by S. Massery
She jerks. “Yeah?”
I force a laugh. “I know it’s bad, but there’s no need to gawk.”
“No, it’s pretty good, actually. Sorry. I didn’t sleep well last night.” She bounces on her heels. “Why are you painting Caleb?”
“We had to partner up for an art class,” I mumble. “He has to paint me, too.”
She hums, then drains her glass. “Interesting. I thought you might’ve painted him a little more gloom and doom. Based on what happened, anyway.”
“A lot has changed.”
Her attention tears away from the painting, to my face. “Really.”
She must feel the same way I do—that we’ve slipped away from each other. We used to be inseparable. Now look at us.
“I should get going,” she says abruptly. “Return the car before my foster parents notice I’m gone.”
Ah, see? She stole the car. Same old, same old.
“It was good to see you.” I hug her, holding her to my chest. It takes her a second to hug me back, and then her hands press against my skin. “Next time, bring Hanna.”
Claire giggles and pats my cheek. “Sometimes I think you like her more than me.”
I rear back. “What? No.”
Her expression turns serious. “You’re always asking about her.”
I do—because Claire is solid in front of me, and I have no way of knowing how her twelve-year-old sister is. One of us has to bring her up, or else I’d never know.
“I’m sorry you think that means I care more about her than you.” My voice is stiff, and I’m suddenly glad that Claire is on her way out. I take the glass from her hand, set it down next to my painting, and lead her out. At the front door, I pause. “I hope you know it isn’t true.”
Her face falls. “I know. I just get moments of jealousy sometimes.”
I stifle a sigh.
She throws her arms around me one more time. Her lips touch my cheek briefly, and then she pulls away. I stand in the door and watch her trot to the sleek black car parked at the curb. My first thought is that it’s fancy. Fancier than I imagined.
She revs the engine and takes off, tires squealing.
Sighing, I shut the door and go back to my painting. My groove is thrown off, so I don’t even try. I cover the paints on my palette with plastic wrap and leave it where it is. I grab my phone and flop on the couch, closing my eyes. There’s a pain in my chest from her judgement, like a steady second heartbeat.
I just need to put it out of my mind.
Past
Two scrawny girls entered the house. They carried black garbage bags with them, and they held on to each other with grubby fingers. I tried not to analyze their stringy, greasy hair, or the way the older one’s eyes darted around.
She found me hidden on the stairs, but she didn’t say anything. Her attention just snapped back to my foster mom and the case worker standing next to them.
I was rather abruptly yanked out of my last home and placed with Cindy and Jeff. I’d been here a few weeks, was settling in well according to Angela. I sometimes had nightmares of people in gray suits forcibly removing me from the home. One or two nights, I woke up sweating.
And now… more kids.
Cindy mentioned it the other day at dinner. Two girls were on their way from upstate New York. A ten and fourteen-year-old. She pointed her fork in my direction, making me promise to be good. Kind. To show them the ropes.
We had chores and a curfew, which wasn’t just for out of the home. If we weren’t in our bedrooms by nine, we were locked out and left to sleep on the hallway floor until morning. I said we, but really: it was just me for a few weeks. They were certified respite housing, too, but no one came through while I was adjusting.
I saw a therapist once a week, talking about the issues I had. I’d been carrying around a runaway label for about a year, and it hung heavy every time Angela spoke it into existence. She didn’t get it, though. I had to get out of there.
“Margo!” Cindy called.
I jumped up and ran down the stairs, pausing at the bottom. I put my hands behind my back and picked at my fingernails where she couldn’t see.
“Ah, good. This is Claire and Hanna. How about you show them to their room? The one connected to yours.” She smiled at me. To the case worker, she said, “As we showed the woman who did the home inspection, we have a jack-and-jill bathroom that the girls will use.”
She left out that they just removed the locks on the outside of the doors.
“I can show you, if you’d like.”
“Not necessary,” the case worker said. “You know the drill. Girls? Call me if you need anything.”
“Sure,” the older one said.
I didn’t know if she was Claire or Hanna. She grabbed her sister’s hand.
With wooden legs, I led them up the stairs. Once we were out of earshot, I whispered, “I’m Margo.”
“Claire,” the older one answered. “And this is Hanna.”
“Margo is an old lady name,” Hanna blurted out.
It broke the tension I didn’t realize was forming.
Claire and I grinned down at Hanna.
“Yeah,” I said simply. It wasn’t worth arguing. “This is your room.”
Bunk beds in the corner, pink curtains covering the window. It was definitely meant to be a room for girls. Claire and Hanna wandered in, dropping their bags by the beds. They exchanged unspoken words.
Hanna went to the window while Claire turned toward me.
“You get your own room?”
I shrugged. “We share a bathroom. My room’s on the other side.”
She appraised me, then stomped through the bathroom and into my room. I followed her. She stopped dead, threw back her shoulders, and turned to me. “Switch with me.”
