore to the prom? It was white and dotted with these pretty little pink flowers. The most delicate pink you ever saw. I felt like a princess in it.” She laughed softly. “And my date looked like a prince. He wore a tuxedo and brought me a rose corsage. It was pink, too.”

A rose corsage. Becky Lynn imagined her mother, a blushing teenager, wearing that frilly white dress, the cluster of roses pinned to her chest, and tears flooded her eyes. She fought the tears back, fought the emotion from clogging her throat. “Your date, who was he, Mama?”

Her mother hesitated, then shook her head. “Nobody, baby. I forget.”

She’d asked the question before; she’d gotten the same answer. But her mother hadn’t forgotten, Becky Lynn knew. The boy had been someone special. So special, her mother feared saying his name.

Becky Lynn fisted her fingers in her lap. Her father wasn’t even in the house and her mother was afraid. “I thought you and Daddy were high school sweethearts?”

The brush stilled for a moment, then Glenna Lee began stroking again. “After your Granddaddy Lee’s heart attack, your daddy had to quit school to work on the farm. He didn’t go to the prom.”

And he never forgave you for going, did he? Becky Lynn drew her eyebrows together. What else did he not forgive her mother for? “But where did you meet him?” she asked. “The boy you went to the prom with, I mean.”

Glenna hesitated again, then murmured, “He was from the high school over in Greenwood. My daddy knew his. He arranged it.”

“Granddaddy Perkins didn’t like Daddy much, did he?”

Her mother tugged the brush through her hair, and Becky Lynn winced. “No, not much.”

“But you married him, anyway.” She heard the accusation in her own voice and for once, didn’t try to hide it. “Why did you, Mama?”

Her mother paused, then dropped her hand to her side. The brush slipped from her fingers and clattered onto the table. “Your daddy wasn’t always…the way he is now. Having to quit school changed him. He got bitter. He started to drink. Try to understand, baby, he was the star of the football team his junior year and had dreams of playing ball for a college, of being a professional player someday. He dreamed of getting away from Bend.”

Try to understand? Becky Lynn froze, disbelief and fury warring inside her. Did her mother want her to feel bad about what Randall Lee had given up? Two weeks had passed since he’d knocked her around and the bruises he’d given her had finally faded to faint green blurs. It had been a full seven days before she’d been able to shampoo a customer without wincing. Everyone at Opal’s had noticed and whispered about her behind their hands.

She laced her fingers in her lap, trying to control the anger surging through her. She didn’t care what Randall Lee had given up; she would never forgive or excuse him his cruelty. Never.

“What about your dreams?” Becky Lynn asked, her voice shaking. “You had dreams, too, Mama.” She twisted to look up at her mother. “And what about mine?”

The other woman met her gaze; in that instant, her mother’s eyes were clear, full of life and hope. “You’re smart, Becky Lynn,” Glenna said, a tremor of urgency in her voice. “You could go to college, make something of yourself. You’re special, baby. I’ve always known it.”

Dry-mouthed and stunned, Becky Lynn gazed at her mother. “You really…think so? You think I’m…” She couldn’t say the words; they felt wrong, foreign, on her tongue. They felt impossible.

“I do, baby. That’s why your daddy…why he… You’re special. You’re strong.” Glenna cupped Becky Lynn’s face in her hands. She shook her lightly. “Listen to me. You can make something of yourself. Have a career. A life away from Bend. You could go to Jackson or Memphis.”

Becky Lynn covered her mother’s hands with her own. “You could come with me, Mama. He wouldn’t come after us, I know he wouldn’t.”

The light faded from her mother’s eyes, and she extricated her hands from Becky Lynn’s. “Your scalp’ll be raw if I brush anymore. Go on now, I know you had plans.”

Becky Lynn shook her head. “But, Mama, I don’t understand. Why won’t you come? Why—”

“Go on, baby,” she said again, turning her back to Becky Lynn. “Your mama has things to do.”

Glenna Lee started for the doorway, stopping when she reached it. She looked over her shoulder at her daughter. Becky Lynn saw resignation in her eyes. “I’ll be here when you get back, Becky Lynn. I’ll always be here.”

