by Traci Finlay
“Oh! So you help Ian with his job. My, that’s generous of you. I mean, more time you get to spend with him. I know you guys are close, so I bet that’s fun. And you basically just do whatever he tells you to do then, right?”
I glared at her.
“What about a boyfriend? Are you dating anyone? Because I know—from experience—that Ian sure dates a lot.”
“Shut up, Ashley.” This wasn’t an interrogation, this was an intervention and she needed to leave.
She chuckled, and it was throaty and patronizing and it did something to my brain. “I’m here as a friend, Charlotte. Please understand that. We’re concerned for you. I’ll stop, because I know this is bothering you, but please think about what I’ve basically made you admit, okay?”
Bitch didn’t make me admit anything.
“There’s one more thing. He borrowed money from me. Could you ask him to pay me back?”
I gawked at her. “For me to do that, I’d have to admit that you came here and accused him of beating me before conducting an intervention. You sure you don’t want to rethink that proposal?”
Ashley’s authoritative demeanor melted away and she was back to being an anxious blob of manufactured plastic, clicking her acrylic nails nervously on the table. “Should I ask him for it? He borrowed three hundred bucks. I kinda need that back, ya know?”
“I wonder what he needed three hundred bucks for?” I mused, poking at the condensation drips on my glass.
Ashley pouted. “To fix his truck.”
“But I gave him my birthday money to fix his truck.” We looked at each other, and I shrugged and dropped my eyes. “Weird,” I concluded, refusing to connect in some neo-feminist bond with her.
We heard the front door open and boots hit the landing. Ashley jumped out of her chair and hamstered toward the back door. “Please don’t tell him I was here!” she whispered and disappeared.
“Charles!” Ian yelled. I tiptoed into the living room, watching Ian sort through a pile of mail. “What’s up?” he said.
“Nothing.” I moseyed into the room and perched on the arm of Razzle Dazzle. “How was your day?”
“Terrible.”
“Sorry.”
He looked at me and grinned. “Stop being cute. What did you do today?” He ripped open an envelope and skimmed over a document before crumpling it and tossing it on the couch.
“Well, I talked to Dana a little while ago,” I said, moving from Razzle Dazzle’s arm to leaning against the back of the couch.
“Oh, yeah?” he said absently, ripping into another envelope.
“Yeah, she was talking about that party Friday.”
“You’re not going,” Ian announced, flipping through a Macy’s catalog after discarding the rest of the mail on the coffee table.
“Yes, I am.” I crossed my ankles and folded my arms.
He finally looked at me. “No, you’re not. I told you last week you weren’t going.” He looked back down at the catalog, licked his finger, and flipped another page.
I bristled. “Ian, I’m nineteen, for one, and two, you’re not my dad.”
“This has nothing to do with your age or relationship to me,” he said calmly. “It has to do with the fact that you were irresponsible with my truck. You tried driving it all the way to Lauren’s house knowing it needed gas. I told you it needed gas. But you were lazy and ended up on the side of the road. Which leads to irresponsibility number two.” He dog-eared a page and flipped another, as if he were lecturing the catalog and browsing through me. “Because you ran out of gas, you were late for curfew.”
“Oh, stop with the curfew shit.” I rolled my eyes, springing off the back of the couch. “Again, I’m nineteen, and you’re not my dad!”
He raised a finger and cocked his head as if that statement inspired an epiphany. “True,” he remarked. “But the day our father went to prison, I signed a document stating that I was, in fact, your legal guardian. And your curfew when Dad was still our dad was ten o’clock. Granted, that was about three years ago, which is why I’ve extended it until one.”
“That was when I was a minor. I’m not a minor anymore, and I don’t need a legal guardian,” I grumbled, feeling even more like a minor for having to say that.
