by Emilia Finn
Mom accepts the fallen pictures when Smalls grabs them up from the floor. Evie peeks at them before she passes them, and Ben peeks over her shoulder. Every time someone looks, their eyes snap to me like they just can’t connect the two.
“The fuck?” Smalls whispers. “At Rhino’s?”
“Oh god. It is her.” Forgetting Kyle, and forgetting Mac, Daddy turns to me. For the first time in my life, he looks disappointed. “Tell me they aren’t real.”
“Daddy…” My lips quiver. “It’s just—”
“Tell me they aren’t real!” I jump back from his ear-splitting roar. “Tell me those pictures are photoshopped!”
“Daddy, please stop.” Tears flow freely over my cheeks, over my lips, off the edge of my chin. “It’s just dancing.”
“At a titty bar! My daughter is dancing at a fuckin’ titty bar?” He swings out so fast, I wonder if he’s going to hit me, but instead he grabs my arms and shakes. “My baby is dancing at a titty fucking bar, and you don’t think that’s not okay?”
“I don’t take my clothes off,” I cry. “It’s not the sa—”
“Baby?” Mom steps closer, shows me a picture of me on the pole. Wig on, tank top riding up from my sweat. “What the hell is this?” She shows me another, high heels, my first night at the club, with my hair and makeup normal. It’s just me, in high heels, booty shorts, and a sports bra.
“It’s just dancing, Mommy. I don’t do it anymore. I had a debt to repay, so I—”
“You bet on me?” Mac snaps. He’s like a feral dog, snarling and snapping teeth. “You bet on me, and I lost? You were dancing because of me?”
“You fuckin’ knew?” Daddy roars. “You knew she was dancing?”
“What? I—”
“You’re not surprised that she was dancing. Just that she was dancing because of a bet about you!”
“I knew she– I was watching to make sure—”
“You were watching?”
Daddy takes the cheap shot. Mac’s arms are being held by Uncle Bobby, so Daddy takes the shot and slams his fist into Mac’s jaw until it snaps around.
Since Soph is in the house, that means Checkmate is too. And Mac’s stepdad is Checkmate security.
Eric rushes through the crowd and stops in front of Mac as a shield, then Soph’s husband follows, and stands between the fighters.
“You don’t suckerpunch a kid who’s being held down!” Eric snarls.
“He watched my daughter whore herself!” Daddy roars. “He fucking watched her do it.”
“No, Daddy! I wasn’t a whore. I didn’t touch– nobody touched—” My heart feels like it might literally explode. “Daddy, I was only dancing. Nobody touched me.”
He spins so fast that he half knocks my mom over, only to snatch at the pile of photographs. He flicks through them, flings each one at my feet as he goes. It’s like a movie reel as each picture drops to the floor – my skin, my legs, me on a pole, me collecting cash. He stops on the one he wants, shoves it into my face, and almost makes me vomit.
It’s the man, the rich man in an expensive suit, holding my wrist and asking for time in private.
Daddy turns to Eric. “You have a daughter. You have two of them,” he adds. “Someday, when Lauren is old enough to date, I want you to tell me that it’s okay if the man you trust to take care of her watches her whore herself out. Come and tell me that that’s okay.”
“Jim, it’s–”
“You come and tell me that you’re not gonna hit him!” Daddy turns to me, letting his watery, chocolate-colored eyes bore into my soul. “I worked too fucking hard for you,” he growls. “I worked so fucking hard! I wanted you before you were even born, I wanted you and your mom more than I wanted to live. I was there when you were born, I was there to hold you every single fucking minute until you were old enough to walk.”
“Daddy, stop.” My vision turns blurry from the tears that sit in my eyes. “Please stop. It’s not as bad as you think.”
“I worked so hard to deserve you. And in payment, you do this?” He tosses the last picture. “You break my fucking heart!”
“It’s just dancing, Daddy! It’s. Just. Dancing!”
“And it’s just sex. It’s just your dignity. It’s just your fucking soul. You’re better than that! And I deserve more than that.”
