Call It What You Want

by Brigid Kemmerer

  “Yes.” His expression doesn’t change. “I kept you out of it.”

  “Yeah.” My voice breaks, and I have to breathe to cover it up. “Sure, you did. I really feel like I was kept out of it.”

  “I did.” He pauses, then removes his glasses and folds them on the desk. “You worked for your father. You’re a smart kid, Rob.”

  It takes me a moment to work out what he’s saying, and when I do, it’s like taking a second bullet to the chest. “I didn’t know what he was doing. I didn’t.”

  Bill raises his hands. “Like I said. I kept you out of it. It was the least I could do for you and your mother.”

  My hands have curled into fists. “Don’t act like you did us a favor.”

  “This wasn’t an easy situation for any of us, son.”

  “Don’t call me that.” My voice has grown heated. I’m never one to rage out, but right now I prefer anger to crying. “You have no idea.”

  He’s quiet for a moment, but his expression shifts into one of pity. “I can see I’ve upset you. I’m sorry. I want you to know that I’m here if you need anything. What your father was doing—that was wrong, Rob. Whatever he had you doing—”

  “I wasn’t doing anything!”

  He continues as if I didn’t interrupt, his tone quiet and even. “—you’re better than that, Rob. I know what was going on. But you’re better than that. Okay?”

  I’m glaring at him, my breathing so quick and my pulse pounding so hard that I feel like I’m going to hyperventilate. Or maybe turn into the Incredible Hulk.

  He thinks I’m a thief. He thinks I was helping my father. He really does think he somehow protected me from the investigation.

  “I didn’t know,” I say, my voice dark.

  “Okay, Rob. If you say so.”

  I turn away from him, somehow managing to walk without breaking ceramic tiles in my rage.

  “Prove me wrong,” he calls from behind his desk. “I’m just looking out for you.”

  “I don’t need to prove you wrong,” I yell. “My father was the thief. Not me.”

  I storm toward the hot tub.

  And then, as I round the corner where Maegan and I were making out, I prove myself wrong. I slide my fingers along the edge of the hot tub, scoop up those forgotten diamond earrings, and shove them in my pocket.

  Then I slam through the double doors and leave Bill Tunstall behind.

  In my fury, I nearly miss that Maegan is waiting for me in the glass-walled hallway connecting the pool house to the main home. It’s probably a miracle I didn’t hit her with the door. She has to grab my arm to stop me, to get my attention.

  “Hey,” she says. “Stop. Are you okay?”

  I’m a ticking bomb with seconds left until detonation. I picked up those earrings. I stole those earrings. They’re all but weightless, but my pocket feels like it’s filled with lead. We need to get out of here. “Yes. No. Where’s your sister?”

  “I don’t know. I was worried about you—”

  “I’m fine.” I take her hand and lead her forward.

  She follows, almost stumbling to keep up with me. “Rob—you’re not—your shirt isn’t—”

  “It’s fine.” I shove through the second set of doors, and music slams me in the face. It’s louder than it was before—or my nerves are more on edge. The lights flickering from the living room have already given me a headache.

  Maegan squeezes my hand. “What did he do to you?”

  “Nothing.” I finally stop spinning and look down at her. “Do you think you can convince your sister to leave now?”

  I must look like a wreck, because Maegan nods quickly. “Let’s find her and get out of here.”

  Dancing people pack the living room from wall to wall. Earlier I found it intoxicating: the music, the clinging darkness, the feel of Maegan’s body brushing mine. Now it’s dizzying, the music too loud, the room too hot. The scents of beer and liquor and smoke thread through the room, battering my senses. I can’t make out anyone’s face. I hope Maegan is looking for Samantha, because I can barely think straight.

  I’m just looking out for you.

  Sure, Bill. Thanks a lot.

  At the same time, these thoughts fill me with guilt. My father wasn’t a good man. He hurt a lot of people. I have to look them in the eye every day. I should be glad at what Bill did.

  I’m not. I have to live with the fallout. I’m not glad about any of it.

  “There,” says Maegan, and this time she tows me forward, into the crowd. I’m jostled by the dancers, but I cling tightly to her fingers, and she propels me right to the middle of the dancing.

