by Sara Wolf
“And what reason,” Dad sneers. “Would your addict brother have for going cold turkey, hm? A change of heart? I don’t think so.”
“He nearly got B – ” I freeze. “He gave drugs to a girl. A girl who wasn’t used to them. And she almost – she almost got hurt.”
Dad watches me carefully, with eyes of a hawk. “And this girl – she was important to him?”
“She was important to all of us.” A low voice says. I look up to see Burn standing in the doorway of the kitchen, his fists balled. Things are never going to go well when his fists are balled.
“Ah, Burn,” Dad smiles. “Please, sit down. We were just having a discussion about what we should do to help your brother get clean.”
“He’s getting clean. On his own.” Burn insists, not moving from his spot.
“He’ll relapse without proper help. You’re the oldest brother,” Dad insists. “You need to do what’s best for them. Fitz is going to a rehab, and if I hear one word –”
Dad doesn’t hear a word from Burn. He hears Burn’s fist as it slams into the wall. Dad and I jump in our skins. Burn glowers at Dad, and this time it’s pure anger. Dark lightning and unbridled fury dances across his face.
I haven’t seen him get mad, truly mad, in years. Until now.
“He’s not going.”
Dad’s quiet, then he chuckles. “I see. Suddenly you’ve decided to take charge. Years of running away from the responsibility of this family, and now you expect me to take you seriously?”
Burn clenches his jaw, and for the first time in my life, I feel fear. I’m afraid of him, of what he could do to Dad. To me. To anyone. He’s so huge and so strong, it would be so simple for him to reach across the counter and –
“You’re the one who was supposed to inherit everything, Burn,” Dad says. Reminds him, really, like the thought of money will ease his anger.
“I don’t give a damn,” Burn says, his voice shaking. “Fitz isn’t going anywhere.”
“If you fight me on this, I will change my mind. And if you fight hard, you can be sure I’ll write you out of my assets and will completely. You’ll get nothing from me upon graduating in six months. No college tuition, no trust fund. Nothing. You will be penniless and destitute on the streets of this town, and let me assure you – the streets are never kind.”
“I don’t. Need. Your money.” Burn grits his teeth. “I don’t need any help from you to live my life the way I want to.”
“I’m sure you’ll do just fine,” Dad sneers. “With a high school degree and no contacts, or training, or references.”
Burn doesn’t so much as flinch. He holds up his fist, and for a second I’m sure he’s about to hit something else, but he dangles something from it instead. Something shiny and plastic.
“It took me a long time,” He says. “It’s true. I ran away, that’s true too. It was my fault. I wasn’t there for anyone. And that’s something I have to make up for.”
He throws the plastic thing on the counter, over the brochures. It’s a keychain, I can see that now. Detailed bubble letters, drawn and colored in with care, read BE SAFE. Dad wrinkles his nose.
“And what is this….filthy piece of garbage supposed to relay to me?”
“It’s a gift,” Burn corrects him. “From someone I care about. I found it at the old place we used to hang out together.”
I narrow my eyes. “That – you don’t mean –”
“You used her like a puppet,” Burn presses, his gaze burning holes into Dad. “You preyed on her, like a tiger preys on a lamb. She had no idea what you were capable of. And you used her ignorance and desperation against her. You used Wolf concern for her, for her dreams, against her. You used her like you use us – to get what you want.”
Burn stops, and looks at me.
“She left that for me. Because she was worried. Because, even if she fucked up, she’s still worried about me. About us. She still cares.”
I scoff, disbelieving.
“Laugh all you want,” Burn says. “But I believe in her.”
“She betrayed our trust,” I snarl.
“She made a mistake,” He argues. “Just like I did. Just like I did for years.”
“And you’re going to make up for it all right now?” Dad laughs, cruel and cold, and it makes me never want to scoff again, if that’s what I sound like. Burn remains strong.
“I’m going to try. I want a chance to. And that’s what she wants, too. I know it.”
