by Joseph Souza
“I was thinking about going to college and getting a degree in veterinary science. I love animals.” She stared down at her soft hands and almond-shaped nails. “Whatever happens, I’m getting the hell out of Fawn Grove just like you did.”
“Getting a college degree is a smart move. It’s a good way to better yourself.”
“Do you really believe I was that stupid? I knew all along that you were Jaxon.”
I shrugged. At this point, what difference did it make whether she knew? Besides, I couldn’t tell if she was lying or just trying to manipulate me.
“I would have never ended up here if you hadn’t come along and spoiled everything.”
“You want me to apologize for that?”
“I don’t believe in apologies. I don’t apologize for anything I ever did. Look to the future, my therapist keeps telling me. Put all that negative stuff behind you.”
“Good advice.”
“You must have thought you were so much better than everyone else,” she said, laughing. “Just like Sulafi.”
“Actually, quite the opposite. I hated myself for a long time and thought I was a worthless human being.”
“Isn’t that strange? I’ve always loved myself. Maybe that’s why it was so easy to get those kids to do whatever I wanted.”
“You mean bully them?”
“I can’t help it if people want to do nice things for me.”
“Even bad things?”
She laughed. “You’re not half as pretty as you think you are, Lucy. All that ooey-gooey makeup makes you look like a drag queen.”
This insult stung, but I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of seeing me upset.
“Did you hear the big news?”
“ No.”
“Stef’s grandfather dropped dead, and someone bought the rights to the diner. Supposedly, they’re going to rebuild and make it bigger and better than ever. Put a rocket ship out front and add a bar.”
“Cool,” I said. “I have to ask you something, Brynn.”
“Isn’t that the real reason you came? Not to see how I’m doing but to see if I’ll answer your questions?”
That was true. “Were you getting that weed from my father?”
“Oh, God, did you have to ruin my day by mentioning him?” she said. “You knew about the weed?”
“It came to me later, but I didn’t want to believe it was true.”
“That creep sold lots of it back in the day, but he didn’t sell it to me.”
Her utter contempt for everything irked me. I wanted to reach across the table and shake some decency into this immoral niece of mine, but I managed to keep my composure.
“Oh, Lucy, he didn’t want me to have it. But I went up there with Mom and Russ one day and discovered bags of it everywhere. I swear I wasn’t looking for weed, but there it was in his drawers and cabinets. It was like finding a stash of gold. So I thought, why not help myself to it?”
“He was using it because he had cancer.”
“Ha! Keep telling yourself that.” She started to trace her fingernail over a deep gash along the tabletop.
“It helped him with the pain after being diagnosed with cancer.”
“Maybe by then it did, but he’d been smoking and selling it for a long time before I ever found it. Think I didn’t hear my parents talking about him when I was a little kid?” She stared down at her long nails. “He didn’t want me to have it, if that makes you feel any better.”
“If he didn’t want you to have it, how did you end up selling it?”
“He caught me stealing a bag one day. I threatened to tell Dalton about it if he didn’t give me a bag every now and then. He knew what Dalton would do to him if he found out.”
“Dalton knew about it?”
“Of course he knew. His daughter was one of us, and he wanted more than anything to get on her good side. So he looked the other way when we sold it. It paid for our booze and wild parties. Dalton would have done anything for that bitch kid of his.”
“Just like Wendy and Big Russ did with you?”
“You know as well as I do that you can’t really spoil a kid from Fawn Grove. Living there is punishment enough. It’s like Wendy and Russ made up for their physical ailments by allowing me my freedom.”
“I call it spoiled.”
“Call it whatever you want.”
“Did you intend to kill that Afghani girl?”
“Intend is a loaded term, don’t you think?”
“Not really. Either you intended to kill her or you didn’t.”
“I certainly was mad at Sulafi. But then I never know what I’m going to do until after I’ve done it, and by that time it doesn’t really matter,” she said. “Does that answer your question?”
Surprisingly, it did. Because I experienced the same dark feelings when I pummeled that general.
“At this stage in the game, what difference does it make what I intended to do?”
“None, I guess.”
She was much sicker than I realized, and I feared for society’s welfare once the day came when she’d walk out of this place. I couldn’t believe she was my own flesh and blood, and yet I’d snapped just like her. Was it nature or nurture that caused her to turn bad? I stood back from the table and prayed that she’d get the help she needed before being released.
“Leaving so soon?”
“I have to get back home. I’m working tomorrow.”
“A working girl. Nice! Which street corner?”
“That’s not a nice thing to say.”