  Samantha’s eyes are closed, that red plastic cup hanging precariously from her fingers, and she’s dancing with her back against some guy I’ve never seen before. He’s grinding against her, a hand splayed across the front of her abdomen.

  Maegan lets go of me to step up to her sister. “Sam. Hey! Sam!”

  Her sister’s eyes open lazily, but she doesn’t stop dancing. “Hey, Megs.”

  “We need to go.”

  “No way. I’m having a good time.” Her eyes fall closed again.

  “Sam. Seriously.” Maegan is yelling over the music. “We need to go.”

  The guy dancing with Samantha opens eyes that light with irritation. His voice is a low rumble that carries over the music. “She said we’re having a good time. Okay?”

  “Maegan. It’s fine.” I don’t want to get into it with a stranger. I don’t want anything drawing attention to us. My nerves are so shot that I want to say I’ll go wait in the car. These earrings feel like little balls of fire in my pocket.

  Maegan jerks her head toward me. “He’s our ride, and we need to go. Come on, Sam.”

  Samantha pulls away from tall-dark-and-surly and gives Maegan a light shove at her shoulders. “Don’t you know I’m sick of people telling me what to do?” She takes a drink from her cup, then gives me the same light shove, speaking right into my face. “Leave if you wanna leave. I’ll get a ride.” Then she turns back to her new friend.

  It takes me half a second to realize she’s drunk.

  It takes me a full second to realize the implications of that. Once again, I’m so tangled up in my own problems that I forget it’s not all sunshine and roses for everyone else.

  Maegan’s just as quick on the uptake. Her eyes are wide. “Oh my god. Sam. Are you out of your mind?”

  “Would you just go?” Samantha snaps.

  Maegan steps forward and grabs her arm. “I can’t leave you here like this. I can’t believe you’re drunk.”

  “Hey,” says the guy. He pulls Samantha behind him. “She said she doesn’t want to leave with you.”

  “She’s my sister,” Maegan snaps. “And she’s hammered.”

  “Easy,” I say, putting a hand on her arm. Maegan has a fire inside her that rivals Samantha’s when she chooses to set it free, but the last thing we need is a fight in the middle of Connor’s living room.

  “Everyone is drunk,” says the guy. “She doesn’t want to go with you.”

  Maegan pulls free of my hand. “Yeah, well, she’s pregnant.”

  The guy jerks back. His eyes go from Samantha’s face to her belly and back. “You’re what?”

  “Forget it!” says Samantha. “Just forget it.”

  She moves to push past her sister, but Maegan grabs her arm. “Please, Sam. Come on. Let’s go—”

  Samantha whirls and slaps her square across the face.

  She stumbles into it, so it’s not a hard slap, but Maegan cries out and falls back. Her hand flies to her cheek.

  “Whoa.” I step in front of her, blocking Samantha before she can wind up for another hit.

  “Get out of my way, Rob,” she says.

  “You need to calm down.” We’ve started to draw the attention of everyone around us. There’s not much dancing going on. There’s a lot of staring.

  Samantha shoves me in the chest. She’s strong, but she really is d
runk, so she doesn’t rock me back.

  I catch her wrists. “Stop. We’re leaving.”

  “Go to hell.”

  I want to get out of here so badly that I consider physically dragging her out the front door. “Fine. Stay here. I’m taking Maegan home.”

  “No,” Maegan cries behind me. “We can’t leave her here like this.”

  “I’m not a baby!” Samantha yells. “I’m eighteen years old, and you’re not my mother.”

  “Lucky you,” Maegan says. “Mom will kill you.”

  Samantha jerks her hands free. “Good. I guess that’ll solve a lot of problems, then, won’t it?”

  I’ve run out of tolerance for this—but I also don’t want to leave Maegan’s drunk sister stranded. “Please,” I say to Samantha, and I can hear the urgency in my own voice. “Please, can we get out of here?”

  She takes a breath. Her eyes are a little unfocused.

  And then, because life likes to kick me even when I’m down, Connor shoves his way through the crowd. His eyes lock on me, and he pushes around Samantha to get in my face. “Should have known it was you causing a problem, Lachlan.”

