I hear my words– their insanity –but it doesn’t change how irrational I feel. I know I’m hurting Willa by yelling about her daddy. But I can’t stop once I start. Five years of hatred pours out of me, and decades of jealousy fuels it.
“It’s his fault I lost my brother! I hate him!” Screaming so forcefully I break blood vessels in my eyeballs, “Donny rots behind bars because no one believed us– they thought Willa and I were lying to save Donny. Because the evidence was shot in the head in the woods.”
“Is it Corbin’s fault that you were assaulted? Held at gunpoint? Raped?” Dr. Cassidy pulls no punches– as blunt as the truncheon that left me with a colostomy bag for two months while I healed. “Is it Corbin’s fault Donny beat you and Willa so badly that he almost killed you both?”
“Yessss,” I hiss. “Because whatever is in Willa that made it so she wouldn’t pass out came straight from her daddy. Pure Gillette stubbornness. Donny would have stopped hitting her if she would have gave in. So it’s Corbin’s fault.”
“Royce,” Willa snaps. “Listen to yourself.”
I bellow, “I am!” right in her face.
“The part in me that wouldn’t give up was my maternal instinct. Our children were in the house. Someone had to protect Donny from himself, and someone had to watch over you. Sean didn’t want anything to do with me. You were always his target, using Donny to get to you. This has nothing to do with my daddy. You have to let it go.”
“Donny’s in jail for two counts of attempted murder, Willamina,” I remind her like she could ever forget. “Against us! They thought he wanted our money, remember? But he wasn’t the one– Sean was.”
“I know,” Willa murmurs patiently. “I know, Royce. I know.”
“Without Sean, Donny looked guilty. If it wasn’t for that sick gift Sean left inside of me, they would have pinned my rape on my brother too.” Face buried in the fur of both teddy bears, I begin to sob and rock back and forth again. “I want my brother out of jail.” Rocking back and forth, “It’s my fault.”
“Which is it, Royce?” Dr. Cassidy challenges me, stilling my frantic movements and gasping sobs. “Is it your fault, or is it Corbin Gillette’s fault? Or perhaps, every person needs to take responsibility for their own actions and how they contributed to what happened.”
“I am– we are.”
“Not well, you aren’t,” Dr. Cassidy’s sarcasm is not appreciated. “You’re all the victims, and you’ve let it destroy your lives. You look like an upstanding citizen but inside you are pure chaos. Your brother is actually acclimating well and working through his part in all of this. Willa is at the end stages of acceptance. You are stuck. Corbin destroyed himself, blaming himself for not protecting Donny, protecting his daughter, protecting his grandchildren… protecting you.”
“That wasn’t his job– that was mine,” I snarl.
“If it wasn’t Corbin’s job to take care of his family and friends,” Dr. Cassidy traps me in my own words, “Then he can’t be at fault for your brother being sent to prison for beating you. Because Donny did beat you, no matter how altruistic his reasons.”
“But the jury couldn’t hear the reasons because Sean was dead– killed by Corbin. So it is his fault.” Eyes gleaming madness, I stare up at my doctor.
My face whips to the side, a palm print blooming on my cheek. Willa leans over me, glaring. “If Daddy hadn’t taken Sean out, none of us would have survived long enough for the police to arrive.” Willa finally tells the truth. “Sean was lost in the madness of violence, taking out whatever demons he had inside himself out on you. Nothing short of a bullet to the head would have stopped him from hurting you– it didn’t happen in the woods.”
“I– I can’t remember because Donny wouldn’t let me.”
“You don’t need to remember,” Willa seethes. “I wish I didn’t, and so does Donny. So does Daddy. You were the victim, and we didn’t want you to remember. But your body does,” Willa proves she knows me better than anyone. “For all this hate you preach– for someone not wanting to be beholden to my daddy, you sure do take care of him and his.”