“You want me to suddenly trust her again? I can’t do that,” I insist. “You know I can’t. Not after – not after everything. Not after Mark. I won’t make the same mistake three times.”
“So you’re just going to live like this?” Burn knits his eyebrows. “Sitting here, wishing she was here, but never admitting it yourself?”
“You have no idea –”
“You keep the scraps. Of her essay. I see them in your trashcan. You haven’t emptied that thing in two weeks.”
“I have nothing to throw away.”
“You have everything to throw away,” He corrects. “And every reason to do it. But you don’t. You ever ask yourself why?”
I furiously occupy my hands with the brochures. He has no idea what he’s talking about. He’s just easily swayed by –
My hand freezes on a brochure. Buried beneath all the others is a brochure for a ‘mental rehabilitation center for trauma and abuse victims’. Dad sees me looking at it and plucks it from my hands.
“Ah, yes. I was perusing options for your recovery as well, Wolf.”
“Recovery –”
“For what Mark did to you, of course. This facility excels in dealing with adolescent abuse, and as an added bonus, they have a very good reorientation program.”
All the air presses from my throat. “Reorienta –”
“It’s not natural, Wolf.” Dad looks at me with pitying eyes. “You’re sick. Trust me, this place will show you how things are supposed to be, how the natural order of things goes. You’ll thank me, someday.”
I reach out for the keychain with shaking fingers, and grip it tightly.
“I’m not sick.”
“What?”
“I said,” I shout. “I’m not sick! I’m your fucking son!”
“You like men, Wolf. That’s a sickness. You’re not on the right path –”
I’m stunned into silence, but only for a second. God, Mom, if you could see him now. If you could see what your death has done to him. Or maybe he was always like this. Maybe I was just too young, too blinded by our perfect family, to notice before you were gone.
“You’re a monster,” I hiss.
“I’m your father,” He asserts. “And you will listen to me when I speak.”
“You haven’t been my father for five years, now.”
I turn on my heel and pass Burn, and I can feel him following me as we walk up the stairs to our rooms, Dad calling after us.
“Wolf! Wolfgang William Blackthorn, you will come back down those stairs this instant and we will discuss this like civilized human beings!”
I wait until Burn is in my room, then slam my door behind me and lock it. Burn seats himself on my computer chair, his face solemn.
“He’s – he’s insane.” I manage. “He’s insane if he thinks I’m going to that fucking place!”
“I know,” Burn says, patiently. All his fury is gone, now, replaced by resignation.
“He wants to tear us apart!”
“I know.”
I spin my ring feverishly, like it’s the only thing that will save me. “What do we do? We don’t have anywhere to go – Mom’s family is in Ireland –”
“Calm down,” Burn says. “Breathe. We’ll figure something out.”
“We have to get Fitz out of here,” I insist. “Before he takes him away.”
“I know. I’ve already started looking.”
“You have?”
&
nbsp; Burn nods. “Part of the reason I ran so much was Dad. I could see it in him. And I didn’t want to face it. And when Bee said she’d been telling him things, about what we did – I knew what he’d do. He’d try to fix it, with money. With force.”
“So –”
“Jakob,” Burn says. “Jakob offered us a place to stay on his property. As long as we help him upkeep the copter, and the equipment.”
“That won’t work,” I say quickly, my brain moving just as fast. “Dad will buy the land around him. He’ll force Jakob out with – with taxes, or regulations, or –”
“Dad doesn’t know any landowners that far out, so he has no influence out there. Trust me. I checked.”
I’m quiet. I hear Dad asking his bodyguards to contact someone. Burn looks so tired, sitting on my bed. I hadn’t noticed it before, but the dark circles under his eyes are strong. He must’ve been staying up, trying to think of ways to get us out from under Dad’s thumb. The fact he’s here at all, makes my heart swell a little.
I walk over and tentatively put my hand on his shoulder. It isn’t much, but it’s my way of trying to let him know I’m thankful. Words seem somehow too hard, even though that would be the simple option. But I know he appreciates gestures more than words.
