One by One Read online

  Did any of that make sense?

  No, it doesn’t. But I’m sure you’ll play along. It will be easier for everyone to play along.

  Alice tried to quiet the voices long enough to think through it herself. Her mother’s version of the story wasn’t a real answer, wasn’t anything based on evidence or truth. It was just an explanation, the kind of thing you turned to when there wasn’t a satisfying answer. That was what people did to stay sane because if you started looking for what-ifs, you’d go crazy. You’d get buried in new questions.

  “Honey, are you sure you’re okay?” Debra was staring into her eyes now, her growing concern written across her face. “Alice? What is it? Please say something.”

  What to say? How to say it? The problem was her mother still thought it was about the cat.

  Why can’t she see something so fucking obvious?

  It was a fair question. Why were adults so in tune with the complex things in life that they missed, or worse, ignored, the simple things? Why was it so difficult for her to see such an obvious truth? Alice didn’t want to remind her, didn’t feel like she needed to. Once the words were said, once the truth was uttered, it would be out there, and then no one could pretend not to know.

  “M-mom…” she said, her lip quivering.

  “What is it, baby? Please just tell me.”

  “Th-the painting…”

  Debra’s brow furrowed in confusion, her head gently shaking as she struggled to find the archive in her brain that would let the word make sense.

  “Painting?” she muttered just as her eyes grew wide with the memory.

  * * *

  Alice stared at the ceiling, realizing for the first time that she actually hated the way it looked. At their old house, the ceiling showcased a swirl of ridges and rises, like the surface of an alien planet. She used to stare at it, glowing soft blue from her nightlight, and she would imagine it actually was an alien planet. She would picture spiders, the ones so tiny that you could barely see them, trekking across that endless, barren terrain in search of…what exactly? Another wall?

  They say those spiders are so small that you eat them in your sleep, that they just crawl into your mouth and disappear forever, and you never even know the difference.

  Who says? she thought.

  They do.

  Debra was somewhere out in the hall. Alice could hear her still milling around out there. She could tell from the footsteps that her mother had looked at the painting, walked back to Alice’s bedroom door, then repeated the process several times. Her mother hadn’t known how to respond when she’d brought it up, but Alice couldn’t blame her. She wasn’t jaded or bitter about any of it, not the move or even the cat. The simple fact was Alice was just old enough to know that her mother wasn’t magic, that she couldn’t pull answers out of thin air. None of this made sense, and she pitied the idea that her mother might soon walk into her room and try to convince her that it did. Moments later, Debra tried to do just that.

  “Honey,” she said quietly, “I think…”

  Alice tried to imagine herself coming up with an excuse, and it occurred to her that maybe this was what being an adult was all about. Lying to yourself and those you love even when the truth was the only thing that seemed possible.

  “This whole situation with Baxter. It was just an accident.”

  Alice looked at her, wondering. Did she actually believe it? If she had heard, from Dean’s own mouth, that he hadn’t painted on the wall, would she still say it? Alice considered that, trying to decide the exact moment when a kindness became a lie, or when an accidental lie became a knowing one.

  “Have you talked to Dean?” Alice asked.

  “About what?”

  “The painting.”

  Debra shook her head. “What does it matter?”

  “Because he didn’t do it,” Alice said as Debra began to shake her head, refusing to hear it. “He told me he didn’t.”

  “Alice…”

  “Go ask him—”

  “I don’t have to ask him!” Debra snapped, stomping her foot. “Even if he didn’t do it, then you did.”

  Alice leaned away from her without realizing it. She was surprised by the sudden outburst, but more than that, she was disappointed; this was exactly what she thought might happen. It was another one of those moments, one of too many, where her mother didn’t believe her even when she was telling the truth.

  “How can you say that?” Alice cried. “I didn’t do anything.”

  “One of you did. If it wasn’t you, then Dean was lying to you.”

  “Lying about what?”

  Debra turned around; Dean was in the hallway behind her. His face was red and chapped from the wind, and his nose was still running.

  “Tell her,” Alice said.

  “Tell her what?”

  “About the painting. Tell her what you told me.”

  Debra stared at him, a hand on one hip. “Tell me.”

  Dean shrugged and rolled his eyes. “Fine. It wasn’t me.”

  “Why did you lie?” Debra asked.

  “Because Dad was up my ass about it. It’s easier just to say I did it than to stand there arguing.”

  Footsteps began moving toward them, and Frank appeared, still out of breath from what she could only assume was shoveling.

  “It’s done,” he said. He looked past his wife into Alice’s room. “You okay, honey?”

  Debra answered for her. “We’re having a little bit of a mystery here,” she said. “And we’re not leaving until we get to the bottom of this.”

  Alice sat up from her bed and walked to the doorway. She didn’t always see eye to eye with her mother, but Debra knew how to fix things, and this was a moment she wanted to see fixed immediately.

  “No,” Frank said sharply. “Not at all.”

  “What?” Alice asked.

  “I’m exhausted,” he answered. “I just buried the damn cat. All I want, more than anything else, is to just go to bed.”

  “But Dean didn’t paint that X on the picture.”

