Surrendered

by Jennifer Sienes

  “Not really.”

  I shrug. “There you have it.”

  But it’s only a matter of time. My failures, Tess’s past, and the secrets we hold up as a barrier will collide like the Bermuda Triangle—and might be just as deadly.

  Chapter 30

  Jake

  I take my morning run. And drink two cups of coffee. Then I whip up some breakfast in the quiet O’Shay kitchen, and still no one stirs. I stay in the back end of the house. There’s a fine line between making myself at home and invading private space. Never quite sure when dealing with Tess if I’ll wake a sleeping lion. Best to stay clear.

  Katie’s another thing altogether. I left Tess a note last night about where Katie was and that I’d wait up. Which I did, from the vantage point of my cell. It was after one before a light came on in her bedroom—two hours late. No point in laying down the law if you’re not willing to enforce it.

  I wait until seven before taking on the role of warden. Standing outside her closed bedroom door, I give it a few quick raps. “Katie.”

  I’m rewarded with her muffled reply. “Go ’way. ‘S too early.”

  “Get dressed and meet me in the family room.”

  “Yeah. Sure. Be there in a couple hours.”

  “Three minutes. Or I’m coming in after you.” Bluff. No way I’d step foot in her room.

  No response.

  Five minutes later, I’m back at it, armed with the only power I hold. “If you’re not out here by the time I count to ten, you’re fired.”

  “Go. A. Way.”

  “Ten…nine…eight—”

  “You can’t be serious!”

  “Seven…six—”

  “Just who do you”—the muffled voice gets clearer—“think you are?” The door flies open and Katie glares at me through her tangled hair.

  “In the family room.”

  “I’m not—”

  “Now.”

  “Can I at least get dressed?”

  “Thirty seconds.”

  I cross the laundry area and step into the family room, clenching and unclenching my hands. How did Sean deal with this day in and day out? Did he turn a blind eye or keep them locked in a cage? Rather than sit on the couch or recliner, I stand. Got to take advantage of every power play possible. Sean wasn’t nearly as volatile as Tess and Katie. Their mother must have been a real firecracker.

  Katie storms into the room, arms crossed, eyes shooting daggers. “Okay, I’m here. What’s so important it can’t wait until a decent hour?”

  We stand facing each other. The battle lines are drawn. “Had you been in last night by curfew, it wouldn’t seem such an indecent hour.”

  A lie is spinning behind her widened eyes. “I was home by eleven.”

  “Try again.”

  She huffs out a breath and her eyes shift. Anywhere but on me. “I was. Ten minutes early, actually.”

  She must think I’m an idiot. “Try two hours late.”

  “How—I mean, why do you say that? It’s not like you had me punch a time clock or anything. I came in through the front door. If you weren’t waiting in the living room, then you couldn’t possibly—”

  “You’re wasting your breath and my time.” Pushing my hands through my hair, I resist the urge to pull it. “You came in at one. You could have come through the chimney, and I’d have known.”

  Eyes narrowed, she slams her fists on her hips. “It doesn’t matter. You can’t tell me what to do.” What is she? Five?

  “You’re grounded.” So, it’s resorted to this. I’ve become my father.

  “What? You can’t ground me.”

  “For the next month, you go nowhere but home, school, and the restaurant. And that’s it.”

  “You’re not my dad.” Her voice cracks, and her eyes take on a suspicious sheen.

  “I’m well aware of that, Katie. However, your dad did give me the authority to act in his place.” Why, I have no idea. “What would he do in this situation?”

  “He wouldn’t ground me.” Is she pouting?

  “No? He’d be okay with you being out half the night? No accountability?”

  “He’d trust me.”

  “Trust is earned. And when it’s broken? Much harder to reestablish.” I shake my head. “You can’t expect me or your sister to believe that you’ll use good judgment.”

  She drops onto the couch. “You’re not even giving me a chance.”

  I sit across from her in Sean’s old recliner, elbows on my knees. What I wouldn’t give to trade places with him right now. “You really believe that, Katie?”

