by Karina Halle
And they probably wouldn’t let me see Vicente again.
Which, I know, is what this is eventually leading up to.
Every night that I come home from spending time with him, the questions come out. Both my mom and dad have started up some kind of patrol and I can never seem to get inside and to my room without being given the third degree.
Never mind the fact that I’m twenty and there is absolutely nothing they can do to stop me.
Two weeks. I’ve made it through one. I have two more to go.
They’re going to be rough.
It’s Thursday night and Ben is coming up tomorrow for the weekend.
He wasn’t here the last couple of ones, I know now because he’s been avoiding dealing with it and not because of exams. But he’s finally decided to bite the bullet and face this all head on.
I’m ready for it. I’ve been ready for it since the moment he found out that our parents lied about his birth mother. We need to know why they lied. We need to know what happened to her. Where is Sophia now?
I try not to think the worst.
Then again, I’ve failed hard at that my whole life. Thinking the worst is what I do best.
Tonight I’m hiding out in my room until Vicente is supposed to swing by. I told him to give me some time to work on my project so I can at least get it out of the way before the weekend. I’ve got to come up with poetic captions to go along with the pictures I’ve been taking in the city. At least, I think they should be poetic. Part of the grade is on how well the viewer (the teacher) is supposed to interpret the subject and what I’m trying to say about it before he flips the image over and sees the intent. I’m hoping some flowery prose will win him over if the images don’t.
Only now I wish I had saved the work for tomorrow. I can’t concentrate at all and keep typing out the same thing over and over again, erasing the same damn sentence. It’s the image of the bridge I took while on my first date with Vicente. Where I was supposed to teach him photography, which I now realize was a total crock of shit.
The picture of the bridge is nice though but I’m having trouble expressing what I told Vicente. If I talk too much about the beauty that no one else sees in the world, the more I resemble that creepy guy from the movie American Beauty who keeps filming plastic bags.
It doesn’t help that the vibe in the house is unreal right now. Mom and Dad are on edge. I’m on edge. It feels like we’re all seconds from imploding.
God, I really hope nothing happens before Ben gets here. If I had it out with them, I’m not sure I could keep what I know inside anymore. It’s already eating me alive, every minute of every day.
Vicente is right. This is a house of lies.
I need to make some tea though, some sort of fuel to survive. I take a risk and leave my room, quickly and silently heading down the stairs to the kitchen.
The TV is playing in the living room and assume that’s where my parents are but the moment I turn the corner of the stairs, I see my mom in the kitchen, sitting at the bar, a mug of tea in her hands.
She looks up slowly, eyes all wired and bloodshot.
It’s like she expected me.
“Hey,” I say, trying to make my voice sound as light as possible.
“Hey,” she answers back, trying to match my tone. “How’s the work going?”
“Slow.” I give a forced shrug. “But it’s going.”
“Mmmm,” she says, tapping her nails along the side of the mug.
Something’s coming.
The sound of her tapping speeds up, slows down.
“Are you going out tonight?” she asks. Too innocent. She’s a great liar but innocence was never her strong suit.
“Yeah, I already told you,” I remind her, trying to keep the impatience out of my voice.
“I don’t know. You never said anything.”
I grab the tea from the cupboard and whirl around to face her. “Are you kidding me?”
Tap, tap, tap.
“Mom,” I repeat. “I told you this morning when you dropped me off. That I was finishing up my project then going over to Vicente’s.”
“About that,” my dad says.
I nearly drop the box of tea. He’s standing in the hall with his arms crossed, legs in a wide stance. How long has he been there for?
“Jesus, dad,” I tell him. “What are you guys doing, ganging up on me now?”
“Violet,” Mom warns. “We need to talk to you about something.”
Funny. Very fucking funny, because I need to talk to you about something.
My jaw clenches as I look between the two of them.
“Okay, what?”
They exchange a loaded glance.
My father clears his throat. “Honey, we know you’re going through a difficult time right now and the last thing we want is to upset or overwhelm you. We need you to know how much we care about you and how much we worry.”
“Difficult time?” I repeat. “What would you know about a difficult time?”
“You’re acting strangely,” my mother says. “Ever since you met Vicente.”
I nearly choke on my laughter. “Acting strangely? Do you ever think it’s because I finally have a boyfriend? Someone who I care about. Deeply.” I shake my head in disbelief. “Have you never seen me happy before? Because that’s what this is. I’m happy. I’m finally happy and you know why? Because I have someone who gets me. Fucking gets me. And accepts it. More than accepts it, Vicente loves it.”
Okay, he’s never told me he loves me but still…
“No,” my mother says, staring down at her cup of tea with so much bitterness I think she might cry. “No, I looked into the eyes of that boy and he doesn’t know what love is. That’s not what he wants from you.”
“Holy fuck,” I mutter, pressing my hands into the sides of my temples. “You say I’m nuts, you’re the fucking crazy one.”
“Violet,” my father says sharply. “Your mother is right.”
“Oh sure, always taking her side Why don’t you ever grow a fucking pair, dad, and stand up to her?”
That did it. That was the hit, right in the gut.
