by Lux, Vivian
Teach winced visibly and J. knew he had struck a nerve. He knew the president had suffered far worse things because of the color of his skin that he ever had. The racist heritage of biker gangs was history to J.
Teach had lived it.
"We're gonna deal with that," Teach proclaimed, his voice hard. "I give you my word."
J. felt some of the fight drain out of him at Teach's solemn tone. A man's word was law. A man's word was his life. "Fuck," he sighed and sat back in his chair. "Can we at least postpone the vote until we see how the peace deal pans out?"
"That's actually a pretty solid idea," Crash piped up, and J. looked at him in surprise. "Only interaction we've had so far with them ended kinda fucked up like. I wanna see 'em again before I decide one way or another."
His sudden and lucid rationality must have taken more than J. by surprise. Teach looked positively stunned for a brief moment. Doctor D. shot Crash a fond smile.
"Fair enough, Ben," Teach nodded, affording Crash the respect of his given name. "Negotiations in two days. We'll hold the vote once we know who we're up against." He dissolved into a sudden fit of coughing and gulped down his water with quiet desperation in his eyes. "And now," he wheezed, "I'm done talking for the rest of the day."
"That a promise?" Case called and J. grinned in relief to hear some of his friend's evil humor returning.
"Not quite," Teach whispered. "Meeting adjourned. But you stay."
Case nodded and stood up. J. sat amidst the scraping of chairs, trying to process what had just happened. He was so lost in thought that he didn't see Case and Teach walk off together. And he didn't see Case shoot him an anguished look, and then nod resignedly.
Chapter Seventeen
Emmy
Andy's voice was staticky on the line. "Where are you?" he called, a note of panic in his voice. He was still a country boy, through and through and the city frightened him more than he cared to admit.
"Allen Street," I repeated into my phone, checking the street sign to be sure. I held my head up high and kept moving, trying to stay aware of my surroundings, while also paying attention to Andy's voice. "I'm walking towards Front, I can meet you at the corner there."
"Okay, I think I'm almost there." His voice was still tinny and robotic, but I was afraid to disconnect from him and redial. And it was good to hear his voice.
Cars slowed quizzically as they passed me, and my heart leapt at each one. I tried not to let my fear show. I balled my fists, remembering how J. had taught me to punch. But the memory of that sweet day in the park hurt too badly to dwell on.
I needed to move. And I needed to get the fuck out of this city. "Where are you now?" I demanded, panic creeping into the edges of my voice.
"I think I see you," he replied. There was a pickup truck turning slowly down the one-way street. The man behind the wheel looked at me.
"Is that you?" I gasped.
I got my answer when the man pulled hastily over to the side of the road, earning several angry honks and one shouted curse. The man reached over to open the passenger side door, and then his face crinkled into a boyish smile and I suddenly recognized the face of my beloved little brother.
"Andy?" I gasped. "Jesus, you've grown!"
He clasped my hand and helped me heave myself into the passenger seat. "Hey sis," he rumbled in that deep baritone that startled me even further. "You okay?"
I wanted to nod and make light of it. It was my job to make things easier for Andy. I hadn’t forgotten my role. But when I looked at his face, so much like a man's face and yet still somehow my little brother's, I felt the tears that had been threatening for hours finally assert themselves. I inhaled, and my breath caught in my throat, choking me on a wordless sob. Andy quickly pulled my head to his shoulder. I buried my face into his shirt, inhaling his familiar smell that still lingered under the outward assault of aftershave. I closed my eyes and sobbed out the fury and hurt and trauma of the last weeks, months, fuck the last year of my life.
"You okay?" he repeated, the worry in his voice demanding an answer. I pulled back, wiping my nose, embarrassed to see the soaked patch I had left on the shoulder of his T-shirt.
"I've been better," I replied truthfully, my breath still hitching in unfulfilled sobs. "But I've been a lot worse too." I knuckled away the tears and blinked at him. "It's so good to see you."
