by Lee Mae
“My father was in finance,” I said, avoiding the fact that now he does dishes in the prison cafeteria to earn extra money for the commissary. “He ran a big hedge fund.”
“Ran? Meaning he no longer runs one?”
A red flag popped up at Mrs. Modine’s question, but I zoomed past it.
“Correct. He’s no longer in investments.” Because he lost his licenses and would be arrested if he started trading again. I left that part out. “Did I mention how good this tortellini was?”
Mrs. Modine leaned back and pushed her plate away from her. “So you go by Nikki, huh? Nikki what?”
I’d just taken a big bite of pasta and was chewing, so I couldn’t answer right away. “Easton,” Zack filled in for me. “Her last name is Easton.”
I watched as all the color leeched out of Mrs. Modine’s face. “Easton.”
I nodded, swallowing and wiping my mouth. “Yes. Is…is something wrong?”
“Your father is Richmond Easton?”
My eyes widened. I hadn’t expected the mention of my last name to trigger a real reaction. If she was asking this question, that meant she already knew what my father had done. Which meant lying made no sense.
Zack had stressed building our relationship on a solid foundation comprised of open communication, empathy, and honesty. I’d agreed with him and pledged to uphold my end of the bargain. “Yes. Richmond Easton is my father.”
“No.” Mrs. Modine shook her head and covered her mouth. Standing up suddenly, she rushed toward the kitchen.
“Mom, are you okay?” Zack asked, standing up, but his mother didn’t stop to answer him. She fled, and a moment later, we both heard the sound of her retching.
“What’s wrong?” I asked Zack, but he just shook his head and followed her into the kitchen.
My stomach began to knot, the food I’d been eating turning to rocks in my belly. A pervasive sense of doom was descending, but I fought against it. It’s okay. Maybe she ate something that didn’t agree with her.
I abandoned my dinner and tiptoed to the kitchen where I could make out Mrs. Modine throwing up in the sink. Zack stood beside her, rubbing her back, and as she finished, he passed her a napkin.
“She’s Easton’s daughter,” Mrs. Modine said, her voice hoarse. She clutched her son’s arm, her face so pale I was worried for her health.
“Mom, what are you saying?”
“Her father killed your father!”
My gasp caused them both to look at me. My legs weak, I clutched at my chest. The expression on Zack’s face went from concerned to something harder, something darker.
In that moment, I knew that we had a problem. One that might not be so easy to recover from.
15
Zack
I WAS REELING from the revelation that Nikki’s father was the man who’d robbed my dad blind. I didn’t know how to react, didn’t know what to say or do.
My mother didn’t seem to have the same problem. She marched straight over to Nicole, her index finger pointing at my girlfriend. “Your father is the reason my husband killed himself. If Richmond Easton hadn’t taken everything from him, he’d still be alive today!”
“I…I didn’t know anything about it,” Nikki stammered, her bottom lip quivering. “I swear!”
Mom’s eyes narrowed. “You toss around your love for Paris and your summer in Spain, the fact that you lived in a mansion and had every advantage. The whole time, your father was swindling people to provide you with your perfect lifestyle.”
“I had no idea. I just thought my dad was a successful businessman. It wasn’t until the FBI raided his office that my mom and I even found out he was in trouble.”
Shaking her head, my mother refused to be satisfied by whatever Nikki had to say. And, honestly, I couldn’t blame her. My heart was beating hard enough to cause internal bruising. My girlfriend’s dad had stolen all of our money. Even worse, he’d stolen my dad’s life.
“Get out,” Mom said, her voice low and urgent.
“Please, let me explain,” Nicole began, her voice wavering.
“GET OUT!”
Mom rarely yelled, but now her voice filled the house, the rage in her tone unmissable.
Nicole jerked like she’d been hit, but she remained frozen. Her gaze met mine, and I could see the fear and confusion there.
I sprang into action, grabbing Nikki by the arm and leading her toward the front door.
“Zack, please,” she said, struggling to keep up. “I swear I didn’t know! I would have told you if I knew!”
I was too angry to believe her. “Oh, yeah? Well, you never told me how rich you were, or the fact that your dad is in prison.”
My mother had carefully followed the demise of Richmond Easton earlier this year, but I’d never paid much attention to the conman’s name. I was more interested in how he committed his crimes, and how he got my father to fall for them. Hence all the time spent at the library, teaching myself about investment schemes.
Mom and I both had agreed, however, that prison was too good for the man who’d brought my father to the point of suicide, and I’d fantasized about all manner of terrible things happening to him behind bars.
What I’d never imagined is that I would meet his daughter and fall for her.
If she’d been honest with me from the beginning, this never would have happened.
“Zack, can’t we talk this over? You can’t just toss me out of your house!”
“Watch me.” I opened the front door and thrust Nicole through it. Then I closed it behind me. Leaning against it, I felt as if my heart was cracking apart in my chest.
“Zack!” she yelled from the other side of the door. “Don’t do this! This isn’t my fault.”
Like hell it’s not. I walked away from the door, ignoring her cries. It was one of the hardest things I’d ever done.
