“Evie?” A weird look comes over Ruby’s face. She rips the letter from my hands.
“That’s the only reason?” I ask.
“I’m your mother. I don’t need to tell you everything. A mother has reasons.”
“Oh fuck.” Ruby turns a shade of yellow, drops the letter, and bolts out of the room.
It flutters out of her hand and lands on the linoleum floor with an uninvited whisper, uninvited just like the lips brushing against my face after I already went to bed. ‘Shh. Shh, Evie,’ uninvited just like when the covers pulled up to my shoulders were pulled gently down.
And I know.
I finally know why we had to leave so quickly on that cold, mean winter day in a small Midwestern town. We had to leave because of the sexual abuse by a predatory priest. We had to leave because the kind of hot sauce Kyle liked with his taco chips when he watched football games and drank too much was burning my lips.
I never understood the accident. The puzzle pieces felt so random. Ruby puking as I crawled out the back of the car, the Wolfe brothers broken lying on the hard ground. I stumbled past Easton because something in me needed to find his brother Wyatt. Something in me needed to touch Wyatt and heal him.
I never understood why Mom did something full on crazy like blowing under the candy cane-colored barriers descending on the train tracks. I never really understood why I’ve been paying for this ever since, busting my ass making amends for all the damage. I’m tired. The holes in my soul grow more ragged every day, like a colony of determined moths eating their way through an old sweater.
Mom sits in that vinyl chair biting her lower lip, and for the first time I see past the damaged, broken woman. I see past the woman I love but walk on tiptoes around because I’m scared I’ll do or say the wrong thing and hurt her even more. I see instead a woman who wanted to spare her daughters more pain. A mother who wanted to save her girls. And I am flooded with sorrow. And I am flooded with gratitude.
I kneel next to her and take her hand in mine. I stroke the back of it and press it to my cheek. “Why don’t you tell me about that day, Mom? All this time and we’ve never really talked about it.”
She starts crying. “Nothing good happened that day.”
“Maybe something good did happen that day. Maybe you got Ruby and me out of that house before really awful, horrible things happened.”
“I had to listen to what I was feeling,” she says. “Something wasn’t right. I had to listen.”
“Did you save us, Mom?” I ask, my tears flowing unchecked.
“I don’t know,” she says, twisting her hands in her lap. “I won’t ever know for sure. I’m sorry, Evie.”
“I’m sorry too,” I say, my heart cracking because I’m finally putting these puzzle pieces together. All the men I’ve been working so hard to heal is really about healing Mom. I wrap my arms around her thin shoulders and hug her. “I’m sorry too.”
22
Lake Lodge
LAKE LODGE
Nikki booked a suite for Jake and me at Lake Lodge on Lake Wisconsin a few towns over.
Considering the countless times I’ve visited Mom at the Institute, I’ve never stayed at this resort and I’ve always wanted to. I just didn’t plan on doing this at the end of “rockets’ red glare and bombs bursting through the air” kind of day. Nikki has taken care of everything. She’s already checked us in. I’m still shaky and I’m grateful I don’t have to think about details.
I clue Jake in on the basics of what happened during my visit with Mom on the drive over. He’s kind and respectful. He doesn’t push. The lodge is comforting, the perfect place to be. It’s upscale without being pretentious, its wood floors heavy and dark, covered with thick tapestry area rugs in rich colors. Floor to ceiling windows look out over a gorgeous lake, the boats tucked safely into slips.
We check into our private cabin, shower, then make our way back to the lodge. Jake grabs us beer and sandwiches from the bar, and we walk down to the dock. We sit on the edge, roll up our jeans and dangle our feet into the lake below.
“I’m giving Kyle’s letter to the cops along with the ones I got in L.A.,” I say, picking at my sandwich.
“Good,” he says.
“Do you think he’s the person writing your letters?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “I’ll leave that up to the police.”
“You going to be okay?” He drapes an arm around my shoulders.
“Yeah,” I say, leaning back against his chest. The place is quiet. There’s not many people here this weekday late afternoon. The trees rimming the lake houses are still leafy green, the air fresh and clean. The shimmer of the sun dropping lower over the water warms my face. I inhale and wonder if this is how life’s supposed to feel – relaxed, sweet, comforting – until a mosquito lands on my arm. I jump and slap it. “Ow!”
“The obligatory asshole showing up at the perfect party.” Jake says.
“I was supposed to vacation at a lake house before I accepted the gig to work with you,” I say. “My boss told me the mosquitoes would eat me alive. I laughed at her.”
“Don’t you hate when those people are right? Are you happy you made that choice? Are you glad you came to L.A.?”
“Yes,” I say and take a swig of my beer. “You?”
“Absolutely. I think I’m back on track.”
“I think so too. You were shut down, Jake. Everyone gets wounded. But sometimes we get triggered and a wound festers,” I say. “Then we struggle with the ugliness. We fight it, drink it to death, medicate it, or we shut down. ”
“I think I’ve got a ways to go,” he says. “Enough about me. The last two days have been super rough for you. How do you feel?”