  She nods.

  “Tess forbade you to see Tony. You did anyway. Then you come home drunk on top of it.”

  “Are you going to throw that in my face forever? So, I messed up once.”

  Drawing in a deep breath, I look at her. Petulant. That’s what she is. Like a child not getting her way. “And last night? You had the opportunity to act in a trustworthy manner—”

  “That’s not fair.” She slumps, head hanging. “No one gets an eleven o’clock curfew.”

  This is getting us nowhere. “You have an answer for everything, don’t you?”

  Picking at a fingernail, she shrugs.

  “You can justify every poor decision you make, and in the end, it doesn’t change the consequences.”

  Looking up, she scowls. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You’ll have lots of time to think about it over the next month.” I push out of the chair. “The grounding stands.”

  “We’ll see what Tess has to say about it.”

  The junior version is hard enough. Not so sure I’m up for battling the real deal.

  * * *

  Tess

  Until I can be sure my hiring Richard Stewart isn’t somehow written across my forehead, I don’t dare face Jake, which is why I stay hidden in my room until the coast is clear. Earlier, I heard him in the kitchen. Then a little later, downstairs talking to Katie. Or rather, arguing with Katie. He has that effect on people.

  I take advantage of the distraction to slip out the front door for a run. Okay, more like a slow and steady jog. The air is cool, but with it comes the sights and smells of autumn. The neighbors across the street have a family of various-sized jack-o’-lanterns living on their porch. And although it doesn’t seem cold enough for it, there are several chimneys piping out the tang of burning wood. Red, orange, and gold leaves explode on nearly every tree.

  I keep to my usual route—flat as possible and easily finished in thirty minutes—and let my mind wander. What’ll my next step be in the fight for justice? Stephanie isn’t cracking, but I’ve perceived some change in her. She doesn’t avoid eye contact anymore, which is good. And last week, she started to say something to me, but got distracted when someone bumped into her. Maybe it’s my move.

  I make the last turn onto our street, and with an unusual burst of energy, take the steps two at a time to the front porch. Breathing heavily, I fall through the door to be met by Katie, who stands there like she’s waiting for me. She’s got that harassed look about her—uncombed hair, red cheeks, and a frown. I’m sure it must have something to do with Jake.

  “We need to talk.” She grabs my arm and pulls me to the couch.

  “Do you mind if I get a glass of water first?” Tugging free, I jump up and go to the kitchen.

  Katie follows. “Jake’s gone all parental on me, and I need you to tell him to back off.”

  The note Jake left last night is still hanging from a magnet on the fridge. I snap it off and wave it at her. “By any chance, does it have to do with this?”

  She snatches it from my hand and crumples it. “He gave me a curfew last night.”

  I widen my eyes and feign shock. “A curfew? What a hideous beast. What could he be thinking?” Jake might have his faults but expecting Katie to follow a few rules isn’t one of them.

  “Very funny, Tess.” She tosses the note into the trash. “It’s not his place to
do that.”

  Taking a glass from the cabinet, I fill it at the sink. “Then it wasn’t his place to allow you to go out in the first place. And”—I look at her—“to miss work.”

  “Well, you weren’t around.”

  “Good thing, too. Had I a say in it, you’d have been at work where you belonged.”

  “Oh, right.” She taps her finger against her chest. “Like I’m not allowed to go out and have fun.”

  “You poor thing,” I croon. Emptying the glass in three large gulps, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “You act like we keep you chained up in the basement or something.” I place the glass on the counter and turn to face her, hips resting against the sink.

  “What’s this we stuff. Suddenly, you’re on Jake’s side?”

  “When it comes to you, kiddo, there’s only one side. You were scheduled to work, so that’s what you should have been doing.”

  “I’m always scheduled to work.”

  “Don’t exaggerate.” But I realize with an internal wince that she comes by that trait naturally. “You have either Friday or Saturday off every week.”

