Christina (Daughters #1)

by Leanne Davis

  My parents didn’t become my parents until I was thirteen years old. My brother dragged me from California, where my shitty past began, to this small, ranching town in Washington State. We stayed in this house. It belongs to Lindsey and Noah Clark, who bear no relation to me. They aren’t even friends of anyone who knows me. They were friends of the people who were helping my brother. Why they let me tag along and stay with them, to this day, I just don’t get. I would never have done anything so noble. I was thirteen and mean; and I fought all the time. I was nothing but trouble and headed for jail before I turned eighteen. I often wonder why they didn’t worry about that. Why didn’t they consider that I might rob them? Or bring bad people to do something even worse? From the start, they were simply nice to me, and fair to me, always, to this day. They even got married so it would be easier to adopt me. My brother, the good one, Derek, persuaded my birth mom to sign away her rights to me for a few hundred bucks. She’s a junkie. If she’s still alive today, I would be shocked.

  I cleaned up my act. I mean, how could I not? These people took in a complete stranger and gave me everything they had to give. From money and food and health insurance, to all the speech and occupational therapy I needed. They provided structure and rules and nourishment for me. Regularly and without fail, every day and night, I received nourishment for my body and mind. When I first got here, that was a huge change. I’d never eaten with such regularity, or paid any attention to nutrition. Eventually, I earned their affection and love. The love part is the hardest for me to accept. I haven’t received much of it in my life. When anyone expresses it, it still startles me. I fight it hard and try to resist it, which I did with them at first. I was every cliché out there. Angry, young kid. I tested them. I did bad things and tried to make them leave me before they chose to leave me. I got into a lot of trouble. I made their lives hell for a couple of years. Years they endured without ever giving up on me. Years that proved they still loved me. Lindsey used to say after surviving her first marriage, I was like dealing with a teddy bear. And she kind of acted like that too. I used my silence as a weapon. I never yelled or smashed things in their house. I simply refused to talk. Or interact. From age thirteen until fifteen, I only talked to Christina.

  Christina. I met her the first full day here in Ellensburg. She came to her aunt and uncle’s house, Noah and Lindsey. She came right up to me and asked if I liked to play video games. She was, and still is, itty-bitty for a girl. Smaller than me, even, which helped me be friends with her. I could just be myself around her. She talked (and still does) all the time. So I let her talk and interact and reveal all her personality, and she didn’t seem to care that I neither talked, nor had any personality to speak of. But her unwavering friendship probably saved my soul. If not for her, I doubt I’d have ever been convinced that Noah and Lindsey could really want me for keeps. Without Christina, I would not have found the motivation to want to talk. I’d have blown off all that lovely, nice, decent help that the Clarks were trying to give me. I wanted to stop feeling stupid around Christina, so it was purely from adolescent pride and ego that I even started to get the help I needed. It was strictly for her.

  She also made me behave. She insisted that I be nice to her aunt and uncle as well as her parents and sisters. It was my crush on her that made me even remotely want to fit into this place. Her disdain and fear of my fighting taught me how to hide it better, when I was doing it, and I didn’t do it as often, about three fourths less than I used to. She probably saved my life, and all because she was my friend.

  My friend, who was now pissed off at me, and believed, (for I know how her dramatic brain works), that I completely betrayed her. Forever and ever, Amen. Or until she gets over it. I know she will. Still, I dread the near future and how mad I know she’ll be at me.

  That leads me to right now, when I’m about to go and break my parents’ hearts. It killed them whenever I fought, although it was nothing to me. Really. I fight and get paid sometimes, and it’s done. All the rage that regularly percolates in my chest goes away as surely as if I’ve pinched off a running hose. Until, of course, enough time goes by, and the anger starts to rebuild. I need to let the water spew out again in another fight. That is my cycle. My thing. My way of coping. It hurts no one, really. Okay, me a little bit, and whatever mark I choose. But they always heal. Like I said, I’m careful not to kill them.

  But Noah and Lindsey took my fighting to heart, like they had somehow irrevocably failed me. Like they were to blame because they couldn’t stop me from fighting. It made no sense to me why they’d think so.

