An uneventful day at school passes. And the end couldn't have come soon enough. It agonizes Laurie to even recall the monotony of it all. Because what is meant by "uneventful" is that Lynda and Bob played hookie, so Laurie had to take careful notes in the third period because it's not a surprise that her friend would come slinking to her to catch up on the only subject she's doing well in: writing.
Also, Annie has strangely been floating around Laurie these past few days during the passing periods. But, when Annie dragged Laurie into the girls bathroom today and sobbed after seeing Paul chat up Hillary McNicoll during lunch break, it was all rather obvious that Laurie was only there to fill in that spot beside Annie.
As the school bell screams, the students pouring out from the exits, Laurie walks to the parking lot and meets her brother there who's waiting for her in the handicap stall. She notes this with a grimace, and as she approaches, someone calls to her, high pitched and eager:
"Hey Laurie!"
To her surprise, it's Tracy Dacke with a grin that could outshine the sun. Laurie watches her carefully as her childhood bully nears, casting a glance at Michael from under her painted lashes.
It's not unusual for girls her age to wear makeup; but Laurie can't deny that Tracy looks like she's going to laughably interview at the Rabbit in Red.
"I noticed you're not taking the bus anymore," Tracy says.
"Because my brother can take me," Laurie replies flatly.
"How lucky." Tracy sounds wistful, and the sudden urge to gag hits Laurie so hard she keeps walking to dispel the feeling.
Her sun kissed fingers wrap tightly around the strap of her back pack as Tracy steps toward the car Laurie entered. While buckling herself in, Laurie hears a request, uttered beesechingly:
"Mind if I catch a ride?"
Her lips struggle against a disgusted frown as a flare of heat works its way out of Laurie's mouth. The gall of Tracy Dacke to think she can just come back into her good graces after harassing her a couple weeks ago is more laughable than imagining Tracy trying out as a stripper. But, as Laurie thinks back on the time, she also flashes back to Ben Tramer's funeral. Wouldn't it be in his memory that Laurie lets go of all her childish grudges? It'd also work in her favor if she were to accept Tracy's unexpected sign of truce, if that's what Laurie can call this, so that it'd be easier for her to carry on her highschool career.
And then, maybe, she wouldn't have miserable, self centered friends like Annie and Lynda— she'd just have another miserable, self-centered friend to take their place, but at least this one isn't so willing to drop her panties for the boys. At least, Tracy can just be friends with guys.
And all the while Laurie thinks this, Tracy eyes Michael, sitting behind the steering wheel, who disengages the parking brake, switches the transmission and reverses before Laurie even has the chance to say yes to her.
A dejected look crosses Tracy's face, and the girl reddens with embarrassment as the car drives away, and Laurie presses her fingers against the glass.
"Michael—" Laurie starts, but her brother has accelerated out of the parking lot and zooms past the school, passing the departing school bus that Tracy has missed.
A missed opportunity, Laurie thinks will never present itself again. A heavy sigh drags out of her. But, not too bad a loss, because Annie and Lynda are still prettier than Tracy.
The car follows the same route through the neighborhood, up until the third turn that leads into Mrs. Blankenship's street. They divert off to a different path, a different street, and eventually a different destination. When he parks the car, Michael exits without, expectedly, acknowledging her, but unexpectedly, waiting for her on the sidewalk leading into Mt. Sinclair's cemetery.
It is with great pleasure that Laurie bustles out of the car, and loops her arm around her brother's, limp as a dead fish, and leads them through the many rows of graves.
Fall must've crept onto Haddonfield overnight, because Laurie is unprepared for the gale of cool air, whistling through the threads of her skirt. With a shiver, she holds her brother closer, whose cold shoulder is not cold enough for her.
The mere notion implants into her mind, of her brother entertaining her just this once because maybe he cares. It keeps Laurie incredibly light, her throat vibrates with a hum.
"I wish I had you all alone...Just the two of us..."