  She drops her gaze, and I can practically smell manipulation. You’d think she invented puberty. “It doesn’t really matter now, anyway. Jake grounded me, like I’m a kid.”

  A chuckle escapes me before I can stop it. “You are a kid. What’d he ground you for?” As if I don’t already know.

  She sighs. “I was a few minutes late with the curfew.” Liar is written all over her face.

  “A few? What is that? Three? Four? Sixty?”

  Straightening her shoulders, she stares at me. “That’s not the point, Tess. He has no business giving me a curfew in the first place. Who does he think he is, anyway? Dad?”

  Reaching out, I wrap a strand of her hair in a finger. She’s growing up so fast, and at the same time, regressing. What happened to my sweet, responsible sister? “What’s going on here, Kitkat?”

  Eyes welling, she shrugs. “I wish Dad was here.”

  Just like that, I’m one of Pavlov’s dogs, but instead of salivating, my nose burns and a lump clogs my throat. I wrap my arms around her, combing my fingers through her hair until I can speak without breaking. “I miss him, too, sweetie. But acting out isn’t going to bring him back.”

  She pulls away, wiping her eyes. “It’s not fair. You had Mom and Dad.” She scowls. “I get you and Jake.”

  A smile tugs at my lips, despite the pain evident in her eyes. She certainly got the short end of the parental stick. “When you’re handed lemons—”

  “Yeah. I know.” She hooks her hair behind her ears. “Lemonade.”

  “Jake and I may not see eye to eye”—a definite understatement—“but as long as he’s got your best interest at heart, I can’t fault him.” At least, not with this particular issue.

  She plants puppy-dog eyes on me. “Can’t you at least override him this time? Please? Grounded a whole month is so—”

  “Sorry, but no.” If Jake and I fight for control, it’s Katie who’ll lose. “You’ve pushed the envelope, kiddo. If Jake gave you a curfew and you were late—”

  “By a few minutes.”

  Shaking my head, I sigh. “Give me a little credit, Katie. My bedroom is next to the front door. You don’t think I heard you come in? You played Jake, knowing I wouldn’t have let you go to that party last night. Now you’re trying to play me. It’s not going to work.”

  She’s going to survive puberty if we have to drag her through it kicking and screaming.

  Chapter 31

  Tess

  With each day that I lead my sophomore students through the classics to find the pearls of wisdom and symbolism in the themes, I feel like the roles have somehow been reversed. It is I who learn, and they who teach. In their idealistic minds, not yet cluttered by reality, life is simple—do right and avoid wrong. Of course, there are those who like to skate along the finer shades of gray, but for the most part, it’s pretty clear in their minds.

  And as I pack up at the end of the day, the empty classroom still echoing of their heated debates and passionate opinions, I take a moment to bask. Hands loose in my lap, eyes closed, and what probably looks like a goofy smile on my face. But I can’t help it. Is this what peace feels like? This joy that supersedes those issues that cannot be easily dismissed—Katie’s pain, my grief, and the still-to-be-dealt-with Professor Fields?

  I draw in a deep, cleansing breath as I stand and collect my tote bag and purse, not sure I’m ready to face the Sacramento traffic. A quick stop at the teacher supply store for a few essentials and it’s back up the hill, where I’ll most likely battle Katie. With the restaurant closed and curfew in full force, she’ll test my newfound peace. Wasn’t it Paul the Apostle who claimed he abided in joy, regardless of his circumstances? I’d bet ten years of my life he wasn’t living with a teenager.

  Nearing five o’clock, traffic is a snarl of stop and go with horns honking and the occasional rude gesture. How anyone can live is such an environment is beyond me. I just pray that, when searching for a permanent teaching position, there will be something available in Placerville.

  I nose my car between another vehicle and the curb to make a right just as a fat raindrop hits my windshield. A predicted storm may be upon us. In light of the weather man’s low accuracy rate, it’s a shocker. Maybe now isn’t the best time to go to the store. Tomorrow, after my Foundations class gets out, makes much more sense. I flip the blinker to make another right, and my eye catches a familiar sight.