Her mother’s words stuck with Becky Lynn during her hike to the river. She held them close to her heart; she replayed them like a mantra in her head. You’re smart, Becky Lynn… You could make something of yourself… I’ve always known you were special.

Her mother believed in her. She’d never voiced that belief before, nobody had. Not ever. Until today. Becky Lynn tipped her face up to the cloudless blue sky and smiled. It felt wonderful. Magical, even. She never would have guessed how something so small could make her feel so big.

The river in sight now, she cut across Miller’s Lane, heading for the shade on the other side. In the short time she’d been with her mother, the sun had crawled considerably higher in the sky, the temperature seeming to have doubled with it. Even the birds had quieted, as if saving their energy for later in the afternoon, when the sun dipped once more.

Becky Lynn stopped and wiped her forehead, longing for the Coke tucked inside her knapsack. It seemed impossible that September was only a matter of a few weeks away; it felt as if the heat would never break. But that’s the way summers were in the delta, hot, humid and as long as forever.

By the time she reached the river, her T-shirt was soaked and her hair clung uncomfortably to the back of her neck. She selected a shady spot under a big, old oak tree, sank to the ground and dug her soft drink out of her bag.

She popped the top and took a long swallow. The sweet, fizzy drink tickled her throat and nose, and she took another long swallow before easing her head against the tree and closing her eyes. Becky Lynn held the cool can to her forehead, smiling to herself, thinking again of her mother’s words…and of the day she would leave Bend behind forever.

Her smile faded. But leaving Bend meant leaving her mother. Glenna Lee wouldn’t go. She’d made it clear that she felt some sort of responsibility to stay. Some sort of responsibility to her husband.

Why? Becky Lynn drew her eyebrows together. Did she love him? Is that why she stayed? If so, how could she? How could she feel anything but fury and hatred when she looked at him?

What was between her mother and father that she didn’t know about?

Maybe nothing. Becky Lynn frowned and took another swallow of her drink. She didn’t like to think that, didn’t like to think that her mother stayed with her husband because she didn’t have the guts to leave him, or because she was resigned to her fate.

A twig snapped behind her, and Becky Lynn twisted to look over her shoulder. Her heart stopped, then started again with a vengeance. Coming from the direction of the road was her brother and his gang.

“Well, looky, looky, Randy,” Tommy called out. “It’s your little sister.”

At the boy’s mocking words, she scrambled up, collecting her knapsack and soft drink. She’d hiked forty minutes to get to this spot; she’d claimed it first. And now, right or wrong, fair or not, none of that mattered. All she cared about was getting as far away from these boys as fast as possible.

“Where ya going, Becky Lynn?” Ricky drawled, planting himself in front of her. “You’re going to make us think you don’t like us.”

“Yeah,” said Tommy, moving to Ricky’s right. “You’ll hurt our feelings.”

“I’m going home now,” she said as calmly as she could around her thundering heart. “Excuse me.” She made a move to step past Tommy; he blocked it.

“Excuse you?” Ricky taunted. “I don’t think so.” He angled a glance at Tommy. “What do you think, Tommy?”

“Nah.” The boy grinned, and a shudder moved up Becky Lynn’s spine. “I don’t think so, either.”

She tried again, this time moving to her left. Ricky blocked her. Tears pricked her eyes, and she fought against them. It wouldn’t do for them to know how helpless and vulnerable she felt. Taking a deep breath, she inched her chin up. “Let me pass.”

“Where are our manners? You didn’t say the ‘P’ word, Becky Lynn.” That brought fresh snickers from the boys.

Fear soured on her tongue. She swallowed. “Let me pass…please.”

“Well…since you asked so nice.” Ricky smiled thinly and stepped aside.

Relief, dizzying in its sweetness, spiraled through her. She started past him, but didn’t get three steps before he grabbed her arm, stopping her. Relief evaporated, replaced by a fluttering panic. She should have known they wouldn’t let her go before they’d had a chance to really humiliate her.

“Don’t you touch me, Ricky Jones,” she said, jerking her arm from his grasp.