  Frank had already turned to walk away, and he turned back, throwing his hands into the air. “So?”

  “What do you mean?” Alice asked.

  Dean was shaking his head. “Someone painted an X over the dog in the picture,” he said sternly, his assertiveness surprising Alice. “The next day, our cat is dead. Do you need me to draw a diagram?”

  “Watch your damn mouth.”

  The tone of her father’s voice was deeper, harder, more uncaring than Alice had ever heard, and from the looks on everyone else’s face, they felt the same.

  “No one in this fucking house is going to talk to me like that,” he continued. “Do you understand?”

  At Dean’s stubborn silence, Frank reached out and grabbed him, bunching up the shoulder of his sweatshirt and giving him a sturdy shake.

  “Dad, what the hell—”

  “Do. You. Understand?”

  The knuckles of Frank’s hand were white as he gripped Dean’s arm, but the truly disturbing sight was his other hand. It was balled up and raised, the unquestionable symbol of a man about to swing.

  “Yes,” Dean answered, a deep fear in his voice.

  Frank loosened his grip, and Dean slipped a few feet away. For a moment, Frank just stared at his hands, as if wondering how they had gotten away from him.

  “That’s it for tonight,” he said, his voice flat. The fire was gone now, but no one else seemed to know if it was gone for good. “Tomorrow, we can sort this out. But it’s been a long day. A very long day.”

  Alice didn’t know what to do, what to say. Her father was a gentle man; he always had been. Frank was a dreamer, just like she was, and she’d seen him shoo spiders out of their living room at the old house. “Ohh, a nice big boy like this,” he’d sa
y. “It’ll keep the roaches away.”

  Never in her life had her father laid a hand on her, and as far as she knew, it was the same for Dean. And now, at this new crossroads, none of them, Debra included, knew quite how to respond.

  Frank backed away and receded into the dark hallway. Alice stared, trying to understand what she was seeing. Was it sudden guilt in his eyes, the realization that his obsession with this house had soured into something ugly and dark? Moments later, he was gone. Dean waited a few seconds longer before retreating back to his room, avoiding Alice’s eyes. His usual door-slamming was replaced by a nudging of the door, so gentle that it barely made a noise at all. Alice, still standing in her own doorway, looked up at her mother’s face. Debra was shaking, but Alice couldn’t quite tell if it was with anger or fear or some delicate mixture of the two.

  “Mom?”

  “Go to bed,” she said, her voice quivering. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow. I’ve got to go…talk to your father.”

  Alice stood half in and half out of her room, staring down the hallway. The picture was just out there, just out of sight. All she had to do was walk around the corner and see it, but she didn’t dare. The house seemed to breathe as it always did whenever she was alone, and suddenly, for the first time, Alice felt certain that she wasn’t alone. The moment came and went quickly, something too easily dismissed in her well-lit bedroom, but there was no question in the matter. Even behind the closed door and newly hung blinds, she didn’t think she was being watched. She knew it.

  Chapter Seven

  That night, Alice slept with the light on. When she awoke, she sat up suddenly, the overhead light blocking out any sight of the sun or moon, leaving her confused as to what time it actually was. The clock, green and beaming, told her it was 6:15 a.m., less than an hour before her normal wake-up time for school. Once the break was over, that time would probably be pushed back half an hour or so, thanks to the new, longer commute.

  Alice climbed out of bed, turned off the overhead light, slipped back under the covers, and stared up at the ceiling Everything that had happened since they moved in, each and every event, stretched out like a line of marching ants. She moved them around in her mind, rearranging them, trying to make sense of everything. After what she assumed was, at minimum, a solid hour of daydreaming, Alice looked at the clock again. It read 6:29 a.m. She could track the sound of footsteps somewhere in the house around her.

  Overhead. Heavy. Boots…no, dress shoes.

  Dad.

  Alice didn’t realize he had to work that day, but it didn’t surprise her. Another set.

  Down the steps, creaking one by one. Lighter. Barefoot.

  Mom.

  She rolled over, deciding to give sleep one more try, when she heard another set.

  Closer. Solid. Tired feet dragging.

  Dean’s awake too.

  Alice crept into the hall, staring across at Dean’s still-closed door. He was still asleep then, but there were footsteps in the kitchen and the familiar scent of coffee; the solid thuds down the stairs signaled that Frank was making his way down. His new sales job was for an insurance company, and about half of his days were spent on the road. The downside was that the job paid on commission, and if he wasn’t selling, he wasn’t making money. He was always the first out the door, but this was early, even for him. Alice waited, considering whether or not she even wanted to see him.

  As she thought, she heard the old, heavy side door creak open and closed roughly and the grumble of her dad’s truck starting up. He was gone then, and for the first time she could remember, he left without saying goodbye to any of them.

  He didn’t want to say goodbye, a soft voice whispered. Must still be mad at you.

  “Is he gone?” Dean was peering out through his doorway like a kid spying on Santa Claus, nervous that an adult might catch him.

  “I…I think so.”

  She walked over to his door, and Dean let it drift open the rest of the way. He looked a bit like a ghost, something vaporous and not totally there.

