by Eva Ashwood
“No, but—”
“Then we’re not going to continue this conversation,” she said. I watched as she scooped up the letters, plucking the one that was in my hand from between my fingers, and tossed them into the garbage bin.
“Please take that out before the evening is over, Cora. It’s about to overflow.”
She flashed me a brisk, dismissive smile, then turned and headed back to her bedroom.
Half an hour later, she emerged and slipped out of the house, waving goodbye as if she didn’t have a care in the world.
Whatever Mom’s reasons were for not wanting to see Dad, I decided that I wanted to visit him again.
Well, wanted wasn’t the right word. It was more that I felt like I needed to.
My meeting with Flint had gone horribly sideways so fast that he’d never actually given me any of the information he had promised me about my dad—if he’d even had it to begin with, which I was beginning to seriously doubt. But speaking with him, even if I didn’t learn anything new, had been enough to make me realize I needed to confront Dad about the things I did know.
Or—the things that I had been told.
I needed to be able to look him in the eyes and see for myself what he said about the things Bishop and Kace and, hell, most of the people at Slateview seemed to know about my father. Whether or not Mom cared about it, and whether or not she cared about seeing my father, wasn’t my concern. I was sure she had her reasons.
Just like I had mine.
On Saturday, a few days after finding his letters, I headed to the prison for my arranged visitation with my father. I dressed a little more conservatively this time. At least, as conservatively as I could.
I’d only been to visit him once before, but the routine was already slightly familiar, so that helped. I took the bus early, got there early, went through security, and was then escorted to the back so that I could speak with my father.
I braced myself, but I was calmer than I had been the first time. I had been through worse things at this point than spending time in a prison, and I knew that being here was more important than clinging to some kind of false sense of innocence that I knew I no longer had.
Not after meeting the Lost Boys, and certainly not after the incident with Flint.
Dad looked worse for wear than the last time I’d been here. His eyes held lines in the corners, the wrinkles etched deeper than I remembered. The bags underneath them sagged low and dark. What’s more, he was thinner, as if stress was literally eating away at his body.
I swallowed hard as I looked at him, feeling a wave of pity rise up in me. This was not at all the man I knew, and it hurt my heart to see my father reduced to this. But I clung to the reason for my visit, steeling my nerves. I needed to be direct with him when I asked him questions—I needed to get some damn answers. Finally.
“Cordelia.” He spoke into the phone receiver on his side of the glass partition between us as he sat down, and I could hear the heaviness in his voice. He paused as he sank onto the seat, looking around almost expectantly before frowning and leaning forward. “Where is your mother?”
Good goddamn question.
“She wasn’t feeling well,” I lied. “So I decided to come instead…”
A small line appeared between his brows, and his lips pressed together. “She must not have been feeling well for a while now. She hasn’t returned my calls or my letters.”
He’s been calling too?
I didn’t tell him about the letters, didn’t mention the fact that I’d salvaged them from the trash before hauling the bag out to the curb, and I didn’t tell him that mom was probably avoiding his calls too. That seemed like a needlessly cruel thing to do.
“She’s just been working hard keeping everything together at home,” I said quietly. “It’s been a lot. She sends her love, though.”
It wasn’t a complete lie. I was pretty sure Mom had picked up a job, which was good, considering the fact that she’d started spending money like we actually had it again. I figured maybe that was why she was so hesitant to talk about where she went when she left the house—for someone who hadn’t worked for as long as I’d known her, it was probably hard to admit to needing a job like every other person in our new neighborhood who struggled to make ends meet.
My words seemed to placate him. He nodded, settling back.
“Well. Good. How is everything?”
“Good.” I nodded awkwardly. “I wanted to see how you were. And… um. Well actually, I had some questions.”
His brow rose. “Questions? What could you possibly have questions about? If it’s about when I’ll get out, Cordelia, I have no idea when. Damn system is so incompetent, it’s a wonder anything gets done around here.”
“No, it’s not that. Remember the last time I was here? And I asked you some about… I guess things that you did for work?”
He gazed at me through the glass with narrowed eyes.
“Yes. I remember.”
“Well… there was something else I wanted to ask you about. A few years ago, there was a clinic. The one that you took over in this area. The non-profit?”
He shrugged, adjusting the collar of his jumpsuit the way he used to adjust his tie. It was a habitual gesture that apparently he hadn’t lost in prison.
“What of it?”
“Well… I’ve heard a few things. About how it ended up being inaccessible to a lot of people after you took it over, and that there were a lot of people who were affected by it. I know that you aren’t a bad person, but maybe there’s some reason for why you were targeted and taken into custody, and I just, I might be on to something—”
“Cordelia.” He stopped me in my tracks, holding up one large hand. “You know I’ve never done anything that I didn’t need to, in order to take care of you, your mother, and my business.”
“Yeah.” I swallowed. “I know—”
“And you know that whatever I’ve done, whatever the results, there was always a reason. A good reason. Whatever these… people have said, you can’t please everyone, Cordelia. And you can’t trust everyone. There are people in this world that will hold a grudge for anything.”
