Chapter Four

January 10, 1981

Eggs and bacon sizzled noisily on the skillet as Laura poked at them with a spatula. The smell clung to her nose as she poked at the food, the steam curling up from the meal. She sprinkled salt and pepper evenly over the fried eggs, then flipped them over as she said, "Sara, be careful up there. We don't want you falling."

Sara was making slow, deliberate, steps as she crossed the countertop, grabbing onto cupboard handles for support. She put one foot in front of the other until she was in the middle of the counters, gripping tightly to two handles.

"Which one is it in, Mom?"

"The right one, way up high; can you get it?"

Sara nodded, standing on tiptoes and reaching to another row of smaller cupboards up above the main ones. Struggling slightly with the stuck door, she managed to pull it open, though she just barely kept her footing.

"The big silver one?"

"That's the one."

Sara reached up to the shelves and grabbed the ornate silver tray from the ledge, slowly easing it down to herself. Gripping the heavy object tightly with her left arm, she closed the smaller cupboard, then clutched the handle of the cupboard below her. Suddenly, across the room, the door to her parents' bedroom opened and Allen stepped out, dressed in business attire with a briefcase in his left hand.

"Going to work," he mumbled, turning to the backdoor.

"Dad, wait!" Sara cried.

He turned his head, one hand already on the doorknob. "Hmm?"

"I need a hug, kiss, and for you to help me down."

With a soft sigh, Allen let go of the knob and shuffled over to Sara. He took the tray from her and set it on the counter, grabbed her under the armpits, and let her down to the floor. He gave her quick hug and a peck on the cheek, and a mumble of the words 'I love you', before he turned and left. Sara leaned on the counter as their car started and drove away.

"Go get the china, please," Laura requested, speaking for the first time since Allen had entered the room.

Sara did as she was told, crossing into the dining room and heading to a cabinet on the far side of it. She opened it and slowly piled several items of china into her arms. She traveled back across the room and carefully arranged the objects on the silver tray.

"The toast popped up," Laura stated.

She wandered over to the toaster and pulled the browned bread out, setting them on the china. Laura set the fried eggs and bacon there as well before she poured two cups of coffee and two glasses of orange juice.

"Do we get to take it up now?" Sara asked, peeking at the food, the aroma making her mouth water, though she had already eaten.

"Yep. Carry the creamer for me, sweetie." Laura turned the stove off and grabbed both ends of the tray. Sara held onto the small pitcher of creamer and followed her mother out of the kitchen and up the stairs. They walked down the hallway to the very last doorway. Sara reached forward and knocked on the wood.

What sounded like a stampede came down the stairs and the door was thrust open. Two kids stood there, both with white blonde hair and thousands of freckles all over their faces. Both had ice blue eyes and small identical grins. The girl's name was Angela and she was about 7 years old. Her older brother, Brian, was 10 years old.

"Good morning!" Laura said, smiling widely. "We brought breakfast."

"Mom!" Angela yelled up the stairs to the rest of the room. "Mrs. Sidle brought breakfast!" She then turned to Laura and said, "Come on up."

Laura and Sara followed Brian and Angela up the stairs to the attic-turned-enormous-bedroom. Angela and Brian's parents sat on their king bed, watching television. Toys of Angela and Brian's were scattered on the floor—trucks, dolls, stuffed animals, coloring books, and army men. The family's two large suitcases were open on the far left of the room, by the closet and bathroom door. Their contents were sprinkled around the floor

"Here's your breakfast," Laura said to the parents with a smile. "If you need anything else, just say so."

"No, this is fine!" their mother said, taking the tray from Laura and setting it on the foot of the bed. The brother and sister gathered by the bed and each grabbed a glass of the orange juice, chugging it down quickly.

"Hey, Sara!" Angela said as Laura and Sara turned to leave.

"What?" Sara replied, one hand on the door.

"Do you want to go play outside after we finish breakfast?"

Sara looked up at Laura, who said, without a hint of apprehension, "Stay in the backyard."

"I think we should play hide-and-seek," Angela declared as she walked along the grass, Sara and Brian by her side.

"That's a baby game," Brian declared. He stopped in his tracks, hands in his pockets. Sara and Angela stopped too, turning to look at him as a breeze blew past. "I'll race you two to that tree."

"You always race with people," Angela whined, though she had started to do some quick stretches. "Why do we always have race?"

"So people know I'm the fastest runner in the world," Brian stated. He grabbed a stick from the ground and drew a line in the dirt. "There's the starting line."

Sara quietly stood behind the line, and bent down like Brian and Angela had.

"On your marks," Brian began. "Get set…GO!"