“I didn’t realize I owed you thanks for taking in a bastard child.” My breath catches on a sob. My tears switch from a dribble to a downpour. My breathing from a hitch to the kind of sobs that make a person dizzy. “I had no clue that your love was conditional.”
“It’s not!” he shouts. “Don’t turn this on me like I’ve done something wrong.”
“You don’t ask Jamie those questions.” I point toward the staring crowd, to the younger boys – Rob, Luke, Bry. Jamie’s not among them when he so often is, but the sentiment remains the same. “He’s your blood, so you never question if he deserves your love. But I’m the bastard, huh?” I point to Ben. “I’m more him than I am you, and for that reason, I have to prove my worth?”
“No! That’s not what I—”
“It’s what you said, Daddy!”
“It’s not what I said!” he roars. “You deserve better than this bullshit. And you deserve better than a boy that’ll watch you whore yourself out for a few dollars.”
“You’d rather I have a possessive boyfriend, a guy that won’t let me think for myself, won’t let me out of his sight, who will control my world and make sure it all looks neat and tidy on the outside. But at home, behind closed doors, to get that blind obedience, he knocks me around a little?”
“No!”
“You want me to date a man just like my biological dad?”
“You’re putting words in my mouth! And you fucking know better. We raised you better!”
“You raised me well,” I acknowledge. “I had an amazing childhood, with amazing parents, and amazing family. I was raised on wonderful morals, and we always put our family first. But you know what else I was raised knowing?” I look to my mom. To my uncles. Back to Mac. Then to my dad. “I was raised to know that as women, we can make our own choices. I was raised to be strong, to be able to defend myself, to be able to make choices and follow them through. And I was raised with the belief that whatever I did, I would be loved, and not judged.”
“Yeah, well I’m judging the fuck out of this!” He grabs my arm again. Shakes. “I did not raise my daughter and nearly put myself in a grave from worry, just for you to put yourself in situations that could get you needlessly hurt.”
“You raised me to toe the line.” I lift a brow and step up to my daddy for the first time in my life.
Smalls was the one who always stepped up and argued with people. She was the loud one, and because she did that, I merely let her blaze those paths for me, and I followed in the newly carved lanes.
“You want me, but only if I can fit the mold you so desperately want me to sit in?”
“That’s not true! You can do anything you want, Bean. Anything! Except sell your fucking body. We’ve worked toward this.” He thrusts an arm around the room. “School, nursing, fighting. In that order. We’ve worked toward this, and you’re getting everything you wanted.”
“I don’t want to fight!” I shove him. With both hands on his chest, I shove him back so hard that Uncle Aiden has to slam a hand onto his shoulder to stop him. “You people assume I wanna fight. Because Smalls fights, you assume we all do. Because I’m good at it, you assume I wanna keep doing it. Because we’re a fight family, with a fight gym, and now our own fucking tournament, you assume I wanna do it. But you never ask! I don’t wanna fight, but in your head, spending hours a day training is time well spent. But one hour a day spent at the studio, ‘You should probably give that up, Bean. We have no time for that.’”
“Is that where you learned how to shake your ass for men?” He turns in search of Soph, only to come eye-to-eye with her husband’s dangerous glare.
Jay blocks Daddy’
s view of his wife, refuses him even the fastest glimpse.
“You go to the studio,” Daddy turns back to me, “you learn to shake your ass, then you sneak out at night to make cash your way. As, what? A way to slap at me? Is this your teenage rebellion?”
I take a step back and shake my head. “You’re clueless. Twenty-one years old, and you know nothing about me.”
“Bean!”
“You know what you want to know about me, or what you want me to be. But you have no clue about what actually makes me happy.”
“Family!” he snaps. “Family makes you happy.”
“That’s true.” I shove Kyle Baker back when he merely grins and watches our family implode. “I do love my family. I love you all so much that I’ve kept my mouth closed my whole damn life, because I don’t wanna rock the boat. And do you know why I don’t wanna rock the boat, Daddy?” I backtrack and face him. “Because I feel like I owe you all something that Jamie will never owe. I’m the add-on, the tagalong, so I make things smooth and hope you don’t notice me at the table, eating the food that you paid for. If you want me to fight, I fight, and I win, because maybe that’s a rewarding payoff for you after all of your hard work in raising the bastard child.”
