No Way Back (Mia's Way, #1)

by Chloe Adams

  “Heya, Mia, it’s Dom. Just wanted to check in. Gianna asked me to call. Her phone is broken. She has the worst luck with mechanical things.” He chuckles. “You got our numbers, if you wanna talk. Take care.”

  I save the message. His voice always reminds me of Grandpa’s, and I like the reminder of a better time. The cynical side of me wonders if he would’ve called if Gianna hadn’t made him. After all, he wants me to out Robert Connor, so he can solve a case. Maybe he thinks I’m an emotional, vulnerable mess, and he wants to pounce while he can. That thought kinda hurts. Ari thinks the same thing that Dom does, and both of them are good people.

  My cell rings again, and I’m not surprised to see Mom’s number pop up on the screen. I accept the call.

  “Hi, mom,” I say. “Let me guess. You’ll be home in two days.”

  “Bonjour, mon amour. I, ah, saw the news.”

  I slump against the wall.

  “I talked to Daddy’s team this morning. I will be home in two days.”

  “Mom …” I sigh. “Just stop with the two days stuff. I’m having a hard enough time as it is.”

  “This time, I’m coming. I’ve done my sixty days here. I’m coming home.”

  Just like every other day she says she’ll be home in two days, part of me wonders if this time, she really will.

  “Mia,” her voice takes on a hesitant, grave note. “I know your daddy. I know what he believes is right and how … convincing he can be. You are too much my daughter, I fear. If … if you need me to do something for you that Daddy may not agree with, I will.”

  Surprised, I listen. I know what she’s saying, even if she doesn’t say it. Mom’s European background was an issue for Daddy before he married her. Her more liberal views still comes up during campaign season, which is probably another reason why she’s been exiled to rehab in the critical months before his reelection.

  My mom has been little better of a parent than Daddy, always absorbed in the social scene. She loves the treatment and status Daddy’s reputation and last name gives her. She’s the opposite of me. She loves the paparazzi, fancy clothes and spotlight. She can charm women voters, something Daddy can’t do. When she’s on, she’s Daddy’s greatest asset. When she’s off or drinking, all they do is fight.

  “You don’t have to. It’s just an offer,” she says when I’m quiet.

  “Mama, I think I need your help. But I don’t know yet.”

  “I’ll be home this weekend. I can find you someone to talk to who isn’t in your daddy’s pocket. I did the same for Molly.”

  “Molly? She got knocked up?” I whisper, shocked. “She’s like, goody-two-shoes-miss-perfect.”

  “Mon amour, every family has its secrets.” Mom gives her husky chuckle, the one that makes men swoon. “Your problem is that Daddy and the press already know. I hushed up Molly’s indiscretion. It’s too late to hush up yours.”

  I can’t help but think of Mom in a different light. I’m accustomed to seeing her fold like a drunk flower to whatever Daddy wants her to do, in the name of the family name and politics, like the rest of us have learned to do. That my mom keeps secrets from him or acts against his wishes in private is nothing short of a miracle. I know they fight, but Daddy always wins. At least, it looks like he always wins.

  “You didn’t notice how civil we are to each other now?” she jokes with another laugh.

  I haven’t paid much attention to Molly since she left the house for college several years ago. In fact, I rarely even talk to my half-sibling. She used to hate Mom and blamed Mom for breaking up their family long before I was born. She hated me, too, growing up. If there was a thaw, I don’t know about it. No one in my family talks to one another about such private matters.

  “Please, please, mama, please come home this time,” I beg her. “Please.”

  “I promise you, my baby.”

  “Okay. Then I’ll see you this weekend.”

  “I can’t wait to see you, Mia!”

  “Bye, mom.”

  “Au revoir,” she murmurs.

  I hang up. Hopeful but scared she’ll betray me yet again, I release a deep breath. I want so much to believe her, but I can’t handle any more bad news. I scroll through my contacts in my phone and gaze at Molly’s number. I wonder if she’ll talk to me, if she’ll tell me what Mom just did. I’m afraid to call her, so I text her.

  How’s the wedding planning?