“But, Dad—”
“Cordelia did you come here just to interrogate me?” His voice turned cold, dripping like ice water down my spine. “Did you come here to insinuate that it was my own actions that put me here—that there’s some cosmic, karmic reason the world is punishing me? Is that what you think?”
Despite all my previous resolve, I found myself shrinking back into my chair, guilt and shame burning through me. This man had raised me. He’d taken care of me my whole life, given me everything I could’ve ever asked for and more. And beneath the chill and the anger in his voice, I could hear the barest hint of something like pain.
My father was a proud man, but I was sure it stung to have his daughter insinuate that she, too, thought he was guilty—if not of the crime he’d been accused of, at least of other bad dealings. Of being a bad person.
“No.” I softened my voice, gripping the phone harder. “That’s not it at all, Dad. I’m just trying to figure out why all this is happening. That’s all.”
“Well, I’ll tell you why it’s happening.” He was sitting ramrod straight now, his jaw set and his brows pinched. “Because there are people out there in the world who hate to see other people succeed, and they’ll do anything to make sure people who are on the top of the heap fall—no matter how innocent they are. Do you know how much money my businesses have pumped into this city? How much economic growth, gentrification, and fucking job creation can be attributed directly to me?”
I was quiet. My stomach twisted and churned as if I’d swallowed a snake, and I couldn’t bring myself to look at him.
Father never swore. Not to me, anyway. I’d heard him talk like this behind the closed doors of his office from time to time, when a deal was on the verge of going sideways. But he’d never talked like this to me before.
“All my
life, all I’ve done is work. I’ve provided everything you have, Cordelia. Do you think, after all this time, that there’s something wrong with the privilege you’ve had? With the things I’ve given you and your mother? While I’m here, behind bars, and the two of you are out there, do you think this is somehow deserved? Do you think I deserve this, Cordelia?”
I didn’t know how to answer. I believed Bishop, and Kace, and Misael, and even all those other voices at Slateview that had hated me because they had hated my father. I understood now why they hated him. How could I not, knowing what I did?
Still, how could I say my father deserved to be where he was? He insisted he was innocent of the crime he’d been accused of, and although I’d always known him to be a hard-edged businessman, I had never thought he was a liar or a cheat. How could I lose faith in him when I knew him in a way that no one else did?
Then again… if any of what I had been told about my father was true, did I truly know him?
Eventually, I swallowed and shook my head.
“No, that’s not what I think. I don’t think you deserve to be here, Dad, of course not. I was just—I just want to help and figured if I understood what was going on, it would help.”
His stiff demeanor shifted a little, his expression softening. He cleared his throat the way he always did when he was trying not to show too much emotion, then he lifted one hand to the glass.
“There’s nothing that you need to be doing other than keeping yourself out of trouble, Cordelia,” he said quietly, his voice rumbling in my ear. “That’s all I need from you.”
“I’m trying.” Tentatively, I reached out to press my palm against the glass where his was.
“I know.”
His shoulders dropped, and for a moment, I was looking at my father the way I remembered him in my fondest memories. The man who had put business calls on hold to lift me onto his knee when I was little, who had looked down at me with such love and pride that I felt like the most special daughter in the world.
“Cordelia, I am trying.” He sighed and withdrew his hand, adjusting his collar again. “I did not commit the fraud I’ve been accused of, but I will admit that my time here has given me time to consider how I’ve run my business. And you’re right. Perhaps I’ve prioritized some things too highly over others. Once I get this mess straightened out, once I get our lives back on track, I’ll take a closer look at things like that clinic.”
“You will?”
I bit my lip, a swell of emotion rising inside me. It was hard to be grateful that my father had ended up in prison, but maybe this time had been good for him. Maybe it had given him a chance to consider the plight of those he had dismissed before.
“Yes, I will.” He nodded solemnly. “I know your mother is struggling. And I know you are too. But I promise you, I will do everything I can to fix this. To fix all of it.”
Thoughts of Mom flashed through my head again, and I thought about telling him everything that’d been going on around the house—how strange and unpredictable she’d been all semester. But if I opened that floodgate, I was worried what kinds of truths would come out. Dad didn’t know about the Lost Boys, the deal I’d struck with them, or anything about Nathaniel Ward.
It was better that he didn’t.
“Someone set me up.” Dad dipped his head slightly to meet my gaze, his expression serious and intent. “Someone targeted me. I’ve dealt with plenty of ruthless people in my business, but whoever did this crossed a line too far. I want to get out of here, Cordelia, so I can make things right.”
I nodded, my chest aching. This was only the second time I’d seen my father since Mom and I had moved out of our old mansion, and it was like getting a glimpse into a world I barely remembered.
I had missed my dad. We had never been exceptionally close, but I believed him when he said he’d dedicated his life to taking care of me and Mom.
And I wanted to take care of him too, in this moment when he needed help the most.
My fingertips brushed the glass again, and I gave him a small smile, pulling in a deep breath. “I love you, Dad. I believe you.”
