The Art of Being Indifferent (The Twisted Family Tree Series)

by Brooke Moss

  My cheeks scalded. “Thanks.”

  “I also saw the World Government test you left on the computer desk,” she went on. “An A minus? Well done. We’re very proud of you.”

  John touched my shoulder. “Seems like you’re finally finding your place around here.”

  I chewed my lip for a moment before shrugging. “Yeah. Maybe.”

  Paula watched with a grin as the swimmers started lining up for awards. “Are you going to go see Drew get his medal?”

  My eyes scanned the crowd, meeting with Drew’s for a moment before his attention was drawn away. He looked happy and relaxed, and my insides hummed. “No. I’ll catch up with him later.” I caught Mayor and Mrs. Baxter staring at me, so I turned to face the Coulters again. “Um… can I go out to dinner with Drew and Mac? We were thinking about going home to pick up Jessa, too.”

  They glanced at each other, and John shrugged. “As long as Jessa’s done with her homework.”

  Paula nodded, and rubbed my arm affectionately. “Just be home by seven. I made cobbler for everyone.”

  Cobbler? Accolades on my homework? This was all so picture perfect that my skin began to feel tight and itchy. Don’t do this, Posey, I scolded myself. This is a good thing.

  “Cobbler at seven,” I said, swallowing back the hesitation and the nerves. “I’m gonna go meet up with Drew. So… I’ll see you tonight?”

  “Yes.” Paula squeezed my hand before releasing it. “Be careful. Wear your seatbelt. Call if you need us. I wish you’d reconsider letting us get you a phone.”

  “Don’t worry so much.” John pressed a kiss to his wife’s temple. “We trust you. See you at seven.”

  I walked away feeling like my steps were an inch or two off the cement floor. In my last placement, my foster mother would count the money in her purse right in front of me, then warn me she would be counting it again when she returned to the room. Every time something turned up missing in any of my former classrooms, all the teachers I’d had immediately questioned me on the whereabouts of the missing pencil—lunch money—jacket—or bracelet, whatever it was. I’d never noticed John checking his wallet when I left a room, or counting Paula’s jewelry after I was near their bedroom.

  They trusted me. And it felt awesome.

  “Excuse me,” I said, maneuvering my way through the crowd towards the exit.

  A hand clamped down on my shoulder. “May I speak with you please?” A shiver jetted up my spine, and I turned around to face Mayor Baxter. As soon as our eyes locked, he dropped his hand and smiled kindly, though his eyes remained narrow. “Posey, is it? Posey Coulter?”

  “Briggs.” My voice was hoarse, so I cleared my throat. “It’s still Briggs, I mean.”

  “Uh huh.” His face tightened. “Why don’t we step over here?”

  I let Mayor Baxter lead me to the exits where we stepped out into the night air. For a second, I thought about running. But since we were in Oak Harbor, I had no freaking idea where I was or how to get home. Besides, if Paula and John saw me walking along the side of the road, they would both have heart attacks.

  Though I had no idea how, I knew what Mayor Dickhead was going to say to me before he even took a breath. Maybe I was clairvoyant. Or just waiting for the inevitable.

  As soon as the door shut behind Mayor Baxter’s back, he smoothed down his tie and lowered his voice. “I understand you’ve been spending time with my son.”

  How to respond? Should I lie and play dumb? Should I admit that his son had had his tongue in my mouth no more than two and a half hours ago, and that every time he looked at me it felt like my insides were breakdancing?

  Squaring my shoulders, I looked him straight in the eye. No better time for honesty than now. “Yes, sir.”

  “I see.” He watched me for a moment. He might have been trying to intimidate me, I’d stared down way worse than him. I’d faced more than a handful of my mother’s high boyfriends, not to mention all the drunk or ticked off foster fathers who’d gotten in my face over the years. “Now, Posey,” he continued. “I don’t know if you’re aware, but my son is quite the accomplished athlete.”

  I glanced at the auditorium behind his back. “Clearly.”

  “He has quite the future ahead of him.” He pursed his lips, presumably waiting for me to react to his words. I gave him nothing. “He will go to college, graduate school, compete on a national level in his sport. He will one day get married, have a family, and find success in his chosen field.”

