by Mia Kerick
I turn the screen to her and gesture wildly with the phone, tapping hard on his name in accusation. She’s worried about my father calling? That’s nothing in the face of this! There are messages in her text box from Tomas.
What are you doing talking to him, Morning?
“I don’t have to explain myself to—”
I shake the phone again, and she snatches it from me. My palm tingles from how tightly I gripped the case.
“It’s not what you think, Renzy.” She locks her jaw. “It’s… it’s my way of healing.”
I give her a skeptical look. I admit, I’ve never been raped, but I don’t know if texting the person who violated you is such a good idea.
Her eyes flash. “You don’t even know. All right? You don’t know and you’re judging me!”
Fuck.
She’s right.
And I just thought to myself that I would never do that to her.
I shake my head apologetically, but she doesn’t seem to care. “Tomas held me down. He ripped my clothes off. He choked me. He took my first time by force. Do you understand that? I would never want to be near him.”
Then why, Morning? I can’t understand.
“But I’m not scared of him anymore. And I’m not a broken china doll that needs gluing back together. So, I found his number and I texted him to let him know exactly what I would do if I ever saw him again.” The tears are flowing down her cheeks. They are the waterfall against a mountain. “His balls. My knife.”
She’s not wilting.
She’s not fragile.
She’s not haunted.
I see the flutter at the curtains before I hear Seven, but it takes me a moment to realize what’s happened. It’s that “Oh shit” moment that really does happen in slow motion.
“Tomas… was the one who….” Seven’s voice actually squeaks, and the noise rips me apart inside. My cool, collected, arrogant-as-hell Seven, emerges on the veranda, looking delicate and so very breakable like Morning did that first day I saw her at Heart Aflame.
Morning rounds on her brother, holding her hands up like she can protect him from the blow he’s just received.
Seven disappears back behind the curtain, leaving a sobbing Morning to chase after him and me to stand helpless against a beautiful mountain backdrop.
Chapter Thirty: Seven
HE LOVES me!
She lied to me!
He can talk!
It’s my fault she was raped!
He’s never going to talk to me again!
It’s all my fault!
In an effort to outrun my racing thoughts, I sprint until my chest is tight and my throat burns, and I’m perspiring at the same time I’m shivering. And although I’m not the kind of person to spit gracelessly on the ground, I do. Over and over again.
Leaning against a random split rail fence on the edge of a random field in the middle of some random farmer’s rocky land, I admit I never want to go back.
I find myself hoping that I’ve pushed my body hard enough to fall down dead with a heart attack—right here and right now—because I don’t think I can deal with another problem. Or, more accurately, with my incurable need to fix another problem that I can’t possibly walk away from.
The truth is, I’m tired, and not just from running. I’m tired of thinking and planning and calculating and fixing problems I can’t solve, no matter how hard I try.
Trying my fucking ass off—I’ve had enough of it.
But who am I without Morning and Renzy’s problems to solve?
Well, that’s an easy question. And I love easy questions…. I sincerely wish life posed more of them. Who am I, if not a problem solver?
I strongly suspect I’m nobody.
I’VE BEEN wandering for several hours now—meandering like a stream—in and around trees and rock walls and thick patches of brush, on damp muddy ground that was frozen until very recently. My Burberry lace-up leather boots weren’t designed for this type of terrain, and thus my feet are soaking and raw, as chilled as my heart.
Frozen until very recently… but now thawed and muddy and messy and unstable.
Just like me. I was frozen solid for so very long—for years and years, in fact—but over the course of this friendly little road trip, I’ve melted.
I finally stumble upon a lonely country road that can lead me back to civilization, and at this sight, my emotions are split in two, divided between relief and dismay. If I choose to walk along this road, I’m choosing to face all the things I’ve refused to face for so long.
I stare at the road for so long that the chill in the air sets deeply into my bones. If I stand here and stare much longer, maybe I’ll get my wish, after all. Maybe I’ll freeze right back up into the man of ice I’ve been forever and I’ll die in this spot, like a disoriented Ice Age warrior seeking his distant home.
But instead of waiting to turn into a block of ice, I place my drenched, designer-booted foot on the edge of the worn pavement and I start to walk.
THE SILVER BMW pulls off the side of the road ten feet in front of me, and Morning jumps out, leaving the driver’s door wide open and the car still running.
“Mon Dieu, Seven! I’ve been driving up and down every bumpy road in Hicksville looking for you!” She throws herself into my arms. The first thing that comes to my mind is that she’s not just skin and bones anymore. Her hip is curved, and her upper arm is soft. “I was freaking out!”
“Where’s Renzy?” My voice is flat. And it’s deceptive. The expressionless tone makes me seem uncaring.
Morning looks up into my eyes. In her gaze I see pain, but this time it’s different. “I’m sorry, Seven… I’m so sorry.” This time, her pain is on my behalf.
“Where is he?”
“Renzy… he left. His father flew him back to Missouri and… and, well, Renzy’s going home.”
At hearing this news, I expect a blast of white-hot, mind-splitting pain. But this isn’t what happens at all. “Okay.”