  “Give it a rest, Connor. I’m trying to leave.”

  “Yeah? Doesn’t look like you’re trying too hard. Looks like you’re hassling this girl.” When he shoves me, he definitely has the strength to knock me back a step. I have to grit my teeth to keep from retaliating.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” he demands.

  “Ask your mom,” I snap. Then I turn, catch Maegan’s hand, and start plowing through the crowd.

  I should know better. Connor never backs down, especially when he’s got a few beers in his system. He grabs my shirt by the shoulder and spins me around. His mouth is open, his eyes are dark with fury, and he’s about to unleash some comment that will make me want to wither into the carpeting.

  I don’t give him a chance. I draw back and hit him right in the face.

  Maegan gives a little yip of surprise behind me. Connor goes down. Blood, almost black in the shadows, glistens on his mouth.

  He’s trying to get back to his feet. Most of the crowd has sucked back. Nothing draws an audience like a fight. But Connor has friends here—and I don’t.

  “We need to go.” My voice is almost breathless.

  “Okay,” says Maegan. “Okay. But Sam …”

  Her voice trails off. Sam is gone.

  “Go,” says Maegan. “Go.”

  She doesn’t need to tell me twice.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Maegan

  We’ve been driving for a while, and the car is heavy with warm, silent darkness. My head is spinning with so many things that I don’t realize Rob isn’t heading toward my neighborhood until he hits the turn signal and I see the sign for the interstate.

  “Where are we going?”

  Rob takes a shaky breath. “I don’t know. Sorry. I was just driving.” He glances over at me, oncoming headlights flickering across his features. “I can take you home.”

  “No!” I swallow. “I can’t go home without Samantha.”

  “Tell me what you want to do,” Rob says.

  “I don’t know.” My voice is barely a whisper.

  He keeps driving aimlessly. Now I get it.

  I want to pull my phone out of my bag, but I’m terrified of what I’ll find. Would Samantha have gone home? I can’t imagine her going home drunk—but I also couldn’t have imagined her drinking while pregnant, so my imagination isn’t worth a whole hell of a lot. Could my parents be looking for me? Dad told me to stay away from Rob Lachlan, and now we’re rocketing down the highway at seventy miles an hour.

  “Slow down,” I say. “Please. The last thing I need is for us to be pulled over.”

  He eases off the accelerator. “Sorry.”

  “No. It’s—it’s fine.” I rub my hands across my face. My cheek still stings from where Samantha hit me. I can’t believe she did that. “Maybe we shouldn’t have left Sam there.”

  “Text her.”

  “I don’t want to look at my phone.”

  He’s quiet for a moment. “You think she might have told your parents?”

  “It would serve me right.”

  “No.” For the first time since getting in the car, his voice is sure and steady. “Why? Your pregnant sister was drunk at a party, and you tried to get her out of there. She had no right to hit you.” He grimaces, and his hands flex on the steering wheel. “I shouldn’t have hit Connor, either.”

  I can’t figure out all the dark notes in his voice, and I wonder what happened with Connor’s father, before everything went to hell in the living room. “Does your hand hurt?”

  “I’ll be all right.”

  I’ve spent enough time around police officers to know that’s guy code for “It hurts, but I’m not going to admit it.” I reach out and take his hand off the steering wheel, laying it across my palm, then stroke my fingers across his knuckles. It’s too dark to see anything, but they feel swollen.

  His hand closes around mine, and he laces our fingers together, then brings my hand to his mouth to brush a kiss across my knuckles. Goose bumps spring up all the way down my forearm.

  “Does your face hurt?” he says.

  “No,” I say, and I mean it. “She didn’t hit me hard.” I swallow. “I was more shocked than anything.”

  “Good.” He kisses my hand again.

  I’m glad his eyes are staying on the road, because I’m melting in the passenger seat.

  Then he very deliberately puts my hand on my knee and lets go. “Would you mind checking your phone? Your dad is a cop. Everyone already thinks I conspired with my father to steal millions of dollars. I’d rather not add kidnapping to the list.”