  It’s lame, but I don’t know what else to say.

  She doesn’t answer right away. I can’t help but be disappointed, even if I didn’t expect her to talk to me. I spend the day in my closet, texting Ari. Molly never responds. When I go to bed, I can’t help clinging to the hope Mom really is coming home this weekend.

  Chapter Twelve

  I arrive to the women’s center on time the next morning. There’s a police line blocking off the swarming press and paparazzi from the entrance and the line of women already waiting. I don’t look at anyone as I get out of the car and go inside, followed by Fabio.

  Wendy eyes me as I enter. She doesn’t say anything, but she’s not the only one uneasy with me being there. I pass Ricki in the hallway. She smiles. I go to my cube and avoid the long looks of the two women already in the office area. There’s a stack of forms on my desk already. I start working on those, hoping no one talks to me and I can leave after my four hours. After a few minutes, I smell fresh coffee drifting down the hallway from the break room and get up.

  Another of the workers is in the break room. I wait for my turn to grab a flimsy paper cup. I purposely don’t think about the last time the coffee maker has been cleaned and instead doctor up a cup of terrible coffee.

  “Hey, kid.” Gianna’s voice almost makes me freak out. “You got a minute?”

  “You’re the boss,” I reply.

  She sits down at the table. I sit across from her, staring at my coffee.

  “How you feeling?” she asks.

  “Okay. Sorry about the other day.”

  “Don’t worry, Mia. I understand. I can’t imagine having this splashed all over the news makes this easier,” Gianna says. “If you need time away from here, let me know.”

  “I’m okay,” I say.

  “No, I don’t think you are.”

  I’m not sure what to say. Gianna squeezes my arm. She’s sweet, with the same brown eyes Dom has. Like Grandpa’s. I wonder if them being here, taking care of me, is Grandpa’s way of looking out for me. He died years ago, and I still miss him.

  “I don’t know what to do,” I say at last.

  “Would you be interested in sitting in the group counseling sessions? You can meet and talk to other girls your age who are going through similar experiences.”

  “Are there a lot like me?” I ask, meeting her gaze for the first time this morning.

  “More than there should be.” Her smile is sad. “We have a session at one today. You’d have to stay later than your four hours.”

  “It’s okay. I think I have time to make up from Wednesday.”

  “Okay, good. If it doesn’t help, you don’t have to go back.” She stands.

  “Gianna, why are you helping me?” I ask, uneasy at the thought of a stranger helping me when my family would hush this all up if they could.

  “It’s what I do, kid,” she replies.

  “I’ll ask Daddy to increase his … donation.”

  Gianna laughs. “No bribes needed.” She grows serious. “What frightens me is that you are more alone than many of the girls who have nowhere near your wealth. No matter how rich you are, you need help, Mia.”

  My face feels hot. I clear my throat and leave with my coffee. I sit down at my cube and start typing up forms.

  My phone vibrates a short time later. I’m expecting it to be Ari, complaining about how bad her chef’s coffee is, like she does every morning. I’m surprised to see the text is from Molly.

  We can talk about it at brunch tomorrow. Mom’s favorite spot, 10AM.

  My hands s
tart shaking again, this time out of excitement that she actually wants to talk to me. Maybe I won’t be alone in all this. I send her a quick okay then stare at my computer for a few minutes.

  My time goes fast. I text Chris to tell him not to send the car until two. I skip lunch. Gianna comes to get me for the one o’clock session, and I follow her to what looks like it was a classroom at one time. There are mismatched but comfortable looking chairs in a circle and several teens already there. I’m surprised to see a couple of them are younger than me.

  It’s quiet and awkward. I sit down in one while Gianna sits nearest the door. I’m not sure how I feel about her being the facilitator then realize it’s no worse than Chris sitting in my last session with Dr. Thompkins.

  Two more girls show up. They sit down, but no one really talks to each other. We all kinda look around, and no one is comfortable.

  “We’re going to start with Jaime. Everyone introduce yourselves, why you’re here, and what you hope to accomplish,” Gianna starts. “Jaime, go ahead.”

