I pushed my plate away, hunger something that couldn’t be farther from my mind or stomach.
“I can only assume now that Trudy’s restored, he wants a piece of the credit,” Lincoln said. “That’s all I can figure. I mean, I suppose he still has the pink slip, but for years he’s never given that vehicle a second thought. Unfortunately, as we found out last night, Trudy still needs a little work, so he’s in for a rude awakening.”
A horn sounded from outside the window, muffled through the glass panes in the kitchen, making it seem distant and further away. I swung my gaze around to see a waving Phil in his seat, ready to drive us to get the answers we so needed.
Maybe those asker/answerer roles I’d assumed earlier were more fluid than I’d originally thought.
Maybe the parent/child ones were, too.
As could be expected, Lincoln’s family wasn’t entirely thrilled with the entourage that rolled up to their expansive home. Phil offered to wait out front, saying he didn’t want to impose either his presence or profession upon Lincoln’s parents, but part of me wished he came inside. It would’ve been nice to have just one more backer in our court.
“Your mother and I were pleased that you surrendered the vehicle without much resistance,” Mr. Ross said, a cool glass of lemonade pressed to his lips. This guy always seemed to speak with a drink in hand. The only reason I could figure he did this was so in the off-chance he desired to toss said drink into someone’s face, it was readily available. Maybe it actually wasn’t that off to assume that, though.
“I didn’t really surrender it,” Lincoln said. “She just sorta stopped.”
The Ross’s were all about the runaround. Twenty minutes or more had ticked by, and I still couldn’t make heads or tails of their rash decision to incarcerate their youngest son. They weren’t offering information freely, like every little piece needed to be pulled and coaxed out of them, word by word. This was going to be exhausting.
“Listen,” Lincoln finally initiated. We were outside in the brick courtyard and the morning sun streaked down on us in lines of soft light. A wind chime clinked in the distance as it composed a song and I could see the curtains inside the house dancing from the breeze the open windows provided. In another place and time, this moment would’ve been beautiful, but looks were so very deceiving.
“Let’s cut the crap, okay?” he continued. “I obviously did something wrong, and you were trying to punish me for it. Message received.” He leaned forward in his wicker seat, his hands held in a fist and elbows pressed into the knees of his khaki shorts. “Now if only I was able to interpret that message.”
“Your evening in a jail cell wasn’t interpretation enough?” his dad nearly cooed, his voice dripping with snideness.
“I don’t know what you want from me!” Lincoln’s hands flew out in front of him in a fast, jerky motion. His mother cowered in her chair and her hand went to her chest as though utterly taken aback by her son’s sudden gesture. “If you wanted the damn car back, you should’ve just said something!”
Based on the length of the elder Lincoln’s sigh, you’d have thought he’d depleted all oxygen in his body and was starting from scratch to fill it back up. Hissing between his teeth, he expelled his pent up air and said, “We were under the impression that you two were running off.”
“What?” Though I’d vowed to keep silent, that just wasn’t going to happen.
“Your relationship has moved unreasonably fast, at a level we are not at all comfortable with.”
Lincoln’s jaw set and his eyes narrowed. “Seriously? Seriously? I moved a hell of a lot faster with Sage and neither of you had a problem with that.”
I couldn’t lie, no amount of confidence in a relationship guarded your heart against the hurt in hearing an ex’s actual name. Names belonged to real, tangible people, and I’d rather not acknowledge those sorts of people in Lincoln’s life. Steeling myself for more undesirable past girlfriend information, I took a breath.
“That’s because she was a Patterson.”
“What?” Lincoln jumped to his feet. I pressed my palm to his thigh to calm him, but he just shook me off. “What? Eppie isn’t the right breed for you?”
“Lincoln James!” Mrs. Ross scolded in a way that only mothers could do.
“That’s essentially what he’s saying, Mom! That she doesn’t come from a prestigious enough family, right? That is what you’re saying, Dad, isn’t it?”