I regarded her. Did I seem like a pushover? Too many kids had tried to force me out of things that were mine. I rubbed my wrist, where my bracelet used to sit. I lost that a few homes back and still felt the ache of its absence.
“No,” I said, inching past her. It was my room, the first one I’d ever had of my own. And I was not about to let some skinny kid walk into my home—and all over me.
I tried not to flinch at my line of thoughts. Did I really just call this place home? Even in my own head, it was alien.
“No?” Claire echoed. Her lips pushed down. “B-but why—”
“Because I was here first,” I snapped. “You don’t get everything your way.”
Her chin wobbled, and she stared at me. Her eyes filled with tears.
All at once, it stopped. She shook her head and inhaled a deep breath, then stuck out her hand. “Fine. Truce.”
I shook her hand, if only to maintain a bit of peace. No use starting a war on their first day.
Hanna shoved into my room. Her attention latched on to our hands. “Claire didn’t cheat you out of this room, did she?”
I snorted, and Claire groaned.
“Has she done it before?” I asked Hanna.
The younger girl laughed. “She’s good at getting her way.”
“Not here,” I said. “I’m not a pushover—and neither are our new foster parents.”
Claire just smiled. “Yeah? Well, you passed. But they haven’t met me yet.”
Famous last words.
Present
I wake up to Robert watching me.
“You okay?” he asks. “You were muttering in your sleep.”
I sit up, taking the water bottle he extends in my direction. “Yeah, I think I was dreaming about the first time I met Claire. She tried to trick me out of my room.”
He sits on the coffee table, facing me. “This was at your last foster home?”
I nod and take a sip. “She was always on the wild side. Some kids get to be like that. You know.”
“Our last foster was like that,” he says. “She liked to push our buttons.”
“With the curfew,” I mumble.
“And other things.” He smiles at m
e. “Don’t let that dissuade you from going through a wild phase. Although I think dating Caleb might give Len enough of a heart attack to last until we’re old and gray.”
I crack a smile. “Yeah, he’s…”
Robert shrugs. “I get it. I had him in a few different classes and never had a problem with him. It’s just the perception of him that Len has an issue with. That, and he purposefully tried to turn us against you—which isn’t going to happen.”
“Lapse in judgement.”
“Angela called,” he says. “She’s going to swing by this evening and chat with us. I invited her to stay for dinner.”
My expression falls. “Why do we need to talk to her?”
He squints at me. “It’s nothing bad, Margo. We just want to see what the next steps are to make you a member of this family. Len asked about it a few days ago, but we wanted to have the chance to talk to you.”
“It still seems…” Out of reach.
“Impossible?”
“Something like that.”
He looks down at his hands, then back up at me. “Len might have a harder time saying this, but I don’t. We love you, Margo.”
We love you. It echoes inside of my, banging around my chest. It hurts, but it isn’t bad pain. It’s a sore muscle stretching for the first time. A heartbeat I thought had died long ago.
But there’s always another shoe to drop.
27
Caleb
My uncle’s hot palm lands on the back of my neck as we walk into the house. He’s shorter than me by a fraction, and thinner, too. I could easily throw him off me if I wanted. But that would just cause a more violent retaliation on his part.
So I let it happen.
My back has mostly healed, but the mental scars are deep.
“You’ve been visiting your mother?” Uncle David asks.
He gives me a light shove into the study, and I stumble forward. It reminds me that I did the same thing to Margo on one of her first days at Emery-Rose. I experience a shred of guilt, and then my uncle is back in my face.
He wants to pick a fight—or just get his anger out on his human punching bag.
He grabs the front of my shirt and twists the fabric, my collar biting into my neck.
“Answer me,” he grunts.
“I didn’t realize there was a rule against seeing my own damn mother.”
One of these days, I’m going to punch his face in. Once he isn’t dangling my inheritance over my head, we’re done.
I grind my teeth.
Only four months to go.
He’s been in a bad mood for the past three… ever since Margo’s reappearance at school. I’m not fool enough to think they’re unrelated. He’s been the driving force behind my fury all these years. Stoking it. Murmuring about revenge on the Wolfe family.
“Ah, Caleb,” Aunt Iris says. She pauses at the state we’re in. Bites her lip. “David, is everything okay?”
“Peachy,” he grumbles.
“I’ve done what you asked.” I glare at him.
One day. One day, he’ll get what’s coming to him.
“Oh? And what’s that, exactly?” He has worse demons than me.
Then again, he was never supposed to bear the brunt of my father’s company. Never supposed to support his nephew, to guard his inheritance. It broke something inside him.
All because, as Mother likes to say, “It’s happening the way your father wants.”
Bullshit.
Uncle David and I both know it, but neither of us have voiced it. We’re not angry at each other—we’re angry at him. My father.
“College,” I grit out. “Lacrosse. Grades.”
“How about the part where you don’t fucking fall in love with a Wolfe?” He shoves me backward.
I stare at him. I don’t love her.
Do I?
“Don’t be daft,” he snaps. “You’re going to break off all relations with her. You’re not going to see her. Touch her. Communicate with her.”