“Whoever said I was nice, Lucy?” she said. “Besides, can’t you take a joke?”
“Not ones in bad taste.”
“I’m sorry you took offense to that,” she said too sweetly. “Are you still living in New York City?”
I nodded.
“I might come and visit you once I get out. Always wanted to see Manhattan. Is it all right if I crash at your place when I get there?”
“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.”
“Why?” She laughed. “Don’t tell me you’re scared of me?”
I didn’t want to admit to her that I was.
“You’ve got nothing to fear, Lucy. I’ve been rehabilitated and learned the error of my ways.” She giggled as I headed for the exit. “You go, girl. Or are you still technically a boy?”
I turned and took one last good look at her.
“Watch out, Lucy Abbott. I’m coming for you one of these days.” She laughed hysterically.
I scrambled past every checkpoint until I was finally outside and gasping for air. My pulse raced, and my skin felt hot and moist. I wanted to lean over and vomit on the pavement. I thought of my poor sister and brother-in-law. As I slipped inside the rental car, I prayed that I would never have to see my niece again.
* * *
My life has changed drastically for the better. I sleep through the night. I eat healthy now and practice yoga once a week. I’ve even been dating as well. I left the bistro months ago and started my own gastropub in Hell’s Kitchen, which I’ve named Trans Am. It’s an inside joke, but the people who know me get my unique sense of humor. Trans Am features quality beers and ales paired with classic dishes from around the country: gumbo, lobster rolls, spaghetti with chili, poutine, and Kansas smoked ribs, to name just a few. Food that sticks to the ribs and makes people comfortable and happy. It’s why I cook now, to make people happy.
I’ve even decided to go through with gender reassignment surgery. It’s exciting but scary to know that Lucy Abbott will be a completely functioning woman in the near future.
Not a week goes by that I don’t think of Fawn Grove and the terrible things that happened there. The memories are slowly fading with each passing day, but they’ve not all been exorcised. Nearly two years have passed since I spoke to Brynn in that correctional facility. She’s out of my life forever. Good riddance.
I’m exhausted when I arrive home late in the afternoon. Ten straight days to
iling at my restaurant and I’m badly in need of some rest. Tomorrow I have off. I plan on lounging in my apartment, reading the Sunday Times, and drinking copious amounts of strong coffee. I change my outfit and put on something more comfortable. The TV comes on, and the first thing I see is a documentary about the plane crash that took Angus Gibbons’s life. It reminds me of Big Russ, and so I quickly change it.
I pour myself a glass of wine, settle into my comfortable chair, and click the remote until I find a decent movie. The silk robe feels luxurious against my skin. But then the buzzer to my apartment goes off, and I shoot up out of sleep. I must have dozed off at some point, because the movie I was watching has changed and now Anthony Hopkins glares out from behind that hideous mask. Who could be calling on me at this hour? I walk over and ask who it is. No one answers. I ask again, but there’s no reply. Am I imagining things?
Then I remember Brynn. Has she been released from that juvenile facility? Two years have passed since I last saw her. Is she waiting for me downstairs? To crash on my couch? I step away from the door and stare at the speaker in shock. For some reason I can’t stop thinking about her. Will she come for me now? Attack me on the street when I least expect it? Maybe I’m just imagining things and it’s really not her waiting for me down in the lobby. Will I be ready for her if it is? What will I say to Brynn when the time comes? I grab a steak knife, grip the handle like I did on that fateful day when I killed Dalton, and slip it into my pocket for good measure.
Then I wait for her.
Yes, I know I’ll be ready.
Acknowledgments
First, I’d to thank all the booksellers for carrying and selling my novels. Without them, Pray for the Girl would have never ended up in your hands and in your minds—or on your eReader. Thanks to all the wonderful readers who’ve turned their love of books into my life’s work. Spreading enthusiasm by word of mouth is still the best way to help an author succeed. I couldn’t have done any of this without my terrific agent, Evan Marshall. His guidance and advice have made all the difference in my writing career, and he’s never afraid to give it to me straight up. I owe a great deal to my editor at Kensington, John Scognamiglio. His patience and editing brilliance really made this novel sing. Thanks to Lulu Martinez, Robin Cook, Lauren Jernigan, Steven Zacharius, and everyone else at Kensington for assisting me through the publishing process. Your dedication and support are appreciated more than you know. Portland, Maine can be a cold place, but the writing community there is exceptionally warm and inviting. Thanks to all my fellow writers who have helped me along this journey. Finally, I would have never been able to do this without the love and support of Marleigh, Allie, and Danny.