“You’re wrong on so many fucking levels.” He snatches a picture from Mom and sends the rest falling to the floor. “This isn’t about fighting, and it’s not about dinnertime. This is about you doing something that is so beneath you, it disgusts me.”
My heart skips. Stops. Hurts me.
“It fuckin’ disgusts me, Bean. You broke my heart today.”
I nod. Back away. And press a hand to my chest. “I can relate. Because I feel pretty damn broken right now too.” I swipe a hand over my cheeks and wipe away my tears. And before I lose it all, before I completely fall apart, I cast a glance over my family. All of those Kincaids, all of that Kincaid blood that comes straight down from the first Bryan. He and my grandma Nelly created something beautiful and amazing. Something special that’ll last for the rest of time.
But I’m not one of them. I’ll never be one of them. Because I’m the bastard child, the result of a bad hookup between a young woman and an abusive man.
“I love you, Daddy. And I know I hurt you today.” I sniff to stop my nose from running. “But you hurt me too. You won’t listen to me, you refuse to understand me, you refuse to know me. And that’s my fault too, because you can’t know something if I never tell you.” I point at the pictures. Then I hook a thumb over my shoulder. “I made a bet on a fight. I lost my bet, and in payment, I had to dance at a club. I didn’t have sex with anybody, I didn’t let anyone touch me. No matter what you think right now, I have my dignity, I have my pride, and I love dance so much that my payment for that stupid bet was barely even a hardship. I didn’t take my clothes off. Not the important pieces.” I point to Smalls. “I was wearing exactly what she’s wearing now, but no one says a damn thing to her, because she’s a fighter.”
I stare into Daddy’s eyes. “I’m sorry I’m not what you ordered when you married a girl who already had a baby. I’m sorry I can’t be what you want.” I press a hand to my heart. “Most girls’ first broken hearts are because of stupid boys, but I’ve always been a little different, I suppose. It’s apt that you got to be the first to do that to me.”
I look to Smalls. “I’ll come back later and weigh in. Other than that, I want to be left the hell alone.” I turn back to Daddy. “Hit Mac again, and I’ll hit you back. He won’t hit you, because he respects you too much, and he loves me, which means he doesn’t want to upset his future father-in-law, but I’ve already dug my grave. I may as well step all the way into it. If you touch him, you and I will go a round. I was trained by the best.” I hate how my voice breaks. “I was trained by you. I might not win, but I’ll make it so you hurt tomorrow.”
I look to my mom. Break a little more when I find tears in her eyes. Then I turn to Kyle Baker. “I hate you. Stay away from me.”
I shove through the crowd with my head down low, and tears and snot streaming over my face. My car isn’t here, since we rode in Mac’s, so I run straight out to the parking lot and across the street.
Heavy footsteps follow me. Galloping, dancing footsteps that make my tears come heavier. Deck catches up to me easily, nearly trips me when he knocks his head against my thigh in silent solidarity. Together, we jog down Main Street, past Miss Dixie’s ice cream parlor, past the llama replacement statue, and through the intersection where the first Bryan Kincaid was struck by another car and killed.
This whole town is built on Kincaid memories. The Harts – my mom and her brother, my Uncle Jon – that’s where my blood comes from. And they were trailer trash at best, homeless and abused at worst.
I jog all the way to the train tracks outside town, then I slow to a walk. I’m wearing jeans and boots, not workout clothes, so I restrain myself before I create blisters and chafing and make next week’s fights that much harder.
A long time ago, my grandmother told us stories of her youth. The time she met her husband, then later, when she met the children – my mom and uncle. Grandma told us how Mom and Uncle Jon were essentially homeless, but when they needed shelter and had nowhere else to go, when they didn’t or couldn’t go to the Kincaids’ house, they had a fort in the forest.