"Let's get the fuck out of this cesspool," he gritted, looking at the skyline with distaste. I felt a rumble of defensiveness for my adopted city but decided it was best that I kept it to myself. So far my track record in Philadelphia had been pretty dismal.
"Did you come down 95?"
"I came how the GPS said to go."
"I can direct you home," I offered brightly, eager to feel useful.
He was about to wave me off, I could tell. Andy always loved and put immense faith in his gadgets. But he must have heard the note of pleading in my voice.
"Okay fine," he sighed. "I know I need to go north." He executed a clumsy U-turn, sending the pick-up rocking.
I gripped the armrest. "How long have you had your license?" I asked, trying to keep the wariness out of my voice.
"I took Driver's Ed at school so dad wouldn't have to take me to work anymore. I was seventeen and a half on May 8th."
"I know," I quietly interjected, half to remind myself, half to prove to him I hadn't forgotten everything about my family since I'd left two and a half years ago.
"So that means I got to get my senior license. "
"Soooo, three weeks?" I prodded.
"Three weeks," he sighed. "But I'm a good driver. And I'm rescuing you, so you can't complain."
"I won't complain, Andy," I smiled and leaned back in the passenger seat, hoping to approximate relaxation.
"What am I rescuing you from, anyway?" He darted a quick look at me, then went back to his laser-like focus on the highway in front of him.
I searched for the words to describe the last couple of weeks and came up lacking. Now that I was settled safely next to my brother, I was suddenly very tired. "Homelessness," I said simply.
"You break up with your boyfriend, that rich guy?"
"Pretty much," I laughed.
"I'm glad," he said fervently and I looked at him, startled. "I didn't like who you became when you started dating him. The way he kept you away from everything? It was like he was the dragon and you were a princess all locked in the tower and shit. Fucked up. He was bad news, Em. A real asshole, if you ask me."
"I should have asked you," I sighed. "Took me too long to realize that for myself."
"Yeah, you should have asked me, I'm a good judge of character."
"You actually really are."
"Don't sound so surprised," he rumbled in his new voice and I laughed out loud.
"I'm not surprised that you're a good judge. I'm surprised that you know that about yourself. "
"I'm a good judge of myself too," he grinned.
"I'll be the judge of that," I smiled back, happy to be playing one of our little word games again.
"Judge not, lest ye be judged."
"Who made you judge, jury and executioner?"
"Uh," he foundered, "I judge, uh, shit!"
"Ha!" I pointed at him. "I win."
"I'm out of practice." he sighed. "It's been too long."
Guilt pricked at me. "You mean none of your friends are into seeing how many parts of speech one word can be used in?"
"No, my friends are actually cool," he mocked.
"No they aren't, they're friends with you."
He sighed. "Why did I come get you again?"
"Because you love me."
"Yeah I guess I do, sis." He shot me another look and I felt the smile drain from my face. "In spite of everything."
"Andy," the word came out in a choked gasp. "Has it really been so bad with me gone? Look at you; you're at least five inches taller than dad now. He can't be laying a hand on you anymore, right?"
"Nooo," he answered slo
wly, dragging the words out as if they pained him. "No, he's too much of a chickenshit for that, but mom's still smaller than him."
I stifled a gasp, the blood freezing in my veins. For a moment I couldn't move. The lights of the city were falling away, giving over to the tidy rows of suburbs, each house lit from within in a tableau of welcome that had always made me somewhat melancholy.
"He's..." I didn't want to say it. Saying things made them true. "Mom?"
The slow nod told me everything I needed to know, but the pain in Andy's eyes made it certain. Deprived of his favorite punching bag, my father had moved back to his original punching bag.
My mother.
Guilt washed over me at the same time as resentment. Why was I feeling guilty? I had gotten out, and now I was willingly going back. I wasn't the same scared, confused girl who had left at eighteen. I knew myself now. I knew what I was capable of. I balled my fists, feeling the stiffness still left over from when I had punched Robert. I knew how to fight. Thanks to J.