As usual though, it gets me in my gut too, to watch my father shatter in front of me like this.
Then it fades as a cold, cold look comes over his eyes, something I’ve never seen before. It scares me. I immediately regret saying anything.
“I do stand up to your mother when I need to,” he says. His voice is brimming with tension. “You have no idea, Violet, just what it takes to make a marriage work.”
Oh god. I’m so close to saying something. So close. I literally have to bite my tongue until I feel the penny taste of blood.
“Violet,” my mother says. “Just trust us on this. We know you think you’re happy. But we also know that he’s not good for you. And the longer you’re with him, the further away you’ll be. From us. From seeing the truth.”
“And what’s the truth?”
She looks at my father and back to me. “We know that bruise is from him.”
“Aaargh!” I cry out, spinning around in frustration. I lean against the countertop over the stove, trying to get my composure back. “For the last time, Vicente did not give me this bruise! Do you really think I would stay with a guy who would do this to me?”
“Then tell us what really happened,” my father says gently, coming forward until he’s cornering me.
“That’s the truth,” I say, lying through my teeth. No way in hell am I mentioning the attack. “I was drunk. I hit the table.”
“And we don’t believe you,” Mom says, getting to her feet and standing beside Dad. “You’re not going to go see him tonight. You’re not going to see him any night.”
I blink at them in shock. “What? You can’t be serious.”
“We’re very serious,” my dad says. “And we don’t care if you hate us forever. We don’t care if you think we’re treating you like a child. You’re our daughter. We love you, we care about you, w
e worry about you. We’ve seen the world and it’s not a nice place, Violet. And if you don’t know that by now…”
“You’re kidding me?” I whisper. “You really think I don’t know how horrible the world is? You think because I’m quiet and sensitive that I must see things through rose-colored glasses? I don’t. I see the world for what it is. Doesn’t mean I don’t find beauty in it, but I know how rotten it can be.”
Don’t do it, don’t do it.
“Then you’ll understand why we have to keep you safe,” Mom says gently, reaching out for my hand.
“Keep me safe?” I repeat, yanking it away from her. “How is cutting Vicente out of my life keeping me safe? You’re the ones I should be worried about.”
“Us?” Dad asks.
I can’t help myself.
“You think I don’t know?” I ask. “You think Ben doesn’t know? Did you ever wonder why he’s been avoiding us these last few weeks, why he was so upset the last time he was here that he couldn’t even look you in the eye?”
My father seems to age before me, like the color is draining from his blue eyes. He doesn’t say anything. Neither does my mother.
They don’t know what to say, I realize. They don’t know what lies I’ve figured out. Holy fuck. How deep does this go?
I start with Ben.
And I go for the jugular.
I turn to mom and say, “We knows he’s not your son.”
She looks like she’s been doused with ice water.
“We discovered the lie you’ve both tried to bury our whole lives. We found out many lies. That Ben’s mother is a woman called Sophia Madano. That when he was three, just about the same time you went to Mexico, Sophia disappeared and suddenly he was your child, Mom. So when you say I’m safe with you, please, enlighten me as to how your lies are making my life safer.”
I watch them carefully.
They’re both reeling in different ways. Dad’s more internal, just shock in his eyes, the crevice between his brow deepening even further. Mom is more visceral. Mouth open, skin paling, eyes filling with tears.
And just like that, all the anger I have starts to fade. The funny thing about hurting someone that’s hurt you is that it never feels as good as you think it will. Because the only ones who can hurt you are those you love, and they in turn are the only ones you can hurt.
I don’t regret it though. Despite the tightness in my chest, I had to say something. If it wasn’t tonight, it was tomorrow with Ben. At least Ben doesn’t have to witness me destroying them.
“So,” I say, trying to clear my throat. “Explain. Please. And while you’re at it, feel free to tell me why you lied about grandpa dying. Yeah, that’s right. I found the envelope with the Palm Valley newspaper clipping inside. Who was he? Why did you guys lie about him too?”
But there are no easy answers, at least none that they want to give me. They both look so dumbstruck that they’re frozen on the spot, unable to find a way out of it. If the lies are deep, I’m guessing they have to consult each other to get the truth straight.
Finally, Dad just shakes his head. “I’m going for a walk.”
My mom’s head jerks to him in surprise. “Camden!” she cries out as he turns and storms through the house, slamming the front door behind him.
Great. So he just bailed on all this.
My mother has one hand on the counter as if to keep her up, the other hand at her chest. She slowly turns her head to look at me.
We stare at each other for what seems like forever.
The fridge kicks on and hums.
A commercial blares from the living room.
She gnaws on her lip for a moment before saying, “I think you should go to your room.”
I cock my head. Unbelievable.
“What? Am I grounded? You’re the ones who have lied to me my whole life.”
“With good reason,” she says. “It’s something that can’t be simply explained.”
“Well you could fucking try!”
She nods, looking away, cagey as fuck. “Tomorrow. Tomorrow when Ben is here we will all talk. Okay? You’ll hear it all.”
“Mom…”
“For now you need to go to your room and stay home. This doesn’t change anything, especially not about Vicente.”
