by Kai Juniper
"Where would you like to go?"
Setting the bread down, I look at him with suspicion, thinking this must be a trick question. He never asks what I want. Even when I was a kid, he'd never ask. At Christmas, I wasn't allowed to see Santa or tell my parents what I wanted. I got what they thought was best for me. My wants and desires didn't matter.
"I don't understand," I say. "You're letting me choose?"
"Within reason. I'm not going to agree to one of those fast-food hamburger places, but I'm willing to consider other options."
"What about a sports bar?"
He pauses to consider it. "One of our clients recently invested in an English-style pub that's similar to what you'd called a sports bar. Making an appearance there could actually prove worthwhile for our business relationship, so yes, we'll go there."
"Then I don't need to change?" I ask, pointing to my jeans and polo shirt.
"I suppose not." He looks down at his suit. "Perhaps I'll put on something more casual. I'll go change. Meet me in the car."
I go out to his silver Bentley and get in the passenger seat. As I'm waiting, I flip through messages on my phone. I swipe past Ella's, then go back, noticing she sent me a text.
We need to do the next assignment. Or I could do it alone so we don't have to meet.
She doesn't want us to do it together? Is it because of how I treated her today, or because she thinks if we meet we'll end up doing things we shouldn't?
Friday night at seven, I text back. I told Parker I'd go to a party that night, but I wouldn't go until later, leaving me time to meet with Ella.
Can't, she texts back. I'm busy.
Doing what? I know she's lying. She never goes out on Friday night.
I have a date. How about Sunday after 4?
She has a date? With who?
Why is she going on a date when she and I just started something?
Sunday doesn't work, I text. I'm actually free on Sunday, but I'd rather meet Friday, and yeah, it may be selfish of me to make her cancel her date, but it's for her own good. She doesn't need to be getting sidetracked with some guy when we're dealing with so much shit right now. Needs to be Friday.
I'll just do it myself. You can do the next one.
Is she serious? She's choosing to go on a date over doing our assignment? I throw my phone on the driver's seat, so hard it bounces and hits the door.
Why does this make me so angry? Ella can do what she wants, and if she's offering to do the assignment herself, it'll free up my time for other things. I should be happy about that, so why am I feeling like I want to punch something?
Chapter Eleven
Briggs
"What is this doing here?" my dad asks, taking my phone off his seat as he gets in the car.
"I dropped it." I take the phone from him.
"We can't be gone long," he says, backing out of the garage. "I have work to do when we get home."
That's fine with me. The less time I spend with him, the better. Why we're even doing this concerns me. There has to be a reason for this dinner, and what that reason is, I'd rather not know.
The English pub he takes me to is nothing like the sports bar I was imagining when I suggested it. There isn't a single TV, and everyone there is old, even older than my dad. The lights are dimmed and the dark mahogany walls make the place seem even darker. There's music playing, but it's so low you can barely hear it.
The old men at the bar glance at us as we walk in. They're all wearing tweed sport coats similar to the one my dad has on. His version of casual clothes is a pair of dress pants with a button-up shirt and a sports coat.
"What do you think?" my father asks after the hostess seats us at a table.
"It's different," I say, looking around the place.
"It's what you wanted," my father says, picking up the drink menu. "I would've expected you'd show more enthusiasm and appreciation. You know places like these make me uncomfortable."
This place isn't that different from the bar at the country club. My dad just doesn't like it because it's my choice and not his, even though it actually is his choice. If I'd known this is where we were going, I would've picked somewhere else. I'd rather eat at the club than here. At least at the club there'd be people my age.
The waiter arrives and I order the fish and chips. My dad orders a steak and a glass of scotch, then we sit there in uncomfortable silence.
My dad's drink arrives and he takes a sip, then sets it down. "How are your classes going?"
"Good." I pick up my soda and take a long, slow drink, hoping that'll keep him from asking me another question.
"Have you inquired about doing extra credit?"
"I'm already doing it," I lie. The truth is, I don't have time for extra credit. School, sports, and trying to manage Finn and Parker while trying to figure out how to keep the four of us out of jail is more than I can handle. I don't have the time or energy for extra credit.
"So how much is he going to invest?" I ask, changing the topic. My father loves to talk business so it's my go-to topic when I want to take the focus off of me.
"Who are you referring to?" He takes another drink of his scotch.
"Mr. Lagoria. How much is he going to invest?"
My father sets his glass down. "Mr. Lagoria isn't a client. He's a man I need a favor from."
"What kind of favor?"
"A personal favor." He smiles. "For something I've wanted for a very long time."
"What is it? What's he going to do?"
"Briggs, your napkin." He motions me to put it on my lap. He expects me to have perfect manners, which is one of the many reasons I hate going out to eat with him. I feel like I'm being graded on my manners when I just want to relax and have a meal.
Our food arrives faster than I thought it would, which is good because I'm already ready to leave.
"It's overcooked," my father says as he cuts his steak. "You see, this is why I don't go to places I haven't been before. They don't know me, and therefore don't know my preferences. I told them medium and it's clearly cooked to medium well." He drops his knife and fork and shoves his plate to the side. "Waiter!"
