The Beat of a Battered Heart

Caroline- 1

I am a completely terrible influence. I know this. I do. But it's too far to walk to the beach. And it's so blessed hot. The bank reads 90* and it's nearly dark out. Not a lick of breeze. No AC in the house until my mother gets home- these are the rules. And since Kurt is passed out on the couch, sneaking out was easy.

I look down at Meg, who is holding a holey beach towel with a cat-who-ate-the-canary grin on her face. We've left our crappy ghetto of a neighborhood and have turned the corner into much nicer digs. Where I happen to know from years of doing this very thing, half the residents are away on sumer vacation. And the ones with the hurricane shutters? They're gone for the whole season. You have to be careful of those, though. Movement causes suspicion. I try to stick to the locals who are just gone for a short time, those who may not have told their neighbors they're out of town.

It's the newspapers. They may stop their mail or have a friend grab it, but most just toss the paper up on the porch instead of taking it home.

It's a blue house with white trim. I've been here before. Meg, too. They have a really nice pool surrounded by a privacy fence. And, I happened to notice from my seat on the bus today, four newspapers piled on the front porch by the door.

I don't want to disturb anything. I have no desire to break a single law besides trespassing. I just want to cool off and see that smile on Meg's face. It's what I live for: my little sister's smile. I'll do about anything for it.

I have gotten very good at pulling myself over the top of a six foot privacy fence. I check for twilight dog walkers or snooping neighbors, and when I deem the coast is clear, I pull myself up and over the top. Quickly, I unlatch it and usher Meg in.

She knows the drill. We're not new to sneaking a swim. I wink at her and her smile widens. I silently step out of my worn cut offs. She yanks her little sundress over her head. I know she wants to just jump in, but I give a quick shake of my head. Instead, we both use the stairs and push off into the water. It's nearly bathtub warm, but it's wet. Even more wet than the humid air around us.

Meg paddles around in the water while I lazily float on my back, sighing with contentment when the air hits my slick skin. So much better than sitting on the airless back stoop at home with rap music and arguments as a soundtrack. And onions. I swear someone near our house cooks onions every night. The scent of poverty.

This is a nice house. It has a wide front porch and the door is flanked by two slim columns. Nice yard, lots of greenery. There's the back patio with this pool and expensive looking furniture. As twilight deepens to full dark, I fantasize about what it would be like to live here. How nice it would be to sit on the porch with iced tea in a tall cold glass. Air conditioning running all the time. ALL the time. There would be a husband completely unlike my stepfather. He would make lots of money at a job he has to wear a tie to. He would be kind to me and our children. He would shower me with flowers and compliments. He would never yell, and never, ever raise a hand to me.

I would be able to retire my skill of covering bruises with make up and long sleeves.

With this husband I would be safe. Meg would be safe. He would prove that some men are truly good.

A trait I have remained unconvinced of for all of my fifteen years.

Three more years and I can leave. I will take Meg with me, of course. He may try to stop me. And that's when I will find a way to kill him.

I shake him physically out of my head.

I am floating in my pool with Meg, waiting for my husband and children to return with take-out for dinner. We will eat then cuddle in a mess of arms and legs to watch a movie.