J. His name clanged inside my head like a bell, echoing through my thoughts as if there was nothing else in my head but him.
Everything swirled around. I pressed my knuckles to my temples, squeezing them together, willing myself to hold on. To not break down. If I started crying now I would never stop. The tears would overwhelm me in a flood and I would drown.
"Andy, do you remember camping?" I croaked, desperate to think of something else.
"Camping?" He sounded incredulous. "We never went camping. We never went out in public." He dropped his voice. "If we went in public, Dad wouldn't be able to hit us. People would see."
I laughed ruefully. "That's true. I never thought of that." Grimly I remembered all the days I had sat hidden in the penthouse, waiting for Robert. He had kept me hidden away from the world just as effectively as our father had isolated us. "No, we camped in the yard though."
He nodded, the barest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "That old green thing? I think Gran gave us that. She was always trying to help us, in her own quiet way."
I looked at my brother again, startled to hear such poignancy out of his teenaged lips. He was wiser than his years.
"I was remembering those nights just this morning," I said slowly. This morning I had woken in J.'s arms. "How we'd just lie there, being next to each other. Not talking. Just listening."
Andy nodded slowly. "Are you trying to tell me something, Em?"
I looked out the window at the dim landscape. We were heading west now, along the Pennsylvania Turnpike. The sun was setting in a red fireball in front of us, the heat in the air making the colors shimmer. "I think I am, yeah. Sorry Andy."
"Don't apologize," he said gruffly. "We're family."
Chapter Eighteen
Emmy
The house was never much to look at from the road. The dark hills closed in on us as we pulled into the gravel driveway and I sighed to see the crooked old Victorian, slumping down as if it had something to be ashamed of.
The porch light was on for us, casting deep shadows over the bowed wooden beams of the stoop my father had cobbled together from old lumber left over from the construction of the house. His father had built the place with meticulous care, but years of neglect had left it defeated looking.
My mother tried to keep up appearances inside, fastidiously scrubbing the dingy floors, but she staunchly believed that home repair was man's work and wouldn't lift a finger to even do so much as hammer a nail. I believed it was some sort of passive rebellion on her part.
"There it is," I breathed. It looked smaller than I remembered. Diminished. I wondered if I left for another two and a half years if it would disappear all together.
"There it is," Andy repeated. They were the first words he had spoken since I had asked him for quiet. He cleared his throat. "Must look like shit after living in a penthouse for so long."
I let my eyes wander along the wooden siding. In spite of everything this house contained, there was something in me that still rose to meet it with affection. "It looks fine," I sighed. "Penthouses can be prisons, you know."
"You gonna tell me what happened now?" He cranked his seat back. I think he was trying to stall our leaving the peace of the truck and heading inside.
I decided to indulge him. I did owe him an explanation after all. "Robert was abusing me, Andy."
He inhaled sharply and I held up my hand, "It's over. Don't worry. He's out of my life." I looked at my knuckles and let out a small giggle. "Actually, you're never going to believe this, but I fought him, Andy."
"You?" My brother, always ready for a scrap, raised his eyebrows incredulously. "You're not a fighter," he intoned, and I could tell he was repeating back my own words to me.
"I had to become one," I said slowly. "Someone taught me."
"Someone?"
I pressed my lips together. "I met a guy. A biker, actually."
Andy looked at me wordlessly, a million questions reflected in his eyes. But just like he did when we were kids, he knew when to be silent and let me find my words.
"His name was, is, J. I only met him a few weeks ago. But it's been a hell of a few weeks." I licked my lips, trying to find a way to describe J. to my protective brother.
Mercurial. Complex. Fascinating. Capable of terrifying violence and the most incredible gentleness. Two seconds away from anger while also incredibly patient. Devoted and loyal...until he wasn't.
I swallowed the lump in my throat.
"He taught me to fight. Robert tried to get me back. So I," a hysterical laugh tore from my throat, catching both Andy and me by surprise. "I fucking punched him."