Margot’s mouth crinkled tightly and I could see her deep red lipstick that had escaped from her lips, feathering out in slivers as it bled onto her face in tributaries of wrinkles. She looked so much more haggard than the first time we’d met. Still a beauty, but one with pain hidden underneath the mask of makeup. What had changed between then and now?
“Lincoln,” his father said upon a clearing of his throat. “You need to calm down.”
“Calm down?” I feared the panic would creep in and rob the breath and the momentum from Lincoln, but it didn’t. He was in absolute control. “You’re sitting here, insulting the person I love with my whole heart, and you just expect me to take that in stride and go along with your games? I’m sick and tired of catering to this family’s ridiculousness. Completely sick of it.”
“And you think we’re not?” Mr. Ross roared. He crashed his glass to the table, shattering it into pieces. He was up on his feet with face-off readiness. “You think I’m not exhausted with this game? You think that it’s been easy to play along for nineteen years? Damn you, Lincoln. Damn you for thinking you’ve been anything but a nuisance to this entire family.”
“Lincoln!” Margot yelled, but she didn’t have the same power in saying her husband’s name as she did her son’s, even though they were identical in letters and syllables.
“Oh, please, Margot! Don’t even attempt to convince me that it isn’t the truth.”
Lincoln’s chest puffed in challenge and he stepped one foot closer toward his father. The space of air between them radiated with charged energy and I feared what would happen if either of them entered into that gap. “You bastard,” Lincoln seethed.
“That, dear boy, is a term only I reserve the right to utter.”
“Lincoln!” Margot was hysterical at this point, clawing at her husband’s arms, trying to drag him back into his seat. Her eyes flooded with tears. “Lincoln, stop!”
Where Lincoln had only nudged me aside earlier, his father all but backhanded Margot into position and she landed on her knees against the brick patio with a sickening smack. Even when lying prone on the ground, she still bat at his feet, literally begging him to cease as though maintaining one’s dignity was no longer even an option.
“I took the camper back because I’m done sharing with you,” Lincoln’s father said. “Finished. It started with my name and it’s been nothing but more of the same every day of your entire existence.”
“That’s the burden of being a parent,” Lincoln reasoned, though his tone was still infused with equal parts anger and confusion. He tossed his head back and forth. “That’s what you do. If you were tired of that responsibility after Ricky and Tommy, then why did you even choose to have me?”
Lincoln Senior’s hand sliced the air, coming within inches of his son’s face. “I didn’t choose you, Lincoln! None of us did!” he screamed. “Dammit, Lincoln. You’re not even mine!”
My breath escaped me. The chimes continued their song, coupling with the ringing that trilled in my ears. I could see Lincoln’s frame sway side-to-side, see his broad shoulders jump up and down. Life blurred into a haze.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Lincoln muttered. His fingers drug through his dark hair.
Even though seated, I could still reach out and take hold of his other hand, so I just did that and gripped on tightly, running my thumb across his skin in comforting circles. I couldn’t leave him alone standing there, alone with his thoughts and fears. Alone with these monsters.
“You. Are. Not. Mine,” Mr. Ross
answered, his voice punctuating each word. “You are a bastard child—”
“Lincoln!”
He raised a quick hand, halting Margot’s constant pleas.
“You are the result of a very stupid woman making a very stupid mistake. One that we’ve all had to live with.”
“Stop.” She wasn’t even yelling anymore, her strength to fight exchanged with nothing but the silent tears sweeping down her face. “Just stop.”
“You were never wanted, boy. Not by your mother, not by me.” Lincoln’s mouth was slack, his eyes hollow and vacant. “The only person to ever truly want you was your biological father.”
As though snapped from his daze, Lincoln yelled, “Then why didn’t you just let him have me?”
Mr. Ross made a tsk-tsk sound with his clucking tongue and teeth, and he swayed his head back and forth so slowly, condescension present in every single one of his mannerisms. “Now how would that look? A man running for council with an adulterous wife? Oh, no. We couldn’t have any of that. No, you would become my namesake, we’d be sure to convince everyone of that.”