“I don’t remember,” I mutter again, then repeat Willa’s words. “I don’t remember but my body does. It’s like a memory imprinted on my skin. My body will seize up for no reason. I can’t remember my rape, but my ass does.” I hide my face deeper into the teddy bear and whisper the truth. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to be terrified to take a shit? Because my body remembers what I don’t. I had a panic attack the first time I went to the bathroom after I healed up and the colostomy bag was removed. When I see a bat…”
“If the positions were reversed, I wouldn’t want to know either,” Willa says softly. Her anger has been replaced with compassion, and not an ounce of pity is shining through. “It’s not so much what happened to you that is messing with your head, but your constant need to be in control of everything. It drives you insane to think that we know something you don’t, especially when it’s about you. You know what happened– no one needs the details. Ever.”
“What you must see when you look at me.” I gaze up at Willa, pouring out my greatest fear. “You must be sickened at how weak I am. I’m the father of your children, and I couldn’t even protect myself, let alone you and the kids.”
Gripping my chin with ferocity, “Don’t,” Willa orders. “Don’t go there. I see you when I look at you, and nothing else. Sean– or whoever the fuck he really was –was a madman. No amount of strength and manliness could have protected you or us from him. We all have our fears, and I lived for three more years terrified of when the others would take you from me.”
“Others?” Nothing could have broken through my bitter shame except for that. “Explain.”
“I can’t,” Willa grits out, frustrated. “Gag order, remember?”
“Why can’t I know?”
“Because you can’t,” Willa snaps, frustrated. “Do you honestly believe they didn’t know what happened to Sean? The FBI and his associates? That Donny might be where he is as protection? That my daddy kept me and the kids in squalor to save us? That me going back to you was terrifying because it put us all in one spot as an easy target? There is more here than your assault, Royce.”
“It’s all about the money,” I mumble, hating every last green cent of it.
“Of course it is,” Willa snarls. “Isn’t it always about money? Always?”
Scrabbling to my feet, I’m hard-pressed to let go of the teddy bears. “I need to see my brother. I’m going to be late for the visitation our attorney arranged.”
Willa’s to her feet in an instant. “I’m going with you.”
“No!”
“Yes!”
“No! I’m going alone. I need to spend time with my brother, Willamina!”
“I’m driving you because you’re not capable right now–” Willa growls at me, baring her front teeth. “Don’t start that shit with me, mister. I don’t want to hear any macho bullshit. You just suffered emotional trauma, and I’m not gonna play to your ego by letting you drive when you can’t even think straight.”
“You’re such a pain in the ass.” My eyes cut to the side, noticing Dr. Cassidy watching us intently with a slight curve to her lips.
“You wouldn’t want me any other way.” Willa flashes me a smirk, gripping my hand.
“True.” I squeeze her hand. “But you’re staying in the car.”
Brother Bear
Staring one another down in deafening silence, Donny and I are only separated by a metal table. My fingertips curl against the edge, resisting the urge to hold my brother, to make us both feel comforted and safe and secure.
I wish I had Brother Bear with me, because I know Donny won’t allow me to hug him.
My brother always looks good– young for his age with something about him that will always feel childlike. He just turned forty-four last month, and no matter how hard I tried, he wouldn’t see me on his birthday. His brown hair is a little shaggy,
the tips of his ears sticking out from where his hair is tucked back. He’s in need of a Kennedy brush cut and a clean shave. His scruff is starting to gray along his jawline, and tiny lines are bracketing the outside corners of his eyes.
Looking at my brother makes me sad, remembering him looking larger than life when I was a little guy. How I grew bigger, taller, and stronger and began protecting him. But Donny and Corbin wouldn’t let me, saying I was just a kid– an annoying technique I pulled on Wynn decades later.
Where did our twenties and thirties go? I’ve yet to hit forty, but I feel ancient as I stare into my brother’s eyes, finding that I’m the one who is lost, not him anymore.
Small at five and a half feet, Donny used to be really soft but he’s been firming up his muscles here in jail. The revelation worries me, because who in here is protecting my brother? He has no Corbin or Royce to protect him from the Seans of the world when we’re locked out of his life.
To me, it’s not Donny locked in prison. It’s me on the outside of the door, pounding and begging to be let in so I can keep him safe and save him. But that’s not the real reason. It’s because Kennedy land is not my home. My brother is.