Returning to the kitchen, I saw my mother weeping, her face buried in her hands, elbows on the island. The sound of her grief ripped my insides apart. I moved over to hug her, and she turned into my arms, resting her head against my chest.
“It’s like it just happened all over again,” she said, her voice too high and tight. “To hear about the charmed life of the Eastons literally made me sick. To think you were friends with that girl.”
I closed my eyes, not wanting to volunteer that we were so much more than friends.
“She doesn’t deserve to just get away painlessly. Although she certainly made her new apartment sound like a punishment.” My mother straightened, a look of disgust on her face. “They took our money and spent it on expensive vacations and real estate. And they killed a man! They killed him!” I could tell Mom was an inch away from hysterics.
“I know, Mom. I know.” I adjusted her hair, which she’d disheveled running her hands through it. “But you have to calm down. It’s happened. It’s over. We have to remain in the present.”
Those were the words the grief counselor I’d visited for three very difficult sessions had said. He’d advocated practicing mindfulness, focusing on the mind body connection, and keeping myself present in the moment instead of allowing myself to spiral while afflicted with dark thoughts. It wasn’t always easy, but it helped me pull myself back from the brink of despair.
“Focus on your breathing,” I told her, putting her hand on my chest so she could feel the rise and fall of my breaths. “In…out…in…out.”
I was able to get her to slow her breathing finally, and I pulled her attention back to the present. “This doesn’t change anything,” I told her. “I swear, you won’t have to worry about seeing Nikki around here again.”
My mother nodded, wiping at her eyes. “Thank you.”
“I don’t want this to be a setback for you. You’ve got to keep trying, keep getting out of bed and following your routine. Can you do that for me?”
Mom looked up at me, and I could see a panoply of emotions cross her face. There was frustration and pain, but also pride and determination.
“I can and I will. I love you, baby. And we’re going to get through this together.”
She hugged me so tightly I was afraid she might crack my spine, but it felt good to have my mother back. No longer was she a zombie, shuffling from the bed to the couch and back again. She was my partner in getting past our shared grief, and someone I needed on my side.
That night, after helping my mother clear the dishes and clean up after dinner, I told her I needed to get some homework done and retreated to my room. One look at the bed, and my hands were clenching into fists.
I’d let her in. After all the bullshit with Leigh. After turning my back on my boys. After a year of feeling like my heart was frozen in ice after my dad died, I let Nicole in. And she’d ripped my fucking heart out.
I stared at the pile of schoolbooks on the edge of my desk, waiting for me to complete whatever assignments were due tomorrow, but I couldn’t make myself sit down and work. Instead, I shoved the books off the desk, letting out a curse and asking myself how this could have happened.
I always knew Nicole was different, from the first day. I mean, who wears an expensive designer dress to school? Then again, maybe that’s what they all did in Beverly Hills.
I bet she has a whole closet full of designer dresses, some bought with my dad’s money.
Her attitudes, her reactions, some of the things she would say, all pointed to the fact that she had money. Or, at least, she had at one point. Now she supposedly lived in a two-bedroom apartment in the Valley. But could I believe that?
A smart guy like her dad, who’d cheated hundreds, maybe thousands of people out of their hard-earned savings, he wouldn’t let the cops find all of his millions, would he? He’d have to have some stashed somewhere. Maybe Nicole and her mom were putting up a front while secretly sitting on a pile of stolen cash.
I couldn’t put it past her. I knew Nicole was probably clever, like her old man. She obviously had no quit in her. If anyone could figure out how to evade the police, it would be the Easton family. And after I’d read my father’s suicide note and found out the things Nicole’s father had done to him, I figured the old adage about the apple not falling far from the tree likely applied in this case.
The memory of that day invaded my mind and I fell heavily into my chair, hit by the deluge of the past.
I’d come home from school, beating my mother who’d texted that she was running behind. The hair salon had double-booked her stylist, so she’d had to wait. She asked me to run the load of dishes in the washer before Dad got home.
But when I’d pulled up in the Nova, I’d seen Dad’s SUV was already parked in the driveway. Letting myself inside the house, I’d called out to my father but didn’t receive an answer. Shuffling into the kitchen, I’d dutifully run the dishes as requested, then wandered down the hall to my room.
The door to my parents’ room had been cracked open, so I figured I’d pop in to tell Dad about Mom running late. Pushing the door open, I could tell immediately that something wasn’t right. On the bed was a pile of folded clothing next to a piece of paper. I stepped closer and noticed my father’s wedding ring was sitting on top of the paper.
Curious, I’d skimmed the first few lines of what turned out to be a note addressed to my mother.
My darling wife,
By the time you read this letter, I will be gone. I need you to know, first and foremost, that none of this is your fault. There was nothing you could have done to change things. Please know that I don’t make this decision lightly. If there had been any other way to avoid this fate, I would have pursued it, but I realized that I am worth more to you dead than alive.
I closed my eyes, going back to that exact moment.