“In a weird way, relieved,” I say, tipping back my beer. “Like I was finally given the missing puzzle piece to a mystery that never made sense. And now life can be different. Now I can move on.”
And I realize — there are no accidents. Jake and I came together for a reason. I can find a way to move forward — maybe Jake can too. “Jake, remember when you said that you left the church in high school?”
“Yes.”
“Adam told me about Father Tate. Did you see Father Tate do something bad to Adam?”
“Oh, Evie,” he says. “That’s so long ago. Let’s not talk about that. Maybe when your Mom is feeling better you should come back to L.A.”
I’m going to miss Jake Keller. I’m going to miss him for a long time.
I stand up and brush the dust from the wooden dock off my pants. I look out over the gorgeous lake, and picture casting a line out, feeling the tug of a fish’s bite when it takes the bait. I picture myself reeling it in and pan-frying it on a grill while hanging out with my friends and my family and Jake Keller or Dylan McAlister on a dock like this.
I hold out my hand to Jake. “Come on. We’ve got work to do.”
I stare into Jake’s face as he fucks me. My legs are wrapped over his shoulders. His cock is buried deep inside me. He’s skirting that border between the earthly plane and the ecstasy of a mind-bending orgasm.
I bite my lip and exhale his name. “Jake.”
“What?” He thrusts into me harder.
I know where the poison exists in Jake’s body. It’s in his throat. It’s in his chest. “Do something for me, okay?”
“Anything,” he says and turns me on my side, pressing one knee toward my chest. He grabs a pillow, and presses it under my knee.
“Tell me about the priest from your parish in Albuquerque. Tell me about Father Tate.”
“I’m not talking about that asshole now.” He grabs my shoulder with, his grip rougher than normal, and sinks back inside me with a fierceness.
I wince. “Tell me what Father Tate said to you that day. The day you caught him hurting Adam.”
He penetrates me more deeply, my ass slapping against his pelvis. I squeeze my eyes shut knowing that sometimes the sweetest people have the roughest time letting go of a wound t
hat has cut them deeply.
“Jake!”
“What?”
“Tell me what Father Tate said to you that day.”
He grunts, ignoring my request. Instead, he hooks his hands around my pelvis, hoists my ass in the air and fucks me from behind. His cock is deep inside me. His fingernails rake my back. “I don’t have to do this,” he says. “I don’t have to talk. I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to do.”
“I know.” I grit my teeth because what we’re doing right now isn’t about sex. This is about his wound hanging onto him with slimy tentacles for dear life. This is about lies, and power, deception, abuse, and predators taking advantage of those they perceive to be weaker than them.
He rakes his fingers through my hair and goosebumps erupt on the backs of my arms. My nipples harden. My pussy clenches on its own from arousal, but this isn’t the time to be distracted.
I, Evelyn Berlinger, survived punch-your-throat-out childhood trauma. I survived abuse and craziness. I might have been a weak and scared little girl before but I’m a 21st century courtesan now, and I will be god damned if the bitter belief that’s brought Jake Keller to his knees will be walking on two legs once I’m done with it.
“Jake,” I say, fighting back tears. “Tell me what Father Tate said when you caught him with Adam. Just do what I’m asking. Please.”
“Father Tate said I could never tell,” Jake says. “He said I could never tell because no one would believe me and God would hate me for being a liar.”
He stops.
He just stops and I hear him breathing heavily. “Oh, Evie.”
The taint, the bitter belief, the poison is pouring out of him. It’s pouring into this bed, staining it with sorrow. The poison leaked drip by drip into that small house Mom and Ruby and I shared with Kyle Monroe and threatened to drown us before we even realized those waters were dangerous. It was why Mom knew she had to get me and Ruby out. It was why we left in such a manic hurry the day we ran over the Wolfe brothers.
“On your back,” I say to Jake, trying to catch my breath. “Trust me.”
He pulls out of me, turns, and lies on his back, his breath thick and heavy and yet something has already shifted within him. The lie is revealed.
I straddle him. I circle his dick – still hard – with my fist, and stroke it up and down. I rub his hard cock against my warm, wet center, and lower myself onto him.
“Oh,” he says, biting his lip.
I lower myself onto him as deep as I can go and I fuck him.
I close my eyes and concentrate because I can feel his bitter belief trying to sneak away and hide again and I will not allow that. I fuck him harder until I feel him shudder within me as he comes.
“Evie!” he exclaims.
I open my eyes, and stare into his. I lean down and kiss him tenderly. I push back the hair on his forehead clinging to the perspiration on his brow. I place a hand on his throat. “Say it. Tell me. Tell the world what Father Tate said you couldn’t.”
“Oh, Evie,” he says. “I don’t know.”
“Say it. Get his poison out of you.”
I am pulling this cord of lies and deception out of his body. It is thick in his throat. All these congested, confused words queued up like planes waiting to taxi down the runway. “Trust me.”
“I saw Father Tate with Adam,” Jake says. “I saw him doing things Adam didn’t want him to do.”
“More,” I say, moving my palm to his chest, feeling the roots of the poison entrenched in his heart. I envision pulling those roots out. My palm burns. “There is more. Tell me more.”