  Is that Maris?

  What’s she doing down here? It’s none of my business, so I should just head home and forget about it. But instead of merging into traffic, I pull into the parking lot where I saw her moments before and stop, my eyes glued to the sign above the door—Two Sisters Soup Kitchen. Two sisters? Wasn’t that the email handle Jake was sending those invasive reports of his to? This cannot be a coincidence.

  I circle the near-empty lot and park. The rain’s coming down in a torrent now, so I drape my jacket on my head before making a mad dash for the front door and the back end of a line of people. I work my way past some of them. Old and young, black and white, they all have the same marks of homelessness—layers of ill-fitting clothes, the musk of unbathed bodies, and a soul-deep tiredness I’ve never experienced.

  With an uncomfortable smile in place, I step around an ageless African-American man. “Excuse me.”

  “No cuts, young lady. Back of the line.” Eyebrows drawn, frown in place, he points to the door.

  Those around him glare at me, muttering similar demands. “I’m not here to eat.” Pride rears up before I can tamp it down. Do I look like I’m homeless? Then my face heats. If not for the grace of God…

  I look the man in the eye. “I’m here to see someone, sir. If you’ll just let me pass…”

  His eyes soften and he nods, stepping aside.

  “Thank you.”

  After the youthful energy of high school students, the quiet desperation and mumbled conversations of the twenty plus people are alien. My knock-off slacks and sweater seem extravagant, and I feel as if I should be apologizing. Why should I be well-fed, living a life of luxury—at least compared to those here—while others struggle to survive?

  The large room is a mass of cafeteria-style tables with a food bar across the back. Both men and women load steaming baking pans into empty slots, their hair covered with nets and bodies covered with what must have once been white but are now dingy gray aprons. It only takes one glance to know Maris isn’t among them.

  A woman, no more than thirty, stands at the front of the line about twenty feet back from the bar, two kids sitting at her feet and playing with a toy car. She looks at me and points to a sign posted above the serving bar. “They don’t start until five.”

  “I’m actually looking for someone.”

  “Who?”

  “A friend of mine. Her name is Maris.”

  She smiles, her bright, blue eyes l
ighting up. “You know Maris?”

  I nod. “Is she here?”

  “Sure. She’s in the kitchen. Cooking.” With a wave of her hand, I’m led to the kitchen door.

  Stepping inside, I’m met with a sight not unlike Bella’s kitchen, from the industrial-sized appliances to Maris, standing over a pot of something on the stove. There are two other women spooning food into pans, their chatter competing with the rock music coming from who knows where.

  “Maris?”

  Her head snaps up, and she greets me with wide eyes and an open mouth, shifting to a scowl in a blink. “What’re you doing here, Tess?”

  The two white-hatted and aproned women freeze and look at me like I’ve appeared out of a puff of smoke.

  Squirming, I give them a pointed look. “That’s my question for you.”

  “What does it look like?” Which isn’t really an answer.

  “We need to talk.”

  “Uh, a little busy here. Maybe this can wait until tomorrow?”

  I fold my jacket in my arms and step closer as the women exit the room. “You’ve never mentioned working here before.” How do I ask her about Two Sisters without tattling on myself?

  She looks at me, eyebrows raised, spoon held aloft. “Are you checking up on me?”

  “Just happened by when I saw you walk in. How long have you been doing this?”

  Eyes focused on whatever she’s cooking, she stirs the pot. “A while. I…” She looks at me. “It’s personal.”

  Holding up a hand, I back off. “None of my business. I wasn’t trying to pry—”

  “No.” She sighs. “That’s not what I meant. It’s personal because I’m no different from anyone here.”

  “I don’t understand.” Is this some kind of symbolic compassion thing?

  “When your dad hired me, umpteen years ago, I was homeless.”

  Homeless. Maris? I open my mouth, but there are no words.

  * * *

  Jake