The boys made a collective sound of amusement. Ricky took another step closer. Behind her, Tommy blocked a retreat. “She said that just like a queen, didn’t she, boys?”

“Yeah,” Tommy chirped in. “A queen bitch.”

Becky Lynn dared a glance at Randy. He slid his gaze away, his expression twisted into a resigned grimace. He wasn’t going to help her, she realized, the panic clutching at her. She was on her own. Always on her own.

Screwing up her courage, she forced herself to take one step, then another. When she took the third, Ricky grabbed her bottom and squeezed, digging his fingers into the soft flesh of her right cheek. Her control snapped. She took physical abuse from her father; she had all her life. She wasn’t about to take it from this spoiled boy. She swung around and slapped his hand as hard as she could. “I told you not to touch me, Ricky Jones!”

For one moment, electric with tension, the boys were quiet. A cloud moved over the sun; the breeze stilled. Somewhere above them a bird screamed. Then fury lit Ricky’s eyes. And hatred. She recognized both from years of seeing them in her father’s.

She’d made a mistake. A big one. Her breath caught as real fear moved through her. The kind of fear that stole one’s breath and free will. She ordered herself to run; her feet wouldn’t move. Instead, she stared at Ricky Jones in dawning horror. He meant to hurt her.

A cry in her throat, she ran. She didn’t get ten feet before Ricky caught her and dragged her back. Her Coke slipped from her fingers and hit the ground, the carbonated beverage foaming from the can’s small mouth. She squeaked in fear as she fought to free herself.

He shoved her up against the tree, which only minutes ago had offered her such sweet shelter from the sun. The bark bit into her back, and she smelled beer on his breath. Her stomach rolled, and she made a sound of revulsion and fear.

“Come on, guys,” Buddy Wills said suddenly, nervously. “Leave her alone. Let’s go have some fun.”

“We’re having fun right here,” Ricky said softly, not taking his gaze from hers. “Aren’t we, Randy?”

Becky Lynn glanced pleadingly at her brother; he looked physically ill. “Randy,” she begged, twisting against Ricky’s grasp. “Please, make him stop. Plea—”

Ricky planted his open mouth on hers. He tasted of beer and tobacco; his breath was foul. He stuck his tongue deep into her mouth, and she gagged, straining against his grasp.

He kissed her again and again, his mouth open, sloppy wet with spit. He plastered his body to hers, and his erection pressed against her abdomen. She whimpered low in her throat, and squirmed, a shard of bark digging into her shoulder blade, piercing the thin fabric of her T-shirt.

Ricky dragged his mouth from hers, and looked over his shoulder at his buddies. She saw the laughter in his eyes, the triumph, and fury exploded inside her. Enraged, she wrenched an arm free and swung at him, catching him off guard, nailing him in the side of his head. “You bastard! Get off of me!”

“Sonofabitch!” Ricky stumbled backward, then lunged for her again. “Cunt! Bitch!” He slammed her back against the tree, so hard she saw stars. “Tommy, Christ, give me a hand here!”

Tommy jumped forward and pinned her arms. She fought him as best she could, twisting, arching, trying to kick.

Ricky put his hands on her breasts, squeezing them, pinching at the nipples. “Hey, Tommy, these are some nice little titties. Have yourself a squeeze.”

“No!” She freed a foot and managed to jam it onto one of theirs, but without enough force to do anything but amuse them.

Tommy laughed and pulled at her breasts. “Ricky’s right. How’d we miss these, guys? All we’d need now is a paper bag. Come on and have a feel, Buddy.”

The other boy took a step back, shaking his head. “No way. This isn’t right.” He looked at Randy. “It’s not right.”

Tears streaming down her cheeks, Becky Lynn flailed her head back and forth as the two boys continued to paw at her. “Please,” she whispered, horrified beyond words by what they were doing to her, humiliated and ashamed. “Please… Randy…don’t…let them…”

She looked at her brother, begging him, and saw the fear and horror in his eyes. In that moment, she realized he cared more about being one of these boys’ friends than he did about her, his own flesh and blood.

“If her tits are good,” Ricky said, spittle collecting at the corners of his mouth, “maybe her pussy’ll be okay, too. What do you think, Tommy?”