All three of them took off, Brian sprinting out ahead of the two. Angela seemed to think she'd never make it and dropped back to a walk. But Sara had been taken by surprise at Brian's speed, and as she gained back her wits, she sped up and was soon neck and neck with him. The tree drew much closer, and with a final surge of energy, Sara pulled ahead of Brian and tagged the tree, just seconds before.

"I won!" Sara cried, bending double and panting, her hand still planted on the trunk.

"No you didn't," Brian said. "You lost."

"Did not. I touched the tree way before you!"

"No you didn't. You lost. I touched the tree first; you couldn't tell though because I touched the tree where you couldn't see."

Angela soon joined them and watched them argue.

"I saw Sara touch the tree first," she added as Brian opened his mouth.

"I touched it first!" Brian shouted, stomping his foot down.

"No you didn't," Sara and Angela responded in unison.

Angela then turned to Sara. "This is new. Usually he wins, but Mom always said there's a first for everything."

"I'm telling you, I did win!"

Sara opened her mouth, snide comment already prepared, but Angela piped in for the second time.

"Rematch, then. We'll do it again. This time I'll stand by the tree to make sure there's no…umm…"

"Controversy?" Sara offered.

"Umm, yeah."

Sara and Brian stood at the starting line once again, watching Angela's arms as they were held straight above her head. Sara's chest pounded with anxiety. Even though she knew she had won fair-and-square the previous race, she was still fearful that this time she would lose, and what was worse, it would only prove Brian right.

Suddenly, Angela's arms dropped and the two flew down the yard again. Sara wasn't taken aback by Brian's burst of speed this time, and managed to stay parallel with him as they sprinted through the grass. Then suddenly Brian tripped and crumpled to the ground. Sara didn't take notice and smacked her hand victoriously on the tree trunk.

"Won again!" Sara cried, panting once more, and beaming.

Brian dusted himself off as he struggled to his feet. Angela high-fived Sara, but then caught sight of Brian's furious face as he stormed toward them.

"That doesn't count!" he yelled angrily. "I tripped! You wouldn't have won if I hadn't tripped!"

"Stop being a sore loser, Brian." Angela sneered.

"And I won that first time too!"

"Brian, knock it off," Sara said, shrugging. "It was just a race."

"I won though—you didn't. I can't lose to you."

Sara raised an eyebrow. "Why not?"

"Because you're a sissy girl, and you're younger than I am, so I should win every time."

"Yeah, so long as you don't trip," Angela muttered under her breath with a soft chuckle.

But Sara was bristling.

"I'm not a sissy."

"Yes you are. All girls are sissies. Girls suck."

"Do not," Angela and Sara said indignantly.

But Brian continued, "Yes you do, all girls are stupid, too, and slow. All things that begin with 's'. And you know what else begins with 's'? Sa—"

WHAM!

Sara tackled Brian around the waist, knocking the wind out of him and bringing him to the ground. Sitting on top of him while he tried to catch his breath, Sara pounded on his face with her fists, gathering blood from his nose on her fingers, but she kept punching away.

Before she could realize what was happening, somebody was pulling her off him, and somebody else was drawing Brian away from her.

Sara was still throwing punches, but they met nothing. She kicked her feet and struggled against whoever was holding her back, trying to throw herself back at Brian, whose nose continued to drip blood. But he had come back around enough to hurl more insults at Sara. Sara shouted more back, "Big, blundering, boy, Brian—"

The word she said next caused an uproar among the surrounding people, and Laura's voice broke Sara out of her tunnel vision.

"Sara Jean! Apologize to Brian right now!"

Sara's fighting limbs went slack and she realized it was her mother who gripped tightly to each arm. Her chest heaved heavily and she vaguely noticed the blood all over her hands and a dull ache in her knuckles. Brian's father was restraining him forcefully and his mother was trying to wipe the blood from his face.

"Sorry," Sara muttered tightly, through gritted teeth.

Brian spat on the ground and his father shook him as a warning, then turned and walked Brian and his wife back to the house.

Angela took a nervous look back at Sara as she followed her family. Her usual grin and self-confident persona was tuned way down, and she was frowning grimly.

As soon as they were gone, Laura turned Sara around to face her. She got down on one knee and gave Sara a short, rough shake.

"What do you think you were doing?" she hissed.

Sara kept her mouth shut, her lips pressed firmly together as she stared back into her mother's eyes, her mind firmly set on not crying, though her eyes began to fill with tears.

"He said I was stupid."

Laura pursed her lips. "That's it?"

Sara shook her head and continued explaining all that had happened. Apparently, Laura didn't think it was enough of an excuse.