  There’s no amusement in his voice, so I know this must be weighing on him. It’s so strange to sit here judging my own choices, while he’s sitting beside me worried about how other people are going to judge his.

  I tap the button to unlock my phone. “No messages.”

  He sighs, but he doesn’t sound relieved.

  I slide my fingers across the screen, typing out a quick message to my sister.

  MAEGAN: Please tell me you’re OK.

  Nothing. I type another.

  MAEGAN: Sam. Please. I’m worried about you.

  Nothing.

  MAEGAN: If you don’t tell me you’re OK, I’m calling Mom.

  For a moment, nothing happens, and I’m worried I’m going to have to make good on that threat. But then the little dots appear to let me know she’s typing.

  SAMANTHA: I’m surprised you haven’t called Mom already.

  The words hit me harder than her slap did. I hadn’t considered Samantha doing the same thing, hiding out because she’s afraid to go home. I slide my fingers across the screen quickly.

  MAEGAN: I’m not trying to hurt you. I’m trying to be your sister.

  SAMANTHA: I’m fine. Craig is taking me to Taco Taco so I can sober up before he takes me home.

  Craig. My eyebrows go way up. I read that out to Rob.

  “Huh,” is all he offers.

  “Do you think she’ll be okay?”

  “He seemed like an all-right guy.” He pauses, then looks over again. “Your sister is pretty good at getting people to do what she wants, huh?”

  I snort. “That’s a nice way of putting it.”

  We fall into silence again, but now that I know Mom and Dad don’t have the Maryland State Troopers out looking for us, we relax into the white noise of the highway. My hand still tingles from where he kissed it. Every time my brain replays the feeling of his hands and mouth on my body, my cheeks warm and I have to look out the window. I’m glad it’s dark and he can’t tell.

  I want to know how long he plans to drive around, but I’m worried he’ll think I’m ready to go home. I’m not. Not by a long shot.

  Eventually, I glance over. “What did Connor’s dad want to talk to you about?”

  “He wanted to m
ake sure I’m staying on the straight and narrow.” His hands flex on the steering wheel again. “Said he was trying to look out for me. Yeah, sure.”

  I know what Mr. Lachlan did, of course, but I don’t know enough about the details between the Lachlans and the Tunstalls to figure out the dynamics of what that means. “You don’t like him?”

  Rob glances over in surprise. “Bill Tunstall is the one who blew the whistle. He figured out what Dad was doing.”

  Wow. “I didn’t know that.” I pause. “Is that why you hate Connor so much?”

  “Yes.” He flinches. “No. It’s complicated.”

  He says nothing more, so I say, “It’s just you and me in the car.”

  He’s quiet for a while, the car eating up the miles. His silence is weighted this time, though, so I wait.

  Finally, he speaks. “I don’t hate Connor.” Rob pauses and runs a hand through his hair. “Sometimes I do. I don’t know. He was my best friend.” He laughs without much humor. “That sounds so stupid. Like we’re in third grade, right?”

  I think of Rachel, who hasn’t spoken to me since the night it all fell apart at Taco Taco. “It’s not stupid.”

  “Dad and Bill were always close. I wasn’t kidding when I said I practically grew up in that house. We were always over there—or they were at our house. Dinner parties, cookouts, you name it. We used to have a vacation home right on Bethany Beach, and we’d spend half the summer there.”

  I don’t ask him what happened to the beach house. Dad once said that anything Mr. Lachlan had bought with stolen funds would be seized by the FBI.

  “I don’t know how Bill figured it out. They were both financial planners, but they weren’t partners or anything. They didn’t even work for the same firm.” Rob rubs a hand across the back of his neck. “I used to intern for my dad, so everyone always thinks I knew what was going on, but I didn’t. I didn’t realize until tonight that even Bill thought I knew.” He glances over. “I’m not really even answering your question.”

  “It’s okay. Just talk.”

  “Mom thinks Dad confessed to Bill. She didn’t know anything either, but she says the guilt had to be tearing him up. She thinks they were probably shooting the shit over a few drinks, and Dad probably gave it up.” He hesitates. “Bill called the authorities the next day. I didn’t even know what was happening. The FBI dragged me out of school. I remember thinking—”