Puppet (8 page)

“Jed isn’t exactly the noble type,” I say lightly, glancing in James’s direction. 

He snorts.  “I know.  I should probably be used to it by now, shouldn’t I?”

I smile and continue to watch the road.  “I’m sorry,” I eventually say.  “About your mom – never really being able to know her.”  James sends me a small smile.  “I know what it feels like,” I go on.  “Especially when people pity you and you aren’t sure what to say.”  I think back to the sympathetic glances I would get at the orphanage.  “Because it’s not so much that you lost it...It’s that other feeling – the loss of something that could have been wonderful.”

James nods and we sit in silence for a few moments.  He eventually looks away from me and out the window.   

“So,” I add after a pause.  “James Peregrine Orville,” I say, trying to lighten the mood, giggling when James shoots me an irritated look.  “Now you know how it feels when Jed insists on calling me Penelope.” 

James makes a face and shakes his head.  “Penelope’s a pretty name.”

I snort.  “Are you kidding?  It’s terrible.” 

“Well what’s a name you do like?”

I frown.  “Why?”

“So that can be your middle name.  You can pick one.”  He smiles.

I grin, considering the idea.  Something elegant and pretty; very much unlike my own.  “Well, it has to go well in between Penelope and Trump,” I tell James somewhat sadly. 

“What about Lisette?” he asks.

I shake my head.  “It sounds weird.”  I pause in thought.  “There was a girl at the orphanage named Lillian and I was always jealous of her name, but it wouldn’t sound right with Penelope...”

James shrugs.  “How about Rose?”

I bite my lip.  “Penelope Rose...”  I cock my head.  “It’s pretty, I guess.” 

James watches me.  “But you don’t like it?”

I shrug.  “Maybe.”

We sit in silence for a moment and I can hear James tapping his fingers against the dashboard.  “How about Penelope Mae?” he finally asks.

“Mae?”

He nods.  “It’s simple but I think it sounds nice.” 

“Penelope Mae.”  I tap my fingers on the steering wheel in time with the syllables.  “Penelope Mae Trump.”  I laugh.  “I still hate Trump.”

James grins.  “But you like Mae?”

I smile and nod. 

“Well then, now you have a middle name,” James states triumphantly.   

I laugh.  “And what about your middle name?  Ever think about changing it?”

James shakes his head, as a slightly disgusted expression crosses his face.  “Unfortunately, I’m afraid Dad would be offended,” he tells me.  “He takes pride in basically anything and everything he does, including my name.” 

“Well, James Peregrine it is then,” I say with an impish grin. 

He sighs and shakes his head.  We drive along in silence for awhile before James tells me to turn around and we’re headed slowly back towards the house.  The moon is hidden by a mass of clouds so James tells me to slow down and I do, trying to see beyond the small range of the headlights. 

“Pen?” he asks after awhile.

“Yeah?”  I’m leaning forward in my seat, trying to find a familiar landmark or house to tell how far away we are.  So far, it’s too dark to successfully distinguish anything.   

“Has anyone ever told you you’re beautiful?” 

I frown and my foot comes off the pedal for a moment as the words try to make sense in my mind, piecing themselves together into something I don’t really understand.  “What?” I ask, startled. 

“Well, you grew up in an orphanage without parents, so I just wondered.” 

“Um...” I trail off, thoroughly lost in the conversation.  “I guess not,” I say quickly, a little dazed to find that as the words slip easily from my throat, it’s true. 

James pauses.  “Well, you are.” 

I feel my eyebrows arch upward in surprise and I turn to see that he’s watching me, his blue eyes ebony in the dark.  I give him a confused look and am just about to open my mouth and ask him why he brought this up when James looks past me and his eyes widen.  “Pen!” he shouts.           

I turn around just in time to see some large deer-like animal darting across the road a few feet in front of us.  I turn sharply, feeling the animal hit the front of the car as we swerve off the road, making a dent in James’s door.  I hit the brake pedal and scream as the car starts rolling, making crunching noises and bending like plastic.  My seatbelt tightens as the car spins over on its top, dangling me above what should be the ceiling.  The vehicle skids to a stop and I stare down at the window, breathing hard, my cross dangling downwards, closer to my face than my chest. 

“James?” I ask, my voice wavering.  There’s no response.  “James!” 

