Sinners of Saint 04 - Scandalous

by LJ Shen

  I made a note to never take the flash drive from my safe.

  She was starting to feel a lot like an addiction. Couple more fucks like this, and I didn’t trust my fucked-up self not to hand it over willingly.

  I WAS SIX WHEN I first realized there was something seriously wrong with my father. Way before the whole thing with Theo happened. It was a rare fall afternoon when Jordan had come home on time and my mother was “cooking” dinner in the kitchen. Or that’s what she’d called downing a bottle of wine while staring at the circling plate in the microwave warming up our meal.

  Everything felt eerie, askew, and dangerous. Breaking routine scared me, but the idea of living with a man I barely knew and was too terrified to ask to tuck me into bed was scarier, so I’d obediently sat next to him on the couch, as he’d mindlessly watched a finance show on CNN and flipped through his mail. A commercial appeared on the screen, advertising a non-profit organization for abused and neglected animals. In the commercial, they showed sad puppy faces and disfigured kittens staring at the cameras, begging to be helped. One of the dogs was lying in a pool of mud. A fleabag made of bones and skin. Both its eyes were missing, and it looked like it didn’t have any teeth left. I’d gasped in horror, clutching the fabric of the expensive sofa in my tiny fingers.

  “Edie, stop doing that. It’s suede. It’s a very gentle fabric.” He’d slapped my wrist, but not forcefully. Never forcefully.

  I’d immediately let go, curling my spine, turning to face him. “Can we donate?”

  “I donate enough at work.”

  “Really? To shelters?” I’d perked up, desperate to cling to a positive thing about him. Building a character of the people we know is a psychological mechanism I would later learn can also bite you in the ass—because I’d wanted badly to believe my father was a good man and that my mother was okay. In my mind, he was caring and generous. Not calculated and indifferent. He’d given me a sideways glance, most of his attention still divided between the screen and the thick pile of letters.

  “No. I donate to whoever needs my help in our community.”

  “The commercial makes me feel funny, Dad. Funny…sad,” I’d admitted, looking away from the screen as the narrator explained all the horrific things these animals had been through. Back then, I still called him that. Dad.

  “It’s life, Edie.”

  “I can’t look.” My head moved back and forth, my knees tucked under my chin as I’d held myself together. “It’s too sad.”

  “Life’s sad, so you better get used to it.”

  I’d known very little about the world back then, which was probably why I’d still clung to my optimism. What I had known was that he’d made me feel uncomfortable. Because, for the first time since I could remember, a smirk formed on his thin, hard lips as he’d continued flipping the letters.

  I’d thought, why here, why now, why so happy?

  The next day, he’d picked me up from school. I’d been shocked to say the least. We usually had a driver who helped me get around from place to place. School, afternoon activities, and playdates. Never my parents. I’d felt flattered and anxious as I’d climbed into the back of Jordan’s car, trying to be on my best behavior. I’d wondered where we were going, since he’d driven in the opposite direction from our house, but hadn’t wanted to sound ungrateful or suspicious. It was only when I’d started seeing the woods and Saint Angelo Lake, past the city limits, that my mouth fell open.

  “Where are we going?”

  He’d just grinned in the rearview mirror like a predator, flicking the signal and taking a sharp right. I later realized why.

  It was an animal shelter. My feet had dragged, and going past the rusty gate leading to the kennels had felt a lot like handing my soul to someone I didn’t trust.

  “Sometimes, Edie, you need to look cruelty in the eye and not do anything about it. In order to succeed in life, you need to let logic and rationality dictate your behavior, not your feelings. Now, you know that you’re allergic to dogs and cats, right?”

  I remember nodding, my mind still a nervous fog. I could never have a dog or a cat—that was a given—but I’d never asked for one. All I’d wanted was to donate some money to that non-profit organization on TV. They’d needed it so bad and we had so much of it. The shrill sound of frantic barking had filled my ears, and I’d wanted to turn around and run. The only reason I hadn’t was because I knew he wouldn’t chase me. He’d let me get lost in the woods, without so much as a blink.