My heart was in my throat as I scrambled away from the bed. “Dad? DAD!” I shouted for him, but there was no response. Then I realized that over the pounding of my own pulse in my ears, I could hear a faint scraping noise coming from the bathroom.
Time turned to slow motion. It felt like I was moving through molasses as I crept toward the bathroom. Again, the door stood ajar, so I slowly pushed it open and entered. What I saw when I stepped inside would be with me for the rest of my life.
He was hanging there, from the shower rod, his belt looped around his neck. The sight of his face made me turn away for a moment, but then a sudden fear went through me.
What if he’s still alive? I have to help him!
I grabbed his body and lifted him as high as I could while trying to simultaneously get the belt from around his neck. It was a useless struggle, I quickly discovered, because I could tell when I touched him that he was dead.
He leaned against me, the entirety of his weight on me, his body already starting to stiffen. I would never forget the feeling of his skin, like rough paper and already turning cold. I knew there was no way I could save him now.
The only thing I could think to do was to get him down and cover him with a blanket before my mother got home. It was clear he’d expected her to find him, and if it wasn’t for the mix-up at the salon, she would have. At least I can spare her this.
It took some work, but I managed to unfasten the belt and lower him to the floor. I dug a sheet out of the closet and covered him, stooping to close his eyes before I did. As I crouched there next to him, I took a last look at his face and wondered how someone as smart and caring as my father could do this to himself.
And to his family.
When he was covered, I called the police to let them know what had happened. Then I sat down on my parents’ bed to wait for them, and my mother, to arrive. I didn’t bother to read the rest of the letter, because to me there was no reason good enough for what he’d done. But the line “I am worth more to you dead than alive” would prove to be the key to the mystery.
Richmond Easton had swindled my father, who had sunk every spare dime of our money into Easton’s hedge fund scheme. The house was about to be foreclosed on, the cars repossessed, and the bank account had been completely emptied. If my father had stuck around, there was no way he could have dug us out of the hole we were in, and we would have ended up on the street, broke.
But thanks to some smart insurance investments back when my parents first got married and had me, there was enough in annuities and whole life policies to continue to support my mother and me after his death. And this is why he’d thought he was worth more to us dead than alive.
I stared off into the distance, those memories still haunting me. I knew that if I could have said one thing to my father before he died, it would have been this: Even if we were penniless for the rest of our lives, we’d still be better off for having you in our lives. I didn’t know if I’d ever be able to see what he did as a sacrifice, like my father had. To me, he was still selfish for deciding to leave us alone and give up the fight.
Even if I couldn’t agree with my father, I could still forgive him. But I could never forgive Richmond Easton for what he did to my family. And I could never forgive Nicole from hiding something like that from me.
16
NIKKI
I’D DRESSED IN all black that day. Why not, I figured, since I’m in mourning.
The halls were crowded as always, and I steeled myself for the first shout, the first furtive glance, the first sniggers hidden behind hands. I expected everyone in Valley High to turn against me, just as they had at Augustus Academy. It was just a matter of time.
I’d spent a long night crying myself to exhaustion, and once I’d finally fell asleep, I’d been attacked by nightmares that had ruined any sleep I got. Deranged dreams about my father, my old friends and my new ones, and Zack turning his back on me again and again had my head still spinning this morning.
I thought we’d reached the point in our relationship where we could come to each other with our problems, where we could support each other.
I guess I was wrong.
He’d turned his back on me so fast, I got whiplash. I’d never been thrown out of anyplace before, but the way Zack had hustled
me out his door, I felt like I’d been bounced from a high end boutique by store security.
I understood why he was upset, and the revelation had shocked me as well. That’s why, once I got home after yet another bus ride, I’d pulled out my laptop and tried to find any mention of Zack’s father and his circumstances.
Unfortunately, the only thing I’d come across was an obituary that was light on details but heavy on feels. I’d sobbed as I read about what a good man Jack Modine had been and how greatly he would be missed.
I’d been conflicted about my father’s crimes ever since his arrest. He’d taken investors’ money and instead of investing it into a legitimate hedge fund, he’d treated their accounts like his personal piggy bank. In order to get people to invest, he’d promise them miraculous returns, and at first he would produce them, using money taken from other suckers to give them handsome payouts. Then my dad would drop hints about a riskier investment that would pay quadruple what they were making. He’d swear them to secrecy about the investment, otherwise others would find out and exploit it. That’s how he coerced their silence.
He’d been using people’s own greed against them, and when they started asking questions, he’d make up stories about permit delays, regulatory investigations, government coups, anything and everything under the sun to explain why they’d lost their investment. It was risky, after all, he’d remind them, and there was little recourse for them to recoup their losses.
Unfortunately, some people sunk all they had into my daddy’s fictional investment schemes. Jack Modine was one of those. And once my father had taken everything, Jack Modine had taken his own life.
Could his death be laid at my father’s feet? Should it be? Or was he as much a victim of his own dreams of easy money?
I made it to my locker unmolested, and as far as I could tell, no one was looking at me sideways. While I was pulling out my math book, Angel and Trinity came up, greeting me warmly.