Chapter Four: September
Cooking with her mother used to be fun, until Michael moved in.
"Laurie, you make sure you dice those carrots, like how the hospital does it."
"No. No. A little less salt. It'll be bad for him—"
"These can go to Michael; how about you take the burnt ones to school? I'm sure your friends won't know the difference—"
Laurie lays the knife on the chopping board and turns to her mother.
"Can I make the mashed potatoes tonight?"
Her mother smiles.
"No."
Laurie's shoulders sink.
"Why not?"
"Honey, you'll never get better at cooking if you only do the tasks you feel comfortable with."
It was a reasonable excuse until...
"Besides..." Her mother turns on the faucet, filling a pot. "When I'm not here, I want you to be able to cook Michael whatever he wants."
It's a struggle to not roll her eyes, but Laurie succeeds and takes out the spices she intends to dress the steak with.
"How can I know what he wants, if he doesn't even talk?"
It sounded nicer in her head, but her mother's gaze sharpens.
"Don't be rude, Laurie."
And Laurie ducks her head in shame.
XXX
Every night has been a feast made in his honor, and the man of the hour has not once come down from his throne on the second floor to join them for dinner.
Though, no one made any mention of it. Not her father. And certainly not her mother. The latter was to be expected. Not the former.
The newspaper sits in her father's hand but she doubts he retains anything in the print as he chews his food. She could bet Michael's absence has been on his mind too.
"Laurie," her father said.
Laurie's jaw clacks shut. She sets down her fork and watches him shoot her mother a knowing glance over the top of his glasses.
"We're going to visit Grandpa and Grandma this weekend."
Next to him, her mother nods as confirmation.
Laurie blinks. "Okay. I'll just tell Annie I've gotta raincheck."
Her mother's face brightens with approval as she brings a glass of water up to her lips. Laurie feels proud of herself for being agreeable to her parent's sudden change of plans. Goes to show, she's more mature than they thought. And it would be good to see Papa Myers again; last she did he was very ill — as such were the inevitabilities of old age.
"Good girl, Laurie," her mother says, lowering her cup, "I already know you'll take good care of your brother while we're gone."
Laurie forgets to chew and simultaneously forgets to work the muscles in her throat to swallow as well. She swipes the napkin off the table and coughs violently into it. By the time she finishes, her eyes are red from her choking fit and her father looks at her questionably.
"That's why we chew, kiddo," he says.
Laurie doesn't finish the rest of her meal and excuses herself with a mutter. All she thinks as she washes her dishes and climbs up to her room is that she'd rather babysit actual children, than a grown man.
XXX
As Laurie stirs from a disturbing dream, her head lifts up from her pillow and her breath halts at the top of her lungs when she hears the sound of a creaking floorboard peeling down the hall. She doesn't think much of it. Instead, her tongue presses against her dry palate and Laurie decides she's too thirsty to go back to sleep.
Her nightgown sways at her knees. Her shoulders are hunched forward. She walks with all the deliberation of a sleepwalker from the bed to the hallway, squinting at the drastic change of light.
When she approaches the top of the staircase, Lauries hears the unrelaxed voices trickle to her ears. Recognizing those sinking notes to belong to her parents, she strains to pick up the pieces of their conversation, though only discerns phrases like "still can't talk", "nice for Dr. Wynn to", and "we have our son back, don't we?".
Not in any mood to face the awkwardness that would come from disturbing them, Laurie figures the water from the bathroom sink will do, and she turns, bumping into a firm mass that isn't the wall. She gasps sharply, arms come up to her chest defensively. Her heart could belong to a rabbit by how quickly it is pulsing, but the moment her heartbeats peak as she overcomes the shock, Laurie frowns.
Her brother stands to the side of the staircase, hidden by the shadow the corner makes. She is disappointed that someone his size could so easily sneak up on her. Laurie looks up into her brother's eyes and stiffens.
He has been home for a week and since then he has acted no different from the patient she and her mother picked up from Smith's Grove. Listless. Thoughtless. Behaving like a machine. Eating when he needs to. Shuffling to the bathroom when he needs to. The only person who has entered his room situated next door to Laurie's, is their mother and even then, when Laurie presses her ear against the wall to eavesdrop, it is only her mother's voice she hears. Michael has not shown any signs indicative of consciousness.
Until now…
He stares at her and though there is nothing else telling on his face, his eyes are as serious as a thousand deaths. Ever as black. Ever as cold.
He is glaring at her.
And Laurie doesn't know what had made her so deserving of such hatred. Though it wounds, she refuses to let it make her feel bitter.
Dismissing his glare, she navigates around him to the bathroom, fetches a cup in the cabinet and runs the sink until water fills to the rim. As she drinks, she watches her reflection in the mirror and then on the edge of it, sees Michael with his blank face. Everything about her brother is darker. His skin is tanner. His wavy hair is a muddy blonde almost brown. And his eyes are not the blue hue of their father or their mother.
"You just gonna stand there?" Laurie whispers testily.
Naturally, Michael says nothing.
She shuts off the faucet and places the cup in the corner.
Laurie is stepping out of the bathroom when Michael blocks her way.
It's her mother in her head telling her not to be rude, and Laurie feels indignant that such an accusation would be directed at her. If anything, her brother has been rude the entirety of his stay. Here, he was with family, people who accepted him into their home when the whole town still looked at him warily for that night which after a decade and three years has turned into a stale memory. Still, he does a piss poor job of showing gratitude. To her father. To her mother. To her.
But, Laurie has never been so good at projecting her anger. She's always been told to keep it in. Bullies were spurred on by getting a rise out of people. But, a smart person would stay civil. If she held true to this, Michael couldn't win.
"Please move, Michael, I would like to go back to bed." She tries to use that sweetly pleasant tone that she uses on all her school teachers— the one she adopted from Lynda freshman year that's worked to wriggle her friend out of every detention.
From the corner of her eye, a blur of Michael's hand flew up to which Laurie flinched.
As his large palm molds to the side of her neck, she sees the flex in his forearm. She doesn't doubt he feels her shiver. While her mind struggles to more or less get over the surprise of his action, Michael pulls her into the hallway and releases her with a firm push in the direction of her room.
The fact that he uses his stature to threaten her leaves Laurie more angry than scared and she quickly recovers. But, as she marches to her brother, Michael slips into the bathroom and slams the door in her face.
This time, she doesn't care to keep quiet. Laurie releases a growl and pounds the door with her fist.
"You jerk!"
One floor below her, in the living room, Laurie and Michael's parents stop talking and wonder what in the world their children are up to.