Blaine Sativa grows up in a family of hysteria. Her mother, a bitter woman who raised her in the remote woods of Colorado, dies shortly after Blaine's older brother Clarke is institutionalized. That fateful day after losing her family, Blaine lives...
Keeping the family together was always a priority for the Sativa's. Even in spite of how dysfunctional Blaine's siblings could be. Arguments were always set aside for the drive across state to Grandpa Albert's cabin. She can't remember them ever missing a holiday.
Regardless of festivities, every gathering remained the same apart from decorations. Grandpa wouldn't let anyone else prepare a meal, even Blaine's capable Mother, and spaghetti was his staple. Thanksgiving turkey was the only exception to the rule.
A particular Easter Sunday is unforgettable. She was thirteen, going on fourteen, and had an attitude the size of Jupiter that day. The drive lasts four hours. Blaine complains the whole way she doesn't want to eat another plate of spaghetti. Since she's the youngest she knows she'll be sacrificed for the egg hunt while her brother and sister watch her humiliate herself.
This was her throwing knives phase. Mom scolds quickly telling her she can't bring weapons to dinner. While they walk to the front porch Blaine pretends to put her kit in the glove box before sneaking it into her hoodie pocket.
She eventually enters the cabin on her own, hands stuffed in her pockets to hold the knives where she hid them. Grandpa Albert is particular about cleanliness. She wipes her shoes on the placemat then kicks them off. Grandpa's row of slippers are odd mingled with Clark's red sneakers and Tina's high heeled boots.
Albert's quirks extend beyond his slipper collection. In the front room is a Grandfather clock towering so high it dwarfs Blaine in comparison. The wall facing the staircase is decorated by an array of cuckoo cuckoo clocks with plastic birds that pop out then chirp hour by hour. And a stuffed Mountain Goat hangs over the dining room table. No matter which chair Blaine chooses the beady black eyes bore into her soul.
Her family is always the last to arrive. Grandpa is polite, never accusing of them being late, even if that's what they are mostly. Uncle Herbert, cousin Vivian, and Aunt Marg are already seated at the table. Spaghetti still steaming from the pan is center with a loaf of bread and salad. An unbroken pattern.
Biting back another complaint, Blaine takes her seat at the far end across from Tina. A prayer is exchanged before the food is passed around. Grandpa makes idle conversation about changing his office into a library. Everyone seems interested by his babbling. Blaine just picks through her meager serving waiting to be dismissed.
"So Blaine..."
She's so far off in her own world she hardly notices. In fact, she probably wouldn't have if Tina hadn't kicked her leg under the table.
Jerking up straight in her chair she glances around to see who's addressed her. "What?"
Aunt Marg uses her napkin to dab at the corners of her lips before repeating her question. "Albert and Herbert have been painting eggs all day. You're hunting out back for them, yes?"
Another kick from under the table. This one bruising her shin and supplied by her cousin. She's fourteen, next in line if Blaine refuses. Oddly she's a little intimated by Viv. She wears thick necklaces with spikes and her lipstick is as crimson as blood.
"Maybe later." Blaine replies meekly before smiling, likely looking more constipated than overjoyed. At least her family accepts her agreement despite a lack of enthusiasm.
Grandpa and Uncle starting talking about their egg painting seeming proud of themselves. Meanwhile Aunt Marg adjusts her gaudy barrette. She keeps her hair in a dramatic up-do wide as a beehive.
Tina finishes her meal first, she'd only had a salad, and once her sister rinses her plate at the sink Blaine joins her. Tina's been suspiciously quiet today. Usually she's the life of the party.
"You alright sis?" Blaine watches as the uneaten spaghetti sauce spirals red down the drain.
"Me?" She seems surprised by the question but her raven hair falls over her eyes in a curtain that masks her expression. "I'm fine. Little worried about Clark though."
"What about Clark?"
Finally she tucks her hair behind her ear, sighing. "He's getting beat up at school and won't tell anyone about it so he can get help."
"But he plays football. He could take on just about anybody!"
Her sisters hands clench into fists before she twists the faucet knob forcefully. "That's why I'm worried. I think he likes it."
Before she can voice her concerns Tina walks out the back door. Blaine follows, determinedly, marching across the lawn and hiding with her behind a grove of pine trees. She pesters Tina with questions but she lights a cigarette and smokes stoically.
Resigned, she takes her knife kit out of her pocket to practice her throwing skills. She isn't very good only managing to hit the tree once. The rest of her attempts ricochet off the grass.
"Blaine! Tina!" Clark's echoing voice breaks their trance of silence. "Whole fam is headed out for the egg hunt. You've been warned!"
Blaine can't help but roll her eyes. Being the youngest sucks. Not only is she forced into things she doesn't want to do but her elder siblings won't share their secrets. It isn't fair. They never listen and she's practically invisible anymore.
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There's at least a positive of being thirteen searching for painted eggs. The hiding places seem more obvious now. Blaine has a full basket in fifteen minutes. While she's walking back to the porch, where the adults sip wine, Tina sneaks behind her breaking one of the eggs over her head.
"Got you!" Tina laughs hysterically as yolk drips from Blaine's hair onto her face.
"You're so dead!"
Yolk splatters the sidewalk like yellow paint as the sisters toss eggs back and forth. Once the war is over Blaine is a sticky mess but Tina skates by with only a dark smear on her jeans. She isn't mad about the game, or that she smells, because the redundant evening revives.
She retreats inside to wash her hair. Her baby-blue sweater resembles a splattering of baby vomit no matter how much she scrubs. While searching for more eggs in the fridge Blaine notices Clark in the living room.
His hair is fairer than hers. Almost white. She can see his head peeking from over the couch. Remembering her earlier conversation with Tina she joins him silently hoping he'll confide to her about his fights at school.
"Hey Clark." He doesn't move. So she sits next to him setting the carton of eggs between them. "What you up to?"
Insanity isn't a loud chaotic thing. It isn't made obvious by shouting or hysterical pleas for help. Often it's suffered in silence veiled in normalacy. Like someone peeling off their actual face and revealing a Halloween mask underneath instead of the other way around.
Prior to the egg hunt she'd given him her knife kit to keep safe. Now he carves the tip of the blade into Grandpa's wood floor. Two words permanent there and in her memory. Help me.
Speechless, she rests her head on his shoulder. Trying not to cry as her throat constricts like a boa. With his own tears glinting in his eyes her big brother notches his chin against the crown of her head.
"Don't tell anyone." His voice is so broken her heart topples from her chest.
"I won't." She mutters harshly.
For years she doesn't. She helped him cover the vandalism with a bearskin rug. Blaine kept Clark's secret even after his madness worsened. Looking back now she wonders if she could have saved him, perhaps her sister too, if she'd only had the nerve to speak up once.