And for once, this gesture doesn’t make me shake. I don’t feel the all-consuming urge to put space between us, to turn my rings around my finger. Burn looks at my hand on his shoulder, almost incredulous.
“She helped after all, huh?” He asks. When I don’t say anything, he stands up and picks up my trash can. There, still at the top, are the ashy remnants of the essay. He picks up a piece and chuckles.
“Probably would’ve been better off if you burned it before you read it.”
All the memories of Bee flash through my head at once. If I hadn’t of read it when I did, none of those things would’ve ever happened. I wouldn’t be able to touch Burn, now, if I didn’t read that essay before. Holding her in the garage, the skydiving, the ride in the back of Burn’s car with our hands intertwined, lying on her lap, watching her punch Mark and feeling like somehow, someway, even a bit, I’d been avenged. Her laugh face. Her smiling face. Her worried face. All of it. Even now, even hurt and confused, I hold onto what’s left of her with perfect, crystal clarity.
A loud knocking on my door shakes me out of my memories. I think it’s Dad, but then I hear Fitz’s voice.
“Open up! Guys! Open up!”
Fitz hadn’t come out of his room, except to go to school. And now he wanted in all of a sudden? Burn crosses over to the door and opens it, Fitz barging in, holding up a piece of paper.
“Look!” He shoves it in my face instantly. I try to ignore his disheveled clothes, the hungry look in his cheeks. He hadn’t been eating much.
The paper is freshly printed, still a little warm. It’s a few awful stick figures. Except then I realize the stick figures are of us; Burn, looking sleepy, Fitz, hacking at a computer, and then me, on my motorcycle, looking angry. It’s poorly drawn, but I can see a bit of an endearing charm to it.
“What is this?” I ask.
“She left it for me!” Fitz says breathlessly. “At first I thought it was a trash file, but it was on her desktop, so I thought that was weird, and then that was hexadecimal that said there was another one hidden in her root directory, and that one led to the settings of her Paint program –”
“Who is ‘she’?” Burn asks. “Did you hack someone’s computer?”
“Bee!” Fitz explodes. “I was just messing around, and I thought maybe she kept a diary or something on her computer, something that would explain things better, but then I found this, and she left it for me! Isn’t it cute? There’s you, and Wolf, and there’s me, and I’m obviously the best –”
Fitz blabbers on about how many layers of files he need to sift through to find it, like she’d set up some sort of game for him. Of course he likes it – he’s liked these sorts of treasure hunts since he was a kid.
“She left me the keychain,” Burn muses. “And Fitz the picture. So what did she leave you?”
My heart squeezes, but I force a scoff. “Nothing. I don’t want anything from her.”
“Except a kiss,” Fitz taunts, and I’d blow up at him, normally. But hearing him tease me again after he hadn’t for so long feels good.
“What’s this?” Burn reaches into the trash can, and pulls out a felt ring box. He holds it up to me, and I shrug.
“Mr. Finch said someone told him to give it to me.”
Burn and Fitz’s eyes lit up, and I rolled mine.
“No, it isn’t what you’re thinking. Amanda always tries to buy me rings. It’s just her, again.”
“Why would she give it to Finch to give to you?”
“So I’d actually be forced to accept it this time,” I sigh. “I don’t know.”
“Did you even open it?” Fitz asks.
“No. There’s no point.”
Burn opens it, and his face goes flat. He holds it out to me.
“Open it.”
“I told you, it’s just a piece of bribery from Aman –”
“Now.” Burn insists, hard.
Glaring, I pull the lid open slowly. Inside is a tasteful silver ring, carved with a wolf’s head. It’s vintage – the silver a little dull on the edges, nothing like the shiny new tacky ones Amanda gets me. The wolf motif is thoughtful, deliberate. It can’t be.
I told her I feel safer with more rings.
It can’t be.
Fitz’s loud voice suddenly rings over my shoulder. “Wow! Look at that ancient, impoverished-looking thing! That’s definitely from Bee.”