He slapped the catalog on the table with the rest of the mail. “Well, you’re welcome to move out and participate in any and all forms of debauchery as you please. But you haven’t, and you know why? Because you’re lazy. You don’t work and you’re stuck doing college online because you quit running track in high school and lost out on a scholarship. You sit around here all day and play with your friends all night. I’m still supporting you, still paying your bills, and if you want to act like a child, you’ll get treated like a child.” He popped me on the nose with his finger, and his pleasant tone while calling me a child infuriated me.
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t,” he said as he headed toward the kitchen. “Without me you’d have nothing. What’s for dinner? What do I smell in here?” He disappeared, and I shut my eyes and tried counting to ten, but got stuck between five and fuck you.
“Brownies?” I heard him say. “Why are you making brownies?”
“Because I want them,” I answered, marching toward the kitchen.
“Dinner, Charlotte!” he yelled.
I hesitated outside the kitchen door and decided to enter with poise and grace instead of being pissy and sulky, because Ian’s good mood didn’t make it to the kitchen. “What do you want?” I asked softly when I stepped into the kitchen.
He kicked a chair, tipping it over. “Are you kidding me? What do you do here all day, seriously? I’m working all day long and come home, to what? Brownies?” he shouted.
“Okay. What do you want? I’ll make you something. Whatever you want.”
He laughed. “I want a steak, Chuck. Make me steak.”
I recognized that laugh. It was the prelim. I boldly walked to the middle of the kitchen. My calves twitched. “We don’t have any steak.” Let the games begin.
“Of course we don’t!” he bellowed, and he grabbed the vase off the table and whipped it against the wall, glass shards volcanoing a foot from my head. My teeth jittered, and he charged toward me. “Why would we ever have steak here? Why would you ever be possessed to actually go to the store and get groceries? You see, Chuck? You see why you need a parent? When I was your age I had a deposit on an apartment and a full ride to college! And I had to leave all that to raise you once he went to jail!”
I had to turn my head down to avoid his spit flecking on my face.
“Look at me!” He grabbed my face and turned it up toward him. “You want to be treated like an adult? Huh?”
I nodded.
“Then start acting like one.” He punched the wall, and I yelped as puffs of drywall rocketed from his knuckles, a framed Having somewhere to go is home, having someone to love is family, having both is a blessing combusting on the tile.
I ducked away from him and resurfaced by the fridge, pulling out a package of ground beef and placing a skillet on the stove. Ian just lost his temper three days ago, I should’ve had a few more days before dealing with this again.
He stood in the doorway quietly. Too quietly. “Who was here?”
I swallowed. “No one,” I answered, staring at the beef I was chopping with a spatula.
He stomped to the table, and I heard him swipe both glasses off the top. That glasses was pluralized was what would be the death of me.
“Turn around,” he demanded, and I twisted to see him holding them both out. “Who”—he chucked one onto the floor—“was here?” and down crashed the other.
I panicked as my eyes scanned the glass mosaic that was once the kitchen floor. “Ash—Ashley.”
“Ashley? Why was she here?”
“She wanted to see me.” I wondered how I could maneuver through the kitchen to grab the broom without my feet collecting shrapnel.
“Why, because yo
u guys were such good friends?” he asked, his fists pumping at his sides.
“No, E. She just wanted to talk to me. She’s sad because you guys broke up.”
He guffawed. “No, she’s not. What did she say to you?”
“Oh.” I scratched my nose. “She was wanting her money back that you borrowed from her.”
“What else?”
I looked at him. “Nothing.”
“You’re lying.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are, because you were trying to cover up the fact she was here. If she just wanted her money, you would’ve just said it. What else did she say?”
I roll my eyes in surrender. “She wanted to know…”
“What?”
“She was asking about our dynamics. Yours and mine.”
Ian laughed. “Continue.”
I covered my face with my hands. “It’s stupid, Ian. She asked if you hit me. I told her no. Just let it go, please. She really just wants her money.”
“Call her.” His voice was so quiet, I thought I misunderstood him.
“What?”
“Call her and tell her to come over. I have her money for her.”
