by Elle Casey
I walk away and leave him standing there. I don’t even glance at my mothers as I go into the kitchen and shut the heavy swinging door behind me. I find my sisters standing at the sink hugging, and I join them. Together the three of us cry for a life we never had a chance to live and the men we never knew as our fathers—men who live just seven hours away from where we grew up and who never once dropped by to meet us.
CHAPTER THREE
Three days later, after the anger and disillusionment have abated a fraction, my sisters and I are sitting on my bed in a circle, considering our options.
“I think we should just ignore the whole thing,” Em says, twisting the comforter around her finger. “Now that we’ve talked it over with the moms and we’ve come to this place of forgiveness with them . . . aren’t we just asking for trouble by going to New York, especially when we don’t even want their money?”
“We can’t ignore it,” I say. “We at least need to tell them what we think about them trying to buy our forgiveness.” I’m still angry when I think about it. Time has not diminished my emotional reaction to finding out that my sisters and I have fathers out there who’ve ignored us for twenty-five years. Forgiving our mothers for being young, afraid, and way too dedicated to the success of these music men is one thing, but seriously . . . Who do these guys think they are, showing up out of nowhere and dangling a fortune in front of our noses like that? And ordering us to go to New York? For what? To parade ourselves in front of them for their approval? Ha! They’ve got a lot of nerve, and I, for one, feel the very strong urge to tell them where to get off.
“Are you sure that’s what they’re doing?” Rose asks, tucking her hair up into a clip behind her head. “Our moms said the band didn’t know we existed, so how can they be buying our forgiveness?”
“If they didn’t know about us, how did that lawyer know where to find us or to even start looking?” I stare at Rose, waiting for her answer to be different from the one she’s already given me five times before. We’ve been over and over this since we found out about it, but today I’m determined to actually do something about it.
She shrugs. “I don’t know.”
“Exactly.” I smack the bed for emphasis. “That’s why I need to go there—to ask them how they magically know about us now when they supposedly didn’t for twenty-five years. I mean, that’s a little hard to believe, don’t you think?”
Em nods. “It is. I agree, with that part at least.”
“Do you still think I shouldn’t go?” I ask her, gentling my voice. This is harder for Em than it is for me; she’s shy and non-confrontational, and she doesn’t like to make a fuss. Me, on the other hand? I don’t mind ruffling a few feathers now and then, especially when there’s so much riding on the outcome.
“I don’t know.” She looks at Rose. “What do you think?”
Rose shrugs. “I think if Amber wants to go, she should. I’m too busy to do it, and you’re not interested, but if Amber has the desire, I don’t see anything wrong with her going down there for the day to have a face-to-face with the band.”
I’m really warming to the idea, picturing myself sitting there and letting them know what’s what. “I’ll tell them we’re not interested, and if they try to play innocent, I’ll push for details . . . make them confess.”
“Confess to what?” Em asks. She looks worried again.
“Confess to the fact that they’ve known about us all along and just didn’t care enough to bother with us.” I snort, imagining their mullet-head selves sitting around and looking over their pasts, wishing they’d done things differently. Too late; what’s done is done.
“Maybe one of our mothers contacted them,” Em suggests. “Maybe that’s how they found out.”
“No way. Our moms have already confessed all their sins, and they’re still sticking to their story that they did the right thing by leaving when the band was away and staying completely gone from their crazy lives.” I look to Rose for her agreement and she doesn’t disappoint; she nods at Em.
“Maybe there’s another reason for them staying away that we don’t know about,” Em says.
“Exactly.” I smile, happy that my sister is now arguing against herself. “And that’s what I’m going to find out. What is their damn excuse for being gone for all these years?”
“Orrr, you could just go and tell them we’re not interested in the money and leave it at that,” Rose says. “Leaving sleeping dogs to lie and all that.”
My sisters are such chickens. “Yeah, sure. I could do that or I could do the other thing. How about I wait and see what happens when I get there and just go with the flow?” I look to my sisters for their approval. I will be their official emissary, and in exchange for them staying behind and not participating, they’ll have to agree to trust that I will do the right thing by us. My family has always been the most important thing in my life, and they know that; it’s why I’m here working on this farm and not off in some big city somewhere making a name for myself in the business world. They know I’ll keep our collective welfare at the forefront of my mind as I go kick some butt in New York City. I’d do anything for my sisters and my moms.
“I’m okay with you doing what you feel you need to do,” Em says, sighing.
“As am I. But what can we do to help?” Rose asks.
“You can help me keep this from our moms and figure out how I’m getting there.”
“You think we should keep this a secret? Why?” Em asks.
“Because. You heard them. They think they made the right decision walking away, and they’ll never agree to me going. They’ll say I’m stirring up trouble. But it’s not going to stop me, and it’ll just cause a big fuss when we argue about it. What they don’t know won’t hurt them.”
“I agree,” Rose says. “We’ve already had enough drama over this.”
“What if you go and love it so much you end up staying?” Em asks.
I look at her like she’s crazy. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“It’s not totally nuts; don’t look at me like that. You know you’re always talking about how boring it is out here and how you wish there was more going on in your life. You could have had a job there if you’d wanted one after college. You had offers.”