  I sigh as I exit the car they generously bought for me. They are over-the-top good to me. I don’t deserve it at all, and I know it. I try to be worthy, but I fail epically at it. And yet, they continue nurturing me.

  With a heavy heart, I enter the front door, knowing it’s unlocked. Yep, there they sit in the large living room, waiting for me. The TV is on. Noah sets aside a magazine and Lindsey is asleep on the couch. At the sound of the door clicking shut, her eyes snap open and she sits up almost in an instant. She jumps to her feet and almost runs at me, but stops just short of hugging me.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” She’s really upset and nods as if reassuring herself to believe I’m okay. She steps back and puts her hands on her hips. “Then what the hell were you doing?”

  Noah comes out to the entryway and grabs Lindsey’s hand and pulls her towards him. “Why don’t you let him inside before you start your inquisition?” Noah is always freaky calm and totally rational. There is never getting one up on him about anything. He doesn’t raise his voice, or try to coerce me into feeling how he wants me to feel. Ever. He simply tells me what he thinks and gives me enough space that I eventually get around to thinking the same way he thinks. That’s usually what happens.

  I sit on the couch and rest my elbows on my knees. I’m tired now and just want to fall on my bed and sleep for ten hours. Some of the fights really take it out of me. The adrenaline rush is overwhelming and afterwards, leaves me utterly depleted. That’s why I crave it so much; it allows me to find some peace. Peace eternally eludes me. I have so much going on in my head, it has to be released. I try to stay out of trouble, mostly for Lindsey’s sake because it upsets her so much. So the fighting seems like a good compromise to me. I don’t end up in jail or getting shot. It doesn’t really hurt anyone. But apparently, they don’t agree.

  “First, is Christina okay?”

  I nod my head. They are better than most at accepting my limited conversation skills. Guilt looms in my head. Christina was never really not okay. I just don’t want her to be having sex with the guy she was intending to. Instead, I ratted her out and now the entire family must get involved and show how much they care. They are a chatty family. From Lindsey to Jessie, Christina’s mom, and all of Noah’s family as well. They all consider Christina and me cousins. Family. Siblings almost.

  Even though I do not.

  Lindsey opens her mouth to speak when Noah cuts her off with a simple, “You ever think about channeling all your fighting prowess in a more productive way?”

  Both Lindsey and I whip our heads up and stare in surprise at Noah. “What are you talking about?” Lindsey voices for me.

  Noah shrugs and waves towards me. “He’s never really stopped fighting. I don’t buy it for a second. I’ve witnessed too many unexplained bruises and stiff movements. He likes to fight, Linds. I’m sorry, I don’t think you can yell him out of this. Or guilt him into stopping. I think he tries to hide it out of respect and not wanting to hurt us—you, especially. But it doesn’t really work because he doesn’t ever want to stop it entirely.”

  I hang my head. It shames me, but Noah’s right. I don’t stop. I just hide it. I finally nod to acknowledge the truth.

  Lindsey lets out a strangled breath. “What do you intend to do, Noah? Start setting up the fights for him? Charging a commission?” Her scathing tone and glare at Noah and then at
me are brutal. I feel terrible for making them argue. And worse, for making Lindsey so mad.

  I finally say, “I’m sorry… Lindsey.” Her face crumbles and softens like dawn’s light on a dewy morning. She longs so much to have my love. My trust. For me to be her son. I know she really feels like she is my mom. I’m not sure if I do though. It’s just not easy for me to express how I feel. It’s safer for me to call her Lindsey and not risk losing my mom again.

  She shakes her head. “I know what you do. I can’t resist when you get all sad and contrite.”

  “I am sorry. And I do consider you my mom. More than the woman who birthed me.”

  “She’s a degenerate bitch.”

  I finally smile. Lindsey always says something equally impassioned about my birth mom, even though she’s never even met her. Noah tries to admonish her, but I kind of like it. Lindsey nods at Noah, her expression less perturbed. “Where were you going with your questioning?”

  Noah sighs. “I was thinking, why not direct that skill and passion for fighting somewhere useful?”

  “Where could that be?” Lindsey’s head is tilted, and her eyebrows rise.

