by K. M. Szpara
“Glad to hear it,” Betty says. “We’re all rooting for you.” She sets my bag down.
“What do you mean?”
“Your trial.” She grabs a folded-up newspaper from one of the shelves and holds up the front page. “I read—we all read—that interview Mariah VanBuren gave to The Baltimore Sun.”
I stare at the full-color photo of myself in one of the suits Alex bought me, probably at Preakness or a party or who knows where. Beside it, another photo of Alex dressed casually and looking sad. Beside his photo, I look sharp, confident.
Betty reads the headline. “‘Alexander Bishop’s Ex-Docile on the Warpath.’” She raises an eyebrow. “It’s all about how you targeted the Third and manipulated him in revenge for what Dociline did to your mother. Of course, they throw ‘allegedly’ in there every three words and VanBuren makes the Bishops sound like our saviors. This article is supposed to spook anyone with a hint of debt into thinking their only option will be debtors’ prison, after you destroy the ODR.” She shakes her head and turns back to our donations. “Don’t worry; I only believe the City Paper. And, like I said, I hope you kick Bishop’s ass.”
Onyx catches my eye, sees that I’m barely there. “You ready to go?”
I shouldn’t be surprised by Mariah’s article—but the words still hurt. They’re out there, in bold black print, alongside photos used out of context. This is the opposite of what Eugenia asked me to do, during this trial. People can’t believe this, can they? “Yeah,” I say, ready to put the article out of my mind. I have too much else to focus on: myself, Alex, my mother, my upcoming deposition. “I’m ready.”
“Thank you!” I shout, hoping Betty can hear over the crinkle of trash bags.
“‘Thank you’?” Onyx says as he leads us back to the car.
I say, “Yes,” and don’t explain myself. “I know you’re trying to help, but, please, don’t make me justify everything I say and do.”
“All right, then.” He gets in the car, with a satisfied smile, as if that’s exactly what he wanted me to say.
I think I got what I want, but it’s hard to tell with Onyx. Instead, I say, “I can’t believe she knew about my trial.”
He shrugs. “Pretty much everyone knows.”
“I’ve lived out here my whole life. We don’t get a lot of news—on purpose. Only thing that matters is keeping away debt collectors and cops.”
“Fair.” Onyx pulls back on the highway, leaving the windows up and the music down, this time. “I’ve spent most of my life in the city—you’re the expert. This is big news, though. Empower Maryland’s been pushing Bishop Labs for years without much response. Somehow, you pushed them hard enough to get one.”
“I didn’t mean to.”
“I know.”
* * *
“Are you going to knock?” I can hear Onyx masking his annoyance. We’ve been standing in front of my house for five long minutes. My clenched fist raised to knock, arm beginning to tingle from loss of circulation. I held my breath, until I couldn’t.
“No.” I grasp the doorknob and twist. This is still my house. I’m not breaking in. I push the door open and stop. Onyx bumps into me.
“Dad.” I didn’t expect to see him. It’s the middle of a Wednesday. He should be out working. “What’re you…”
He holds up a sandwich. “Ever heard of lunch?”
“Right.”
“Can I come in, or…,” Onyx says, right in my ear.
“Sorry.” I step inside and he follows. “Dad, this is my friend Onyx. He’s helping me.”
“Is he?”
“Yes. I lock doors now.” Why did I say that? Dad isn’t Alex. He won’t care, doesn’t want to hear about my progress. I can’t apologize, though. That’ll make it worse.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Wilder,” Onyx says before my dad can respond. “I work with Empower Maryland.”
“Burns, not Wilder.” Dad actually shakes his hand. “But you can call me David. Are you hungry?”
“We already ate, but I wouldn’t mind some coffee, if you’ve got it.”
“How about tea?”
“That’s fine.”
I force myself to stand still while Dad gets a mug and canister, from the cabinet. Why do I have to stand here, like I’m invisible? I want to help. It’s okay to help. Dad won’t mind.