The guy comes over and my dad gives him a two-minute lecture on how to listen to your customer so that their expectations are not only met, but exceeded. By the time he sends the waiter back to the kitchen to get him a new steak, I'm halfway through my meal.
"I thought you were in a hurry to get home," I say.
"I am. I doubt I'll eat whatever he comes back with. It was simply an exercise to teach the man how to properly treat a customer." He leans back. "So the reason we're here tonight is that I have some news."
I set my fork down, preparing for what I know will be bad news. It's always bad. Even when it seems good, it turns out to be bad. Like when I got the Porsche. I couldn't believe my dad got me a car that cost that much. Then I found out there was a price attached. I had to be first in my class if I wanted to keep it. The car was an incentive, not a gift, a way to ensure I performed the way my father expected.
"What's the news?" I ask.
"It's about your mother." His thumb and forefinger rub over his chin, which is usually a precursor to him getting mad. When he does it, I always imagine sticks rubbing together, getting hot and starting to smoke before igniting a flame.
"Is this about graduation?"
"No. Your mother is still insisting she won't be attending."
"Then what's this about? What's the news?"
He stops rubbing his chin and folds his hands, setting them on the table. "Your mother has filed for divorce."
He waits for me to respond, but I'm not sure what to say. Why isn't he getting angry? Is it because we're in public? Did he bring me here to tell me this so he'd be forced to control his anger?
"When did you find out?"
"This afternoon, right before I left the office. It seems she has had what she calls a spiritual awakening in which she has chosen to focus solely on herself and give up any and
all interest in anyone else, including her family."
"What does that mean? She joined a cult?" I'm playing along, but I think he's making this up to explain why she wants a divorce. In his mind, she'd never leave him unless she'd lost her mind, or had it taken over by someone.
"I don't know the specifics. I only know what she told me, which is that she is choosing to give up all worldly possessions to live in some type of communal living arrangement in which she will gain knowledge about herself." He lets out a laugh. "To even think of Margo giving up her designer clothes and diamond jewelry is completely preposterous. Can you imagine your mother walking around barefoot and wearing rags?"
"Wait, so you're saying she's giving up money too? Like the money she'd get in the divorce?"
"She says she doesn't want it, but we'll see. I believe this is all a stunt. I don't know what she's trying to accomplish, but I have no desire to waste my time trying to figure it out. If she wants to give up all claim to my money, I'm certainly not going to fight her on it."
My mom was my backup plan. If I didn't get the car, I was going to go to her for money. There's a chance she'd tell me no, especially if she found out about my plan to take off and never come back, but if I told her I just wanted the money to buy stuff, she would've given it to me. It wouldn't have been the amount I would've got for the car, but it'd be enough to live off of until I starting earning my own money.
"Anyway, that's the news," he says, finishing off his scotch.
The waiter returns. "Your steak, Sir. I hope it's to your liking."
My father cuts through the meat, then drops his fork and knife and glares at the waiter. "Now it's too rare. Can you do nothing right here? Take this back and bring the check."
The waiter grabs the plate and hurries off. Moments later, the manager comes up to our table. He tells my dad there's no charge for our meals because of the steak not being cooked right.
"Coming here was a huge mistake," my father scoffs, throwing his napkin on the table. "I should've known better than to ask for your suggestion."
So it's my fault his steak was cooked wrong? I shouldn't be surprised. I always get blamed when things don't turn out the way he wants.
"Did Mom say if she's ever moving back?"
"I didn't ask, but perhaps you could ask her yourself. Give her a call. I'm sure she'd love to hear from you."
He doesn't seem that upset about this. Is it because my mom doesn't want money as part of the divorce? I'm guessing that's the reason.
"Briggs," a man says.
Both my dad and I look to see who said it, which is what happens when you have the same name.
"Edward." My dad smiles as he stands up. "What are you doing here?"
"They have some of the best scotch in town." The old man shakes my father's hand. "Haven't seen you since our dinner at the Landons. How have you been? How's Margo?"
"She's wonderful. Traveling around Europe. Shopping, of course."
Is that what he's been telling people? That my mom's just been traveling the past year? What happens when they divorce? Will he tell people they're still married? If he tells them they're divorced, he'll make it all about her, saying she became mentally unstable after she moved away and he had no choice but to divorce her.
I should probably feel something after hearing they're getting divorced, but I don't. I don't feel anything at all. I'm not even sure I care. I've always known they didn't like each other so I'm not surprised my mom wants a divorce, but I didn't expect her to give up her claim to money that's legally hers. That doesn't make sense.
"I hear you're graduating soon," Edward says, smiling at me.
"Yeah, a few months."
"Your father told me you're going to be valedictorian," he says. "That's very impressive at a school like Devonshore."
I just nod. I don't even know this guy. I've probably met him before, but I don't remember him.
"Briggs, you remember Edward," my father says, like he could tell that I don't. "He spoke at your school last year."
Now I remember him. He's a judge, and he gave a talk at school about how even a minor offense can ruin your life. How about a hit-and-run that nearly killed a guy? If only he'd addressed that in his speech. Maybe I wouldn't have been so quick to leave the scene.