  I’m wondering the exact same thing, completely puzzled. I was ready for a lecture, since neither of them really ever yell at me. It is even worse than that. They talk about what they expect and how disappointed they are in me. Their kindness and understanding punish me much more and make me more miserable than their anger. Anger I know. I respond to it with my own. Kindness and understanding? Make me nuts. It makes me feel smaller and even less deserving of them.

  Noah leaned forward. “Why don’t you train for boxing, or some other kind of fighting where you can make a living and, at the very least, quit hustling people? I mean, that’s what you do, isn’t it? You hustle these kids?”

  I blink. I mean, did he really just say that? Noah Clark is the epitome of a conservative man. He is a doctor, a veterinarian, a business owner, and a community leader. He makes a great living and never ever broke the law, or even a single rule. I assume he wants me to go to college, or do something equally respectable. He keeps sitting me down to discuss next year and what my plans are. I, to date, have none. I can’t even imagine it. Life after high school? I never thought I’d graduate, and now they expect me to have dreams beyond it?

  Lindsey’s mouth drops open. I’m usually pretty good at keeping my cool, and appearing totally impassive. But I feel the burn of embarrassment heating my cheeks in a blush. I never really thought about the ethics of how I fight. I mean, I pick the fights. But is it my fault they assume I’m going to lose?

  “Don’t you?” Noah repeats. “Don’t you pretend you’re just a little, short guy with a big mouth?”

  I nod finally. It’s the first time I’ve ever been accused of having a big mouth. “I don’t think it’s my fault if they erroneously assume that because I’m small, I’m not a threat.”

  “Yeah, it’s called hustling. And you could get yourself killed someday if you run your con on the wrong person or persons. Look, I don’t love the fighting. It’s certainly not part of my dream for you. But I also realize there are things I can’t fully understand about your need to fight, now isn’t there? I didn’t live your life. I get that, Max. But I don’t think being a two-bit hustler is the path you want to follow as a career.”

  Lindsey is still strangely quiet and simply stares open-mouthed at Noah. Like me, I swear she wonders about the man she married.

  “I never thought of it as hustling.”

  “Well, that’s what it is. At least, be honest and upfront. Show some damn honor, Max! You want to do this? Then do it right.”

  I have no idea there is a right way to do it. I just do it to feel better. You know, expel my demons. How could I seek honor or nobility from freaking street fighting! How the hell does one do that?

  “I know you’re nineteen and you could tell me to fuck off and walk out that door. I get that, Max,” Noah says, his eyes holding mine prisoner. My mouth drops open. Noah has never said fuck while talking to me. He rarely swears. I wait, captivated now by the man I’ve lived with for five years and considered the closest man to a father. “But I don’t think you will. I think you need us as much as we need you. So no more sneaking off to fight like this. You could get hurt. You could mess with the wrong crowd. What if you disappeared, or something? What if you were dumped somewhere, and were too injured to move? There are all kinds of ‘what ifs’ Lindsey and I stay up at night worrying about.”

  “I didn’t know you thought those things.”

  I had no idea they worried about me or imagined such things. It makes me straighten up on the couch to show I’m listening, and they have my undivided attention. I don’t want to repay them for their goodness with my misery. Noah nods as if he understands me. He, more than everyone else, understands me. He gets my need for quiet. Calm. And oblivion.

  “We think a lot of things. We also understand you came to us after horrible shit happened to you. We can’t undo the past. We love you. I think you finally believe that about us, but we can’t totally understand what fuels your need for fighting. But I do believe, at least right now, it’s what you need. I’d rather see you do it in a controlled environment where you could also use it to learn discipline, respect, rules, sportsmanship, and honor. Right now? You’re no more than a thug, who is going to get arrested for assault or murder if something goes wrong. That is what we sit around fearing.”

  “I never considered…” That was usually my problem, I didn’t always consider whether or not they’d care about, or be hurt by my actions. Thoughtless or not, I really didn’t know better. While I was growing up, no one cared about what I did. No one really cared what happened to me.