For the past five years of silence, I’ve felt like my heart was hacked out of my chest. I can survive the nightmare, but I can’t survive losing Donny.
That bond– that amazing bond I’m forging in my own children –is exactly what was exploited by the bad men.
We do our thing that we’ve been doing for the past five years, where I beg my brother to talk to me, and all he’ll ever do is listen. He won’t even communicate with his eyes anymore– totally shutting me out so I can’t see the truth.
But today is different. Not because it’s the anniversary of the attack or the loss of our family, or because I had a breakthrough with my therapist. Today is different because we’re not sitting in the loud clamor of the visitation room with fifty-plus inmates and their family and friends, surrounded by ten guards with batons.
Money got us into this horrific situation, but it also bought Donny and me a bit a privacy for once. Alone in a small, dark room filled with a table and two chairs bolted to the floor, the only eyes on us are from the security camera overhead and the single guard leaning against the door, who appears to be mentally counting floor tiles.
Our guard is wearing a dark suit, and suspiciously looks like a federal agent. He might be obsessing about the one tile that doesn’t follow the gray and white pattern, but his ears are open and avidly listening.
Agent OCD is not here to make sure Donny doesn’t hurt me or that I don’t give him contraband, like the guards in the visitation room are for. No, he’s here to guard that gag order Willa keeps speaking about but never truly explains.
I start out with my spiel. “Tonight Bren and I will visit Daddy and Annie. We’ll leave a bundle of daisies from you as usual.” I wait for Donny to nod his head, but he never does.
My brother always joined Bren and me every year, where we’d talk to the dead, and not visit them until the following year on the anniversary. Donny would bring daisies and regale Daddy’s tombstone with wild tales from throughout the year. Then he’d breakdown on the way home. Even five years ago we did this– the early morning because that was Daddy’s favorite time of day, with the attack happening later that afternoon.
“We’re doing it in the evening for Annie this year– it was her favorite time of day,” I explain, but he already knows. “More to it, though. We have the grand opening for the Life Skills Center this afternoon.” A spark of recognition lights in Donny’s eyes, so I know someone’s been talking to him.
“Willa? Corbin?” Donny doesn’t even twitch to give me an answer. “The kids are going off to college the day after tomorrow. Bren’s got himself into a pickle, but he won’t tell me what.” I silently think to myself, no one ever tells me anything. “But Kade is taking care of things, because apparently I’m incapable.”
Donny flinches, hearing the underlying resentment in my words but he doesn’t reply.
“Dr. Cassidy made me recall the attack early this morning.” The words are out before I even think them. Stunned, my brother and I stare at each other. Begging is not beneath me. “Talk to me.”
Donny’s hair flops around his ears as he shakes his head left and right.
“Talk to me. Please,” I plead in an aching tone. I reach across the tabletop for my brother’s hand. But he snatches it away before I make contact. “Please, Donny. Let me touch you. Stop freezing me out.”
A strange noise rumbles up my brother’s throat. He keeps whipping his head side-to-side, and I can almost hear him say, “I can’t.” Wet splotches dot the metal surface of the table, tearing my heart out and incinerating it.
“Brother,” I beg, using the fact that I’ve finally got a reaction out of Donny for once, even if it’s him crying. “Are you okay in here? Are you safe?”
Nodding up and down rapidly, he won’t look me in the eyes.
“You haven’t dropped the soap, have you?” The lame joke comes out of nowhere, causing Donny to choke on a laugh and a sob at the same time.
Covering his mouth with the back of his hand, Donny grants me the pleasure of his voice for the first time in five years. “No,” he mutters wryly. “I shower alone. I’m fine. Safe. Don’t worry about me, Roy.”
“I do, though,” I say hesitantly, scared he’ll shut me down. “Worry about you.”
“I know.” His eyes flash up, connecting with Agent OCD at my back. “But you shouldn’t. I’m fine. Let’s just say it’s a small group of us together. Like witness protection for convicts.”