  I swallowed. “Yes. I don’t doubt that.”

  He folded his arms across his chest, and leaned closer to me. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. Too close. Too close. “Then I suppose you understand that in order for Andrew to achieve these successes, some sacrifices need to be made.”

  I bit the insides of my cheeks to keep from telling him where he could shove those sacrifices.

  “Do you follow what I’m saying?” When I nodded, he smiled tensely. “Then you understand that Andrew will eventually be finished spending time with you. And since we both understand that this in inevitable, then we can agree not to prolong it, yes?”

  “Excuse me?” I said, my stomach turning into a block of ice. “Are you dumping me for Drew?”

  Mayor Baxter chuckled, though the sound wasn’t at all joyful. “I think we both know that dating someone from a different walk of life is something we all enjoy when we’re young. Now that you and Andrew have had your fun, it’s time for both of you to move on.”

  “Someone from a different walk of life?” I repeated. Boy, this guy had some serious balls. Didn’t he know I was almost of voting age? Wasn’t he supposed to be winning me over, instead of making me hate him even more? “Meaning you’re rich, and I’m poor. Right?”

  Something behind Mayor Baxter’s eyes changed. Cooled. “We all slum it from time to time. Your foster mother can attest to that.”

  The hairs on my arms stood upright, and the block of ice in my middle shattered. “Are you kidding me?” I snarled, fisting my hands at my sides. “How dare you say that about Paula. She—”

  The door behind me swung open, and John stepped outside. “Hello, Posey. Mayor Baxter. Congratulations on your son’s last race. It was impressive.”

  “John Coulter.” Drew’s dad’s teeth ground together. “Good of you to say so.”

  John nodded, his brow furrowed. “Why don’t you tell me why you’re speaking to Posey out here alone?”

  I opened my mouth to tell him what Drew’s dad had just insinuated, but Mayor Baxter interrupted me. “She asked me where the exit to the back lot was. Your foster daughter is quite the firecracker. You’d better keep an eye on her.”

  John looked down at me. “Posey?”

  I wanted to tell him Mayor Baxter was an abusive bastard. I wanted to tell him the man had just insulted Paula, and that he’d told me Drew was just “slumming it” by dating me. But the look in John’s eyes was so earnest—and the way he looked at his wife was ten thousand times more earnest—so I swallowed back all of my words, and just nodded. “Yes,” I said, my voice ragged. “The parking lot. That’s all.”

  “Take care, John. You, too, Posey. I’ll tell Andrew you enjoyed the meet.” Mayor Baxter smiled down at me, his politician’s smile—all teeth, crinkly eyes, and BS—making my stomach curdle. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I promised my wife a rib eye for dinner.”

  He went to step past John, taking the door handle and giving it a pull. But John pushed the door shut with a thud and leaned in close to the Mayor’s face. His voice dropped to a dangerous low.

  “If you approach my daughter while she’s alone again, I’ll end you. Do you hear me, Baxter? I’ll end you.”

  My heart swelled in my chest, pressing against my bones painfully. Nobody had ever done something like that for me before.

  And he’d called me his daughter.

  Drew’s dad’s eyes widened, before his mild, sanctimonious smile returned. “Good evening,” he said. After shooting me a
glare, he ducked back into the auditorium.

  Mac rolled up in his pickup, watching us curiously through the windshield. John’s face relaxed, and he nodded at my friend. “Go on. Have fun. I’ll see you at seven for cobbler.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Him.

  The door creaked when I opened it. Cringing, I slipped through it, into the garage. It was cold, and I’d forgotten to grab a sweatshirt, but no way in hell was I going back inside for it now.

  In the last week, I’d lost my car for like the hundredth time since school started, my phone, my iPod, and any glimpse of freedom I might have still had between now and homecoming. After Posey told me that John Coulter had threatened my dad after my swim meet, I’d wrongfully assumed he’d lay off the constant checking up on me. After all, we’d stopped having tutoring sessions after school, and I’d been ultra-careful not to miss a single practice since.

