by Amy Lane
He balanced Felicia on one hip and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and both of them shuddered at the contact. “One of us needs to get out, Al,” he said quietly. “You’re the oldest. You’re due.”
She shook her head. “I’ve got it easy compared to you,” she said quietly. “We all know it.”
He dragged in a deep breath. Should home feel like this? Should home feel like a weight on your chest and one on your shoulders? Sometimes working out felt like a prelude, like he did all those squats and presses just so he could walk through his own door and be able to stand up straight.
“Yeah, but… but I’ve got a way out.”
Allie looked at him sideways. “Why don’t you take it?”
“Because… I mean… you tell her to fuck”—he looked at Felicia, who didn’t seem to give a rat’s ass what he was saying—“off, and you’re still her little girl. I tell her what I’ve been doing, and none of you will talk to me. Ever.” He grimaced and looked at the baby again, who grinned back. “And you,” he said softly, “you’ll grow up to hate me, and that would suck.”
He looked back at Allie and saw the apprehension on her face. “Ev—it’s not… God, it’s not illegal, is it?”
He sighed. “It’s a hell of a lot more legal than what Danni is putting up her nose,” he said harshly.
Allie recoiled. “God, we don’t know—”
“We do, dammit!” Oh God. After that conversation with Tango that morning, suddenly he wanted… craved for all of the secrets to be just exposed in the air, burned in the sunlight. He’d heard the story of Chase Summers bleeding out from a self-inflicted wound, telling his girlfriend, “The truth will set us free!”
Damn. He didn’t understand family, this pretty, pretty house in Folsom with the leather furniture and the new carpeting—a different set every two years—and the grown children who should have fled a long time ago, trapped, like spiders under a rock.
“We don’t know….” But Allie trailed off, because Danni’s complexion was getting worse, and yellow, and her nose was perpetually red, and they both knew she was altered somehow whenever they spoke.
“We do,” Ethan said. “We do. I saw a friend do this, remember? I saw her become this… this horror-movie extra right after she stopped being my friend.”
Allie shook her head and looked sightlessly at the food she was trying to keep from burning. “What’s going to happen if I just go?” she asked.
Ethan sighed. “You’ll have your life,” he told her, hugging her closer.
Allie shook her head. “Too late for me,” she mumbled. “Do you think Dev is gonna take me back now? I practically accused him of being a….” She glanced nervously at Ethan, and suddenly he hated his own name with a passion.
“Child molester. Yeah, well, tell him that’s Mom’s worry, not yours.”
“You think that’s not all of our worry?” she asked, her eyes pinched and anxious.
“I’m fine!” he snapped. He dropped his arm and stalked out of the kitchen. “I’m going to be in the living room, with my clothes on, playing with the one person on the planet who does not actually give a shit about what happened to me when I was five.”
“Evan….”
“Don’t even say my fucking name.”
Felicia’s blocks and toys were in the living room, and so was a mostly full bottle of juice. He sat on the floor with her and held her blocks and helped her walk and hugged her and blew bubbles against her neck. He knew that Allie got bored shitless with this part, but for him? It was the best fun ever. The blocks had satin on one side and crinkly paper on another and fuzz on another, and he would hold them between his hands and watch as she did the same, her eyes lighting up when she felt the different textures under her tender palms.
He hardly looked up when the door opened, and he heard Belladonna and Mina bickering over whether or not the boots Belladonna apparently just bought would or would not accessorize well with the outfit Mina bought. He didn’t even look up when his mom stalked in and dropped all her bags on the chair next to him. He barely glanced sideways to see the names of the outlet stores on the bags.
“I bought you some clothes,” she said, snagging his attention. “Go try them on so I know if I have to bring them back tomorrow.”
“No,” he said quietly, smiling encouragingly at Felicia. “I haven’t worn your clothes in two years.”
“Yeah, I know. Big job at the modeling studio, helping with photo shoots. Great, Evan, but where’s that money going?”
The bank account. He just didn’t know what to spend it on.
“It’s going into savings,” he said, “so I can get the hell out of here.”