Being curious by nature, Smalls and I set out on an expedition in search of the fort. With a general idea of where it could be, we left on an adventure that took three solid weekends of hunting. In the middle of the overgrown forest, amongst fallen trees, and boulders that somehow looked like they’d grown out of the ground, we found the place; we found the faded beanbag that, rumor has it, Uncle Jon slept on, and on his chest, he held my toddler mom. That was their youth, that was their safe haven while they hid from their parents.
I enter the forest near the hospital side of town, and make my way through the trees. It’s easy enough, since the clouds are sparse today, and the sun is throwing down enough UV for me to catch a tan. Deck follows close behind me. He trusts me not to lead us to our death, but each time my tears restart, and I stumble from being blind, he catches me, steadies me, and we continue on.
It takes thirty minutes to get from the gym to here, but eventually the trees make way for the small clearing. The fort is an old, wooden structure, clearly built by a bunch of kids who were fighters, not engineers. Maybe that’s why my daddy… uh… well, Jimmy Kincaid grew up to be a builder. Maybe he saw that gap in the family, that need, so that’s where he applied himself when he wasn’t fighting. That’s who he is, isn’t it? The fixer. The patchwork guy.
I step over logs, and duck under low-hanging branches, and when I’m close enough to touch, I gently run my hand over the wood, careful not to get a splinter. Deck sniffs around, now that he knows this is where we’re stopping. He dances his way to the outer edge of the clearing, pees on a tree. Then he moves six feet to the left and marks the next.
He’s creating a perimeter. He’s marking our spot, warning predators away, and protecting me.
The little door on the fort is merely a blanket hanging from rusted nails. The blanket is so old that it becomes dust under my fingers as I carefully push it aside so I can peek into the dark box. My hair falls over my shoulder as I fold in half. Part of me expects a wild animal to jump out of the fort, to latch itself to my face and kill me as painfully as my imagination can think up.
Nothing stirs.
When I have the blanket pushed to the side, I crouch down and duck-walk inside. The beanbag is still here, still faded. But when I lift it off the ground and peek at the bottom, the yellow fabric remains. It’s dulled, but it’s there.
Sunshine. It’s why Uncle Jon calls his wife – my Aunt Tink – his Sunshine. She casts light on his world, when everything else seems so dreary and dull.
I cast my mind back to my grandmother’s living room, to the stories she told. To the additions to the story Uncle Jon made – how he hung out on the beanbag so often that his spine
is probably permanently arched in the wrong direction. He spoke of how my mom played in the dirt outside. She was a toddler, then a small child. She was best friends with Daddy already. Destined to be his eventually. But not for a long time, not until they had their share of heartbreak, and she was impregnated by the wrong man.
Jimmy had dibs since she was a child, but the universe wanted to fuck with them first.
That’s me. I’m the universe’s middle finger to the man that raised me.
I drop to my knees in front of the beanbag, take a look around the fort. Smalls and I left most of it alone over the years. We wanted to see, but we left it alone, like it was a shrine, a time capsule of sorts. Today, I slowly work my way onto the beanbag, careful not to pop the delicate fabric. And when I’m in, I catch sight of a stack of books in the corner. The pages are yellowed, the covers wrinkled and stiff. I reach out and grab a copy of the Famous Five, and though the pages crinkle as I open them, they’re still fine. Preserved after twenty years of not being touched.
My being here, my actions today, is this a type of history repeating itself? Or is it history rhyming on itself? Is it neither, and I’m only here because this is the path I chose? My attempt at finding the family I actually belong to.
I’ve always been made to feel like I’m a Kincaid, and my words today were unfair. But still, the feelings have to have been inside me somehow. Even the smallest lingering, tingling in my blood.
By my logic, Smalls doesn’t belong either, but she’s always been so loud, so outspoken, that she demanded her place at the table, and she accepted nothing less than a stone-etched invitation.
I flip through the pages of the old book – Treasure Island, with the little dog, Timmy. The friends that consider themselves family. I swipe away errant tears as they fall, and concentrate on leveling my breathing. And though I can manage it for a couple minutes at a time as I sink into the adventures of the Famous Five, something invariably sends my mind shooting back to my gym. To my family watching me make an idiot of myself.