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There’s heat in the summer air. Crickets or something drone out here. He’s almost sticky warm but in the shade of the old oak tree, he feels alright. It’s better out here than in there. He sniffles heavily and curls onto his side, grass pressing into the half of his face that doesn’t hurt. He curls one arm over his stomach as it aches. He wonders how big the bruise will be this time. Will it be bigger than his hand? Will it reach down to his belly button? His cheek hurts still and he clenches his eyes shut against the sound of the smacks in his memory. The grass is cool on his face, the insects are loud in his ear, the air is hot against his skin. It’s okay, it stopped, it’s over.
“Bubba?” The soft voice of his younger sister, Abigail, nearly makes him jump out of his skin. He opens his eyes and lifts his head slightly. She’s got Moo Cow, her favorite stuffed animal, clutched in her hand and her face is red like she’s been crying. He forces himself to sit up, pulling a small smile onto his face, mindful of the split in his bottom lip.
“Abbi,” he says back, just as softly. She sniffles and shuffles forward. He pats the ground next to him in invitation and she comes to sit next to him, close, almost touching.
“I love you,” she whispers, staring up at him, eyes wide. Her eyes are two different colors. The left a soft chocolate brown, and the right a pale sea blue. They’re really pretty in Junior’s opinion. She’s got some intense freckles on her cheeks, darker than the ones that dust across his face. With her unique eyes, intense freckles, and beautiful curly hair Junior has always thought Abigail looks just like a princess.
“Love you too,” he says bashfully, knocking his shoulder into hers. She’s still staring up at him, eyes still so wide. They start to fill with tears and her bottom lip wobbles. “Oh, Abbi.” He pulls her into a hug, ignoring the way his ribcage aches when he presses her close. He must be hard to look at right now. His bottom lip split, eye slightly swollen. Abigail shouldn’t have to see him like that.
She manages to hold it together for a second, wrapping her arm around him, but then he squeezes her into the hug and she starts to weep. He bites his lip and immediately regrets it, teeth sharp in the split. He feels awful. Abigail’s so little. She doesn’t deserve this.
“I’m s- sorry.” She presses the words into his chest, shaking with her tears. He feels tears well up in his own eyes. No, he can’t cry. Boys aren’t supposed to cry. He’s really got to stop doing that.
“It’ll be okay,” he lies, rubbing a hand up and down her back. “Don’t worry about me, okay?” She always worries, those big two-toned eyes blinking tears away as Father screams at him, swings at him. Junior wishes she didn’t have to see. He wishes Mother would take her to a different room so she didn’t have to watch.
She squeezes him tighter, still shaking with her sobs. “I’m sorry Daddy’s so mean to you.”
Junior’s expression goes a little blank, his eyes growing distant. “It’s- Don’t worry. It’s okay, Abbi. I’m okay.” He keeps rubbing her back, thinking of the way Mother comforts him. This is almost like that. Eventually, Abigail’s sobs peter out, and they’re left just holding each other. Junior likes the hug, likes holding Abbi, so he doesn’t push her away. He knows other boys his age would. They call their sisters annoying and stupid and roll their eyes and stick their tongues out.
But, Abigail isn’t annoying. She’s quiet and nice and she always leaves him alone if he asks her to. And, she’s definitely not stupid. Junior thinks Abigail is probably smarter than he is. She does really well in school and she reads all the time, even in the car. Junior can’t do that, he’d get sick. He struggles to read even sitting still, watching the letters swim together, it’s way harder in a car that is also moving.
So, he keeps Abigail in his arms. Even if the other boys his age would make fun of him. They’re not here, anyway.
“Do you think Camila made dessert for tonight?” He keeps his tone light and easy, wanting to keep Abbi from crying again. She’s been a lot more worried lately. She’s more scared now when Father starts yelling. He doesn’t know why and he wishes he could fix it. It’s not fair for her to have to worry about this. It feels almost like something’s changed but everything has been the exact same as it has always been for as long as he can remember.
“I hope so.”
“Me too,” Junior whispers back, “maybe chocolate chip cookies.” Sometimes he wishes Mother would take them away in the middle of the night and never come back. Buckle them both in their seats in the car, wink at Junior in the rearview mirror, and then drive far far far away from this house, from Father, from everything that happens here.
“Or apple pie.”
Junior’s nose scrunches. He doesn’t understand how Abigail, or anybody, likes that mushy, squishy stuff. “With ice cream?” He’d take just the ice cream. Abbi can have his slice.
“Of course.” She pushes away from him, grinning, her cheeks still wet from crying. He tries to match her smile, he really does try. He wants Abigail to keep smiling.
“Gotta have ice cream with your pie.”
Abigail squeezes Moo Cow against her chest, nodding. She starts talking about Camila’s pie. Their housekeeper, Camila, makes the best desserts. She makes a lot of really good things. Food, desserts, a special ointment she gave to Junior for his various injuries. Junior’s really glad he knows Camila. She’s very nice. She looked so, so worried when she pressed a container into his hand. She told him she made it herself, that she’d made it for her daughter when she was his age and learning how to ride a skateboard. It’d help with his heridas, his injuries, she’d said. He always likes it when she teaches him more Spanish.
“Juney,” Abigail says softly, looking down at the ground, running one hand over the grass. “Can I ask you something?”
“Always.” It’s easy, there’s no hesitation. He’d do anything for Abigail. He’d do anything to keep her smiling.
“Has… Daddy ever… played a game with you?”
Junior tries not to scoff, but he just can’t help himself. He tries to picture Wendell Strathmore Sr playing any sort of game at all and he just can’t do it. And, to play one with Junior? Now, that’s really absurd.
“No,” he says, looking down at where Abigail is petting the grass. “He doesn’t like me. Why would he play with me?” Abigail’s hand stalls on the grass and Junior looks back up at her. She’s frowning. Oh, no. He’s made her frown. “W- why?”
Her breath hitches. Oh, no. Has he made her cry? What did he say? What did he do? How can he fix it?
“N- never mind,” Abigail whispers. Junior feels awful. His stomach aches and he yearns to pull her back into the hug. He feels like he can never protect her well enough. There's always something that keeps that smile off her face. Most of the time it's him.
“Abbi, you can tell—”
“Abigail! Junior! Dinner time!” Mother’s voice rings out over the backyard. Both of them turn toward the house, eyes wide.
“Let’s go,” Junior says, pulling himself to his feet. As he stands he hands to support himself with the tree, wincing at the pain in his stomach. He probably won’t be eating much tonight. Abigail stands with him and he notices that she looks sad and far away. He frowns, wishing he had more time to cheer her up again. But, they cannot be late for dinner.