  “So you know we can’t adopt any of those animals. Now, I need you to see them, look them in the eye, and walk away from them. Can you do that for me, Edie?” Jordan had squatted to my eye-level, smiling. Behind him there’d been a volunteer wearing a green shirt with the name of the shelter and a peculiar, too-wide smile.

  No.

  “Y-yes.”

  We’d spent nearly an hour and a half strolling through the kennels staring at begging, pleading, distressed dogs and cats. I’d had to look each of them in the eye before I moved to the next crate. The volunteer who’d joined us on the tour had thought it was odd, my father never specifying what he was looking for in a pet. She’d been oblivious to the thing that was made crystal clear to me that day: He wasn’t looking to adopt, but he definitely did want a pet. He wanted to make me his tamed, trained puppet.

  And what killed me now was that to some extent, he’d succeeded.

  That day had broken me, and every day since, he’d made the crack in my heart a little bigger.

  I was not allowed to give money or food to homeless people down the street. Don’t encourage them, Edie. Life’s about choices. They obviously made the wrong ones.

  I wasn’t allowed to talk to strangers, not even small talk with responsible adults around me. Van Der Zees do not enjoy small talk. We are far too busy for that. I was expected to conduct myself as the perfect ice princess. And at the beginning, I’d rebelled. But then Theo happened, and my father became more than the breadwinner. He became the master who pulled at the invisible strings of his shadow puppet. Me.

  Twelve years after Jordan showed me cruelty by breaking my routine, he’d done it again.

  I was at home, cutting open packages with potential wigs for Mom that I’d ordered from an orthodox Jewish store in Brooklyn when he walked into my room. Jordan didn’t bother knocking, and I didn’t bother asking why he was at home. He never was—and he sure as hell never entered my room—but I treaded carefully around him. His peculiar, self-centered behavior seemed to have deteriorated further in recent weeks.

  “Can I help you?” I asked, arranging the blonde, human-haired wigs on my bed and brushing them, trying to decide which Mom would like best.

  Jordan propped one shoulder against my doorframe, staring at me with disdain. I wondered if he could feel it. That I was different. Because sleeping with Trent Rexroth definitely changed me, much more than the evidence on my body. The cracked nipples, sore and red, and the pink welts on my ass and inner thighs were just an external decoration. But when he’d come inside me, he’d left something behind. Some of his strength.

  “Sit down, Edie.”

  “Give me one good reason to,” I blurted, picking up a wig and running the bamboo brush through it. I wasn’t in the mood for a lecture, and if it was the flash drive he was after, he needed to give me more time. Trent wasn’t only on my tail. He had it wrapped around his little finger now.

  “Because I’m your father and you do not talk back to me if you want a peaceful, calm life. Now sit.” He stepped into the room, his stern, blue eyes leaking scorn. I sat on the edge of the bed unhurriedly, looking up to meet his gaze. My silence spoke volumes. I hoped he was able to hear all the words it dripped.

  “Edie, I’m afraid things are going to change quite soon in this household, and it’s my duty to break it first to you, since you’re the responsible adult of you and your mother.” Ignoring the dig at Mom—he was hardly a respectable candidate for the Todos Santos Parent of the Year award
himself—I folded my arms over my chest, waiting for more.

  “I’m leaving.” He said it simply, like the words didn’t slap me across the face. Like black dots weren’t swimming in my vision.

  “Why?” I asked. I didn’t care about him leaving. If anything, the term good riddance sprang to my mind. I hated him. But Mom didn’t. Mom depended on him, and I was tired of collecting the broken pieces of her that he left behind, trying to piece them back together.

  It wasn’t the cleaning up after him part that killed me. It was the sharp edges that dug into my skin when I picked her up. Because whenever he shattered Mom, both of us bled.

  “Let’s admit it. Your mother has not been well for a very long time now, and she’s been refusing to seek the help she obviously needs. Not all creatures can be helped. I can’t be saddled with her situation if she doesn’t make more of an effort and, sadly, I cannot see myself sitting around waiting for that to happen.”

  She’s unwell because of you. She doesn’t want to go into rehab because she is scared you’ll run off with someone else. Which you probably will. The words swirled in my head and pushed their way to my tongue, but I bit down my upper lip. He was the one who’d said that Van Der Zees should always be calculated and shrewd. I dropped the wig on the bed, beside me, turning my head up to the ceiling on a sigh.