Laurie's footsteps come to a halt as does her brother's. She rotates the both of them and beneath their feet, beneath the grass, beneath six feet of dirt, is their sister's corpse. Perhaps, not rotting anymore, but certainly dry bones now.
It has been nearly fifteen years, after all. Before her brother came home, it had always been her father, her mother, and Laurie to visit the late Judith Myers. Some occasions were planned, like after church or on holidays— her mother would nag her husband to death about wearing that tie that Judith gifted him for his birthday. Laurie knows it to have a American regimental pattern, conventional alternating burgundy and navy stripes.
Laurie also notices that he wears Judith's gift less often than he wears the set off cufflinks his second daughter bought him two years ago.
With a heavy sigh, Laurie leans her head against her brother's arm stiff like a tree branch.
"Do you miss her too? You must miss her more. She was your babysitter for some time. Oh— I wish we brought flowers, we always bring flowers— I'll always bring a flower…"
Her eyes drift to the headstone adjacent to Judith's and catches the new bouquet — an elegant mix of lilies, white roses, daisies and a few stems of lavender— that wasn't there in July. It would have been two months since her parents came with Laurie to visit dead Judith, who was once murdered, and before that, once alive. Ever since Michael came home, so much has changed that even their family's customary outings have become non-customary.
Laurie remembers reserving time on Wednesday evenings so that her and her mother could watch Double Dare in the living room guessing with the contestants on the screen. And on Thursdays her father would help her tape songs from the radio. It still warms her heart that her father called a friend of his at the town's amateur music station to play the Hues Corporation for her. Then, obviously, Sundays the family would attend church, but there were some weekends they drove up to Chicago to visit Papa and Mama Myers instead.
Now, it's all Michael, and she's noticed that within these two months her time with her parents have been dwindling, so as to make room for the son whose time with his parents puts him at a disadvantage to his little sister. Unbalanced parental attention has always led to sibling rivalry. Sometimes, Laurie sees it in Van der Klok's and it's obvious Mr. Van der Klok dotes on his son more than his eldest child, Lynda. It must be why Lynda loves to manipulate men and craves their attention— because her father can't give it to her.
Maybe she ought to feel thankful Michael and her didn't grow up together. Surely, they'd fight a lot more than they do now.
Unconsciously, Laurie brushes her hand down Michael's arm and her fingers catch the tensed muscles of his fists. She can't remember when her brother became so rigid, but she somehow feels it was a mistake to let him come here. Yet, he drove them. It makes little sense to her
Laurie peers up at Michael's face, to which he stares at Judith's headstone through lowered brows.
"What are you thinking?" Laurie asks.
Beyond his heated stare, Laurie thinks she perceives hate. Until he turns his head, and looks at Laurie, eyes locked, blue to black, and for what might have been a fraction of a second in reality, but relative in her mind lasting hours, she feels her heart skip a beat.
That is the first tell and then everything else comes upon her, abrupt as a jarring crescendo.
Confused, she scuttles back a step, and her heel catches a rise of a crack on the concrete sidewalk, and Laurie feels gravity pull her back. Expecting a crash and the impending pain, a small yelp claws out of her, but an arm bars around her lower back, and propels her forward into the sturdy chest of her brother, who smells—
Like the dining room and it reminds her of all the meals she's cooked for him so far, because god only knows, her mother has only cooked for Michael a handful of times. The hospital smell has left him, and she can trace back the scent of soap on his skin to be the brand she uses.
Her brother, who is such an imposing figure, who has on multiple occasions scared her in the hallways as she goes to the toilet at night, who eyes her as she finishes her homework on the living room floor, who's face now leans toward hers, smells like Laurie— Not only is he using her bathroom, he's using her toiletries, and this almost keeps her heart from thundering with…
Excitement.
Suddenly, a bubble of laughter escapes her.
"Y'know, I think Tracy Dacke has a crush on yo—"
She can't entertain the thought, she can't even convey the minor contempt she has for her high school rival for looking at her brother the way she did after school…
Because her brother's mouth moves against hers, and Laurie…
Just as she smelled, now tastes him.