“You’re sick,” I uttered, unaware when the words left my mouth.
“My dear,” he said, turning his head slowly my direction. “Based on your familial history, judgment is not yours to hold.”
“Who is he?” Lincoln bulldozed over him. His voice croaked with emotion as he threw his gaze over to his mother. “Who is he, Mom?”
Margot knew her place, so she remained silent, looking only to her husband as though requesting permission to speak. He didn’t grant it.
“Who was he is the correct tense,” Mr. Ross corrected. “You’ve never met him.”
Whether permitted to or not, Margot spoke up. “That’s not true.” Her tears were audible in her hiccupped words. Her whole body shuddered violently. “He came to the hospital the day you were born. Your father—,” her eyes flashed at her mistake, “Lincoln,” she corrected, “sent him away.”
“Where is he now?”
The older Lincoln practically cackled. “Residing in the same place as your dear girlfriend’s mother.”
“You killed him?” Lincoln’s palms slammed into his father’s chest, making him stumble to regain his footing. He pushed harder into his body, shoving him nearly against the siding of the house.
“Of course not. Murder would tarnish our family’s reputation so much more than adultery. No, thankfully, he took care of that himself.” My stomach tumbled and acid crept into my throat. This was sickening, to listen to this man confess to his sins without any shred of remorse. I don’t think I’d ever felt sicker in my entire life. I couldn’t handle it. Any of it. “He left the hospital that day in a fit of rage. Ran a red light and slammed his truck into a mother and her infant daughter.” I bit back the vomit that threatened, covering my mouth with my hand to hold it in. “Everyone was obliterated instantly, along with the secret he’d sworn to keep. It’s so convenient the way the world works sometimes, orchestrating everything so perfectly for you.”
I almost didn’t see it happen with my head hung so low, but the blow against Lincoln Senior’s jaw snapped my eyes up instantly like the crack of a whip. And that’s when I noticed him, his hand wrapped around his throat, fingers curling in as they shoved him repeatedly into the wall with blunt force.
Phil wasn’t about to back down, even when Lincoln’s arms came around to pull him off Mr. Ross’s limp body. He’d surely bludgeon the man had we not stopped him, and in truth, I wasn’t sure why we did.
“Phil!” I cried, pulling at his free arm. It was as though my voice snapped him from his anger and he shook off his stare and backed away quickly, arms raised in the air, chest heaving.
“Oh my God,” he gasped. Lincoln Senior cupped his nose with his palm, blood dripping into it like a faucet turned on. “Oh my God.”
Lincoln’s hands were at his shoulders. “It’s okay. This is okay.”
“But it’s not,” Phil groaned. “Not one single part of this is okay.” He looked down at his cracked hands, at the red spilling from his split knuckles. “Oh God.” His eyes were wide. “What have I done?”
“It’s okay, Philly,” I soothed again. “It is.”
“No, Eponine.” His eyes pierced mine and they were shrouded with pain and concern. “I’ve made a huge mistake.” He cast his gaze toward Mr. Ross, eyes darting all over. “And unlike some others here, I am willing to accept that responsibility.”
“What dog do you even have in this fight?” Lincoln Senior forced out. Crimson crept quickly into his cheek, the fresh bruising taking no time at all. He spit blood against the ground and rubbed at his jaw.
“It was his family!” I screamed, unable to hold back. The world spun at double time. Lincoln dropped his hands from Phil and quickly wrapped them around me. No longer able to keep my frame upright, I slumped against his chest, my muscles and bones betraying every part of my being.
Phil was shaking his head, steady at first, then picking up speed the way a train does on its tracks. “It is my family,” he corrected with unnatural grit and malice in his voice. “They are my family.” He waved his hand toward Lincoln and me. “They are.”