"You do not hit people, do you understand? There is no excuse for what you just did to that boy. You've only known him for one day; that family just checked in yesterday! You don't go around beating up the people who stay with us! More importantly, you don't beat anybody up, ever!"

Sara continued to glare, her body shaking as she settled down, though her nostrils were flaring.

"Dad does," she said simply, though it was muffled through her clenched teeth.

Laura glared back at Sara, as Sara's eyes finally overflowed. Laura sighed, and mumbled, "Let's get that blood washed off your hands." She stood up and gripped Sara's wrist, pulling her towards the house.

Sara woke up to find herself on the living room couch. Her hands had been washed, though her knuckles were very red and sore.

"Took you awhile to wake up," Laura said from beside her, leaning her head on her palm, her elbow resting on the couch arm and her legs crossed. "You really must have been hitting him hard."

Sara said nothing, but sat up and stretched.

"What time is it?" she questioned through a yawn.

"Nearly 6:00. Your dad should be home in a couple hours."

Sara set her hands on the edge of the couch and gazed at Laura, silently contemplating her mother's disheveled appearance.

"What happened to Brian?" Sara asked quietly.

"He's okay. You just gave him a lot of bruises and a bloody nose."

Sara frowned and looked at the floor, guilt creeping into her stomach like a poisonous slime.

"Are they going to leave?"

"Tonight is their last night anyway. Brian went out to the bay with his family for a hiking trip and then they're going out for dinner. Speaking of which, you haven't had any."

Sara sighed, standing up with Laura and walking to the kitchen. "I didn't mean to get that angry."

"I know you didn't." Laura reached around Sara's shoulders and gave her a one-armed hug. Sara wandered off to the dining room table and Laura headed to the stove. She shoveled spoonfuls of leftovers onto a plate she grabbed from a cupboard. Next, she poured a glass of milk, and brought both things over and set them in front of Sara. As she ate quietly, Laura spoke up, clearing her throat beforehand. "You know how…how you said Dad beats people up?"

Sara looked up at her expectantly.

"Well," she continued. "I think…I think, now is the time you need to start understanding some things about this family, okay?"

Sara nodded past her glass of milk and continued to listen intently.

"You remember some of the stories your father used to tell you about your grandpa being in the war?"

Sara nodded again.

"Well, your dad was born before your grandfather came back from overseas. Your grandfather was out at war until your father was four years old. Your grandmother was very young when she had your father—19 years old. She wasn't very experienced and only married your grandfather so she would have somebody to help her support the baby.

"What happened was, when Grandpa Sidle got back from the war, your father didn't like him very much. He'd never seen him before. Everybody told him this was his dad, and he could grasp that fact, but he never really liked him as a father. As your dad got older, you could tell he didn't really love Grandpa Sidle like everyone was saying he should. And your grandpa didn't like him either.

"Apparently, your grandfather didn't like the way that your father had been brought up by your inexperienced grandma. In order to get what he wanted, he would hit him for doing things he didn't like, or not doing things he thought he should do. There was one time he broke your father's collarbone, and when he came home from the hospital, your grandfather refused to feed him for two days. He died in 1965, you know that, and I'm personally very glad. If he had been alive when you were born, I wouldn't have let you go near him."

Laura let out a soft sigh and Sara set down her fork.

"Now, when your father and I married, he told me, that if he ever became like his father, to do whatever I could to get him to stop." She chuckled lightly. "Now, the problem is, your grandfather never hit his wife. Ever. Only his son. Your father—he has never laid a single finger on you. So am I supposed to tell him to stop?"

Sara's eyes narrowed musingly as she mulled over the statement. "But why does he hit? If he didn't like it when his dad hit him, why does he hit you?"

Laura heaved another sigh.

"I'm not exactly sure about that, Sara. One idea I've looked over is that maybe he doesn't know any other way to deal with his anger. When we were younger, he was a lot happier. He made a big effort to remain calm in situations that made him upset. But if you haven't noticed, ever since his new job, he's been pretty stressed and his effort towards staying calm have sort of…faltered. Another idea I've though of, is that maybe he feels he loves you too much to even think about touching you in a harmful way. Your grandfather never loved him, which is why he hurt him like he did. I think your dad loves you too much to do that."

"But that would mean—"

"Yes, that would mean that he doesn't love me anymore." She paused, smiling to keep from crying, then said in a thoughtful tone, her voice cracking midway through, "Do you remember what it was like before your father started hitting?"

Sara nodded, visions of the beach floating into her mind.

"Don't ever forget, okay?"

Sara blinked a few times in slight surprise, then whispered, "Okay."