“I’m fine,” I hear him say.  “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, can you get out?”  I begin fiddling with my seatbelt, trying to unlock it, but it seems to be jammed.  I tug it a few times and then smash the button, falling to the bottom of the car with a yelp.  I look up, but it’s too dark to see anything; the hood is crushed in and I can barely make out James’s figure. 

“My seatbelt’s not working,” he tells me. 

I feel around for the door handle, but I feel completely reversed.  I’m sitting on something cold and it takes me a minute to realize its glass from the windshield.  Something touches my hair and I gasp before realizing it’s only the dangling seatbelt.  I can hear James wrestling with his own, so I look harder for the handle, finally finding it and pushing the door open. 

I tumble out onto the grass, wincing as cuts on my arms come to life with their stinging.  I hurry around to James’s side of the car and my heart sinks as I see that most of his door has been crushed shut.  I kneel down beside it, adrenaline racing through my system.

“James?” I call, pulling at the handle, but to no avail.  I let out a frustrated sigh and yank on it, pulling it from its place, leaving the door still slammed in.  I toss the handle away and search for another opening.  The window already looks cracked.

“James?” I say.  “I’m gonna break the window.”

I hear him answer, but I can’t quite make out his words.  I hit the window gently, trying not to make the glass shatter and after a few attempts, I slam my fist against the glass, wincing as I feel the shards penetrate my skin.  I grip the inside of the window and pull, glad for once that Jed made me a marionette.  The metal groans as I pull with all my might, whimpering slightly as it digs into my palms, feeling warm, sticky blood slide down my arms.  I can see James inside the car; somehow he’s gotten out of his seatbelt and is trying to help me open the door.  I’ve only made the gap a little wider, so I start to push away the fragments of glass around the edges while James begins to pull himself through.  I grab his hands and pull and he crawls out onto the grass.

“Are you okay?” I ask desperately; it’s too dark to see if he’s hurt or not.  I can barely make out his nod.  Just then he looks down and I notice one of my hands is still clasped in his.  I begin to pull away but he doesn’t let go.

“Is this blood?” he asks quietly.  Now that I look closer I notice it’s all over his hands as well, although it looks black in the dark. 

“It’s just from the door,” I tell him.  I can tell he’s frowning. 

“We need to get back,” he says, getting up and pulling me with him. 

I stare at the crumpled car, barely recognizable in the darkness.  “I’m sorry,” I say quietly. 

James shakes his head.  “It’s alright.  It wouldn’t have made any difference if I had been driving.” 

I want to open my mouth and protest; to say that he’d have been watching the road better, but I can tell he’s tired and hurt and he’d only argue with me.

We make our way back to the house in the dark, trying not to stumble over potholes.  I have no idea where we’re going but James seems to know the way and we arrive back much sooner than I had expected.

“Jed must’ve noticed we’re gone,” I say, pointing to the lighted windows. 

James is silent while we walk up the front steps and into the entryway.  I’m frustrated with myself because I’m afraid that James is angry with me. 

I blink a few times as my eyes adjust to the light and I hear Jed hurrying down the stairs. 

“James!  Penelope!” he cries.  “Where have you been?”  Suddenly Jed skids to a stop a few feet from us and his eyes widen in shock as he brings a hand to his mouth.  I turn around quickly, wondering if James is more hurt than I realized but as I look him up and down I notice that he’s watching me.  Just then I see the cut on his forehead, deep and red, and my eyes widen. 

“Your head,” I say quietly, reaching upwards but then I stop as I catch sight of my arm.  Covered in blood.  More blood than I had realized.  I frown, bringing my arm back down and staring at both of them.  Long gashes cover each palm and dried blood lines my arms and part of my torso.

Suddenly Jed scurries away with surprising speed.  “Get her in the bathroom,” he orders James as he flees the room.  James holds my elbow and hauls me upstairs to the bathroom as if he’s afraid I might fall over. 

“I’m going to be okay, really,” I tell him, realizing it must be true if I can say it.  “Jed’s...”
overreacting.
  I keep forgetting that I can’t even utter unintentional lies. 

James flicks on the light and pulls me into the bathroom, turning on the water and placing my hands in the sink.  I wince as the cold makes my cuts sting, but I bite my lip to keep from saying anything.  James begins rubbing away the blood on my arms and it begins to disappear, revealing healthy skin underneath.