  I was wrong. Apparently having a beefcake like John threaten to whip his ass hadn’t been enough to get my dad to loosen the reins a little. He’d taken to driving past the school around three, just in time to catch me kissing Posey goodbye before practice. Long story short: when he told my mom I was still messing around with that “Coulter girl,” and that I might as well flush my whole athletic and academic career down the crapper, my mom wigged out.

  My dad didn’t like it when my mom lost it. A happy wife is a happy life, he always said, usually following it up with: But a wife who’s dead is even quieter.

  Seriously. What a piece of work.

  I pulled the door shut behind me, mouthing a few obscene phrases when it creaked again, then tiptoed through the garage. I’d promised to meet Posey at our beach tonight, and I itched to hold her. Going without seeing her was like depleting myself of oxygen.

  I’d never felt this way before. Was this what it felt like to fall for a girl? I wasn’t sure whether I liked it or hated it, but it was impossible to stop. Apparently loving someone is the equivalent of a drug addiction. Who knew?

  I opened the door to the backyard, letting in a burst of crisp October wind. The walk to the beach would be chilly tonight.

  “Andrew, where are you going?”

  My stomach clenched, and I shut the door slowly. I swear he had me tagged like a damn endangered species. How else did my dad know when to come looking for me? I’d heard him snoring through the bedroom door no more than three minutes ago.

  I turned around and shoved my hands in my pockets. “I couldn’t sleep, sir.”

  My dad came down the steps into the garage, flipping on the light as he did. “You were going to Posey’s.”

  “No.” I prayed he couldn’t tell I was lying. When I lied as a kid, my nostrils always flared, and my parents busted me every single time. I held my breath to keep my nose under control. “I just wanted to sit on the deck.”

  “The deck’s on the other side of the house.”

  I swallowed and squared my shoulders. “I felt like taking a walk around the yard to the deck. Sir.”

  “Do you think I’m stupid?” He stood in his bathrobe by the front bumper of my mother’s newest car. He’d bought it for her the day after she found a sexy text from his secretary on his phone.

  He didn’t know I knew that. He also didn’t know that Mom did a lot of talking when she was about three glasses into a bottle of pinot.

  The word yes was right on the tip of my tongue, but I bit it back. “No, sir. I just think you’re hyper vigilant.”

  His jaw twitched. I’d ticked him off.

  Good.

  “Are you trying to start a fight, Andrew?”

  I considered my options. I had two choices. I could do what I usually did: shut my mouth, let my dad railroad me, knock me around a bit, then go back to my room and wait to see Posey tomorrow. It wouldn’t kill me to not see her. Sure, it sucked, and I’d been comparing touching her to breathing, and all, but constantly going at it with my dad sucked even worse.

  I really didn’t want to fight tonight.

  The fights were getting heavier. They happened damn near every day, and half the time I didn’t even know what he was mad at me for. Sometimes he didn’t like my grades, other times he’d get pissed because I didn’t go to the weight room at school often enough and he was sure I was going to lose my edge in the pool. Hell, the other night he’d shoved me into the counter in the kitchen because he didn’t like the way I looked at him during dinner.

  And then there was his problem with Posey. I couldn’t be sure what he hated the most about her. The fact that she was a foster kid, or that he thought she distracted me, or that she lived with the Coulters. I wondered a few times if he hated me dating Posey purely because she made me happy.

  I was damn sick of tiptoeing around my father. For years, I cowered in fear whenever his temper raged, even after I grew strong enough to fight back. I’d been letting him knock me around when he was pissed off at someone in his office, when he got aggravated by my mom, and when he just seemed bored. And when people asked about it—teachers, Coach, the counselor at school—I lied for him. I blamed being clumsy. I blamed stupidity. Hell, one time I’d even told a teacher that I walked into a door because I had a hang-over—a lie that had earned me a week on the bench from coach, and another few rounds with my pops.

  And what’s sick was… I had no idea why I’d even done it. He didn’t deserve it. He didn’t appreciate it.

  “You know what, Dad?” I tugged my hands out of my pocket and clenched my hands at my side. “Yeah. I am trying to start a fight. Because I really enjoy getting roughed up by my father all the time.”