Slowly, I walk over to the stove, pick up the kettle, and fill it with water. Not looking at my father. Not looking at Onyx. Only at my hands and the sink and the column of water that streams from the faucet into the spout.
Beside me, the gas clicks five time before the flame whooshes on. Eyes on the grate, I set the kettle on it like a target. Dad walks away. I take a deep breath.
He didn’t push me away. Wasn’t angry. Okay. This is okay.
Dad leans against the wall. “So, what brings you out this way, Onyx?”
Onyx nods at me. “Ask Elisha. I’m just the chauffeur.”
Dad scoffs and shakes his head. “Knew it had to be something like that.” He looks at me. “Too good for your own two feet?”
“N-no. I just wanted to get up here quickly and—”
“I’m not his driver.” Onyx folds his arms, forehead scrunching at the suggestion. “It was just an expression. Elisha’s my friend and he can’t drive, so he asked for my help. Something wrong with that?”
Dad opens and closes his mouth. The kettle whistles. While he tends to it, Onyx flips him the bird. I cut my hand across my neck. Onyx shakes his head and drops the gesture.
“Actually, Dad.” It feels so weird talking to him, again. “I want to talk to you about the trial.”
He hands the steaming mug to Onyx without a word. Lately, I prefer his silence.
“I’d like to bring our family into the city,” I say, not breaking that contact. It’s the first time we’ve really looked at each other since I left. Maybe he sees me, now.
We all turn at the sound of the door thrown open. “Elisha!” Abby runs into my arms. “Are you better?” she whispers in my ear.
“Not all the way,” I say to her, “but I’m working on it.”
She releases me. “So, what’s going on? And who’d you bring with you?”
“Onyx,” he says. “Nice to meet you…”
“Abby.” She holds out her hand to him. “Elisha’s sister.”
He shakes it. “I’m with Empower Maryland. Helping your brother out.”
She looks between him and me. “What happened to Alex? I thought he was helping.”
“Something came up,” I say, before Onyx can snark or explain. Dad’s barely listening as it is.
“The lawsuit?” she asks. “Verónica told us we didn’t have to worry. She would handle it.”
“No—I mean, yes. But that’s not why I’m here.”
“He wants us to move into the city,” Dad says. I’d almost forgotten he was there.
Abby’s eyes light up. “Can we? Dad, can we go into the city?”
“I’ll have to confirm with Eugenia, but we have some housing connections. I’m sure she’ll agree this is an excellent use of resources,” Onyx says.
“Nora, too,” Abby says. “She’s family and Dylan is still in the city.”
I’m nervous knowing Dad will come, too, after all the fights we’ve had. But it would be great feeling like part of my own family, again.
“Let us move into the city, Dad,” Abby says. “Please.”
The three of us stare at him, while he stares at the floor. “Fine,” he says, finally. I can almost feel the room breathe. “But only if Nora agrees to come, too, and only for as long as the trial. Once it’s over, we can discuss staying longer. And by ‘we,’ I mean Nora and me.”
“Ahhh!” Abby throws her hands over her head and runs back outside. “Nora, Nora! Guess what?” Her boots thud over the doorway before the door slams behind her.
“I think she’s excited,” Dad says with a smile.
A smile. I almost fall over at the sight. “Yeah, I think so,
too.”
Dad walks slowly toward the door, grasps the knob, and looks back at me. “It seems like you’re on the right path, Elisha. Please don’t make me regret moving our family into the city.”
Our family.
“I won’t.”
* * *
“I need to ask you another favor.” I feel bad asking for so much from Onyx, but there are so few people I trust. “If you don’t mind.”
He chuckles. “You can ask.”
I roll up the car window so he can hear me better. Tall, brightly painted buildings begin to crop up around us, as we drive back into the city. Even though it’s been my home—felt more like my home than the county—for over six months, it’s weird to think I’ll officially live here, soon. That my family will live here. In a real apartment, not a curtained-off room at Empower Maryland or someone else’s house.
Though I still miss Alex’s, sometimes.
“Elisha?”