She smacked him on the back of the head, and he ignored her. “Don’t swear around the baby.”
“Fine.” He smiled at the baby instead and lifted her up to wiggle her little body in the air, which made her giggle.
“God, Evan, that’s so unsanitary—doesn’t her mom have enough to worry about?”
“Yeah, Mom—wouldn’t it be great if she had a husband to help her with that?”
“Well, her husband wasn’t suitable—”
“Neither am I,” Ethan said, looking at her for the first time since she’d walked in. She was well dressed—always. It was winter, so she was wearing black wool slacks and a black turtleneck with a gorgeous, bright silk scarf around her neck. Her hair, dyed black, was scraped back from her face in an unforgiving bun, and her makeup was dark and smoky—and thick. She was trying to hide her age. Bitterness, anger, and blind hatred had carved lines around her mouth and hardened her eyes. Ethan hated looking at her now. Sometime in the past, before he’d flipped his bike over on a hot spring day, he used to think she was beautiful.
“You’re fine—or you would be if you chose your friends more carefully.”
Ethan was positive his own features weren’t anything he wanted on camera that moment. “I love those guys like brothers,” he said, and although he didn’t add and I’ve got the film to prove I love them better than that! The thought hung heavy in his brain, like a lead sinker on a fishing line. “And I hate you for implying they’re not worth my time.”
His mom flinched back, and Ethan nodded. He stood and picked the baby up in his arms. She was getting sleepy, and he figured she needed some food before he put her down.
“Evan, I’m sure you don’t mean that,” his mother said, struggling with her words.
He was so tired here. God, it was a wonder he didn’t need the eight-pack enema instead of the four-pack—this place clenched him up like nothing else.
It was exhausting, always wanting to cry, but the baby gave him strength.
He sat in the kitchen with some mashed broccoli casserole and some mashed spaghetti, trying to get a playful Felicia to get more of it in her mouth than on her fluffy pink terrycloth bib, when the knock on the door scared the shit out of all of them.
Evan glanced out the kitchen window slowly, like he was moving in slow motion in a horror movie, and saw the bright red and blue of a police light outside.
His first thought was Oh my God, Danni!
But as the troop of CPS officers and social workers and police officers stormed the house, it turned out to be much worse.
“Yes, Ms. Carolina Costa?” The young man in the doorway wore jeans and a sweater very much like Dr. Stottemeyer’s old shawl collar sweaters.
“Di Sorigno,” Ethan’s mother said composedly. “I changed it after the divorce.”
“But not legally,” the man said, keeping his eyes level. He had prematurely thinning hair and light-blue eyes, and a chin and a nose that would have looked great on an evil elf of winter. “I have here an order taking the child Felicia Grisham into her father’s custody.”
“Mom?” Allie had been at the stove when the knock sounded, and she still had the big oven mitts on after taking out the casserole. “Mom—what did you do?”
“He’s got no grounds,” Evan’s mother snapped. “He was making ba
seless threats!”
“Not so fucking baseless—the cops are at our door! What did he say?”
“You didn’t know?”
Allie’s stricken stare at the doorway didn’t tell them anything they didn’t already know. Devon’s voice was familiar to them all.
“Devon?” Her voice shook. “Devon, how could you do this?”
Devon Grisham was a perfectly average man with a slightly pointed nose and a square chin and short-cropped hair that turned blond in the sun, but there was nothing average about the anguish in his eyes as he looked at Ethan’s sister. Ethan, for all that he controlled his strength, could have cheerfully backhanded his mother, felt her cheek split under his fist, and only the fact that Felicia was clinging to him in fright kept him from doing just that. These two people—they cared about each other, right here.
“You didn’t give me a choice, Al,” he said, his voice breaking. “You didn’t let me see her, you kept breaking the schedule the lawyer set up—”
“Schedule?” Allie looked at her mother in betrayal, and when she saw the social worker reaching for the baby in Ethan’s arms, she jumped in front of them, big plaid oven mitts and all. “I’m sorry about the schedule, Devon—what grounds? My mom’s a bitch—”
“Allegra!”
