by Frankie Rose
The message says the same thing every time I read it, but I still can’t convince myself to call Noah. After sleeping with Luke….well, he’s all I can think about, and there is just too much swirling around in my head to figure out how I feel about him or Noah or anyone else in particular. My blown secret identity is off the charts bad, and everything else just seems to be crashing down around my ears. Worst of all, I’m trapped in my mother’s freaking sterile house with zero photos of me anywhere. Therapists all over the world would probably recommend I talk to someone about how I’m feeling before I go nuclear and take out half the neighborhood in my impending meltdown, but I can’t. I just want to sit in silence and have someone else there with me, just to be with me. The person I want with me most of all is dead, and the only other person capable of filling that void…I’ve royally screwed things up with him. Royally.
I run my fingers over the touch screen of my phone, jumping out of my skin when it starts to ring. Another unknown number. No way in hell. I can see it all happening again, all unraveling, leading me down the same road. I throw my cell on the couch and march to the kitchen bracing myself against the counter. The slim handset on the bench picks up ringing straight away.
“Damn it!” I glare at it malevolently. I won’t get away with smashing things in my mother’s house, which almost makes it impossible to resist. Instead I focus on the bright blue screen, narrowing my eyes at it until the answer machine kicks in.
“You’ve reached Amanda St. French’s personal residence. Please redirect all business matters to my office. Thank you.”
No, leave a message after the beep. No, if you aren’t calling about business, then please feel free to try again later. I know why; no one ever calls my mom unless it’s work-related.
“Avery?” The sound of Brandon’s voice emanating from the tinny speakers scares the crap out of me. “Ave? You there? My phone hasn’t stopped ringing all morning. Pick up, kiddo.”
My hands are shaking when I pluck the handset out of its cradle. “How d’you know I was here?” I croak. My throat is burning. Hearing the worried note in Brandon’s voice is enough to tip me over the edge again.
“Luke called me, sweetheart. He’s worried about you. You wanna tell me what’s been going on?”
“Luke?” What the hell is he doing calling Brandon? “It’s nothing, I…” I can’t really lie to my uncle. He’d know in a heartbeat, anyway. No matter how hard I fought to keep my tone level, he’d be able to tell. I let out a mighty sigh. “Didn’t he tell you what happened?”
“He explained some. I want you to tell me, though.”
Typical Brandon. He knows I’ll only tell half a story if I can avoid rehashing all of it. “Just…” I dig my knuckles into my forehead, gathering myself. “One of the girls from Break showed up with Luke’s ex-girlfriend and outed me to Columbia.”
“And?”
“And? That’s the very last thing I wanted to happen!”
“And I’m sure finally sleeping with a girl you’re head over heels for, only to have her ditch before you woke up, is the very last thing Luke wanted to happen, too.”
“What the fuck?! He told you that?” I close my eyes and sink down onto a stool at the breakfast bar, considering thumping my head against the wall. Brandon only laughs.
“No, actually. He called me at seven in the morning, going out of his mind. That was the only conclusion I could come to. He didn’t deny it when I asked him outright. Don’t be mad at him, he’s just looking out for you.”
“Did he tell you that he lied to us all about Dad’s death?” I snap. The line goes silent for a minute.
“No, he didn’t tell me that. What do you mean, he lied?”
“The police kept things from us. Kept things from the public. Luke told us Dad was already dead when they found him, but he wasn’t! Luke spoke to him. Luke held his hand when he died. He—”
“What did he say, Avery?”
“—said it took him a while to die after he found him, that he was in pain. All these years—”
“FUCK, AVERY, WHAT DID MAX SAY?!”
I freeze mid-sentence and blink, my eyes suddenly filling with tears. Brandon curses down the phone. “Shit, I’m sorry, kiddo. Just…what did he say? Did Maxwell say anything about what he’d done? Why he’d done it? Did he say if there was anyone else involved?”
His voice is piqued with anger. I’m so surprised by his urgency that it takes me a second to respond. To even think straight. “No. It wasn’t like that. He said…he said, ‘the trade,’ and then he said, ‘fly high, Icarus.’”
