by Nikki Chase
I don’t know. I have no idea what I want.
He’s the one who destroyed my family. And I’m here to get some intel on him, as well as make some money off him in the process.
But seeing him like this, just relaxing at home after a long day at work, doting on his daughter…
It kinda makes it hard to keep thinking of him as some heartless monster, especially when his ex-wife could have been lying the whole time. If Ethan was honest when he told me about Ashley last night, then he’s a kind, patient man for not exposing her true colors.
“Penny used to love detective books,” Ethan says, gazing into the distance at the skyscrapers beyond the glass walls. “I used to read them to her at bedtime. I’d flip to the back to read the ending when she fell asleep and threaten her with spoilers whenever she was misbehaving,”
“That’s adorable,” I say, laughing as I imagine Ethan telling Penny to stop whining or he’d tell her who killed Mrs. Peacock.
Jesus, Ethan, stop being so damn adorable. You’re making it hard for me to keep hating you.
“Yeah.” Ethan lets out a heavy sigh as sadness descends over his eyes. “It was less adorable when she started coming up with stories about where her mom had gone. She used to tell people her mom was secretly working on some case, trying to catch a jewel thief.”
“That’s really creative of her,” I say, trying to make him feel better. “It’s still adorable, actually. Just in a rather sad way.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” Ethan gives me a sad smile.
He grows quiet in a way that leaves no doubt in my mind that he has been telling me the truth about Penny the whole time. He seems to be replaying bad memories in his head, thinking about how he could’ve done better. I’ve seen that same look on my mom’s face.
“She knows the truth now, of course. Which is that Ashley doesn’t care about her.” He pauses like his next words are too hard to say out loud without some emotional preparation. “It’s hard for her, you know? She’s mature for her age, but she’s still just a kid. I feel bad for that sometimes. Maybe she’s had to grow up more quickly because of how badly Ashley and I have fucked things up for her.”
“I’m not a parent, so I’m not going to pretend I know how you feel. But as someone’s daughter, I can tell you that Penny probably knows how hard you’re trying.” I remember the first time I met her and add, “She even told me that herself. I asked her about you not picking her up from school and you know what she said? ‘He tries.’”
“She said that?” Ethan looks at me with surprise in his eyes.
“Yeah.”
“Thanks for telling me that. That means a lot to me.” Ethan smiles as he exhales loudly. “It’s just that, sometimes I feel like I have no clue how to be a dad, you know? And I’m worried that I’m ruining her childhood, which will ruin her whole life.”
“That’s a little dramatic.” I laugh, trying to lighten the mood. “She’ll recover from whatever trauma you inflict on her. Maybe she’ll need lots of therapy, but you have the money, so she’ll get there.”
“That’s dark.” Ethan laughs. “You have a dark sense of humor.”
“So people tell me. Sorry if that was too much.”
“Not at all. I like that.” Ethan sets his gaze on me, looking at me with a mixture of amusement and wonder in his blue eyes. “That’s honest. You live here now. I wouldn’t want you to pretend to be something you’re not, just to avoid hurting my delicate sensibilities.”
I laugh nervously, uncomfortable now that he’s shifting the focus onto me. I’m worried about him finding out the truth about me—why I’m here, and how I’ve been snooping to get some juicy information on him.
Despite me warming up to Ethan, I continue to send updates to Michelle. I feel more and more guilty with each successive email,
Previously, I just didn’t want to jeopardize my mission. Now, I feel bad about doing these things behind his back when he and Penny have been nothing but wonderful to me.
But I can’t stop now. Not when I’m already so close.
Yet I don’t want him to stop looking at me like he’s doing right now.
I realize I’m being greedy. I want to have my cake and eat it, too, but obviously I can’t have it both ways.
“So, uh, Penny also told me how she had to walk a long way to school a few years ago,” I say, changing the topic.
“Yeah, that was back when she was living with Ashley. She never took very good care of Penny, which is why the judge gave me sole custody.” With a voice full of regret, he adds, “I shouldn’t have let her take Penny away.”
“But you probably didn’t know Ashley was going to do that.”
“I should’ve known. Ashley was never a good mother. We didn’t plan on having Penny, but life has a way of changing your plans sometimes. I chose to be a dad, while Ashley… Well, she was always wishing Penny weren’t around to cramp her style.”
“How did Penny end up with Ashley in the first place, if that’s the case?”
“I was not in any condition to take care of a child at the time. I was sick. Really sick. I couldn’t even leave the hospital. Honestly, I didn’t think I was going to make it. Both my parents had died in an accident a couple of years before that, so Ashley was all Penny had left, for better or worse.”
“You were sick?” This has never come up in any of the research I’ve done on Ethan. And I’ve done a lot of research.
“Yeah. It’s not something I talk about, usually. But you… I feel like I can tell you stuff,” he says with a smile. “I had some money that my parents had left me, and I spent it all on my treatments. I felt guilty about using all that money on myself.”
“You needed that money to live. There was no reason to feel guilty.” This hits home because my mom has also sacrificed a lot for me, and being the beneficiary of that sacrifice can feel like too much sometimes.