  He took a step closer to me. “Don’t go dramatizing things. Last I checked, disciplining my son isn’t a crime.”

  “Last time I checked,” I countered. “Punching your kid is illegal.”

  My dad pressed a hand down on the car hood. “You’re pushing it.”

  “Good.” Fear started sneaking up the back of my neck, but I shook it off. “Because I’m done.”

  “Done?” He spat. “Done what?”

  Not until I took a step closer to him did I realize I was shaking. I had no idea if it happened out of rage or fear or both. “I’m sick of you kicking me around all the time. And… and I’m done taking it.”

  “Is this about that girl?” Dad snarled at me, his face starting to get red. “What kind of hold does trash like Posey have on you?”

  I ground my teeth together. “Don’t call her names. She’s got way more class than our family does.”

  “Are you kidding me?” He took another menacing step towards me. “The Coulters and their band of misfits make this town look like the armpit of this island. No Baxter is going to end up with one of those rednecks.”

  “You dated one!” I exploded, throwing my arms. “Why was Paula Coulter good enough for you twenty years ago, but now you act like you’re above her?”

  He sniffed. “We all slum it now and then. Don’t we, son?”

  “I’m warning you—”

  “You’re warning me? Who do you think you are, you little piss ant?”

  I stepped even closer now, challenging my father. “Why are you such a hypocrite? What did Paula or John ever do to you, besides threaten to beat you up, which I’d pay to see happen.”

  His hands came down on the front of my shirt, and when he jerked me close to his face, I could smell his toothpaste. “What else has this little bitch told you?”

  “Don’t call her that.” I growled.

  He laughed bitterly. “What, are you in love? Did you fall in love with the trash?”

  “You don’t even know her,” I said. My voice shook. I’d never stood up to him like this before. “You can’t control who I date. I’m eighteen. You have no say in anything I do anymore.”

  “If you want to live in this house, I do.” He gave me a shake. “If you want to drive around in that nice car and use that nice credit card I gave you, I do.”

  I dug in my pocket for my wallet, pulled it out and tossed it on t
he cement floor. “Take it. Take it all. I don’t want it. I just want you to leave me alone.”

  “You just want me to leave you alone?” My dad imitated my words, raising his voice like a whiney child. His grip tightened, and he raised me onto my toes. “Bull. You want to piss your life away. You want this whole town to see the mayor’s kid throwing his life away. You want to embarrass your old man because of some damned rebellious streak.”

  “It’s not a rebellious streak,” I croaked. His grip on the collar of my shirt tightened even further, and sweat beaded on my forehead. “I don’t care whether you’re embarrassed or not. I don’t give a damn about you or your reputation. I just want to get the hell away from you.”

  His eyes searched mine. The tension in the garage hung in the air like smog, and I damn near choked on it.

  “You pretentious little bastard,” Dad spat, giving my shirt another jerk and making me cough. “You wouldn’t last one day without your mother and me wiping your ass.”

  “Why bring Mom into this?” I managed to say, tears stinging the back of my eyes. No turning back now. I’d already gone further than I ever had with him. “She might be a drunk, but at least she doesn’t beat up her kid. I wonder what people would think if I started telling the truth?”

  He threw me onto the hood of my car and the metal bent underneath my weight. His fist collided into my ribs once. Twice. Three times, before he stood back upright, panting. “You sanctimonious little brat. You won’t ruin my reputation. You won’t. Do you understand me!?”

  Rage rolled in my stomach, pricking my skin with sweat as adrenaline course through my veins. I was off the car hood in a flash, drawing my fist back, then smashing it full force into my dad’s face with a belly-turning thwack. He stumbled backwards, his hand on his mouth as blood seeped from the split in his lip.

  We stood there for a long time, the silence only broken by our ragged breathing.

  His eyes widened.

  My heart pounded so hard it echoed in my ears. I spread my feet apart, and clenched my hands again, ready to fight some more. My heart was torn. Part of me wanted to throw another punch, this time landing it right on the eye, so he would have to go into his office the next day with a shiner. But the other part of me felt like a freaked out little kid who just wanted to curl up underneath the car and cry.