  “Won’t this kill your political aspirations?” I rubbed my palms across my face.

  “It would.” He shrugged, stepping deeper into the room and closing the door behind him so that my mother wouldn’t hear. Not that she was big on leaving her room these days. “I’m not running for mayor. I went down to the city hall yesterday and withdrew my candidacy. The campaign is off.”

  My rapid blink gave away my surprise. I straightened on my bed, using one hand to knead my aching skull. Everything hurt. And I do mean everything. My thighs, my ass, my core were all still sore from having spent the night with Trent Rexroth. My head was spinning at Father’s recent revelation, and my heart was drowning in sorrow and self-pity at what this meant for me.

  Jordan Van Der Zee was a careful planner. He knew where he wanted to be five years from now, and worked toward it quietly and with determination. So hearing this more than threw me off-balance.

  He shook his head, reaching for one of the wigs, fingering the human hair with a scowl. “I’m going to focus on expanding Fiscal Heights Holdings, kick Rexroth off the board, and live my life peacefully,” he confirmed, withdrawing his hand like the wig was made of cold fire. “And I am not going to stay with your mother. You have your future to concentrate on. Here is my advice, Edie—enroll in a good college, far away from this place, and make something out of yourself. Stop smoking dope. Stop socializing with losers, and stop giving your mother the time of day when she clearly doesn’t do the same for you.”

  And do you? Do you give me the time of the day? But again, I had so much to lose. Trent’s words were like a faint echo inside my head. If you want to be strong, be.

  “You can’t do this right now. She needs to get better first.” I shook my head.

  Jordan looked up to my ceiling and fingered the golden chandelier, smiling to himself at the memory of who I was supposed to be. “She’ll never get better. I’m going to do it, and soon.”

  “I need more time,” I argued, feeling completely out of control.

  “I don’t owe you a thing.”

  “When are you going to tell her?” I stood up, toe-to-toe with him. He looked like the cold, white man who went to Pocahontas’ village. The destroyer. He looked like a Harry Potter character that could suck your soul away.

  “This week. Maybe next. It doesn’t matter. When is a good time for something like this?”

  “Considering you vowed to love her forever, in sickness and health, never is a good time. She needs you,” I deadpanned, narrowing my eyes.

  “It is not up for discussion.” He pointed at the wigs on my bed. “This is not healthy or constructive for someone your age. You should be focused on your studies and on making a future for yourself.”

  “My future is taking care of my family,” I answered, jutting my chin out. “My future is spending every morning surfing.”

  My father looked around the coral room with dead eyes, like it represented all the dreams and hopes I’d shattered along the years by being myself. By choosing Doc Martens over Louboutins. By choosing the beach over chess. By choosing guys like Bane over the preppy boys of All Saints High.

  He shrugged. “Your funeral.”

  Teeth chattering, fists clenched, eyes bleeding hatred. “What about him?”

  “Theodore?”

  No. The Pope. “Yes.”

  “Our deal still stands. You will get to keep him around as long as you provide the information I need on Rexroth. Now that my plans have changed, staying on top of things at Fiscal Heights Holdings is vital,” he said dryly, running a hand over the vanity I’d never used, a sheet of dust coating his palm.

  “And if I fail?” I hoped he didn’t pick up on that gulp.

  “You won’t fail. Failure would mean Theodore moving away to an East Coast facility. I know of an excellent one near the New York branch of Fiscal Heights Holdings.”

  “It’s difficult to find things on Trent. He is not a stupid man.” I choked on my words, stomping my feet. I hated that I’d stomped my feet. I wasn’t that kind of girl. I wasn’t a girl.

  “He’s smart, but I trust you’re smarter. You came from me, after all.”

  Barf. How could I react to this without sounding hateful? I changed the subject. “Do you have someone else? Are you leaving Mom for a mistress?” The words felt dirty in my mouth. I wanted to take a shower and bury myself under the duvets, but most of all, I wanted not to feel so impossibly tired of fighting this cold war that never ceased. This was exactly how my mother had started off her rocky affair with prescription drugs and depression.