“Father Tate touched Adam. Father Tate made Adam do things.”
“More,” I say. This wound is old and mean and ugly but it comes out with a clunk into my hand. I stare at the predator as it wriggles about, as it takes its last thieving, pathetic breaths.
“I told him not to touch me,” Jake says. “But Father Tate said no one would believe me. And so he did it anyhow.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” I say, my heart breaking for my lovely, sweet Jake. “I’m so sorry.” I release that negative energy into the Universe so it can be repurposed into something neutral or even positive. Something like kindness, truth, beauty, love.
I wrap my arms around Jake and I hold him, cradle him, caress him, love him. “Your words have power. Your words have meaning. You are taken seriously. Never again, Jake. From here on out you say the words you need to say. You say the important words. Never again.”
“Never again.”
“Never again,” I say when we kiss at the airport in Milwaukee before he leaves on his flight back to L.A., “will you keep your truth quiet.”
“Never again,” he says and kisses my hand and then kisses me on the lips. “You’re amazing, Evie. Thank you. I’ll call you when I’m back in L.A.”
“Yes,” I say, knowing that he never will. Our work is done. I’m okay with that. “Hey, hot Movie Star.”
He swivels and faces me, while people around us take pictures of him.
“I adore you. Break a leg.”
“Will do.” He hits me with that panty-melting Jake Keller smile, then steps onto the jet way, out of my sight, and out of my life.
23
Tornadoes
TORNADOES
Victoria comes with me when I give Mom’s letter to the detectives. Storm clouds are rolling in over the Chicago skies as we walk ten blocks to our fave beer and burger joint for lunch.
Ping-ping-ping my phone chimes. I’m expecting Dylan. He’s arriving tonight and I can’t wait to see him.
Ruby: Mom’s back in her old room.
Evie: Good.
Ruby: They put her in a different room and she said it smelled like cheap perfume.
Ruby: She pitched a fit.
Evie: Which means she’s getting better.
Evie: Right?
Ruby: Nailed it.
Ruby: I’m dating a new guy.
Evie: Great!
“Come on,” Victoria says. “It’s starting to rain.”
I pick up the pace.
Evie: Talk more IRT later. Right?
Ruby: Mom would like it if you visited her soon.
Evie: Absolutely.
At the restaurant we order sodas, ice tea, a round of sliders and cheesy fries. Amelia joins us and we sit around the high top table, an afternoon Cubs baseball game plastered on at least five TVs mounted on the walls.
“What do you do now?” Amelia asks, dipping into a plate of nachos. “What’s the next step?”
“The cops will investigate the Kyle Monroe thing,” I say. “They’ll track him down.”
“They’ll figure out if he was the one doing the breaking and entering,” Victoria says.
“It sounds like it was him,” Amelia says. “But I still can’t shake the feeling one of your clients has a hand in this.”
“Why?” Victoria asks.
“I get a hunch.” She shrugs. “Something I can’t quite put my finger on.”
“All those years I blamed Mom for everything,” I say. “She was taking care of all of us by blowing out of Kyle’s place that day.”
“Not trying to be a downer,” Amelia says, “but she still hit the Wolfe boys.”
“I know. Which is tragic, broke my heart, and so many other people’s. But after thirteen years I finally get to add another piece to that story. A piece that spells redemption.”
“Easton talked about it, you know,” Amelia says. “When I stayed with him in L.A.”
“I didn’t know that.”
Queasy flips over and I silently will him to hold his tongue for a change.
“One night Easton sent the chef and the maid home early. He grilled steaks and vegetables, picked a nice bottle of wine, and gave me this bracelet.” Amelia points to the diamond jewelry on her wrist.
“Pretty,” Victoria says.
“Gorgeous,” I say.
“After he cracked open the second bottle of wine he told me about th
e accident. I knew it was brutal but hearing it from his perspective gave me a whole new appreciation for what went down the day.”
“It was gnarly,” I say. “Nothing will change that.”
“I asked him if he had found healing. You know, let go, let God, that kind of thing?”
“What did he say?” I ask.
‘Maybe he did let it go,’ Queasy says.
‘Maybe he doesn’t need your forgiveness because he’s over it,’ Hope says.
“He said it changed his life forever.” She tears a packet of sweetener open and stirs it into her iced tea. “I’m not supposed to tell you the rest. He told me not to tell anyone.”
“You can’t bait us like that,” Victoria says.
“Fine, just don’t tell anyone.”
“Who am I going to tell?” Victoria asks.
“He said if it wasn’t for Wyatt he’d be just fine. But Wyatt is fucked up permanently. Wyatt might look almost okay on the outside but he’ll always be a mess.”
My heart drops so fast it plummets past my feet and shatters on the concrete floor. I stare at my watch in an attempt to cover my feelings. “We should get going.”
“We’re supposed to be at Ma Maison for a change of management meeting at 4,” Victoria says.
“Easton said it marked him forever,” Amelia says. “He’ll never forget. He’ll never forgive.”
Something rips open inside me and I cringe. I’ll never be able to make this right with Easton Wolfe. He’s never going to forgive me.
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