Brandon’s breath rushes out, distorting the line. “Your father, that’s the name he used to call—”
“I know.” And there it is. Someone else realizing my father’s last words are a message to me. It hurts like hell to have it confirmed.
“What about ‘the trade’, kiddo? Does that mean anything to you?”
“No.”
“Are you sure? Think about it really hard.”
“I have thought about it! I’ve thought about nothing else for the past eight hours. Maybe you should call Luke and talk to him about it. Sounds as though he and my dad had a pretty developed relationship, from what he was telling me last night.”
I can hear Brandon sucking his teeth; he only ever does that when he’s frustrated or worried. “You should cut Luke some slack, y’know.”
“Why? He lied to us. He’s still keeping secrets, too. Did you know my dad mentored him when he was a kid? He must have something pretty dark in his past for him to have needed help. Who knows what kind of a person he is. If we’re honest, we barely know anything about the guy. He could be dangerous.”
“Is that why you hopped into bed with him last night?”
I clench my jaw. That stings. More than I care to admit. “I made a mistake, Brand. One I won’t be making again.”
“He’s a police officer, Avery. How in hell could he be dangerous? And yes, I did know Max mentored him. Your father told me a few things about Luke that I wish he hadn’t to be perfectly honest. Makes it hard for me to look the kid in the eye when I see him, I feel so bad for him. If you gave him a chance then maybe he’d spill all the nasty, dark shit from his past and you’d see how wrong you are right now. As for lying to us, if the cops kept information from the public, then Luke did what he was supposed to. He could have lost his job if he’d leaked information they wanted to remain out of the papers. Worse, he probably could have gone to jail.”
Brandon’s diatribe is far from expected. He’s usually so easy going and yet it’s like I have touched a raw nerve. “Sorry, I…my head is just totally screwed right now. I’m being a complete bitch.”
“Yes. You are. Listen, just get out of your mother’s house, okay? The air in that place is probably toxic.”
“I can’t. There’s no way I’m going back to Columbia yet. And if you even dream of telling me to go to Luke’s so help me I’ll scream.”
“You can’t go to Luke’s. He’s on his way here. Said something about going up to the house to look for your father’s journal. Apparently you volunteered my services when he spoke to you about it?”
I slap my hand on the counter, feeling the beginnings of a headache start to come on. “I said that before! Why the hell is he doing this?”
“I dunno. Perhaps you hit the nail on the head. Maybe he was buried in a damned dark place when he was a kid, and maybe your dad was the only person who cared enough to dig him out. Maybe Luke feels what Maxwell did saved him. Maybe he’s grateful.”
I chew on the inside of my cheek, knowing that despite his soft tone, Brandon is still reaming me out. “I’m sorry, okay. I guess I’m just a little thrown by everything that’s happened over the past twenty four hours.”
“I know, kiddo. You’ve got your own dark places you need digging out of, too. You need to stop playing the victim, though. Get your ass back to school.”
“Speaking of school, I need your help with something,
Brand.”
“What?”
I bite my lip, figuring out how to ask him. “I…uh, I need to interview you about what happened.”
Brandon breathes in deeply on the other end of the phone. “What do you mean, interview me about what happened?”
“About what happened…Dad dying. What happened to me afterwards.”
“Why on earth do you wanna do that?”
“I don’t want to. I have to. It’s for my Media Law and Ethics class. My professor is apparently evil incarnate, and wants us to dredge up our most painful memories. Plus he wants us to get someone else’s version of the events.”
“Why don’t you just pick something else, Avery? Something that doesn’t hurt so bad?”
I press my fingertips into my forehead, asking myself the same thing. I already know the answer, though. “Because he cornered me. I told him honesty was the most important part of being a journalist so now if I lie, I’ll be a massive hypocrite.”
“Well, okay, if you really want me to then fine, Avery. But just so you know...I think there’s someone a whole lot closer to you geographically who would probably be a more sensible choice.” Surely he can’t mean my mother? He can’t be that cruel. The sound of a car engine revs in the background. “I have a customer, kiddo. I gotta go. Just think about it, okay?”
He hangs up, and I am left standing by the sink with a sour taste in my mouth. I grab my coat, purposefully leaving the Mom’s apartment key untouched on the counter, and I leave.
Twenty One
Threats