“Sorry. I, uh…” Ask. “Was wondering if you could help me find a place where Alex can work with my mom? I don’t want Eugenia or my family to know. It doesn’t have to be fancy. Alex said we only need space for a few chairs and a makeshift workstation. Clean would be nice, but I can clean it up myself.”
“I noticed you didn’t mention that to your family—that Alex plans to help your mom.”
“No. Dad was barely willing to move for my sake; imagine if I brought up Alex.”
“I’m not saying it was the wrong move.” Onyx doesn’t say what it was, though.
I fold my hands together and stuff them between the soft secondhand denim that stretches over my knees. I’m better at picking clothes I like, now, but didn’t want to wear something that would remind Dad of trillionaire fashion.
“I’m not sure I can help you find a work space—not because I don’t want to. I don’t have the resources or knowledge. Official Empower Maryland stuff? Sure. Off-grid? As much as I dig, I’m going to have refer you to someone else.”
“Can I ask who?”
“Isn’t that what you’re doing now?”
“You know what I mean.”
Onyx doesn’t take Empower Maryland’s exit. He’s going to follow 83 to its end—into the heart of Baltimore City. “If you want to disappear from Bishop Labs and Empower Maryland, you’re going to need someone who’s wealthy enough to independently own property. Who already knows you and wants you to succeed. Who likes Alex Bishop but won’t tell on him. You need Dutch Townsend.”
60
ALEX
“What do you think?” Dutch walks into the empty apartment with his arms outstretched. He stops under a ceiling fan and twirls for effect. “It’s small, but that’s what you asked for. I figure you can set up in this kitchen-dining-living area. Use the cabinets to store all your science stuff. Even has a little backyard.”
He walks toward the small French doors and turns their handles. Walks outside, leaving me alone in the space. The first floor of a powder-blue row home split into apartments, it’s not like anywhere I’ve ever lived, and yet?
I look at the front door as the lock whirs, then clicks. When Elisha crosses the threshold, I imagine him coming home to me. The space is big enough for two and I like that it doesn’t have monitors and SmartSurfaces everywhere. I’ve had enough of work and news intruding in my personal space.
Dutch peeks his head back into the living area. “That you, Elisha?”
“Yeah.” The last time we saw each other, he threw himself into my arms. This time, he takes my hand and kisses me quickly. A peck on the lips as if he doesn’t have time.
“What do you think, good?” Dutch asks him. “I hate buying foreclosed homes—usually, I give them back to the family—but this one was clearly abandoned. Didn’t even take their stuff. Empower Maryland came for anything useful, this morning. The rest went to the dump.”
“It’s nice,” he says. “But I don’t know what Alex needs.” I hear an undercurrent of irritation in his voice. Didn’t Dutch say he was coming from his family’s new apartment?
“I’m going to step outside.” Dutch looks between us, aware that he’s in the middle of something, then heads for the front door. “Give you two a chance to look around. Talk it over. Let me know when you’re ready to head back to the lab, Alex.”
“Sure thing,” I say.
The door closes, dead bolt whirs back into place.
“You did it,” I say, hoping my enthusiasm is catching. “You got her here.”
“Yeah. Whole family, actually. Empower Maryland hooked us up with an apartment, nearby.” Elisha doesn’t look as excited as I assumed he would be. I remember what a dick his father was to him. What if things haven’t gotten better? “Actually.” He sighs and wipes sweat from his forehead. “I’m having a hard time.”
I squeeze his hand to remind him I’m here for him. I love him and want him to succeed. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Everything’s wrong,” he says, his irritation finally bubbling over. “All I’ve wanted for months is for my family to be happy and secure. For my dad to accept who I am, now. To be allowed to hang out with my sister. For Nora to be closer, for Dylan. I was there. In our new apartment—it’s really nice. Clean, spacious, close. It has new furniture and linens that remind me of yours. Not as soft, but still comfortable.”
“I’m sure they’re perfectly fine.” I chuckle, but Elisha’s face is still hard and creased.
“I felt like an alien. Like I’d landed on someone else’s planet.”