I’m silent. Burn clears his throat.
“You okay?”
I’m far from okay. I want to hear her voice, to drive to her house again and ask her to come out. I want to see her walking down the stairs to me, to see her outline, her shoulders, the curve of her face. My confusion and sadness might still burn in me, but nothing burns as hot as my desire to touch her. If it was the last time, I’d savor it. If I had known that night on her lap was the last time, I would’ve stayed longer. I would’ve told her how I really felt, instead of running away like a coward.
We both made mistakes, she and I. I more than her.
But it’s too late.
We’ve said our goodbyes, no matter how bittersweet they were.
****
BEATRIX
“Thanks for coming!” I wave at the old lady leaving the coffee shop. I blow out a puff of stress-air, adjusting my apron ties. God, it’s been a long day. But I can’t relax just yet – I’ve got another half-hour to get through before my shift’s up. I need to leave right on time today – I’m worried about Dad. He promised he’d take his meds today, but last night he’d taken three instead of the regular two. Maybe it was a slip of the hand, but my gut nags at me that it could be intentional, too. That he’s trying to hurt himself again.
“Well hi there, dollface.”
I look up at the voice to see Wolf. My insides soar, suddenly in zero-g. What is he doing here? How did he find me at my work? Why isn’t he pissed at me -
I blink – no, it isn’t Wolf. It’s a dark-haired guy, probably college-aged, smiling at me. He’s very handsome, in that thick-browed way. At a glance he could be Wolf. But only at a glance. As if Wolf would ever call me by a petname.
As if he’d ever speak to me again.
The fact it’s some rando calling me ‘dollface’ makes me want to barf, but I put on my best barista face and smile.
“What can I get you?”
“A small mocha late, and your number.”
I laugh nervously and decide to be polite. “Well, I can get you one of those things.”
Thankfully, he leaves without much more fuss once he’s has his latte. My shift ends, and I sterilize the kitchenette and hang up my apron before going home.
The house is quiet, which is the usual. I
check the bathroom first – Dad’s pills are still there. He hasn’t taken any today. That’s probably for the best. I check his room, since it’s open, but he isn’t there. My room – he isn’t there either. The garage is empty. He’s gone.
My lungs start to burn with panic. Where is he? Did he leave the house? Maybe he just decided to take a walk. I’m overreacting. I sit on the sofa and call his phone. It rings, but no answer. Maybe he can’t hear it over the traffic he’s walking next to.
“Hey Dad, it’s me. Just wanted to see where you were. Did you go to the little corner store for food? Call me back when you can.”
I wait.
Ten minutes, and I call again. Twenty minutes. This time I don’t stop calling, leaving him message after message.
“Dad, please pick up. I’m worried.”
I bite my nails, calling him again.
“Please,” I beg softly. “Please, pick up.”
When he doesn’t I force myself to stay calm. Maybe it’s a very long walk. Maybe he and Mom are together, as doubtful as that is. I call her phone, but she doesn’t answer, either. She must be with a patient. I can’t stand the silence in the house, so I turn the TV on. The commercials are vapid and stupid, but they’re enough to take the burning edge of my anxiety off. Everything’s fine. Everything will be fine.
My phone buzzes, and I jump to answer it – it’s Mom.
“Hey honey, did you call me?”
“Yeah, um, is Dad with you?”
“No,” She says carefully. “Is he not at the house?”
“No. I can’t find him.”
“Did you check –”
“I checked the basement, your room, my room – everywhere. He’s not here.”
“It’s okay, sweetie. Just calm down. Maybe he went to the store down the street.”
“That’s what I thought too, but he hasn’t come back. And he’s not answering his phone.”
“Well, you should walk around the neighborhood and ask if someone’s seen him.”
“Okay, yeah,” I pull my jacket back on. “That’s a good idea. Can you keep trying his phone?”
“He won’t pick up for me anymore, you know that.”
“Yeah but, maybe if you do it enough –”