  The girl named Jaime is one of the youngest in the room. She looks around nervously. She’s got to be several months pregnant; her small frame looks like she’s got a ball tucked under her shirt.

  “I’m Jaime. I’m here because my cousin raped me and I got knocked up.”

  “What’re your goals?” Gianna prompts when Jaime falls quiet.

  “I dunno. Um, to feel better?”

  Gianna smiles. I’m not sure what Jaime means, but Gianna accepts her answer and moves on. I listen to the other girls talk about their situations. Gianna is right; I’m not the only one who was raped and ended up pregnant. Two of the girls have had abortions and are feeling guilty. Three are too far along or don’t want to. Like Jaime, two others are being pressured into having babies while one other says she wants to end the pregnancy.

  Unlike me, they don’t have trust funds. What starts as awkward silences melts when they start talking about where to go for cheap – or free – medical care and something called Medicaid. Gianna encourages us all to think about where we see ourselves in a year. I expect her to push the idea of having the kid over not, since it’s a Catholic center. But she doesn’t. She focuses on what the girls are saying.

  I puzzle over the idea of what happens in a year or two. I’ll turn eighteen soon and will graduate in June of next year. Then I can move out and put distance between me and Daddy’s politics. I haven’t thought about more than that, just as I haven’t tried to imagine what life would be like and how I’ll feel down the road if I do – or don’t – have a baby. I don’t know where I’ll go to college and if I do, what I’ll major in.

  Dr. Thompkins has a different style then Gianna. Maybe it’s because there are so many of us in the room and only an hour to talk, but we don’t go into the level of detail Dr. Thompkins does. Gianna challenges us to think more about our future and to be ready to talk about it next time. When the session is over, I leave quickly. I’m confused again and missing my closet. It’s the longest I’ve been out of the house since the incident.

  I see Dom leaning against the reception desk talking to Wendy as I head towards the front entrance. He catches my eye and straightens. I’m ready to bolt and start past him.

  “Mia, wait.” He touches my arm.

  I stop and face him, looking up. With Dom’s warm eyes and gravelly voice, I’m beginning to believe Grandpa really is looking out for me from heaven. I shouldn’t feel as comfortable with a stranger as I do with Dom. I don’t even mind that he touched me. Since the rape, I jump every time someone touches me.

  “Just wanted to make sure you’re okay,” he says.

  Anxious to leave, I can’t help the jaded thoughts in my mind, even about my rescuer. I wonder if he called yesterday and stopped by today to pressure me.

  “I’m fine,” I say. “Thank you.”

  “You’ve got my number, if you ever want to talk.”

  “You mean, if I decide to come forward maybe, given what I’m sure you saw in the news?” I cross my arms.

  “You’re welcome,” he says, unfazed.

  We stare at each other.

  “Yeah, I do want you to come forward, and I’ll keep asking you until you say yes. But, I also want to make sure you’re okay,” he says at last. “Let’s make a deal. I’ll be straight with you, and you drop this defensive shit with me. That tone just really drives me crazy. Deal?” A slow smile crosses his face. He holds out his hand.

  I don’t know why my defenses melt around him, but they always do. He can see right through me, and he’s not running for the hills. I’m not sure what to think about that, either. I shake his hand and offer a quiet,

  “Deal.”

  “Good. Scram, before your dad calls in the National Guard.”

  I start to smile but force myself to stop, not wanting to give him anymore access past my defenses than he already has. I walk away.

  “Ms. Abbottt-Renou,” he calls when I reach the door. “Tell your driver not to park in front of a fire hydrant next time, or I’ll write him a ticket.” He winks. “And I won’t forget to sign it.”

  “You would’ve made a good politician!” I retort.

  “Hey now, that’s low!” He throws his arms open like I’ve wounded him.

  I leave. This time, I do smile. I ignore the paparazzi as they snap pics of me and hurry to the car, followed by a silent Fabio. I climb into the back seat while he gets in the front. The small thrill I feel at the exchange with Dom is gone by the time I reach home.