“Mr. Kennedy,” Agent OCD warns in a gruff voice. “Younger Mr. Kennedy gets to talk, and you only listen. Remember?”
“Yes, sir.” Donny sounds deflated, but there is rebellion lurking in the depths of his eyes. “I’m not supposed to talk to you or touch you, because they fear I’ll say too much.”
“Why can’t you talk to me?” I ask again.
“Corbin was telling me–” Donny hesitates when the agent clears his throat. “How you didn’t tell Wynn about the adoption until after the fact. Willa added more to it. How you wanted Wynn to have the summer to himself because it would give normalcy to the twins and Penny. Remember?”
“Of course I remember. It was only last year.” I sound surly like Willa– defensive. “It was my responsibility to shoulder the burden. If Wynn knew, the kids would feel it, and it would upset the balance. In Wynn’s case, ignorance was bliss.”
Donny just stares at me for a long moment, and I stare back confused. It takes Agent OCD chuckling behind me before I get a clue.
“I’m not Wynn, goddammit!” Snarling, the side of my fist meets the metal table, causing Donny to jump out of his skin and the agent to laugh outright.
“Royce,” Donny says in a calm voice that belies the way his eyes are narrowed. “Kaden. Wynn. Brennan. Hayden. Hayley. That is why you don’t know. You have to live an everyday life for the children. Eh–” he puts a palm out to stop me from arguing. “Corbin couldn’t handle looking over his shoulder because he murdered their inside man, and it cost him his family and sobriety. Willa couldn’t handle the stress of always wondering who was going to come for her children and you and Bren, and she sought drugs for escape. Warren didn’t know what was happening, but he could feel his family disintegrating before his very eyes, so he sought escape. Wynn… he tried to kill himself.”
“I-I-I… I don’t see what any of that had to do with this.”
“It’s because you’re refusing to see what’s before your face. You have all the answers; you just refuse to see the truth.” Donny casts sad eyes behind me, looking defeated. “What you don’t know can’t hurt you. What we know makes us a threat. Willa said the fuck with it and decided to live her life. Corbin’s trying to follow suit. I’m safer in here than at home. I miss you, but I’d rather remain breathing, so stop trying to repeal a conviction that is my version of witness protection. Just
stop it.”
“I want you home with me.” Fists scrubbing at my damp eyes, I hate how desperate I sound. “I miss you so goddamn much I feel lost.”
“If you love me…” Donny looks away, ignoring the tears washing down his cheeks. In a tight, strained voice, “Prove you love me by not making me feel guilty– and before you say you’re not blaming me, that’s not what I meant. Stop telling me how much you miss me when I can’t get out of here to be with you. Like I don’t miss you, miss Willa and the kids. Like I don’t wish I could come home and sit around the bonfire with you and Corbin. But unlike you, Corbin knows that to tell me he misses me and his life sucks because I’m not around, is to rip my heart out. So just back off.”
“I’m sorry.” Leaning forward, I wrap my arms around my head, trying to comfort myself. “I’m being selfish. I’m sorry.”
“You’re not selfish,” Donny says with conviction. “You don’t have to take care of everything for everyone to be a man. You’re a man because you’re a man. You’re a good father, husband, brother, and friend. You don’t have to prove anything to anyone.”
“I do to myself,” I grumble, but he doesn’t hear me.
“You can’t fight my battles for me, Royce.” Now it’s Donny’s time to beg and plead. “If you hate feeling like someone cut your balls off, then stop taking mine. I need this. I need to protect our family. I’m the oldest, and they aren’t my kids. They need you, not me.”
“I need you… After what happened, I have to prove myself worthy–”
“Royce!” Donny bellows, and he never yells– at least he didn’t used to. “What happened to you was an assault. It had nothing to do with sex, and absolutely nothing to do with whether or not you’re a man. When consensual, it’s not like that. Sean wanted to harm you.”
“Sean did that to you, too, didn’t he?” My guts twist up, bile rising in my throat. “He made you do that all the time, didn’t he? I’m sorry. I should have protected you better.”
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