“It doesn’t change anything!?” I explode. I pick up the box of tea and throw it at her. She ducks, of course, because tea doesn’t travel very fast. But she seems to have gotten my point.
“Violet!”
“Fuck you,” I sneer at her, running past and up the stairs. Yes, going to my fucking room but it’s different when it’s your own choice.
I slam the door and lock it just as my phone beeps.
It’s Vicente.
I’m on my way.
I’m so angry my hands are shaking, I can barely type back.
I want to leave tonight, I type and then toss the phone on my bed. I bring a duffel bag out of my closet and start throwing clothes in it. Just a few nights would be fine, the weekend. Ben can deal with this shit on his own. God knows I’ve tried.
I look back at the phone and Vicente’s reply:
Ok. I’ll text you when I’m there.
I text back: Park on Clayton. I’ll have to sneak out my window.
He says: Like Romeo and Juliet?
I actually laugh at that. God I hope not.
We all know how that turned out.
Chapter Twenty-One
Vicente
I lied to Violet.
I’m not on the way to her house.
I’m already here.
I just drove past Camden who was walking down Haight, in only a T-shirt on this cold night, looking like he was ready to rip the head off something.
I have a feeling shit went down at their house tonight.
And I’m about to make it all worse.
I park on Clayton as she asked but instead of waiting in the car I get out and head down her street. With Camden out of the way, now is the perfect time to pay Ellie a visit.
Just the two of us.
I jog up the steps, my gun secure in the inside of my jacket.
I knock on the door.
No answer.
I have a feeling Violet is up in her room, waiting for the storm to blow over. But it’s only getting started.
I open the front door and step inside.
It’s dark except for the lights from the kitchen.
“Camden?” I hear Ellie’s voice.
She appears in the hallway, a dark silhouette.
“Hello Ellie,” I say to her, keeping my voice low.
Even in the shadows I can see the whites of her eyes flash as she storms over to me. I have to admire her lack of fear.
She stops a foot away, her finger jabbing at the air.
“You get the fuck out of this house,” she growls like me.
I grab her finger and snap it downward. “Like a fucking mama bear, huh.”
She yanks her finger back, cradling it with her hand. I guess I hurt her.
“You’re the animal here,” she says in a hiss. “What you did to her…”
I shake my head, giving her a wry smile. “That’s what you think of me? You think I did that to her? I didn’t. And I don’t know who did but I can guarantee I want them dead as much as you do.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Why not? My father never hit you.”
I watch her carefully. The realization as it slowly spreads through her.
“That was one of his personal oaths. Like a fucking doctor, right? He could torture a man in the most gruesome ways but he would never ever strike a woman. I guess he thought it made him better than everyone else. Less of a savage. But we both know how savage he really is. Don’t you, Ellie Watt?”
Her jaw clenches. Every muscle in her is primed, ready to fight or flee. And I don’t think she’ll be fleeing.
“Easy now,” I murmur, raising my jacket enough for her to see the gun. “I didn’t come h
ere to start trouble. Well, I guess that’s a lie. Sometimes I believe the lies myself.”
“You,” she whispers. She shakes her head, her dark hair falling into her eyes. She’s finally getting it, finally believing how right her instincts were. “You’re Javier’s son.”
“Is it gratifying?” I ask. “To know you were right. Does it feel good, deep inside? Are you feeling vindicated right now?”
She swallows hard, eyes going to the gun and back.
“Careful,” I tease her, reaching for her face, trying to brush her hair from her eyes.
She bats my arm away, stumbles backward. But doesn’t run.
“What do you want?” she whispers.
“It’s not you, if that makes you feel better,” I tell her. “It’s Violet.”
“You can’t have her.” Her voice breaks with determination. I have to be careful. This is a mama bear that knows how to fight. I have no doubt that if I give her even the slightest advantage, she’ll try and kill me with her claws. Her old habits have not died.
I sigh. “It’s not a matter of being able to have her or not. I do have her. Go and ask her and she’ll tell you. I’m guessing she already has told you.”
“I’ll call her down here right now and tell her the truth about you. All of it. Who you really are. You’re not Vicente Cortez.”
I laugh. “She already knows. And guess what? She doesn’t care. Doesn’t care that I belong to a cartel, doesn’t care that I kill people. If anything, it made her fuck me even more.” I pause, smirking. “Like mother like daughter, huh?”
Crack.
Ellie winds up and smacks me across the face.
I guess I should have seen that coming.
She packed quite the wallop too.
I rub my fingers along tender skin and give her an exaggerated wince.
“I suppose I deserve that one.”
“Get out of here or I’ll call the police.” I watch her desperate fists clench and release at her sides. She’s about to do something stupid. That’s the last thing I want.
“I’ll leave,” I tell her. “But here’s the thing. You have nothing on me. You call the police, I can bring up everything about Ellie Watt. Or Eden White. Or whatever names you used to call yourself. You think that just because you’ve spent the last twenty years trying to start over that you haven’t left your mark on the world? Oh, Ellie. You’ve left it everywhere. All anyone has to do is lift up the floorboards and see.” I bite my lip, my eyes searching her face. “You have nothing. Do you understand me?”