"The speech about staying out of trouble," I say to the guy. "I remember."
"I'm sure your father doesn't need to worry about such things with you." He smiles at my father. "He's a good-looking young man. And smart too."
"His mother and I are very proud," my father says, even though he's never once told me he's proud of me, at least not without other people around. "So how have you been? Any plans to retire?"
"Heavens no," Edward says with a laugh. He's got to be close to eighty, so I'm not sure why that's funny. "I wouldn't know what to do with myself if I retired. Unlike many people, I truly enjoy my work. Perhaps it sounds morbid, but I find criminals to be fascinating. Like that man who was hit by a car. Did he really think he could run off like that and just disappear? Fate apparently didn't think so, but it's that mindset of thinking you can get away with something and continue on with your life that truly fascinates me."
"What guy are you talking about?" I ask, my pulse quickening.
"The one we spoke about," my father says. "The man involved in the hit-and-run." My father turns to Edward. "I was telling my son the story of one of my college roommates. He was hit on his way back to the dorm. He died at the scene and the driver was never caught. I always wondered how someone could live with themselves after doing something like that."
"The guy who got hit was a criminal?" I ask Edward.
He turns to me. "The police had been searching for him for months. He's been linked with several rapes in the area, and he's a suspect in at least one woman's death, and possibly another's, but that's yet to be determined."
"How do you know he did it?"
"DNA match. The victims provided samples that matched what we had on record. The man had been arrested before for rape, but the judge in the case ruled the act to be consensual and the man wasn't charged. Soon after that, other women came forward. In those cases, the man had no prior relationship with the women. He broke into their homes late at night and assaulted them. We believe he's been doing this for years, but it wasn't until recently that there was evidence linking him to these crimes. Now that we have the evidence, we'll be able to charge him, assuming he survives."
"Does he know this? That he's going to be arrested?"
"No. He doesn't remember much of anything that happened before the accident. I'm sure his memory will return eventually, but as of now, he has no idea what he's done, or at least that's what I've heard."
"This is a rather unpleasant topic," my father says with his fake smile. "Edward, why don't I contact you later with a time when we can get together for a drink and discuss more pleasant things."
"Yes. Please do." He looks at me. "Best of luck with the remainder of the school year." He winks at me. "Remember my speech. Stay away from trouble. Even a minor offense can destroy your future."
"Got it," I say, forcing out a smile.
"Good seeing you," my father says to Edward, shaking his hand. "I'll be in touch."
We leave the restaurant and head home. My father and I are both quiet for the entire drive. I'm sure my father's thinking of ways to get Edward to invest with him, while I'm thinking of the man we hit. He was a rapist and possible murderer? I'm suddenly not feeling so bad that we hit him. I need to tell Ella this. She's been consumed with guilt from the moment we left him on the road. Maybe she'd feel better if she knew this.
When I get home, I almost text her, but this isn't something I can put in a text. And I shouldn't be calling her. If I'm trying to create distance between us, I need to stop talking to her, even if she's the only one I want to talk to.
Thursday morning at school, I'm heading to class when I see Ella at her locker. She looks really hot today, wearing tight white jeans and a pink
t-shirt that actually fits her. I wonder if she went shopping after I made that comment about her getting new clothes. I felt like shit for saying that after I found out the reason why she doesn't go shopping.
As Ella closes her locker, I notice Aubrey and Scarlett sneaking up behind her. Scarlett's holding a plastic cup filled with iced coffee. She smiles at Aubrey as she takes the lid off. She's going to throw it on Ella, right on the back of her white jeans, so she'll be walking around with a brown stain on her ass all day.
I race up to Scarlett. "Hey, have you seen Parker?"
She rears back, startled by my sudden appearance. "I don't think he's here yet."
Ella turns around. "What's going on?"
"I'm looking for Parker," I say.
"Why are you all standing behind me?" Ella asks, sounding suspicious.
"We were going to give you this." Scarlett holds the cup out to her.
"What is it?" Ella asks, not taking the cup.
"An iced latte. We had extra, so we thought we'd share."
"I don't drink coffee." Ella walks past us, trying to play it cool, but I can tell she's angry. She knows what they were up to, and seeing me standing there, she thinks I was part of it.
Aubrey turns to me, flipping her hair. "We've decided we're not talking to you until you come to your senses and beg for my forgiveness."
"Yeah, not happening." I turn to leave and my messenger bag hits the cup, knocking it from Scarlett's hand and splattering the latte all over both of them.
"Briggs!" they yell in unison.
"What?" I turn back, glancing at their stained shirts. "Oh, sorry."
I continue down the hall, smiling, as I imagine them spending the next hour in the bathroom trying to clean themselves up.
Ella's already in her seat when I get to AP History so I'm not able to talk to her. It isn't until Chem lab that I'm able to tell her what I found out.
"It doesn't change anything," she says, lining up our chemicals for today's experiment.
"Yeah, it does. The guy's a serial rapist, and maybe a murderer. He deserved to be hit and left to die."