“I know that now. It seems crazy to feel that way, looking back. But at the time, I’d been spending nothing on myself and everything on Penny. It seemed wrong to suddenly dump so much money on myself, you know? Especially when there was no guarantee I was going to make it.”
“Yeah.” I remember the nights when Mom would come home after work, burning up and sweating from a fever, but refusing to see a doctor or to even miss work. “But you need to take care of yourself to be a good dad for Penny.”
“That’s what I told myself,” Ethan says. “When I finally got my health back, I wanted Penny to come live with me. But for someone who never wanted to be a mom, you’d be surprised how much Ashley fought me when I made my intentions clear.”
“She wouldn’t let you take Penny, even though she didn’t want her?”
“Yeah. She just wanted to hurt me. She didn’t care how it affected Penny.”
“That’s diabolical.”
“It motivated me to get ahead. I decided that I had to be successful. It was the only way for me to take Penny back and protect her from Ashley. I worked really hard. I did everything I could. Finally, I found an attorney who was confident he could get me sole custody. He was expensive, but I worked my ass off to afford him.”
“When was this?” I ask as my heart begins to pound in my chest. Could this be why he did what he did?
“I don’t know. It didn’t happen at some particular point in time. It was a process that took years.” Ethan pauses to think. “Penny finally started living with me about six, seven years ago. I recovered from my illness about ten years ago. So between those two events, my whole life was all about working and scrimping so I could pay the lawyer.”
I think about the timeline. Everything fits.
My jaw slackens, but I try not to show my surprise in front of Ethan.
“I did some things I’m not proud of during those years. Made a lot of money, and made some enemies, too.” Ethan chuckles wryly. “I don’t blame people for still hating me. That’s probably why Ashley’s stories are so popular anyway. Maybe I brought it upon myself.”
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I can’t find the words to say. Hell, I can’t even organize my thoughts right now. So I remain silent.
“I’m sorry. These are such depressing stories. You must be bored,” Ethan says.
“No, not at all.”
That’s not why I’m quiet at all. I’m just rethinking everything I’ve always thought about Ethan Hunter.
I need to be alone right now. There are too many contradictory things swirling around in my head right now.
“I’m just sleepy,” I lie, faking a yawn and a stretch. “I should get back to my room now. Good night, Ethan.”
“Good night,” he says as I walk away.
Maybe I’ve been wrong all along. Maybe he’s not a monster. Maybe he’s just another guy who’s doing his best when life throws him a curve ball.
Maybe he’s not so different from me after all.
Megan
Eight Years Ago
Mom and Dad walk ahead of me, their hands linked, holding on so tightly to each other that their knuckles are turning white.
It’s rare to see them this close lately. They’ve been fighting a lot.
Not just the heated discussions I used to hear coming from their room when I had to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night.
No, they’re fighting right in front of me now, like they can’t stand to hold it in even for a few minutes longer. Really, it only takes a few steps to take the argument into their bedroom, but they don’t even bother with that anymore.
They fight in the kitchen while I have breakfast before going to school; they fight as soon as they get home from work; they fight in the living room while I do my homework upstairs. I have to wear headphones to concentrate on anything.
I put my hand inside the pocket of my coat to play with my iPod, running my thumb over the smooth surface of the scroll wheel. I leave it off, though.
I choose to listen to my parents talking in normal voices to each other. Each night, I find myself raising the volume of the iPod to drown out my parents’ voices. This is a nice change of pace.
Besides, the speakers inside the mall are playing Coldplay’s Viva La Vida, which I’ve been playing on repeat. The music sounds different when Chris Martin isn’t practically screaming in my ears. It’s better.
All around us are other families. Parents and children. Couples on dates.
We probably look just like them, but we’re different.
While they stroll leisurely, we’re marching with purpose. While they chat casually with one another, I’m silently watching my parents speak in hushed, tense tones. While they browse the stores for things to purchase, we’ve only paid attention to one store in particular.
Toy Kingdom.
It’s heaven for most children, with their endless shelves stacked high with all kinds of colorful plastic things.
It’s hell for us, though. We can trace all our problems to that store. When Toy Kingdom first opened, that was the beginning of our downfall. It changed everything almost overnight.
There used to be kids running all over my parents’ store all the time. I had to watch my step so I wouldn’t run into them, or let them run into me. But now, I can close my eyes to navigate the store.
The shelves used to be packed so tightly with too many boxes that I sometimes had no idea how to fit everything. But now there’s plenty of empty spaces between the toys.
Also, I hardly get to paste the “New!” stickers on the shelves anymore, because my parents can’t afford to broaden the range of their inventory anymore, now that the store isn’t making enough money.
Judging from what my parents say during their arguments, they can barely afford to pay our bills, much less stock the store with new, shiny, expensive toys.
My parents stop talking as we walk past the window display of Toy Kingdom, filled with Barbie dolls in pink boxes, a big, life-sized dog made of Lego bricks, and Peppa Pig doll houses. Bright light spills out of the store, along with the screams and laughter of kids. The store is so big it takes us forever to reach the other side.
