"Not even a penny," I whispered in return, and I tried to hide my face from his. But he cupped my chin and forced me to turn my head so he could delve deep into my eyes. Oh, why did we have to know each other so well? He stared at me, while I tried to keep my eyes blank, but it was no use. All I could do was close my eyes and snuggle closer in his arms. He bowed his face into my hair while his hands soothingly stroked my back. "It's all right. Don't cry. You don't know where to look like I do."
I had to get away, run away, and when I ran away, I would take all of this with me, no matter where I went, or who I ended up with.
"You can get in your own bed now," said Chris in his hoarse voice. "The grandmother could open the door and catch us, you know."
"Chris, you didn't throw up again after I left, did you?"
"No. I'm better. Just go away, Cathy. Go away."
"You really feel better
now? You're not just saying that?"
"Didn't I just say I was better?"
"Goodnight, Christopher Doll," I said, then put a kiss on his cheek before I left his bed and climbed into my own bed to snuggle up with Carrie.
"Good night, Catherine. You make a pretty good sister, and mother to the twins . . . but you're one helluva liar, and one damned no-good thief!"
Each of Chris's forays into Momma's room enriched our hidden cache. It was taking so long to reach our goal of five hundred dollars. And now summer was upon us again. Now I was fifteen, the twins recently turned eight. Soon August would mark the third year of our imprisonment. Before another winter set in, we had to escape. I looked at Cory, who was listlessly picking at black-eyed peas because they were "good luck" peas. First time on New Year's Day, he wouldn't eat them: didn't want any little brown eyes looking at his insides. Now he'd eat them because each pea gave one full day of happiness--so we'd told him. Chris and I had to make up tales like this or else he'd eat nothing but the doughnuts. As soon as that meal was over, he crouched down on the floor, picked up his banjo, and fixed his eyes on a silly cartoon. Carrie glued in beside him, as close as possible, watching her twin's face and not the TV. "Cathy," she said to me in her bird twitter. "Cory, he don't feel so good."
"How do you know?"
"Jus' know."
"Has he told you he feels sick?"
"He don't have to."
"And how do you feel?"
"Like always."
"And how is that?"
"Don't know."
Oh yes! We had to get out, and fast!
Later on I tucked the twins in one bed. When they were both asleep, I'd lift out Carrie, and put her in our bed, but for now, it was comforting for Cory to go to sleep with his sister by his side. "Don't like this pink sheet," complained Carrie, scowling at me. "We all like white sheets. Where are our white sheets?"
Oh, rue the day when Chris and I had made white the safest color of all! White chalk daisies drawn on the attic floor kept away evil demons, and monsters, and all the other things the twins feared would get them if white wasn't somewhere near to hide inside, or under, or behind. Lavender, blue or pink, or flowerstrewn sheets and pillowcases were not to be tolerated . . . little colored places gave small imps a hole through which to drive a forked tail, or glare a mean eye, or stab with a wicked, tiny spear! Rituals, fetishes, habits, rules--Lord--we had them by the millions! Just to keep us safe.
"Cathy, why does Momma like black dresses so much?" asked Carrie, waiting as I took off the pink sheets and replaced them with plain white ones.
"Momma is blonde and very fair, and black makes her look even more fair, and exceptionally beautiful."
"She's not scared of black?"
"How old do you get before black doesn't bite you with long teeth?"
"Old enough to know such a question as that is absolutely silly."
"But all the black shadows in the attic have shiny, sharp teeth," said Cory, scooting backward so the pink sheets wouldn't touch his skin.
"Now look," I said, seeing Chris's laughing eyes watching as he anticipated some gem I would certainly deliver. "Black shadows don't have shiny sharp teeth unless your skin is emerald green, and your eyes are purple, and your hair is red, and you have three ears instead of two. Only then is black a threat."
Comforted, the twins scurried under the white sheet and white blankets, and were soon fast asleep. Then I had time to bathe, and shampoo my hair, and put on wispy baby-doll pajamas. I ran up into the attic to open a window wide, hopeful of catching a cool breeze to freshen the attic so I'd feel like dancing and not wilting. Why was it the wind could find its way inside only during a wintery blast? Why not now, when we needed it most?