  Lindsey sighs and shakes her head. “I didn’t either. Those are the things we worry about, but what Noah is talking about… I mean, I don’t get anyone’s compulsion to fight, or the reason anyone would want to purposely take a punch.” A tremble travels over her body and the guilt rips through me. I know her history. I know Lindsey was tortured for five years by her first husband with domestic violence. I’ve seen some of her scars and assume it was more like she survived a war. My actions remind her of her own abuse. I don’t want her to think about being hit. She and I define being “hit” very differently. Tragically differently. Helpless now, I don’t know what to say to undo the carelessness of my actions. I seek to continue the very thing that torments Lindsey.

  Lindsey glances at me before her face softens and she smiles. “Oh, Max, don’t. I actually meant it more generically. More men than women enjoy and get turned on by watching either two men or two women fight. I just don’t get it. I didn’t mean because of my own history. I know you’re not like that. Okay?”

  They could kind of read me, so our conversations often went that way. My infrequent responses somehow helped us get somewhere.

  “But I guess, Noah’s right. You should learn all that stuff they claim they learn from fighting. Discipline… honor… whatever. Not my thing at all, but as it’s been five years, and you still can’t help wanting to fight, I’d be willing to try what Noah’s suggesting now. I won’t be a bitch about it.”

  My lips tip into a half smile. I don’t mean to, but she’s so real. She won’t support it, but she always tries to support me. Not bitching me out is her way.

  I have no clue how to reply to anything they say. I am literally shocked. As shocked as most people regard my need to fight and bloody others, and as shocked as many would be to know my childhood, I was astonished that these two people would suggest I think seriously about fighting as my future. I have no idea where to take this, or how to begin.

  Noah starts to chuckle. “Well, you have Lindsey’s ringing endorsement, at least, she’ll try not to bitch you out about it. What do you think, Max?”

  “What if I say no and just keep doing what I’m already doing?”

  Noah lets out a sigh and rolls his eyes. “Then we keep lecturing you. No more with the tests, okay? We�
�re not going to kick you out. And I don’t believe for a second you’re going to willingly leave us anymore. We’re just going to keep at you because we think it’s dangerous, and even worse, I consider it plain, dirty fighting.”

  I nod. He’s pretty good at calling me on my bullshit. Better than Lindsey. She worries that I’ll leave them. She agonizes over how I’ll accept their authority. Noah doesn’t. He sees inside me, and I like that. I need his authority. I respect them because they try, even if I have no idea what to do with that, or about it.

  “I guess, yeah. I can think of worse things to do next year than fight.” A weird ripple goes down my spine. I almost don’t recognize it. Interest? Excitement? Anticipation? Whatever. A warm feeling spreads through my blood and into my limbs. “’Cause I’m not doing the college thing.”

  “We know,” they both say as one. They don’t really want to argue with me. They don’t really have expectations of me that I can’t keep. But they told me I have to do something come next fall. I can’t be sitting around there, doing nothing. A job. An internship. Something. I had to find something I wanted to do, or try, or pursue. I know I’m lucky for even getting to take some time to find those things. Imagine someone caring whether or not I’m happy or interested with my job! Jesus! As a little kid, my own parents didn’t care if I starved; and these people worry if I’m happy.

  “Okay, then this summer we’ll look further into it. No more hustling. That’s a direct request. Can you respect that?”

  “I can respect that.”

  Noah nods; and that easily, he believes me. Because he so readily trusts me, I want to start trying to make my actions worthy of their approval.

  I go to bed and feel like I ran a couple of miles uphill. I’m exhausted. But I keep thinking of Noah’s shocking idea. Perhaps I hustled these college kids, which I guess wasn’t very honorable, and maybe I should try and do it in a real way next year. Like what? Professional training or something? I have no freaking idea. I’ve never looked into anything like that. I fight to feel better, and that’s the only reason, ever. The ripple of interest for finishing high school is new for me. I don’t love school at all. I merely tolerate it. The only reason I learned to do that was because Christina was there, and it means so much to the Clarks that I get a high school diploma. My brother too. He never had the chance, and has been working his ass off for the last few years to compensate for that setback. So, apparently I’m fortunate to even have received the chance. I think I’m the first guy in my family to get a high school diploma. Real high achievers, we Salazars.