“No!” She arched her back, straining against Tommy’s hands. “Leave me alone… Randy…don’t let them—”

Ricky shoved his hand between her legs, and she screamed, vaguely wondering why she hadn’t before. Tommy slammed his hand over her mouth, catching the sound. She bit down, heard Tommy’s oath and tasted blood. His blood.

“You wet yet, Becky Lynn?” Ricky asked, grinding his fingers against her. “Huh, baby?” He poked at her through the denim of her shorts, and she cried out in pain, the sound muffled by Tommy’s hand.

“Shit, guys,” Buddy said, stepping forward, looking as if he was going to puke. “This isn’t right. It’s Randy’s sister, for Christ’s sake.” He grabbed Ricky’s arm. “Come on, man. Leave her alone.”

Ricky jerked from the other boy’s grasp, fury tightening his features. “Get your own piece, asshole.”

Buddy looked at Randy. Becky Lynn could see that if Randy didn’t put up a fight, Buddy was going to back down, as well. And she would be lost.

Randy moved to stand beside Buddy. “Leave her alone,” he said, his voice shaking.

“What’s a matter, Madman? Afraid?”

Randy, bigger than all of them, curled fingers into fists. “Fuck you, Fischer. I’m not afraid of anything. You want to take me on? Just say the word.”

For long moments, the boys faced one another. Then Ricky and Tommy dropped their hands and stepped away from Becky Lynn. “Hey, man, we didn’t mean any harm. We were just havin’ a little fun. That’s all.”

Becky Lynn ran. Leaving her precious magazines, not bothering to straighten her T-shirt. She ran until sweat poured from her and each breath tore at her chest and side.

Fun. They were just having a little fun.

A sob wrenched from deep inside her. Dear Jesus, she’d wanted to die, and they’d just been having a little fun.

Becky Lynn didn’t slow even when she caught sight of her house. Limping, gasping for breath, she reached it. Her mother stood on the front porch, still wearing the floral housecoat. She stared blankly out at nothing, and her gaze flickered to her daughter as Becky Lynn climbed onto the porch. But she didn’t speak, didn’t comment. Becky Lynn knew that she didn’t even see her. Not really.

Becky Lynn pushed through the screen door. Her daddy sat in a stupor on the couch. She moved past him; he didn’t acknowledge her in any way. Thank God. She didn’t know what she would have done if he’d chosen that moment to lay into her. She only wanted to be alone. To be in her own bed. To never be touched again.

Becky Lynn slipped into her bedroom, crawled onto the mattress and pulled the blanket over her. She curled into a tight ball, trembling so violently her teeth chattered. So cold, she thought, curling herself tighter. She was so cold.

She squeezed her eyes shut, and her head filled with the suffocating smell of Ricky’s breath, hot against her skin, filled with the feel of Ricky’s tongue poking in her mouth, with the sensation of being trapped, overpowered.

She shoved a fist into her mouth to keep from crying out. Why had Ricky and Tommy done that to her? What had she done to deserve such cruelty? Such loathing?

Why her? Why always her?

Tears, hot against her cold flesh, slipped from the corners of her eyes and rolled down her cheeks, pooling at the corners of her mouth. She’d been trapped. Like an animal. Unable to free herself, unable to escape.

A sob caught in her throat. She’d fought them. But they’d been stronger; they’d held her down. The sob forced its way past her lips, ripping through the quiet room. They’d put their hands on her; she hadn’t been able to make them stop, hadn’t been able to escape.

She’d wanted to, more than anything in the world. She still did. Escape Tommy and Ricky. Her father.

Escape her life.

Hopelessness overwhelmed her, and she pressed her face into the sagging mattress, tears of shame and despair choking her. As she cried, the nightmare of the last hours began to dim, being replaced by those magic moments with her mother earlier. You’re special, Becky Lynn…You could make something of yourself… You could move away from here.

Becky Lynn curled her fingers into the rough, frayed blanket, holding on to those words, their warmth licking at the cold. Somebody thought she was special. One person in this world believed in her. That meant something. It was important.

If nothing else, it would get her through another day.