Andy made a strangled noise and I could tell he was trying to suppress a laugh. I felt a smile tug at the edge of my tears. "I did, Andy. Right across the jaw. I knocked him right on his ass." I rubbed my knuckle. "Hurt more than I expected it too. How do you punch people so much without hurting your hand?"
He made another muffled noise. "Oh go ahead and laugh," I barked and he burst out in a wild hysterical guffaw. I tried valiantly to keep a straight face, but his incredulous face was too much for me and I felt a little giggle rise up from my core. The tears began to flow even as I began to laugh out loud.
I laughed at the ridiculousness of Robert's face as he looked at me in shock. I laughed at the thrill of standing up for myself for the first time. I laughed at Andy's laugh, his disbelief that his passive sister was capable of her own fury. And I laughed at the irony of finding my love and losing it all in the space of a week.
I laughed until my sides hurt, well after Andy had calmed down. When I finally looked at him again, wiping the hysterical tears from my eyes, his expression was one of calm admiration. The tears began to flow again when I saw him see me in a new light.
"So you're a fighter now too, huh?" he said slowly and once again I was taken aback by the poignancy of his words. I slid my hand over his, feeling the strangeness of the hair on his knuckles. My baby brother was so big now.
"I always fought for you, Andy," I murmured. The hysterical laughter had cleared the turmoil in my head and I was able to see things clearly. See the truth of our past. As bad as things were, it made us who we were now. And anything that did that couldn't be all bad. I resolved to go to my parents with an open heart.
"You did, sis," he exhaled, his voice catching slightly and sending it into a higher, more familiar register. I smiled softly to hear his old voice.
"It's getting all foggy in here," I observed. "Should we go in?"
He sighed and didn't say anything. Only opened the driver's side door and slid out. I let myself out and stretched my legs, as he walked over to me. He now stood a full head taller than I was. The changes just kept happening without me.
He patted my shoulder in an awkward hug, reminding me that for all his deep voice and great height, he was still an awkward teenager, still six months from his eighteenth birthday. He was still my little brother.
And I was still his biggest champion. He had
gone too long without me in his corner.
I patted him back and we stepped up onto the low porch and went inside.
*****
My mother had cleaned for me. The lingering scent of Lemon Pledge let me know she had scrubbed everything down, though no amount of scrubbing ever made it seem fully clean. The dark wood paneling and the deep pile carpets hid a lifetime of griminess that always managed to withstand my mother's chemical assault. I breathed in the familiar scent of her cleaning. It's what she always did when we'd have company. Any time someone from the outside was about to enter our little isolated corner of the world, my mother would clean like a demon, trying to erase any traces of the ugliness which permeated our home. It was her way of proclaiming that nothing was wrong.
It was startling to realize that she did this for me. It meant that she now viewed me as an outsider.
I bit the inside of my cheek. I didn't know whether this made me happy or sad.
Andy put his hand on my shoulder. "Got a new couch," he said blandly, gesturing to where the faded blue monstrosity had used to lurk. It was replaced by a cream and brown striped pinback sofa that looked strangely at odds with the rest of the well-worn decor. I could tell in an instant that my mother prized it.
"It's pretty," I replied, just as my mother's slippered footfall sounded on the linoleum.
"I think so too," she said by way of greeting.
I sucked in my teeth. "Hi Mom."
She put her hands on my shoulders and pressed her cheek to mine, greeting me as calmly as if I had just come back from running out for a gallon of milk. Not at all like she hadn't seen me in two and a half years.
"Emilia," she sighed. There was less springiness to her cheek. I could feel a hollow where there didn't used to be one. But otherwise she seemed unchanged. She pulled back from her lukewarm embrace and looked me full in the face. My mother was a tall woman, and whip-thin. Years of restrictive dieting had whittled her down to nothing and I could tell my full-figure still bothered her greatly without her having to say a word. "What are you doing here? And where is Robert?" She looked expectantly over her shoulder. "When Andy said you were coming home, I thought for sure it was to introduce us to your future husband."