“See?” I tell him.  “It’s all from my hands, I’m really going to be fine.” 

“What are these from?” he asks, leaning down to inspect the long, deep gashes.  He rubs his thumb along my hand, rinsing off the blood and all the red swirling around in the drain is beginning to make me feel queasy. 

Just then Jed bursts into the room with medical tape and bottles and ointments.  James moves out of the way as Jed comes forward and begins to clean my hands.  I take a sharp intake of breath and wince as he rinses out the cuts.

“How did you get these?” Jed mirrors James’s question. 

“We were driving the car,” James replies for me.  “We got in a wreck.” 

“It wasn’t James’s fault,” I jump in.  “I was driving.”

“James!”  Jed turns to glare at him.

“No!  I made him teach me.  Don’t be mad at him.” 

Jed sighs and continues to clean my hands.

“But how did you get those?” James asks again.  “The steering wheel?” 

I send him a puzzled look.  Didn’t he know?  “From the door,” I tell him.  “When I was trying to get you out.” 

James looks slightly horrified.  “What were you doing?”

I’m startled by his tone.  “The door was smashed in and the handle didn’t work so I broke the window, you remember don’t you?”  James nods.  “Well I was afraid you wouldn’t fit so I was trying to pull it open by the edge of the window.” 

Jed stops cleaning my hands for a moment to stare at me.  “Wait, you
pried
open the door?” he snaps.  “With your hands?” 

I frown. 
No!
I try to say.  I grit my teeth together.  “I mean...I don’t know...I couldn’t get it open, but I bent it enough for James to get out.”

Jed pauses for a moment before grabbing a bottle of something thick and clear and generously applying it to my palms.  It’s sticky and it stings.  “I had no idea you were capable of something like that.”  I can’t pinpoint the expression in his voice.  Surprise, pride, fear?

Jed grabs the medical tape and begins wrapping it around each of my palms and when he’s done he turns to attend to James’s cut.  I stand there for a moment before deciding that I should go but before I leave the room, Jed stops me.  “Penelope?” he calls.

I turn, ready for him to yell at me and punish me for taking the car against his will and hurting both James and me.  I stare into his eyes sadly, but to my surprise he doesn’t look angry. 

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he says gruffly, although I sense the relief filling his voice and it sends a spark of shock through me.

I stand there for a moment before leaving the room; surprised.  It would almost be better if he did yell at me.  Scream at me for ruining his car and putting James in danger.  But the fear I had seen in his eyes is slowly beginning to make sense.  Fear for our lives.  Not just James’s, but mine as well.  And his fear and worry and vulnerability make me feel worse than any punishment he could give me.  But I can’t help but feel just a little bit happy.  He cared.  About me. 

I hurry into my room, shutting the door and peeling off my bloodstained shirt, dumping it on the floor.  I grab some pajamas and quickly change into them, still feeling as if blood is caked to my arms.  I want to take a shower but Jed and James are still in the bathroom.  I pick at my fingernails, seeing dark, red stains at their tips.  The bandages are already changing color; pink as the blood becomes visible through layers of gauze.

I lie down on my bed and stare up at the ceiling, running over all the possible apologies and things I’ll say to Jed and James.  But I don’t get a chance to get up and find them before I slowly fall asleep.               

12

––––––––

I
wake up the next morning and get dressed, dreading the minute I walk into the kitchen; Jed’s glares, James’s silence.  But as I slowly head down the stairs, hesitating at every step, I can hear their voices in the kitchen; normal sounding.  Talking about breakfast and how they slept the night before.  But right before I’m about to walk in I hear different conversation start up.

“...You’re not even remotely interested...” Jed’s voice floats through the door.

There’s a pause before I hear James’s sigh and fragmented words follow.  “...never thought any of it was right.  Mom didn’t either.” 

There’s a long silence before I deduct that their conversation is over and I reluctantly walk in.  They both look up upon my approach and greet me as I stride through the door, their demeanors both normal. 

Jed lays down a tray of scrambled eggs like he does every morning and we all sit down, James and Jed going on about some new theory of his and how he wants to try it out on the cat.  Poor Clemetice.  It’s probably the only reason he got the animal in the first place.  Just like me.