I laugh. I can’t help it.
“Or what?”
Uncle David has a few telltale signs of extreme anger. But the best indication I’ve ever seen is the redness of his ears. If it were possible, the next step would be steam coming out. Right now, his whole face is mottled red.
I know why he hates the Wolfes, but it’s more satisfying to make him say it out loud.
“Or you will not get a dime from me,” he finally shouts. “You will get nothing. No help. No support.”
I cross my arms over my chest, if only to stop myself from beating him bloody. “You made a promise,” I say in a low voice. “Don’t forget about your end of the deal, Uncle.”
He charges at me.
But honestly? I’m so fucking done.
I sidestep him and back away. He’s like an angry bull, the way he eyes me.
“I’m leaving,” I announce. “No more summoning me. No more threats. Or I will march into the Asher offices and explain to the Board exactly what you’ve been doing.”
His red face turns white.
I’ve never threatened him before, but it feels good. Satisfying.
Aunt Iris gasps from the doorway, her hand raised to cover her mouth. “Caleb, honey—”
“Don’t, Aunt,” I say. “You’ve stood by and let him hurt me for too long. This is the last straw.”
Why didn’t I do this ages ago?
On some level, I knew I deserved it. I was suffering for my father’s actions—and Margo’s. I was her friend, I should’ve stopped her, I could’ve done something. How many times had I heard my family say that to me? To pin the blame on me, since Margo was sucked away to foster care?
Her mom was gone. Her dad was in prison.
The only one left in the equation was me.
I shake out my limbs, satisfied. I’ve read through the paperwork multiple times. The company put no stipulations on my inheritance except age. Uncle David, as my legal ward, got a stipend every month to cover my expenses. I assumed he passed along at least a slight portion of them onto Eli’s family. They were the ones who fed me and gave me a place to stay, after all.
We lived in peace until this year.
“You walk out that door, you don’t get to come back!” Uncle David roars behind me.
It’s a pity that family has a way of disappointing you—even when you know to expect it.
“If I never see your face again, I’ll die happy.” I salute him and walk out the door. Something crashes behind me. I keep going, liberated by my choices, until I’m hit in the back of my head.
I crumple.
Blackout.
28
Margo
Caleb has disappeared—again. I swear to God, I’m going to kill his uncle.
I get to their front porch, then freeze, unwilling to go any farther. I’m pretty sure the family hates me for reasons I can’t remember. And a little thing like memory loss wouldn’t hold up against years of anger.
Riley climbs out of the car behind me. “I don’t think anyone is here.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Why?”
She shrugs. “No lights on, and it’s dark out?”
“Right.” I ring the doorbell and hold my breath.
No one answers. We look at each other.
“So… you ever going to tell me what happened with your social worker?”
I grimace. “Yeah, she wants me to see a therapist. I start going next week. I’m going in.”
“Margo—”
I twist the doorknob, expecting sirens. Nothing. We creep into the foyer as quietly as we can. Riley follows close behind me, almost touching my back. When no one comes running, we both straighten.
“A therapist? You can’t just say that and then walk into someone else’s house,” she whispers.
“Caleb is in here,” I answer, matching her low tone. “I can feel it.”
“I’ll stand lookout, I guess. You search for him.” She shivers. “I’m picturing him tied up somewhere. Is that
creepy?”
I elbow her. “Don’t even think that.”
Eli saunters in through the open door, and both of us jump.
“I told you to wait in the truck,” Riley whisper-yells.
“Since when do I listen to you?” He rolls his eyes. “I moved it around the corner just in case we need to make a run for it.”
Our eyes go wide, and he laughs.
“Kidding.”
Sure he is.
Eli and I venture farther into the house while Riley hangs back. We split up, me taking the first floor and Eli heading up the stairs. The house is giant, I’ll just say that. There are rooms upon rooms, each more extravagant than the last. But more than that, they’re old. Antique furniture and dark wood on the walls. Rugs that have probably never been stepped on, chairs and couches that’ve never had kids bounce on them.
It’s cold. Worse than Caleb’s house.
I get to a closed door and pause in front of it. Up until now, everything has been open. I hesitate for a fraction of a second.
A low moan comes from the other side.
I shove the door open, shocked at the darkness of the room. After a moment of feeling along the wall, my fingers hit the light switch.
Blinding lights flicker on in the ceiling.
My gaze flies around the room—a game room with a pinball machine, a pool table, and other various games—and lands on Caleb.
He’s on the floor, his back against the wall. Like he was sitting and then fell over. His eyes are closed.
There’s blood on the wall. Just a smear, but enough that my heart hammers.
I rush to him, falling to my knees. “Caleb, wake up.”
His eyes open. He blinks up at me, squinting, then pushes himself up. “What are you doing here?”
“Coming to rescue you.”
He shakes his head, then abruptly stops. He watches me while his hand goes to the back of his head, probing. “What day is it?”
My eyebrow goes up of its own accord. “Huh?”
“The day—or night, judging from the dark room behind you.”