“—but how did you get them all here? I should… I didn’t have any fucking warning? How do you get all these strangers here to just… oh my God, are they searching the house? What the hell are they looking for?”
“Drugs,” Devon said, “and gay porn.”
From the back of the house, in the direction of Danni’s bedroom—and thank God not Ethan’s, which was upstairs—they heard the sound of the successful hunt.
“Drugs?” Carolina Costa muttered. “Drugs? Who in this house has—”
“You know who!” Allie snarled venomously, and then she turned to Ethan. “Ev? You said it’s not—”
“It’s not illegal,” he said numbly. “It’s not.”
Allie’s eyes looked like he’d shot her, and she allowed herself to be pushed aside by the social worker, who put her arms out for the baby.
Ethan clung to her like she clung to him. “It’s not illegal,” he said, his voice breaking. “Every house in America has porn. It’s not illegal to shoot, it’s not illegal to own—”
“No,” said the young man, and he actually spared a pitying glance for Ethan, who clung to his niece with the last of his sanity. “It’s not. But in conjunction with the drugs and all the missed lawyer’s appointments, it made a good enough case for Mr. Grisham to assume custody until family court can determine where the best place for this child would be.”
“Evan?” Allie had her hand over her mouth and she was weeping uncontrollably. “Evan, don’t let them… oh God… don’t let them take my baby!”
And it was like her words were what ripped Felicia away, and she just magically appeared, crying, in the social worker’s arms. The social worker passed the baby to Devon, and Allie’s husband actually looked at both of them apologetically.
“I’m sorry,” he said, holding his daughter tightly, like she was precious. “Allie, your mom left me no choice. Evan… man, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. A colleague of mine outed you and that was it. I had my way to see my baby.”
Questions followed, from the police, who tracked Danni by her phone GPS to take her in for the drug charges, and from the social worker, who needed them to sign papers and get the baby’s clothes and best possessions, and in the meantime, Devon set the baby in the back of his SUV and looked at them all with haunted eyes. Ethan remembered his wedding day, when it had felt like a real breeze, full of living things, had blown through the family, and like maybe they wouldn’t all decay under their rock after all.
Finally the police left, and Allie collapsed, weeping, at the kitchen table in front of congealing food, with Mina and Belladonna on either side of her, hugging her for comfort. Well, that was something she probably wouldn’t let him do ever again. It hurt to watch, but there was only one more place to track his eyes if he didn’t look at his grieving sisters.
So he did.
Painfully, with anger burning in every muscle and fury burning from his eyes, Evan Costa looked up and faced his mother.
“Porn, Evan?”
“Ethan,” he said reflexively. “The whole Internet knows me as Ethan. And not just any porn, Ma. You heard the guy.”
“Gay porn?”
He searched for his car across the street and saw, with some relief, that it had remained untouched. His computer was triple locked—but they hadn’t opened it, which was careless of them. But it didn’t matter. The incriminating things—his check stubs, his publicity torso shots that he signed at conventions, anything connecting him with Johnnies—were all in the car.
“Yeah, Ma. Gay porn. ’Cause I’m gay. So can I go now?”
“Go to your room?” She sounded blank, shell-shocked and numb, but that was okay. He had enough fury for all of them.
“No, Ma. Get the hell out of this fucking house. Can I go now? Have I done enough? I got Allie’s baby taken away from her—”
“It wasn’t your fault!” Belladonna said thickly.
“Shut up, Belladonna, you don’t know what you’re talking about!” Carolina had snarled at her most wayward daughter many times before, but this time seemed like the worst.
Ethan almost choked on his own hatred then, but he didn’t. It was probably the bravest thing he’d ever done, but he managed to keep his head clear for this one. “Don’t tell her to shut up, Ma. She didn’t do anything wrong. Allie didn’t do anything wrong. Devon didn’t do anything wrong. I’m the one who did the porn. I’ll do you all a favor. I’ll fucking leave. You’ll have to deal with Danni, but I got nothing for you there. I’ll just go. It’ll be great for you, Ma. You won’t have to worry about me. I’ve become your worst fucking nightmare. You’ve been dying to write me off since I was five years old. You stopped loving me then, and now? I’m finally giving you a reason to let me go. I’m a porn star, Ma. I’m gay. I’m everything you hate the most. Tell me to leave.”