She looks at me strangely, as if she doesn’t know who I am. “Get in the car and we can talk.”
I head for the driver’s side.
“No, Seven, you’re in no shape to drive.”
“I’m in perfect shape to drive.” I’m not challenging her. But I need to drive. Without another word on the subject, we get in the car.
“If you turn around, there’s a Dunkin’ Donuts just down the road. We can get some tea and bad croissants and talk until our voices quit.”
“Okay,” I say again. And I mean it.
WE SIT in the car and sip on our tea. The chocolate croissants are still in the bag.
“You lied to me.” I cut right to the heart of the matter, because even if it was a lie of omission, it was still a lie.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Tomas.” She doesn’t look at me as she apologizes. Instead she fusses with stirring more honey into her tea.
“I’m sorry that I led him right to you.” It’s hard to swallow the tea in my mouth thanks to the oversized lump that has risen in my throat. “Or you to him… like a lamb to slaughter.”
“The truth is, Tomas was angry that night—as in full out pissed-off to the max. And yeah, he was angry at you.”
My features crumple, and I fight the tears that I have so long refused to cry. “He hurt you knowing it would be the best way to hurt me.”
Morning reaches across the console and takes my hand. “I couldn’t tell you the truth, Seven. Don’t you get it? I couldn’t see the pain in your eyes when you took responsibility for the lowest moment of my life.”
“But it was my fault.”
She shakes her head and opens the bag of chocolate croissants, probably in an effort to distract us both. “It was his fault, Seven. Tomas raped me. You only tried to put me back together after the deed was done.”
I never cry. I will not cry. I breathe in through my nose, convinced that by doing so I can prevent the tears from falling. It seems to work.
“If I told you wh
at he did to me, I would be giving in to him. I refused to help him succeed in his plan to hurt you.”
When I study her face, I see a determination I’m familiar with. Morning has always been headstrong. “By not telling me, you felt you were foiling his plan?”
Now she nods and, very strangely, she smiles. “Yes. I beat him in his nasty game.”
I sigh, as it’s certainly an odd way for her to view this fucked-up situation. “I guess I see what you’re saying.”
“Bien.” Morning pulls out a croissant and presses it into my hand, causing flaky crumbs to scatter all over my knees, and then removes another from the brown bag. She takes a huge triumphant bite.
“You need to prosecute him.” I’m fully aware that I didn’t say, “We need to prosecute him.”
“Yes, I know. After we graduate I will return to France and take care of the loose ends.”
She will do these things. And I think she’ll be okay.
“I’d enjoy your support and company if you want to come along, mon cher frère.” She smiles more brightly.
I take the deepest breath my still-tight chest will allow. “You’re all better, aren’t you?”
“No. Not all better. Certainly, much better, though.” Morning grasps me by the shoulders and pulls my ear to her lips, whispering, “But I still need you, Seven. I always will.”
I try to deny my relief at hearing those softly spoken words, but I can’t.
“You’re my family—my only real family. I need you.”
This time when I inhale, I am able to fill my lungs with cool country air.
“Now, you need to go see about Renzy. Because he needs you too.”
WE PACK the car in silence. I think it’s almost as hard for Morning to fold up Renzy’s clothes as it is for me, but since he left all his brand-new clothes behind, we get it done together. At least he took the cell phone I gave him.
Once we’re buckled into the car, starting on our long drive back to Missouri, Morning confesses, “I wanted this road trip to go on forever.” Her voice is soft and breathy, but I can hear it above the radio. Even if she’s not as badly broken as she once was, I’m still her attentive big brother, and I’m listening.
“I know. I figured if we never talked about it coming to an end, it wouldn’t.” I was dead wrong.
“So, what are you going to do?” We look at each other, and I experience that zing of connection Morning and I have shared all our lives. It’s quite strong, as if our bond hasn’t suffered at all from today’s revelation that my former beau, Tomas, is the one who raped her. “What are you going to do about Renzy?”
I swallow hard and do that nose-breathing thing again. It has proved itself effective in stopping my tears. Then, in an unusual moment of complete candor, I tell her the truth. “I have no fucking clue.”
She nods and we return to driving in silence. But after a few minutes, she asks, “What, exactly, is it that you want from Renzy?”
Morning knows how to be blunt. She may have learned it from the master. “Just him.” More honesty. “I just want him.”
“I think you can have what you want, then, Seven, if you can accept him.”
“I do accept him….”
She shakes her head so fiercely that a long strand of platinum hair pulls out of the neck of her coat where it’s tucked. “Then stop trying to change him.”
“Who said I want to change him?” My voice rises to an oddly high pitch I’ve never used in conversation with my sister.
“Fixing him is changing him, mon cher.”
Fixing him is changing him.
I must shoulder responsibility for having done exactly as accused. “You mean by trying to make him talk?”
She nods. “Among other things.”
I allow a long noisy sigh. It feels so good and provides me with more relief than I expect, so I do it again.
“It’s not the end of the freaking world—you haven’t lost him.”
“Haven’t I?” I nose-breathe for a few seconds to gain control, and add, “He left us. He left to go to his father.”