“She has a point,” Rose says.
I frown at both of them. “I’m not going to abandon my family. I’m not like them.” Those men.
“Choosing to live the life you were meant to live doesn’t make you an abandoner.” Em sounds like she’s scolding me.
“Whatever.” I’m not going to have this conversation with her or Rose. A long time ago, when I had the chance to leave after finishing college, I made a choice; I came home and dedicated myself to helping my family out with the farm instead of launching a life and career apart from them, and I’m not going to change my mind about that now. Yes, life out here can be incredibly boring, but what kind of person would I have been if I’d just taken off and left them to take care of everything without me? This farm takes a tremendous amount of labor to run, and without me they would have struggled. I was not going to be the one to make their burdens greater. My moms and my sisters are my life; I would never deliberately let them down. And now that I know how much our mothers sacrificed to come out here, how they changed their lives so completely so that we could grow up in a safe, loving environment, free of bad influences, I’m even more convinced that the hard choice I made was the right one. I am not selfish like our fathers obviously are.
“Tell us what we need to do,” Rose says, taking me by the hand.
I already have this part of the plan figured out. I noodled it through as I lay in bed suffering another night of insomnia. “Help me find an airline ticket and an excuse for being gone that our mothers will buy. I’ll take care of the rest.”
Em reaches over and puts her hand on ours. “Consider it done.”
I lean in and hug both my sisters and they return the gesture. “All for one and one for all,�
�� I say.
“You said it,” Rose says.
“You’re my hero,” Em adds.
“Let’s wait and see how it goes before either of you starts calling me a hero, okay?” I still don’t know what exactly I’m going to do once I get there, but I do know where I’m going to start: with Lister. I know I’m not supposed to shoot the messenger, but I think this time I might make an exception.
CHAPTER FOUR
I step off the plane and flip open my new budget cell phone—one of two my sisters and I bought to communicate with one another while I’m off the farm. They kept one and they’re supposed to keep its existence a secret from our moms. I don’t want the old ladies to try to contact Lister and cause trouble for my big plan.
As I make my way to the exit of JFK Airport, I send Rose and Em a quick text, telling them I arrived safely and am headed out into the Big City. I didn’t check a bag because I don’t plan on being here longer than a day, so all I have is my big multicolored-patchwork purse slung over my shoulder.
I’m trying to blend in with the crowd and act like a native New Yorker as I make my way through the airport, which shouldn’t be too difficult since there’s every size and shape of person in here with me, but damn . . . all I can do is gawk. I’ve never seen so many people in one place in my life.
I was worried I’d stick out in my homespun hippie wear, but I just passed a woman who’s dressed like an African queen, complete with a giant, sparkling, colorful headdress, so I think I’m pretty much invisible to the people who live here. That’s fine with me. It’ll make it easier for me to get from point A to point B and then back again without any hassles.
I thought about the plan on my way over and I’ve decided: all I’m going to do on this trip is meet up with those old fogies who call themselves Red Hot so I can give them a piece of my mind and tell them to shove their money where the sun doesn’t shine. Then I’ll go back to my real life—my wonderful, fulfilling, fresh-air-filled life—and forget they even exist . . . just like they did with my mothers, my sisters, and me. Out of sight, out of mind.
I mean, how dare they demand we come to New York to collect on that guilt money? They actually believe that because we share their DNA my sisters and I are hollow-souled assholes like they are? That we’ll take their money and smile and say thank you for ignoring us for twenty-five years? Well, they can think again because I’m about to bring them a little education from down on the farm, and show them exactly what we girls think about their big-city, coldhearted, family-abandoning nonsense. Huzzah!
I do a little fist pump to give myself a boost. Neither of my sisters had the lady balls to come with me, but that’s okay because I have righteous indignation riding shotgun on this trip, and we are going to kick some butt together . . . set some people straight about what’s what.
I walk outside into a stiff breeze that’s heavy with the odors of jet fuel and car exhaust. The noise is incredible. I expected this place to be busy, but this is beyond belief. There are cars all over the place, men and women running, shouting, hugging, laughing, arguing, and eating. And God, does it stink here. Not only is there the fuel and exhaust but now something else too. Sulfur? Garbage? “Yuck.”
I wave my hand in front of my face to keep the toxins from entering my respiratory system. I knew it was going to smell bad here, but this is something else. A man walks by who I’m pretty sure hasn’t showered in a few weeks, so I wave my hand faster. It’s not helping. My efforts only serve to push the stench up into my sinuses.
After living on a commune with hippies and free thinkers, heavy body odor is nothing new to me; however, where I come from, odors dissipate quickly. Not here, though. Something about the atmosphere is keeping the odors down at nose-level.
Clearly, New York is trying to smother me with its wicked stench cocktail. Double yuck. This city is already assaulting me, and I haven’t even been here for ten minutes yet. Maybe I made a mistake. Maybe I should go home. A sliver of panic seeps in.
Three seconds after those thoughts pass through my mind, I reject them. No. Go away, panic. I’m not going anywhere. I’m on a one-woman mission, and I’m going to complete it before I run back home to where I want to be . . . or where I belong, anyway.