Like a villain in a movie, Mr. Ross spun toward us, painstakingly slow. His head lifted slightly, and his eyes slivered, taking on the same flat line as his tight mouth. “Then I suggest you take this so-called family of yours out of here and leave me and my family the hell alone.”
I couldn’t even process the movements and actions that led to all three of us seated back in Phil’s car and back on the highway, but somehow we made it out without any customary humming or panic. There was no room for coping, no room for fear.
We made it out—me, Lincoln, and Phil—and in that moment, for the first true time in my life, I knew what it was to be a family. Through the breakdown of one, I experienced the building up of another. And this family—this mismatching of lost and lonely souls—this was the only family I’d ever want to be a part of.
In reality, maybe it was the only family we were ever meant to be a part of to begin with.
THIRTY-NINE
You’re not like most girls.
Though I didn’t want to give Kyle’s voice any power, there was underlying truth in that statement. No, I wasn’t like most girls. Circumstances hadn’t allowed me that comfort.
My life had been altered, by no fault of my own.
But what was my fault? Thinking that just because I wasn’t born into something most everyone else had, that I was any less worthy of receiving it.
A love so unconditional that nothing could destroy it, that was still in my cards. I had to believe that. Because if I didn’t, then who would believe it for me?
“I’m going out,” Dad called from downstairs. I could hear him retrieve his keys off the metal hook in the entryway. We were supposed to go dress shopping for homecoming. That was tonight’s plan. But without his car and credit card, I was out of luck. Though I should’ve been disappointed, relief fell over me.
Of course I’d wanted to go to the dance, but the lack of a date with just four days to go made those hopes feel more like far off dreams.
It was good to have an excuse. ‘I can’t get a dress in time.’ ‘I don’t have a ride.’ ‘There’s no money to pay for it.’ I became an expert at the excuse game. It was easy to verbally account for my situation when I placed the blame on my circumstance.
My mother would always be my excuse. That was the default she’d earned when she used me as her own means for attention and fulfillment. Her sick behavior excused me from living a healthy, love-filled life.
But I was tired. Tired of reasoning my existence away. Just because someone chose to take a significant portion of it didn’t mean that I needed to forfeit the remainder.
I still had a lot of living left to do. At some point, I’d need to shed the excuses and take ownership. That’s what I’d been trying to do all this time, however unsuccessfully. Sometimes it was just easier to do things
in pairs. I mean, teenage girls couldn’t even travel to the bathroom alone. Walking solitarily through life was an infinitely larger feat.
I thought that made me a bad person, though, to desire a companion in this twisted life I led. Because no sane person would want to join me and my mess. That would take true, unconditional love—to look beyond the surface and see the potential underneath. Someone would have to really adore me to want any part of that. They’d have to love me like crazy.
FORTY
As one would expect, the Ross’s pressed charges against Phil and that money we’d intended for Herb and then Lincoln ended up going toward attorney fees, in conjunction with a hefty portion of Phil’s nest egg. I’d apologized over and over, unable to let go of the guilt in knowing that somehow, my association with Phil and with Lincoln culminated in two of the men closest to me behind bars, if only for a short while.
“I can’t shake the notion that anyone who gets remotely close to me ends up ruining their life in one form or other,” I’d said the day Phil’s case was dropped due to lack of supporting evidence on the Ross’s part. Apparently a bruised chin and ego wasn’t enough to convict another man of criminal wrongdoing in this particular instance. “If you cross my path, you’re destined to encounter tragedy.”
“Eppie.” Phil’s voice was soft and even though his aviators hid his eyes, I could still sense the sincerity in them. “Perhaps it was our tragedies that aligned our paths in such a way that they would even be capable of crossing.”
I’d been mulling over that phrase for the past several weeks, coming at it from all angles, trying to find the flaw in it. But I couldn’t. No single sentence uttered into my life ever rang truer. This broken road I’d been on—this lone path I’d blamed my mother for all this time—this is what led me to love. This is what led me to life.
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