The question hung in the air after her dad disappeared around the hallway corner. Michael skulked after him. It wasn’t until he’d vanished from view that Marlena was able to shake herself out of the disquiet that had settled into her bones.
She stood, her plate in her hand. “Let me help my mom with the dishes, then we can go.”
“Oh.” Mom seemed to deflate. “That’s too bad. We haven’t had dessert yet.”
“I think I’m too full for dessert, Mrs. Brodie. The stew was delicious,” Liam said.
Marlena stacked plates, being careful not to make it too obvious that her hands were shaking. Liam set a hand on her back. “I’m going out front for a cigarette. I’ll be within earshot if you need me.”
“I’m fine. Do your thing.”
But as she watched the back of Liam’s head through the kitchen window as the sink filled with soapy water, she realized what a white lie she’d told Liam. The truth was, she wasn’t fine, not completely. She hated that she harbored a lingering fear of her brother. She understood the statistics on schizophrenics, that the vast majority of them were nonviolent, and were, in fact, far more likely to be victims of violence than the perpetrators. Michael’s bipolar condition complicated that statistic, as did his lack of consistent medication, but that was changing now that he was living with Mom and she was regulating his treatment.
Behind her, Mom bustled around, clearing the table and packaging leftovers while muttering quietly to herself. In the years since Michael had moved to the group home, she and her mom had fell into a comfortable, if superficial, closeness. They’d never have the kind of bond Olivia had with her mom, but they did enjoy each other’s company. Except now that Michael was back, the part of her mother’s personality that Marlena had trouble coping with was rearing its ugly head again.
Mom had an anxious edge to her now. Their conversations had become singularly focused on Michael, as though she didn’t have any space in her mind to concentrate on anything except her son and his struggles, except when she paused to sling a critical barb at Marlena and her life choices.
“I’m taking out the trash, dear,” Mom said. “Do you have anything over there that needs to go out with it?”
Marlena took the scrub brush to the stew pot. “Nope. Where’s Dad? Why can’t he help out with the trash? You work too hard around here. He should pitch in more.”
Mom sighed and lugged the trash toward the garage door. “Oh, sissy, don’t be that way.”
Annoyed at herself for speaking her mind, Marlena balanced the pot on the edge of the sink and took her frustration out on the stuck-on grease.
“Marlena, I need to tell you something.”
Michael’s voice behind her made her jump and drop the pot in the sink. Water sloshed onto the floor and counter.
Her heart pounding, she grabbed a towel and mopped it up. “I must have really been concentrating because I didn’t hear you come in.”
He crowded closer to her. “I said, I have to tell you something.”
It wasn’t until she set the towel on the counter that she realized her hands were shaking again. Ridiculous. They were siblings standing in the kitchen of the house they grew up in together, a space in which they’d together spent countless hours. Millions of minutes. Why did one single minute that happened nineteen years ago terrorize her so completely and unjustifiably?
“Marlena, I can’t stay here,” he said. His eyes were shifty, his features tight with fear. “I need to get out of this house. They know about this house. They’ve already been here.”
She didn’t need to ask him who he was talking about. She gripped the lip of the counter to stem the shaking in her hands. Michael was scared. Of all the feelings she should be having at the moment, what she should have felt was sympathy for him. It had to be terrible to be so haunted, even though the ghosts were all in his head.
“I know it’s hard to believe, but you’re safe here. Mom and Dad will take care of you.”
“I don’t need taking care of,” he said with a raised voice. He took another step toward her. She could smell the beef stew on his breath and see a dried drop of broth at the corner of his lip. “What I need is no more ground floor.”
She slid along the counter, reestablishing the space between them. “I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do to help you with that,” she said.
He stepped closer. “You move into your new apartment and I’ll take your old one.”
Marlena slid farther along the counter. She was near one of the kitchen exits and all she had to do was stand up straight and walk past Michael to get there, but she didn’t think her legs would support her without the counter’s help. “It doesn’t work that way. I already gave my notice at my old apartment. They’ve already leased it to someone else.”