An answering text beeps on my phone. My sisters wish me good luck and tell me to be careful and not talk to strangers. I smile at their concern as I shut my flip phone and slide it into my bag.
So . . . how exactly does one call a taxi if one cannot talk to strangers? I try waving at one, but he just drives right by. I try again, this time sticking my thumb out, but the same thing happens. There must be some kind of trick to this thing, but I can’t figure out what it is by watching the people around me. Everyone else seems to have a ride—a loved one or a business associate picking them up. I walk closer to the edge of the curb and stick one of my legs out, lifting my skirt a little. I know it’s old-school, but I’m thinking perhaps a flash of my dainty, lily-white ankle will do the trick.
“Watch out, lady, before ya get run ovah!” an angry taxi driver shouts at me and swerves out of my way, forcing me to jump back. My heart is beating twice as fast as it should now and everyone is staring. I want to disappear into a hole in the ground and tunnel my way back to Glenhollow. Country girl alert! She’s right here, folks! Feast your eyes on this strange and unusual animal who is way out of her element!
Someone taps me on the shoulder.
I spin around, expecting whoever it is to lecture me about getting too close to the curb. I’m ready to defend myself and say I wasn’t anywhere near it, really, but the words freeze in my mouth when I see what’s there in front of me.
Heaven.
If heaven were a person, he would be this man holding a pair of sunglasses in his hand. Oh my goodness, he is so devilishly handsome, even wearing that dirty baseball hat. How can a man be heaven and hell at the same time? I don’t know. Ask him. He looks like the devil himself, totally prepared and qualified to lure someone into making bad decisions.
“Hey,” he says.
“What?” I ask briskly. I step sideways to put some distance between us, my face burning with embarrassment. He probably saw me lifting my skirt to get some taxi pickup action. I’ve turned into my mother already and I’m only twenty-four.
He reaches out with his free hand and grabs my forearm as he puts his glasses on. They’re the aviator kind that cover up half his face.
I jerk myself out of his grip. “Hands off the merchandise, buddy.” Maybe he’s not so cute after all. My sisters warned me about New York and what it does to people—it makes them pushy and callous, or so their online research has led them to believe. I should have appreciated that bit of advice more than I did.
“Watch out, you’re too close to the street.” He grabs me again, successfully pulling me toward him this time.
“Hey!” I look around, wondering if anyone is going to step in and save me from this person who thinks it’s okay to put his hands on a stranger. No one seems to even notice, though.
I’m dragged two steps before I dig my heels in and stop my forward movement. “Get off me!”
Now some people are looking. Finally.
He holds his hands up like I’ve pulled a gun on him. “Hey . . . I was just helping you not get hit by a car.” He looks around at the people still watching and then draws a few small circles in the air with his finger near his ear.
It suddenly hits me what he’s saying to them. “Are you suggesting that I’m the crazy person in this scenario?” The nerve of this guy! And now that I have a better look at him, I decide he’s not cute at all. He’s scruffy and annoying, and he sure could use some clean clothes.
He points at his head. “Who, me? Suggesting you’re crazy? No. Never.” He drops his hands and rubs them on his jeans a few times before holding one of them out at me. “Uh . . . nice to meet you.” Tattoos wrap around his forearm from his elbow to the back of his hand.
Stranger danger! This is the type of man my sist
ers warned me about. I’m to avoid him at all costs.
I shake my head. “No, it’s actually not nice to meet you. Go away.” I turn my back on him. Two seconds later it dawns on me that it probably isn’t smart to expose my vulnerable parts like that, because crazy people sometimes carry knives, but we have lots of witnesses and several of them are still watching us, so I feel safe. I mean, what’s the worst that could happen?
Suddenly, I’m blinded by a flash of light. I throw my hands up to my eyes involuntarily. All I can see are white blobs now. “Ow, what the heck?”
“Ty! Ty! Look over here!” a man yells. More flashes go off.
Then someone’s grabbing me by the arm. As my vision returns, I see it’s the scruffy guy trying to drag me away.
I panic. Having a thousand witnesses within spitting distance doesn’t seem to matter in this place. “Help! Assault! Help me!”
More flashes go off.
“Stop yelling that, Amber,” he growls. “Come on.”
I pause, making him stop with me. Do my ears deceive me or did he just call me . . . “Hey! How do you know my name?”
He points to a black car down the curb from where we’re standing. “I was sent to pick you up. Come on.”
“Who sent you?”
“Please. The paparazzi’s here. Do you want your face splashed all over the tabloids, or what?”
My eyes bug out. “Tabloids?” Why on earth would someone want to put me in a tabloid? Another flash hits him in the face, glinting off the lenses of his glasses and catching me in the eye again. I spin around to find the culprit and find a short, fat man poised to take another shot with a giant camera that probably has a lens so powerful it’ll get a crystal-clear shot of the pimple that erupted on my forehead this morning as I woke up to take this fateful trip.
“Get that out of my face!” I yell, swinging my giant purse around in a wide arc. It hits the end of his super-long camera lens and busts it right off. His equipment skitters along the sidewalk, making people dance out of the way.
