Kick (Songs of Perdition #1)(23)
Author: C.D. Reiss

“What does the press want?”

“They want you turning on a spit.”

“Take the plea.”

“As your attorney, I wouldn’t advise it.”

I shrugged. “I’d rather not have this over my head. Or have Deacon change his mind after I see him and beg forgiveness. Just take it and be done. A little community service won’t kill me.”

“As your sister, I approve.”

I sneered at her playfully, and she hid her smile.

***

The garland and lights were gone from the visiting room, as if Christmas had been mentioned once and wiped away. Mom paced in front of the window, a wisp of a thing with a bent neck, tapping her finger on her chin.

“Hi, Mom.”

When she faced me, I knew she wasn’t there to join me for the therapist’s recommendation. Her eyes were on fire, her jaw set. She sat down like it was her job.

“What’s happening?” I asked.

“How are you?”

“I’m f—”

“Did your father ever touch you?”

“Mom!”

“Answer me!” She slammed her palm on the table.

I held my hands up and sat back. It was too much. I needed time to think, to talk to people. To breathe, for Chrissakes.

“Fiona, tell me. I’ll protect you. I’ll put myself between you and anything. But just tell me. Did he ever touch you in a way that made you uncomfortable?”

“No, Mom. He never touched me inappropriately.”

“Your sisters?”

“Why now? I’m twenty-three years old. What happened?”

She sighed then pursed her lips, a series of facial tics that meant she was holding in an emotion, any emotion. I said nothing. My heart was pounding too fast.

“There’s talk that he’d had a relationship with the girl who just died.”

“Jonathan’s girlfriend?”

“Previous to that, when she was a bit younger, but yes. Your brother didn’t know until recently, and he’s not happy with it. So.” She sat up straighter. “Did he ever touch one of your sisters?”

I wished for time, and my wish was not granted. The clock still moved. Things had been said in pledge. We’d held our hands up and made promises, and though I’d broken plenty of promises in life, I’d never broken pledge. None of us had. We had a code of silence, and inside of it sat our denials, our shame, our bonds.

“I can’t say,” I said. “Not directly.”

Mom’s face melted, constricting, as if her tears shrunk and crinkled it. I snapped up the ubiquitous box of tissues and put it in front of her.

“So it’s true,” she spit out before the sob choked her.

“It’s complicated, Mom. It’s not what you think, but I can’t say. It’s not my place.”

“You think you’re protecting someone, but have you thought that the way you all are… that you hurt each other with this wall you put up?”

“Yeah, I’ve thought about it.”

“What are you all afraid of?”

Afraid? I wasn’t afraid of being cut off from their money. I had more than I needed, and it couldn’t be touched. I wasn’t afraid of being cut off from my siblings, because we were strung together with strong twine.

I was afraid of Dad.

Dad had a way of making things happen. He had a way of using his relationships and his money to create chaos or order, as he saw fit.

But Mom was in distress, and how much worse could it all get? I was already up a creek; what would be the difference if I threw my paddle in the rushing billows of shit?

“You should talk to Carrie,” I said, instantly regretting it, yet feeling the release of something I hadn’t realized I was holding so close.

“It was Carrie?” she squeaked.

“Talk to her.”

She wiped her eyes, but her tears barely abated. “God damn that big house.” She folded and refolded the tissue. “God damn the corners. You can’t see what’s happening. You can’t hear. We avoid each other. Did you see how that happened? How we went to the far corners?”

“There were eight kids, Mom. You needed a big house. What were you supposed to do?”

“Pay attention. I was supposed to pay attention!”

Mom looked up and behind me. I followed her gaze.

Margie stood in the doorway. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” I said. “Mom thinks I’m a disappointment and a failure.” I may have been ready to break pledge, but I wasn’t ready to get busted for it. “Let’s get this done. You’re buying me dinner at Roberto’s. I’m hungry, and I need a drink.”

“You’re too young to need a drink,” Margie said, getting out of the way of the exit.

“Well, I need something.”

“How about a job?” she replied, putting her arm around Mom.

I stuck my tongue out at her.

sixteen.

We waited.

On the hard, squared-off modern couch in the common room, we waited. I imagined Elliot typing, his middle finger rubbing his upper lip. I waited for Mom to come back from the parking lot and throttle me into saying what I knew, which was nothing. I swear, I knew nothing except that Carrie had talked to Deirdre and Sheila about something in pledge. That was it. Nothing I could build a case on.

I shook a little. I was getting out. The press was out to skewer me and possibly my brother. My little coterie of fuckbuddies and hangers-on were going to steer clear of me and the media attention I dragged behind me. My relationship with Deacon was in a sick holding pattern. Amanda was still dead. I’d broken, or at least fractured, a lifelong bond of trust between me and my sisters and brother.

A little community service would go a long way to distracting me.

Bored, yet jumpy and upset, I went into the cafeteria. Dinner was starting. The staff placed trays of deluxe meals into the steam trays. I’d never see them again, those chattering people in hair nets, and I hadn’t even gotten to know their names. I said good-bye in my mind to the cafeteria, the patio, the holes in the camera matrix. I said so long to the grey painted over everything, the flat lighting, the sterile corners. Karen came in, all unkind angles and protruding bones. I excused myself from Margie, who waved me off, and stood next to Karen as she plopped her journal on the tray.

“Hey,” I said. “I’m getting my recommendation in, like, twenty minutes, then I’m outtie.”

“It was good to see you again,” she said flatly.