Past Toy Kingdom, there’s an innocuous door that leads to a narrow hallway. We wait here for an elevator that takes us up to another hallway that looks identical to the one downstairs, except for what’s waiting for us behind the door.
Mom and Dad share a look before they push the door open and walk through the doorway together. There’s a big wooden counter right in front of us. And behind it, about ten desks where people sit in front of their computers.
My parents are still holding hands as they reach the counter, where they’re greeted by a pretty brunette in her twenties.
“Good afternoon, how can I help you?” she asks chirpily.
“We have an appointment with Ethan Hunter,” Dad says.
“Right. Please give me a second.” She holds a pencil in her hand and drags it down the page of a big book in front of her. She stops halfway down the page and looks up. Giving my parents a friendly smile, she asks, “The Joneses, right?”
“Yes,” Mom answers, a little too quickly, revealing her nervousness.
Mom looks exhausted—I don't usually notice when we're at home. But here, when she's standing right in front of a woman who obviously takes good care of herself, I see it.
Mom wears make-up today, and a nice, color-coordinated pantsuit. But the redness in her eyes, the bags underneath, and the dullness of her hair show the cracks not just in her appearance, but also in her psyche.
“Please follow me,” the receptionist says. She leads us across the office until we reach some couches grouped around a coffee table. “Please wait here. I’ll check if Mr. Hunter is able to see you now.”
The brunette knocks on a door. I hear a faint voice from inside, deep and authoritative. She turns on her heels, her floral skirt swishing gracefully as she does, and invites us to go in.
“Wait here, sweetie,” Mom says as I get up to follow them.
“But, Mom, I—”
“Listen to me just this once. Please,” Mom says impatiently as she walks away, only briefly glancing my way as she does. She and Dad disappear into the enclosed office that belongs to the guy called Mr. Hunter, who I can assume is the one in charge of the whole mall.
I sit back down, feeling guilty for bothering my mom when she's obviously distraught. At the same time, I hate being treated like a child. I'm already thirteen, damn it.
I put on some music on my iPod and look around. Dull grey carpet, plywood desks, fluorescent lighting—this part of the mall looks nowhere close to how nice and shiny everything is downstairs, where the shops are.
As I absent-mindedly rub my iPod and pass it from one hand to another, guilt burrows itself deep within me, constricting my lungs. My parents bought the music player for me back before this mall opened, back before there was a Toy Kingdom in our neighborhood, back before we ever had any money problems.
Sometimes, despite its small size and light weight compared to my old portable CD player, the iPod feels heavy in my pocket. Guilt adds a lot of weight to it.
It feels like forever until my parents finally emerge from the door in front of me. I turn off the music as soon as the door opens, and realize I would've been able to hear the tail end of their secret adult conversation had I not played any songs. They are speaking at pretty loud volumes now.
“Please!” Mom says, desperation in her voice. “You have to give us a chance. We have no idea what we're going to do without our store.”
“I’m sorry,” says a man with the same deep voice who told the receptionist to let them in earlier.
He doesn't sound very apologetic; if anything, he seems rushed. He’s barely focusing on my parents anymore. Instead, he’s looking past both of them, his gaze flicking around like he's looking for someone.
“Please,” Mom repeats, even as she backs out of the office, her palms together like she’s saying a prayer to her new, human god. She’s no longer holding Dad’s hand.
“We shouldn't even have had this meeting,” the man
-god says.
“But Mr. Hunter, like we said, we’ll make sure it will meet your requirements.” Dad tries to wedge himself in the door, even as Mr. Hunter’s hand on his shoulder clearly indicates that he wants my parents out of his office.
“Again, it's not personal. I just don't see how I could help you. I’m sorry. I hope you’ll find a way out of your problems.” Mr. Hunter raises his eyebrows at someone behind my parents’ backs. I follow his gaze and find a burly man wearing the mall security uniform rushing toward the office doorway where the commotion is.
Oh, no. This is not going to go well.
I sling my schoolbag over my shoulder and get up, compelled by adrenaline. But what do I do now? What can I do?
Dad snaps his head around when the security guard touches his shoulder, alarm etched in his face. His eyes are wild and his mouth is open. His expression reminds me of a baby raccoon we once cornered in our backyard.
“Please follow me, Sir, Ma’am,” the guard says, his face stern and his voice demanding. He’s not just another mall worker putting on his fake customer-service smile. This guy’s job is to be aggressive.
And my parents know it, too. They can’t bargain or argue with this guy. They’ve lost the battle. No—worse than that, they’ve lost the war.
Again, I follow behind my parents. This time, though, there’s a security guard trailing us, making sure we leave the premises.
Also, my parents are no longer holding hands. They’re not talking either. We’re just looking ahead, not meeting the eyes of the office workers but fully aware they’re staring at us regardless.
As we walk past the receptionist’s counter, she catches me gazing at her and pretends to look down at her book of appointments. I wonder why someone so pretty, someone who looks so much like an angel, could stand to work for the devil and ignore his misdeeds.
The security guard insists on “escorting” us down the elevator and out of the mall. I hold my precious iPod in my pocket as we walk across the parking lot, disappointed and ashamed.