Seven
The ride home was quiet. The bus wasn’t crowded, so I ended up in a row of seats in the back all by myself, gazing out the window as the streets of Baltimore slid by outside.
I was grateful for the peace. It allowed me to think.
What Bishop had told me likely wasn’t a lie. And yet, I couldn’t help but think that my father hadn’t intended to ruin people’s lives like he had—that he’d truly believed his actions were right at the time. My father was a good man. I couldn’t recall a time that he had ever done or said anything malicious about someone that was less than us, that came from less than us.
The heavy tone in his voice and the look in his eyes when he spoke about wanting to make changes if he ever got out of prison... they seemed to come from a genuine place.
And why shouldn’t they?
Since moving to our new neighborhood and starting school at Slateview, I had changed more than I could even begin to comprehend. I was nowhere near the same girl who had showed up on the first day of school. So was it really a stretch to imagine that my dad’s time in prison had made him reflect on how he had conducted his business?
I wanted to believe in him. I wanted to give him a second chance.
Which was why I was more resolved than ever to get to the bottom of things.
I knew the Lost Boys wouldn’t approve. Especially not after Flint. Bish had been quietly furious when I had admitted why I’d risked my life to meet with the lecherous, violent man. Only his relief at the fact that I was still alive had kept him from flying off the handle, but I had seen the frustration and fury in his eyes. He didn’t think my dad was worth a drop of effort, and certainly not worth risking my life for.
But this time, I wouldn’t risk my life.
I would be smarter and more subtle.
Flint may not have known who framed my father, if anyone had, but he had known the name Abraham Shaw. He had referenced that name in the same sentence he’d said Nathaniel’s name, which meant that Abraham was somehow connected to Nathaniel—or to someone else in Baltimore’s underground.
When I finally got off the bus and made the long walk home from the bus stop, mom wasn’t there. I didn’t know where she was, and I almost didn’t care. Wherever she was, whatever she was doing, I found myself less impressed with the idea that she was finally piecing herself together and more irritated that her piecing herself together seemed to come at the expense of her family. Did she even care?
Even if she’d found a job to help us get by in this new world, why couldn’t she just tell me?
Pushing thoughts of my mom aside, I made my way to the bathroom and shucked my clothes before stepping into the shower. Thoughts spiraled through my head like the water circling the drain, but I did my best to empty my mind as the hot droplets sluiced over me.
When I was done, I threw on some comfy pants and a soft t-shirt and padded into the kitchen to make some food. I was getting better at cooking, although I was far from a master chef.
Silence filled the house as I sat down with a full bowl of warm, fresh Hamburger Helper. Silence was something I was slowly getting used to, but I couldn’t tell if that was a good thing or a bad thing. If it meant that I was getting used to the feeling that came when no one else was around, to the feeling of loneliness, I wasn’t sure that was preferable.
Pushing my empty bowl away, I glanced up toward the front door, which was visible from the small kitchen.
Maybe I should go see if Bishop is home.
The guys had been busy with work for Nathaniel all weekend, and I missed them with an acute pain that seemed to sit behind my heart at all times. I wasn’t sure when and how I had gotten so attached to them, but being around them made it easier to breathe somehow.
Almost as soon as the thought hit my mind, a knock sounded at the door. My heart leapt, and I pushed back from the table, nea
rly sprinting to the door before yanking it open. A wide smile bloomed across my face when I saw who was there.
Not just Bishop, but all three of my boys.
They grinned right back at me, and the sight was so damn breathtaking that I couldn’t help myself. I stepped forward into Bishop’s arms, wrapping around him in a tight hug. There was something so reassuring about seeing the three of them just show up, right when I needed someone around.
Bishop chuckled. “Hey there, Coralee. Miss us?”
“A little bit. I guess,” I said softly, poking his ribs. Then I stepped back, reluctantly leaving the perfect safety of his arms. “Come in.”
I let them in, closing the door behind them. I probably would have felt a little awkward about having them over any other time—worrying over what Mom would think, how she would treat them, how she would react to them being in her home. Those concerns were gone now, however, and I couldn’t care less about whether or not she would want three strange boys in her home.
If she couldn’t be bothered to actually be at home, then she didn’t get a say. This house had started to feel more like mine than like hers, or even ours.
And I wanted the boys here more than anything.
We settled on the slightly lumpy couch in the living room, me sandwiched between the three of them.
Bishop stayed close to me on my right, his hand settled on my thigh, with Misael and Kace staying close on my other side, like they could sense that I needed the comfort of their proximity. Or maybe they needed the comfort of mine.
“What are you guys doing here? I thought you had work?” I hedged around asking for details, knowing that it was unlikely they would give them to me. That was okay though; maybe all four of us needed a break from thinking about any of this.
“Got out early,” Kace explained. He ran a hand through his short hair, his demeanor as tense and on edge as it’d been for the past few weeks. He hadn’t gotten into any more brawls at school, but I could tell memories of Flint still haunted him. “Fucking nice too. Nathaniel runs us all over town.”