“Goddamn it, that’s not helping,” he said, his voice shifting even louder. Another two steps and he was looming over Marlena. His hands closed around her upper arms. Lightheaded, she tried to form the words to tell him to release her, but her throat constricted. Her limbs went heavy and limp, useless.
“Tell them to give it back because I need a place. Do you understand?” He shook her, hard enough that her teeth rattled and her knees gave out.
Fear was making her small, so small that it robbed her of her voice and power. Her chest hurt from the effort of breathing and her arms ached where he gripped her.
“They’re here, they’re waiting, and I can’t let them get me. You have to help.”
“Liam?” she tried to call, but the word came out as a whisper.
“Don’t call him. He won’t help me, either. None of you will help me.” He released one of her arms and slammed his fist through the kitchen cabinet near Marlena’s ear. She sagged against the counter. She was nothingness. A speck in the universe, helpless. She closed her eyes, willing numbness to set in where now there was only pain and fear.
“That’s enough.” Liam’s voice cut through the fog in her head. “Get your hand off her.”
The stench of cigarette smoke swirled around her, which meant Liam was near. She opened her eyes. Liam stood nose-to-nose with Michael, a murderous expression on his face. With Liam there, she could be strong. She could do this. It took a few tries to get her feet back under her, but she did. On weak legs, she pushed against the counter and stood, but Michael wouldn’t let her arm go.
Mom appeared again in the threshold on the opposite side of the kitchen. After a startled gasp, she wedged her body between Liam and Michael and tugged on Michael’s arm. “Okay, dear. That’s good now. Are you ready for dessert?”
“You’ve got one second to remove your hand from her before I break your whole fucking arm.” Liam’s voice was terse and quiet.
“Mikey, please. Maybe it’s time to go to the attic and take a long break.”
Michael jerked his hand back. Panting and holding his wrist as though his hand had been burned, his distressed gaze swung from Mom to Liam.
Mom patted his shoulder. “There now, Mikey. See? Maybe it’s time to go take a break.”
“Behind me, Marlena. Right now,” Liam said.
Somehow, Marlena convinced her legs to move, but she couldn’t find the will to look Liam in the eye as she slipped behind him. She lowered her forehead to rest between his shoulder blades and squeezed her eyelids closed.
He reached an arm back in a reverse hug. “Breathe,” he whispered.
“Who are you?” Michael shouted. Confusion and fear radiated from his voice. “You’re one of them.”
“Mikey, that’s Marlena’s friend, Liam. You remember him from dinner?”
The kitchen was silent for a few beats, save for Michael’s heavy breathing. Then, with a distraught huff, he said, “I’ve got to get out of here. Get off the ground floor. The attic. The attic. The attic.”
His voice faded along with the sound of his footfalls out of the kitchen. Marlena opened her eyes and, with the lower half of her face still pressed to Liam’s back, watched Michael disapp
ear into the hall, confirming with her own eyes that he was leaving again.
Mom remained in the kitchen, wringing her hands. “The attic’s not really fit for living, with the insulation and the exposed wires and nails, but it calms him down. He’ll be up there for hours sometimes. Days, even. He’ll be okay now. He wasn’t trying to hurt Marlena.”
“It’s time for us to leave,” Liam said.
For once, Marlena was grateful for Liam’s lack of social graces. Leaving sounded just exactly perfect.
“He’s confused and scared. I know what it looks like to outsiders, but he’s not a bad boy,” her mom blurted, sounding desperate to convince Liam. “Why don’t we all go back to the table for dessert? I made a berry pie.”
Marlena gritted her teeth, lest she show an outward sign of shock at her mother’s suggestion. Sometimes, her parents were as delusional as her brother.
“Marlena, say good-night to your mother.” Liam’s tone was stiff and left no room for argument.
She made a move around him to hug her mom, but Liam didn’t let her pass, as though he didn’t trust her mom not to attack her. Or perhaps he was worried that if he let her through, she wouldn’t leave. He didn’t have to be concerned about that. She was so relieved that he’d taken the choice out of her hands.