Morning’s hand, no longer so skeletal, but delicate and feminine, pokes out of her brand-new J.Crew peacoat and grasps my wrist. “You’ve done everything right. And you’ve given him everything he’s needed. But maybe his needs have changed. Like my needs changed. Maybe he doesn’t need to be dissected and protected, but just loved.”
I have a lot to think about, so I’m glad when Morning pulls off her coat, makes it into a pillow against the car door, rests her head on it, and lets herself drift off.
I have a lot of thinking to do.
NEARLY TWELVE hours of driving, with only two short pit stops to take care of bodily needs, and I’m finally driving up our long, wooded driveway. I don’t get that “Hell, yeah—I’m finally home” feeling, because I was more at home in the Duval Honeymoon Cottage Suite than I’ve ever been here. To add insult to injury, Rhonda and Edgar’s black Mercedes-Maybach S600 sedan is parked at an angle at the top of the driveway, blocking the path to the door, and letting me know that they’re in residence.
“Shit.” I park the Bimmer a car’s length away from the walkway. “Morning, time to wake up.” The girl somehow managed to sleep for most of the ride, but I was glad for the quiet.
She lifts her head from the makeshift pillow, takes a look around, sees the Mercedes, and lets her head drop back down. “Wanna go back to Pennsylvania?”
I really do, but I know it’s time for us to face the music—school, parents, and Renzy. “Come on, we have to go in.”
Morning doesn’t stifle her groan, but she gets out of the car. Leaving our bags behind, we march slowly up the walkway toward the front door.
I grab her arm and pull her along. “We’re not facing a firing squad, Morning.”
“Might as well be,” she replies, but she winks, so I know it’s fine.
I open the door for Morning and follow her inside. Rhonda is at the island in the kitchen, pouring herself a glass of red wine. “So you two are alive. Thanks for letting us know.” She sucks down half the goblet in one mighty slurp. “Edgar, you won’t believe who’s decided to grace us with their delinquent presence….”
Edgar comes in from the dining room. “I am very sorry, Seven and Morning Moreau-Maddox, but this time your irresponsible behavior has interfered with our work.”
Morning and I step closer together, the way we always did when we were young and Rhonda and Edgar were ranting at us… for the mere crime of being their inconvenient kids.
My father isn’t finished. “Everywhere we went last week—absolutely everywhere—we received calls and texts and emails from your school with regard to your truancy. It was unspeakably irritating to be on a professional photo shoot and experience such constant interruptions.”
“We’re extremely disappointed in both of you.” Rhonda bangs the final rusty nail into the coffin.
I’m treated to a glimpse of the sullen side of Morning. “It’s great to see you guys too. I’ll be in my room.”
She stalks toward the stairs, and I’m suddenly furious. I don’t want a return of the angry fragile Morning, even if that girl needs me more than the new, more well-adjusted version. “Nice job, Rhonda and Edgar. Once again, you have proven your worth as parents. Aren’t you even slightly curious about where we were or what we were doing?”
Rhonda yawns.
Edgar turns his back on me and stalks toward the front hallway.
And I head for the stairs to join my sister, the only family I need.
THINGS AREN’T as bad as they used to be before the road trip. I know this because Morning is no longer hiding in her room. She has actually propped the door between our bedrooms open with the chair from her desk, and every now and then she comes to the doorway just to chat.
“Should I go with Flaunt It or Trophy Wife on my nails?” She flashes two small bottles of sparkly polish.
“The one in your right hand.” I’m trying my best to act like I’
m all about the small details in life, but I have other pressing matters on my mind.
“Trophy Wife, it is!” She disappears into her room.
I lie flat on my back on the bed, close my eyes, and miss him. And worry about him because he’s back with his cruel mother and the father who didn’t protect him well enough.
A few minutes later, Morning comes back, all the way into my room this time. “It’s almost nine, Seven. I’m starving. Let’s order takeout.” She flops down on the bed beside me. “I’m in the mood for deep-dish pizza.”
“You order it for both of us, okay? Don’t forget the mushrooms and olives on my half.”
“What are you gonna do, brother?”
“I’ve got my own call to make.” This is as much truth as I can give her because I’m so damned scared. I’m too scared to even worry about how Renzy and I will have a successful phone discussion, as he’s made his position about speaking aloud clear.
Morning rolls onto her stomach and looks me in the eye. I see worry and apprehension and hope. “Go get him, Seven.”
THREE PHONE calls, four text messages, and two emails later, all with no reply, and I am feeling like a stalker. I can safely assume that the ball is in his court now.
Chapter Thirty-One: Renzy
I NEVER realized how loud the clock above the sink is, but wow.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick!
Also, have we always owned it? I mean, I know the answer is yes—look at how dusty it is—but staring at it now, the clock is totally foreign to me. It’s lost all context. Honestly brain, I wasn’t gone that long.
This is our fifth dinner as a family since I came home and the first since “The Big Reveal” about our mother. Of course, my sisters don’t know Dad had told Mom he’d give her “a running start” that day we returned from the airport. (I promise, that’s not really as axe murderer chasing someone through the woods, as it sounds.)