  I’m ready to make a run for my closet when I notice who’s walking down the hall towards me. My half-brother, Joseph, is dressed casually. He waves for me to wait. The eldest of the three of us, he was out of the house in college by the time I turned five. I barely know him.

  “Mia, c’mere,” he says and motions me out of the foyer.

  We walk into the formal living area. He sits on one of the designer couches Mom imported from Europe. I sit on the other end and wait for him to give me another of Daddy’s speeches. He and Molly are model children with Shea-crafted images. She’s so good, I was convinced, too, until Mom said what she did about Molly. As I stare at my half-brother, I wonder if perfect, confident, Ken-doll Joseph has secrets.

  “How are you, Mia?” Joseph asks.

  I shrug. We have the same blond hair and blue eyes, which we inherited from Daddy.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t fly in earlier.” Joseph is on a special presidential appointment at the UN. I don’t know what he does, but I remember he’s always been gifted with languages.

  “Why would you?” I ask, crossing my arms.

  “Because I’m your brother, maybe?” He’s got Molly’s arrogant edge.

  I roll my eyes at him.

  “I haven’t seen you in so long. I forgot you’re not the little girl you were when I left for college.”

  “Well I’m not.”

  “Look, Mia, Molly and I have always been very distant from you,” he says, lowering his voice. “You were always the little princess, the spoiled daughter of the woman who replaced our mother. I don’t think either of us ever forgave your mother for that. I also don’t think we ever forgave you for what your mother did.”

  “I know you guys hate me,” I say. “You don’t have to rub it in.”

  “This is what I’m talking about,” he says. “This attitude. You’ve never been interested in the family image or anything outside yourself.”

  I get up to leave, furious he flew home from Europe to tell me they hated me.

  “But, then this … incident came out in the papers. I think that’s the shock it took for me to take a look at how we treated you. I called Chris, and we talked for a bit.”

  “Where are you going with this?” I demand, not sitting but not leaving either.

  “I didn’t know about your mother’s alcohol problem. I didn’t know Daddy wrote you off. I had no idea you were so alone.”

  “It wasn’t like that for you and Molly?” I ask, puzzled.<
br />
  “It wasn’t this bad. We lived in Georgia, not DC, so there was a buffer. Our mother wasn’t as interested in the social scene. We never had a normal life, but we had a better one,” he says. “In any case, you’re my sister. It’s time I started acting like your brother.”

  “It’s a little late, don’t you think?”

  “No, I don’t,” he said, the edge in his voice again. “If I thought that, I wouldn’t have come back at all. I’m late, yes, but I’m here now.”

  “Right. Until I do something that embarrasses Daddy or the family.”

  “Even if you do something Daddy opposes.”

  I look at him. I don’t know him well enough to read him, and he’s got Daddy’s poker face. He can’t know how confused I am or what I’m considering doing, but his words make me think he might.

  “We’ll see.”

  “Mia, I’m serious. What happened to you is inexcusable. If I knew who did this, I’d do everything I could to help you get him.”

  “Them,” I correct him. “There were two.”

  “My god, Mia.”

  “And I’m the one doing community service.”

  Joseph frowns. Exhausted, I leave him and go to my room. I can’t help thinking of the rapport between Dom and Gianna. He’d given her a ride to work when her car broke down. I haven’t seen my half-brother in person in years.

  Joseph is more of a stranger to me than Dom. I don’t know if I can trust Joseph or if he’ll turn his back on me the moment I do something Daddy disapproves of. He admitted that he and Molly have always hated me. I don’t know how they can suddenly not.

  I trust Dom more than my own brother, maybe because I understand Dom’s ulterior motive in talking to me. Or am I making excuses for him betraying me, because he reminds me of my grandfather, the only blood relative who ever treated me decently?

  I hate my life.

  I stay in my room the rest of the day.

  The next morning, I ride alone in the car to meet Molly for brunch. Grudgingly, I have to admit Dr. Thompkins is right. It’s getting easier to go out. I still feel nervous and worried someone will grab me. My phone has become my crutch, and I clench it in my hands. Dr. Thompkins says that’s okay for now.