“Good-night, Mom,” she said from behind his back, her voice cracking once.
Mom’s face pinched. “I do wish you would stay.”
Liam pivoted, put his arm around Marlena, and ushered her outside without a word.
Mom followed. “Liam? If you do have an opening on an upper level apartment, we’d be interested in it for Mikey. His father and I would pay.”
“Oh my God,” Marlena muttered, hopefully low enough that her mom couldn’t hear.
Liam opened the passenger door of his truck and gave Marlena a hand up. “I’ll keep that in mind, ma’am.”
“We were real happy you came over. Come back again soon. I’ll make a roast.”
On the road, Liam was silent. Marlena had no idea what he was thinking, but tension rolled off him in waves. He gripped the steering wheel hard, his eyes pointed straight ahead. Maybe enough was enough for him, and he was done with her now. Done with her and her family drama, as well as her frailty in the face of adversity. It was okay if he was done; she wouldn’t blame him one bit for bailing on such ugliness.
Brittle to the point of shattering, she slipped her shoes off and brought her feet up to the seat, then hugged her knees as she watched the lights pass out the side window. What was it going to take for her feel like herself again—the spiritual teacher, the vixen, the single woman and business owner with her shit together? Why did the universe keep pushing her when, a mere month ago, she was perfectly content with her life?
She hated that Liam keep seeing the worst, most disgraceful parts of her and her reality. It was humbling and demoralizing to be so afraid of her own flesh and blood that she was rendered small and powerless. The powerlessness humiliated her. When she’d felt threatened by Liam, she’d gotten loud and angry. Why couldn’t she have summoned that with her brother?
At a red light, Liam’s hand settled on her thigh. “You’re staying with me tonight,” he said with quiet authority.
Relief flooded through her that he wasn’t giving up on her and she wasn’t going to have to face the night alone, but coupled with that relief was embarrassment that she was so fragile as to need him. Tears pricked her eyes. Wrenching her face away, she raised her hand to shield her expression from him as she bit back a sob, cringing with the effort to stay calm and in control.
He rubbed her knee. “Hey, it’s okay. There was one silver lining to that dinner.” She lifted her hand from her face and looked his way again. His wore a hard smile. “Your family’s so fucked up, I’ve never felt more normal.”
Chapter Twelve
It’d been more than three years since Liam had felt capable of murder. Not since the day he cracked, actually. He still hadn’t recovered from seeing Marlena hurt and afraid at the hands of a man, but he’d forced himself to snap out of rage-mode in the truck because he’d promised her he’d be her solid ground, and he didn’t take promises lightly.
Before he’d gone to her parents’ house and met her brother, he’d thought her memories and triggers were her biggest issues, but now, he was more worried about her immediate physical safety. They weren’t going to deal with either issue that night, however. His lecture to her about her safety would be just as timely the next day. Tonight, he just wanted to take away that damaged look in her eyes and get her back to her Zen state of being.
As he unlocked his apartment door, the alarm on his phone went off, reminding him it was time for his nightly P.E.T. listen, but he shut it off without a word. That could wait.
His apartment was a two-room design in a corner of the property that overlooked a grassy area on the opposite side from Olivia and their parents’ places. As a habit he’d developed in the army, he kept it tidy, though no one ever saw it except him. Honestly, though, keeping it tidy was easy because he didn’t own much beyond the wooden furniture pieces he’d created since his discharge from the military—a kitchen table, end tables and a coffee table in the living room, a desk, and the bedroom furniture, among other smaller pieces.
He ushered her into the bedroom. She had yet to say much of anything since leaving her folks’ house, but her weary expression, hunched shoulders, and red-rimmed eyes told him everything he needed to know.
“I’m going to run you a bath. Does that sound good?” Women seemed to like baths and find them relaxing. His mother always had, and Olivia, too, from what he recalled from his childhood.