Damn. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“I’ve always shared a room with Abby, but for some reason I felt claustrophobic in there, with her. Trapped. She led me around like I was a Docile. I am not a Docile, anymore.”
“She was probably trying to help,” I offer, hoping to calm him.
“I guess.” Elisha’s fingers twitch against mine, as if itching to pull away.
“She hasn’t spent a lot of time with you, lately,” I say. “Give her a chance to catch up.”
“Am I supposed to pretend it doesn’t bother me?”
“No.” I take his other hand in mine and watch his muscles tense beneath his freckled skin. Does he not want to touch me? Am I blowing this? I’m trying. I am trying so hard to speak thoughtfully with him and respect his space. “Talk to her. Like you’re talking to me. Be honest.”
“I was being honest with her. This is how I feel.” Elisha yanks his hands away. “I don’t want to share a room with my sister. I don’t want her to hold my hand. Either she’s guiding me like a child through my choices or she’s treating me like I can’t make my own. I just want to be treated normally.”
He turns and walks through the empty kitchen, to the French doors. They still hang open to the warm, humid air. I shouldn’t follow—or should I? I want to go after him. I love him and he’s clearly angry, but I don’t think my presence is soothing him, right now.
“I know. You deserve to be.” I rest a hand on his back, feel its heat radiating through his tee shirt. Then he turns to face me and my hand slides away without fanfare. Like he didn’t notice and didn’t care.
“Nora doesn’t think so,” Elisha says. “Not while Dylan’s stuck at Bishop Labs.”
“Elisha, there’s nothing you can do about—”
“I know!” he shouts so loudly, I stumble back. “But it’s all I can think about when I see her, now. That it’s my fault.” He groans. Runs his hand through his hair and leans against the doorframe. “Then Dutch called and Dad asked where I was going—don’t worry; I didn’t tell him.”
“Can I ask what you told your father, instead of the truth?”
Elisha shrugs. “Nothing.”
“Nothing?” I try not to sound surprised.
“Yeah, nothing. I don’t have to tell people where I’m going and what I’m doing, anymore. They all want to know and I can’t handle it.”
“They’re only asking because they care.” Like I’m doing. He wanted normal conversation; this is n
ormal. It is normal that I want to know where he is. Just because he doesn’t have to tell me—doesn’t have to tell his family or friends—doesn’t mean we don’t want to know.
“If they cared, they would understand that I can’t tell them.”
“Elisha, they’re treating you normally. It’s normal for people to want to know where their loved ones are.”
“Would you stop saying my name like that? That’s how Abby says it. Like you have to explain to me how the world works!” He’s shouting again.
“I-I’m sorry.” I don’t know what to say. How to fix this or if I even can “I didn’t mean—”
“I thought you would understand. I didn’t bare my feelings so you could explain why they were wrong. I wanted your support.”
“I do support you.” Desperation pulls at my voice. “I don’t even know how this conversation turned into a fight.”
“I don’t know. Maybe it is me.” His eyes drop to his hands. “Maybe I’m the broken one who can’t interact with normal people, anymore.”
“You’re not broken, E—” I stop. Purse my lips. Don’t say his name because he just told me it bothered him. I am trying to do the right thing. “Tell me what you need and I’ll do it, I promise.”
Elisha squeezes his eyes shut and digs his fingers into his forehead. I watch him breathe. Slowly, purposefully. “I need you to side with me, without humoring me. I need to be allowed to come and go when I please without telling anyone where I’m going. I need space and to be able to fill it, on my own.”
Then, before I can respond, his face falls. He looks away.
The realization sours my stomach like old milk. Slowly. Nauseating me. I can’t help him. Doesn’t matter that I was there for all the shit Elisha went through; it wasn’t the same for me. I was the bad guy. I can’t believe I ever thought I could untrain him. How naive.
“I have to go,” he says.
“Do what you have to.” I don’t want him to leave, not like this, but what choice do I have except to let him go?
“I, um.” He looks around the room as if expecting to find an escape hatch. Something to latch on to. A lie. “I have to prepare. For my deposition. I’ll talk to you later.”