“It wasn’t your fault, Ev,” Allie said now, her voice thick. “It was mine. I let her manipulate me… I kept our baby from her father—”
“Backstabbing, self-serving sonuvabi—” Carolina’s mouth twisted, and for once, she didn’t look perfect and beautiful, she looked like Ethan had imagined her pretty much since he was fifteen.
“Shut up, Ma!” Ethan screamed. God. God, he couldn’t stand it. “So you hate men—they’re fucking evil. And you hate fags and you hate sex—great. Hate me! Hate me!”
“You’re my son—”
“I’m an abomination! I’m one of those people! You’ve said it my whole life, Ma! You already thought I was going to turn into a child molester—well, here I am. I’m proof, right—”
“Stop it, Evan!” Belladonna and Allie were sobbing, and he looked at them and felt tears blur for the first time.
“You guys… you guys were so good to me,” he said, his throat swelling and making the words thick and wretched. “I love you, but you gotta get outta here. Don’t go out like me. Don’t go out like Danni. Just leave her. Leave her and let her have her perfect house—” He caught himself then, because he remembered when he was a kid, and he’d thought it really was perfect, and his mom was beautiful and his sisters would always fix him dinner or doctor his owies and make it better.
“I didn’t mean for them to take Felicia,” he said, his voice breaking for real. “I’m so sorry—”
“Don’t talk to her,” Carolina snarled.
Ethan looked up, saw his mother’s cold eyes, and knew it had sunk in. Everything.
“You’re not our family, you’re not my kid—get the hell out of my house!”
“Ma!” This was from all three girls, and he wished he could tell them, tell them how much that meant, that like good prisoners of war, they hadn’t turned on him.
“No,” he said, wiping his face. “
This is good. This’ll get the judge to give Allie joint custody.”
“But Evan—” Belladonna went to stand up, but their mother jumped in front of the table like a football player blocking a tackle.
“Get out!”
“You betcha,” he said, knowing he was crying, crying brutally ugly now, and not able to stop it. “You just remember to thank God tonight, okay? ’Cause you’ve been wanting a reason to hate me for years, and now you’ve got it.”
He turned on his heel and made it out of the kitchen, but his eyes were blurry and his vision was sort of shaky, and he almost couldn’t recognize Belladonna when she came into his room with suitcases to help him pack.
She helped him bring his stuff out—his clothes, his computer—and when he popped the hatch of the car, she reached into the trunk to the stack of promotional pictures he kept. There he was, looking suitably grim and flexing for the camera in front of a sky-blue background. She pulled out the picture and looked at it, smiling a little.
“This is you?” she said hoarsely. “Ev… you look good.”
He swallowed, and for a moment he almost yelled at her to go back in the house. But he couldn’t. He wasn’t hard like that. Those things he said to his mother… they felt like somebody else.
“I do, don’t I?” he said. His smile wobbled on its axis, but in this moment before he excised himself out of her life, he could finally show her something he was proud of.
She nodded and bit her lip. “You coulda modeled anywhere, Ev—why porn?”
He swallowed then, and his body shook, because that terrible thing he’d been holding back was about to break loose. “God, Donna,” he mumbled. He owed her this. Owed her honesty. He just did. “I really wanted to be touched.”
She made a helpless little sound and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and he stooped into her hard, desperate embrace. “You’re still my little brother,” she said against his cheek. “And I never really thought you were a psycho.”
It was in Folsom in mid-October, and his jacket was in the car and hers was in the house. Still, she hugged him until he shuddered, started shaking, the way he did when his skin was reaching, begging for more because it had been in the void for so long. She felt the shaking and backed away, wiping her eyes with her fingers so her mascara wouldn’t run.