The weariness in her expression morphed into sorrow, complete with glassy eyes that seemed on the verge of tears. She hugged herself. “I’m sorry about tonight.”
He had so many random thoughts racing through his head that he wasn’t sure how to respond. He was sorry for how it’d turned out, too, for her sake. Her brother was a nut job and her parents little better. No wonder she’d spent most of her teenage years at Liam and Olivia’s house. No wonder she’d been dreading tonight’s dinner. He was infinitely glad he’d insisted on accompanying her.
Instead of trying to articulate all that, he left her standing in the bedroom while he turned on the water to fill the bathtub. When he returned, she’d moved near a walnut wood chair he’d crafted a few months earlier. Her face still carried a lost, sad look.
She ran her finger along the chair arm. “Your apartment has a lot of wood in it.”
“All pieces I made.” Yes, he was bragging a little. But he’d never shared these pieces with anyone except Brandon, who was his go-to muscle for helping him move them from his workshop to his apartment, and he was proud of his craftsmanship.
“I like it. All this wood is grounding.”
She was spot-on. The solid, anchoring quality of wood was one of the reasons that carpentry appealed to him. “Come here.”
When she straightened and turned to him, he unfastened the row of little white buttons running down the center of her blue dress, not an easy task with his clumsy, calloused fingers, then slipped it off her shoulders and down her body. She shivered and drew a ragged breath, but he wasn’t worried because the bath would warm her up in no time. Reaching around her, he found the clasp of her bra.
“I can do this myself,” she said.
“I know.”
He unclasped her bra, then pulled it away from her breasts and shoulders and set it on the chair along with her dress. Next came her panties. He let them pool at her ankles, then helped her step away from them. With his arm around her, he walked with her to the bathroom.
Once he had her settled in the bathwater, he grabbed a towel from the hall linen closet, then a pair of his cotton yoga pants and a tank top for her to wear when she was done. When he returned to the bathroom, she opened her eyes. “This is good. Thank you.”
He nodded, uncomfortable with the praise as much as finding h
imself in the role of a caretaker, something he most certainly was not.
“I’m going to go on the patio and do my last P.E.T. listen for the night. It takes about twenty minutes, so if you get done before I do, hang tight, okay? I’ll be back when it’s over.”
“Okay.”
On his way to the patio, he grabbed a beer, then shook out a cigarette from the pack in his pocket. He had the flame going on the lighter before he thought twice about it. Marlena didn’t like the smoke. She hadn’t said as much, but it didn’t take a genius to figure that one out. He didn’t like the smell of the smoke, either. He pushed the cigarette back in the pack and cracked open the beer, then settled into one of the white oak patio chairs he’d built and put his earbuds in.
Twenty minutes later, the final words of the recording reverberated in his ears along with the start of the stifled cry he’d broken down into during that recording session. He yanked the earbuds from his ears and wallowed in the ache that settled into his body, as it did every time. He lifted the beer for a swig, surprised—though he shouldn’t have been—that it was warm and full.
After a few long minutes, it became clear that the ache wasn’t going away. Any other night, he’d perform yoga after his last listen. That, combined with a cool shower, seemed to do the trick to snap him out of the haze of grief. Except tonight, he was trapped on the patio. If Marlena saw him now, she’d ask stupid questions like What’s wrong? She’d try to get him to talk about it, as if he were capable of having a ‘couples moment’ heart-to-heart about the slow, painful death of a child who’d just watched his mom get blown apart with bullets.
This was why he didn’t invite women over. There was nowhere for him to hide while he overcame the ache. He’d tainted his sanctuary with the presence of someone else, and though there was no way he would’ve felt right dropping Marlena off at her apartment, bringing her back here had been a mistake. He should have just stayed at her place with her.
But should haves couldn’t help him now. He couldn’t stay on the patio indefinitely. Marlena had suffered an emotional blow that night and probably wanted to have a heart-to-heart about her own issues—as though he could stand to deal with her troubles at the moment.
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