  “You…okay?” she asked.

  Dean scowled, a familiar face that spoke of his desire to call her an idiot, a child, a brat. Then, the frown softened and she saw her brother again, the one who used to play monster with her when she was only six years old, the boy who seemed to revel in the fact that he had a younger sister, someone to look out for.

  What happened to that boy?

  “No,” he said in a moment of surprising honesty. He rubbed his shoulder where Frank had grabbed him. “My arm still hurts. I’ve never seen him like that before, at least not with me.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I’ve seen him screaming at Mom before. A long time ago. He looked mad enough then to…I don’t know. Do something.” Dean shook his head and looked at the shining floorboards under his bare feet. “What the hell is going on here?”

  Alice shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  For a moment, neither spoke. A question was burning a hole in her, but though she didn’t want to ask, she had to get it out.

  “Are you sure it wasn’t you?”

  Dean’s face momentarily blurred with frustration again, but he kept it under control. “No, it wasn’t.” He thought for a moment, then added, “Was it you? Tell me the truth. If it was, I won’t even be mad.…”

  “It wasn’t,” Alice squeaked. It was clear that both of them wanted the other to be responsible, not so they could score a petty win. No, they just wanted answers. They wanted this situation to make sense, and now that they finally, truly believed each other, silence hung between them. They both drifted off to their separate corners to think.

  A bit later, after Alice had brushed her teeth and made her way into the living room, her mother appeared. Her eyes were a bit puffy, but otherwise, she seemed no worse for wear.

  “Do you want some breakfast?” she asked from the kitchen.

  “I’m fine,” Alice answered from the couch, her tone shaky, unsure.

  Debra, despite her occasionally tough demeanor, picked up on the thread. “Alice, come in here.”

  Alice did as she was told, and when Debra pulled a chair out from the kitchen table, they both took seats.

  “You’re not fine,” Debra said. She took a deep breath and glanced over her shoulder, back down the narrow hallway toward Dean’s room. “You talk to your brother this morning?”

  Tears threatened to spill out of Alice’s eyes; she didn’t dare speak. Instead, she nodded. Debra seemed to recognize her daughter’s usual, sensitive fragility, and she stuck to yes or no questions.

  “Is he okay?”

  A tough one, not easy to answer truthfully without words. Rather than lie or explain, Alice just shook her head no.

  “Yeah,” Debra replied. “I wouldn’t guess so. I’m going to go talk to him in a bit, but I wanted to catch you first. Let you know what was up. You ready to hear that?”

  Alice swallowed, loudly. Then she nodded.

  “The man I married,” Debra began, “your father…I’ve never seen anything like that from him in my entire life. He was…”

  She paused, seeming to remember that she was talking to the daughter of the man in question, a girl who still loved her daddy, despite what he had done.

  “He made a mistake. He’s acknowledged that. He had some obligations at work that he couldn’t break, but he promised me that we would have a long talk about it tonight. That he would sit down with you, and with Dean, and try his best to make this right.”

  Debra’s voice faltered a bit on that last word, and she took in a sharp breath, holding it together, staying strong when it mattered, like she always did.

  “But,” she continued, “I told him that he wouldn’t put a hand on either of you ever again. And I told him that, if he did, it would be the last time we slept under the same roof as him.”
>
  Alice shivered at what this could mean. She loved her dad, and deep down, she always saw more of herself in him than she ever had in her mother. It was a deep, unspoken connection that everyone was fully aware of, just like the relationship between Dean and Mom. The idea of not having him around was so foreign, so bone-chilling, that Alice couldn’t quite comprehend it.

  “Do you understand what I’m telling you?” her mother asked. Another softball yes or no question, right over the plate. Alice nodded yes.

  Debra took another deep breath, staring up at the ceiling, hoping, perhaps, for some deeper, supernatural assistance to help her make it through the next few minutes. Alice knew that the conversation with Dean was coming soon, and there was little question that she dreaded the prospect.

  “We’re a family,” she said, still gazing upward. “We’ll get through this.”

  She finally looked back down at Alice, and her smile was forced. Alice smiled tightly back.

  “I love you,” Debra said. Alice followed Debra out of the living room and lingered in the hall as her mother spoke to Dean in his room. She couldn’t pick up any of the details, but it sounded the way she would have expected it to. Dean saying little, her mother trying her best to be as soft as possible. It was strange, the way that the roles had been suddenly reversed because there simply was no other option. Her father was always the peacekeeper, always the one to swoop in whenever tempers reached the boiling point. He was good at it, and Alice realized she was pretty good at it too. The two of them might struggle to stand up for themselves or they may just decide to eat a wrong meal at a restaurant rather than send it back. But the fact was you needed people like that, people who were less likely to rock the boat. That was what made a family work, a mixture of fighters and peacekeepers. So what do you do when suddenly, without explanation, the man with the olive branch becomes a man with a gun?

  Dean snorted loudly from inside his room, but Alice didn’t think it had anything to do with a cold. The door handle began to turn, and she darted into her room, sliding the door closed as her mother stepped into the hallway.