  Not leaving the bed.

  Day in and day out.

  Jordan examined me emotionlessly. He took a step back, indicating he was done with the conversation, and wiped his dusty hand on my black hoodie, resting on the back of my chair. “Don’t be childish, Edie.”

  “I got to meet quite a few of your lovers over the years. I’m wondering if one of them has finally managed to do what the others couldn’t. Is it Tracey? Holly? Maybe Cadence?” I pouted, knowing full well I was losing control and not caring anymore. I was vindictive and full of red wrath. A wrecking ball of fire. I was hungry for that power he took from me whenever he was in the room.

  He shook his head. “Mental like your mother.”

  I took a step toward him, watching as his face twisted in confusion. I never invaded his personal space. But now my nose was dangerously close to his and I saw everything swimming in his light blue eyes. I saw myself in his features, in his clenched jawline, in the little curve of our noses, in the pastiness of our skin—mine diluted by my tan and freckles and youth—his still stern white. And for the first time, I realized that maybe I was him. A product of something horrible, that was going to give birth to more awful things.

  “I don’t care if you leave her for someone else. I know I can’t convince you to stay, and even if I could—half the time I think she’s still like this because of you. But I will tell you this—if you decide to parade your new toy around town and humiliate my mother, there will be consequences. As for Theo—not Theodore, Theo—and Trent Rexroth, I am sick and tired of asking you how high every time you tell me to jump. I will get you the goddamn flash drive, Daddy Dearest, but in return, you will sign all the legal documentation I have stashed in the drawer of that useless vanity you bought me when I was twelve and set Theo and me free. Agree to this right now, Jordan, or we don’t have a deal. And please, before you say anything, never underestimate a broken person. We’re unpredictable, because once you’re broken—what’s one more crack?”

  The words left my body like a hurricane, and after I was done, I was left panting. I felt the disloyalty fo
r Luna and the unfaithfulness to Trent in my bones. I was sick to my stomach, knowing how it was going to affect Camila, but things were getting too complicated. I needed to run away with Theo and disappear. SoCal wasn’t the only place in the world with good beaches. We could live somewhere else. Build a life. We could sit on a porch I hadn’t even seen before, watching the sunset, eating pistachio ice cream, laughing. Making good memories and bottling them in our minds. We could.

  “Edie,” my father said. I looked straight at him, then past him. He knew that I’d meant it. Besides, something told me that he was done with me, anyway. With me, with my mom, with Theo. Getting the flash drive and cutting me out of his life was a two birds, one stone situation. Of course, he’d say yes.

  “Get me that flash drive”—he leaned close to me, his cheek pressing against mine—“and you will get your future with Theodore.”

  “Keep your lovers in the dark, where sin should be hidden,” I reminded him. This time it was me who held his wrist. I couldn’t wrap my fingers around his cold flesh—like a snake’s dead skin—but I’d hit home this time. The tightness of his jaw told me so.

  “True Van Der Zee,” he muttered, shaking me off like I was a wet stray cat in the pouring rain.

  Because at that moment, I was the kid who’d stared at the dying dog and didn’t blink.

  At that moment, I was ruthless.

  At that moment, I was the Van Der Zee I never thought I’d become.

  I hated that person. But that person hated Jordan much more than she feared him.

  My stomach growled for the eighteenth time that morning, loud enough to be heard even through the sound of the crashing Pacific waves.

  “God, Gidget, what the fuck? Eat a goddamn energy bar.” Bane rummaged in his bag and threw a protein bar at me, scowling. His sullen expression didn’t melt one bit when I walked over and tucked the bar back into his backpack, sliding into my flip-flops and hoisting my board up to rest on my head the rest of the way to the promenade. I didn’t not eat to spite him. I couldn’t eat. The nausea ate at my stomach, making acid dance on the back of my tongue. Ever since I’d told my father I was going to retrieve that flash drive with God-knows-what on it, I’d felt sick. Not just physically, but mentally. I wasn’t entirely sure what I was feeling for Trent, but I was more than certain no one in the world deserved what I was about to serve him.