I dumped a packet of taco seasoning in the meat and moved to the counter to dice up tomatoes. “You call her.”
I jumped when the skillet clattered on the floor, and pivoted to see hamburger pellets marbling amongst the glass. I started crying.
“Call. Her. Now.”
He shoved my phone in my face, and I took it. He won again. Ian always won.
I rolled over in bed to face the wall, lowering my voice into my phone. “I really don’t think I’m going to be able to go, Dana. Ian’s really mad at me.”
Dana released a frustrated sigh. “You know it’s just because he doesn’t like you around Gavin.”
“No, it’s actually my fault. He was telling me how irresponsible I am, how I’m nineteen and don’t do anything, that I need to get a job, blah, blah, blah … but regardless, he’s right. I really should start job hunting.”
“How are you going to get a job? With what time? You’re taking classes and cleaning the house during the day, coaching with Ian most afternoons, and you’re almost always punished from the car and the phone.” She sighed and asked, “So how mad is he?”
My mind flashed back to when Ashley re-entered the house, the look on her face when she saw me kneeling in a sea of hamburger, shattered glass, and puddled water. I tried apologizing ferociously via telepathy, but I had a feeling that any hope of a neo-feminist telepathy bond was severed when I rebuffed her earlier.
My stomach sickened as I remembered my tears dripping onto the glass, listening to Ian screaming at Ashley from his room, and Ashley’s sobs amongst the banging and pounding against the walls. At least I hoped they were the walls.
“He’s pretty upset with me,” I understated.
“What did he do?” Dana whispered.
I glanced toward the door. “He … nothing, really. It really is my fault. I can be really annoying sometimes. I’d throw stuff around, too, if I had to live with me.”
Dana exhaled heavily. “All right. Just behave.”
“Good night.” I tossed my phone on the nightstand and stared at the dark ceiling. As I drifted off, a splash of light hit my face, and I squinted at the door, shielding my eyes with my hands. “Retina damage!”
“Sorry,” Ian said as he slipped into my room. He sat on the edge of my bed. “Wanna go out to dinner Friday?”
I twisted on my side to face him. “I can’t. I’m grounded, remember?”
“Oh, stop, Chuck. Just be more responsible. Start pulling your weight around here.”
“So I can go to the party?” I asked.
“No.”
“Dana thinks it’s because you don’t want me to see Gavin.”
“She’s right.”
“So I really can’t go?”
“No, because you already have plans. I’m taking you to dinner.”
“Why? Because we’ve run out of dishes because you keep destroying them?”
He chuckled. “Sorry about that.”
I shook my head. “I think you are grounded this weekend. You need to stop throwing temper tantrums like a toddler. If you want to act like a child, you should be treated like a child.”
He laughed heartily and stood. “You’re funny. I hope you know that any time I lose my temper with you, it’s because I’m just looking out for you. That’s my job. To make you a better person. Friday, seven-thirty. It’s a date.”
I blinked as he shut the door behind him, and I collapsed onto my pillow. Fine. I could accept that. But I was too exhausted to keep thinking about it, too drained to remember that he’d actually lost his temper because I’d made brownies and not so much because I needed to get a job.
Jack pulls off the next exit and loops around into a Big Boy restaurant. As soon as the car’s in park, he rotates toward me, his hands pointing at me in prayer position. “Do you hear yourself? You want to approach your brother, who’s currently trying to murder you, to confront him with this theory that he was actually the one who killed your friend? Listen to that, Charlotte, and raise your hand when you hear the common sense, because I’m not sure where exactly it is.”
I release an aggravated sigh. “Then what do you suggest? You were the one who told me to stop running from my problems, so now I’m trying to handle them, and you’re calling me stupid!”
“That was before I knew your problem was an axe-wielding older brother!” Jack escalates, and Nikka leans up from the backseat, placing a hand on each of our shoulders.
