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“When did you find out?”
He looks at me, and I can see the answer on his face before he says it. He points to my laptop and says, “That was the moment I found out. Right there. Right then.”
Poppy
June 4, 1975
The knife is an eight-inch butcher knife with a steel blade and a black handle. It’s always lived in our kitchen; our mother uses it to chop vegetables, to separate ribs when she makes them for dinner, and our father sharpens it every six months, dragging it across a whetstone, sayinga dull knife is much more dangerous than a sharp one. When it’s my turn to wash dishes, I always hold it for a second, letting the weight of it settle into my bones, imagining how easily it could slice through my palm with one careless slip.
But tonight it’s Vince’s turn at the sink. Danny stands alongside him, tasked with drying. I’d offered to do it instead, but Danny had declined. A week ago I’d seen them almost kill each other. Now Danny seems to be deliberately stepping into Vince’s space every chance he gets. Goading him with his presence.
For five nights now, Vince has refused to sleep in their room, insteadchoosing the floor in mine. He’s also refused to tell me what the fight was about, though it was easy enough to piece it together.It’s common knowledge that the guy who takes a girl to get an abortion is usually the father.Danny’s taunting voice floating through the wall. And then bodies slamming into each other. Into the walls. The floor. The crash of a lamp as it fell, and their fight tumbled into the hallway.
I’d filmed it, not for any purpose other than because it felt important. The breaking of a final thread between them. Vince swears he’ll sleep in my room until Danny leaves for college in a year. The only thing I know for certain is that this house isn’t big enough for the both of them any longer.
Danny shifts his weight so that his right side is now touching Vince. I wish I was bold enough to go over there and separate them, the way Mrs. Stadler used to do to unruly boys in the lunch line when I was in the fourth grade. But intervention would only make things worse for me. And I don’t want to get anywhere near either of them.
As Vince dips the knife into the soapy water, I see Danny grab his arm as if to steady it, but really, I know it was to jostle him. To see if he can get Vince to drop the knife. Vince pulls back sharply, holding his hand up, blood blooming on his palm.
“Whoops,” Danny says with a grin.
“You fucking cut me.”
This is the way things have been with Danny lately. His jokes now have a mean edge to them. They’re easy to smile away when adults are around, but when they aren’t, his eyes will glitter with malice as he brushes off our feelings.
Toughen up.
Don’t take things so seriously.
What did you think I was going to do to you?
Understanding creeps over me. Up until now, I’ve been the nosy little sister, spying on Vince. Waiting with my camera to catch him doingsomething wrong. But that’s not what a filmmaker would do. A filmmaker would capture the entire story, from all perspectives. There are other players—Lydia. Danny. Mr. Stewart. And now I have a roll of film that can also record their words.
“Don’t be such a wimp,” Danny says.
“Don’t mess with the guy holding the knife,” Vince replies, putting his hand under the running water.
I glance toward the living room, to see where our parents are in case I need to call for help. I’m afraid to move though. Afraid to draw attention to myself.
“Tough guy,” Danny says, swatting Vincent with the dish towel. “I heard your girlfriend likes it rough.”
“Shut up,” Vincent says.
“Lydia,” Danny says, as if tasting the name in his mouth.
In one smooth motion, Vince turns on him, the knife still in his hand just an inch from Danny’s chest, and I imagine what it might feel like to hold that power, for just a moment.
Danny looks down at the tip of the blade, trembling in Vince’s hand, an amused expression on his face. “If you’re going to pull a knife on me, you’d better be ready to use it.”
He tosses the dish towel on the counter and walks out, leaving Vince staring after him, the hot water still running into the sink, a cloud of steam fogging the window behind it.
Chapter 29
It’s common knowledge that the guy who takes a girl to get an abortion is usually the father.That’s what my father told me Danny had whispered to him, while Joni Mitchell played in the background. The words that had launched him at his older brother. That had them careening in a tangled mess of limbs and half-landed punches into the hallway. That had been the moment Poppy had captured on film—either intentionally or not. Her diary entry:May 30: Vince/Danny fight. Did he learn the truth??? Everything feels different now. May #4, Clip #9
I’d asked my father who took my mother for the abortion, but that part seems lost to him as well.
I’ve spent the last three days revising the chapter about the fight, inserting my father’s perspective, and I finally feel the intoxicating momentum of a book underway, moving toward a completed draft. I’ve also spent time going through the transcripts of my conversations with my father and the notes I wrote after talking with Mark and Margot. I’ve watched Poppy’s movies so many times I’ve got them memorized.