“You guys, stop fighting. Charlotte, I know everything’s crazy and you’re scared. But are you sure the only alternative is to seek Ian out? Isn’t there someone back home you can call or something?”
I shake my head. “No. I mean, it was never questioned. Ian was never even a suspect.”
“Can’t you call him?” Jack asks.
I look at him thoughtfully. “Can I borrow your phone?”
“You don’t have a cell phone? What are you, eighty?”
I stiffen. “No, I’m not eighty. I left it on the table when the axe happened.”
He nods slowly and reaches in his pocket. “Now this psycho’s going to have my phone number,” he groans as he hands it to me.
“I’m sure he already has it, Jack.” I jerk the phone from his hand. I haven’t held a cell phone in a while; I thought I’d miss it, but strangely, I don’t. Especially while dialing Ian’s number. My heart jolts on the first ring, anticipating his voice and what he may say.
I’m about to hang up when I hear, “You make a terrible brunette,” on the other end. I sit up. “Ian?”
“I thought cars were against the rules,” he says.
“So is impaling your opponent with an axe. I assumed since that rule was dissolved, the rest could go to hell, too.”
He chuckles. “Good call.”
I speak quickly before my courage disappears. “I need to ask you something.”
“Oh, do you?” he asks sarcastically. “Charles finally has some questions she just has to get out before she explodes?”
“I need to know if you killed Chrissy.”
He laughs. “What?”
“You killed her, didn’t you?”
“Christ Almighty. Are you serious? Of all the questions you should be asking right now. Of course not, Chuck. I did not kill her.”
I’ve no idea if he’s lying.
“If you don’t believe me, Google it. It’s all online, you know—everything. The court cases you didn’t want to hear about. Dad’s confession. You could be self-sufficient for once.”
I don’t know what to say. Dad pleaded guilty. Duh. I’m the world’s worst detective.
“You don’t believe me, do you?” he asks, and he actually sounds offended. “Chuck, I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a liar. I’ve never lied to you. Okay, there was one time I didn’t tell you the who
le truth, but it was for your own good. You were too young. But this’ll also prove I didn’t kill her. Wanna hear it?”
“Yes.”
“It was The Night That Never Happened. When I told you how Chrissy died—all that was true!—but you asked me something afterward. Do you remember what it was?”
“I asked you why Dad killed her, and you said you didn’t know.”
Ian pauses. “Right. The truth is, I do know why. And I think you’re ready to hear it. But you need to be alone. I’m going to tell you the honest-to-God truth, and I need you to be honest with me. Are you alone?”
I cover the mouthpiece and look at Jack and Nikka, whose eyes have never left my face. “He says I have to be alone. I’m going inside.” They protest, but I step outside and push the door closed, forcing my wobbly legs through the doors and onto a bench in the lobby. “Okay, E. I’m alone. Why? Why did Dad kill Chrissy?” This is a lot harder than I thought it’d be.
“Because he was molesting her, and she put up a fight.”
I blink and jerk my head. “What?”
“And where do you think you fit into that whole equation, Charlotte? You’re fucking welcome, by the way.”
“But how—”
I look at the phone, and a bright blue DISCONNECTED is displayed above Ian’s number. I can’t breathe. A potted plant begins spinning, and my peripheral vision blurs. I place my head between my knees. Because he was molesting her, and she put up a fight…
I sit up. No, Ian’s wrong. He’s lying. I don’t believe that for one second, and now I’m wasting my time, along with Jack’s and Nikka’s. I stand, shove the door open, and beeline toward the car. Yeah right, Dad was molesting Chrissy. That’s fucking twisted, Dad wasn’t like that. He never molested me, so I don’t fit into any equation. Only a monster would…
“Oh, my god.” I fall to my knees. My hands go to my mouth. “He tried.” My whole childhood flashes in my mind, images of being alone with my dad, starting off innocently and always ending with Ian bursting on the scene.
That monster’s gonna getcha if you don’t run NOW!