Finding peace, p.2
Finding Peace, page 2
It’s not. Adriana. My sister has been almost as annoying as Dad lately, but I can’t ignore her like I do him. “Hello?”
“Did you get a letter?” Her voice trembles.
I don’t bother asking what she’s talking about. If it’s about what I fear, they’d have sent one to both of us. “Yeah.”
“Did you open it?”
I grunt.
“Me either.”
“How long have you had it?”
The sound my sister makes could be a laugh or it could be a cry. “Two days. I figured your mail would lag.”
“Good old Hawaii.”
“That’s another reason you should move home,” she wheedles again.
When Dad asks, my jaw locks and my fists tighten, but when Adriana asks, guilt wells in my chest and tears at my heart. She wants me to come home because she misses me. Dad wants me there so he can control me more easily, direct me toward the path he chooses, and make me into the man he wants me to become. “I’m not talking about that right now.”
“Fine.” She always gives up that easily—one of the reasons I don’t get angry with her. I can’t fault her for wanting to see me more. I miss her, too. “So do we open it at the same time?” Hope. Her voice practically vibrates with the same emotion she always feels when she asks me to move back to Atlanta—only this time, it’s about the terrible, gut-wrenching letter from a prison warden.
“Ana, please tell me you’re dreading this news. Please tell me you’re not . . . excited.”
“We never lie, not to each other.”
I can barely breathe. “If they parole him—” I can’t say anything else. The world only makes sense because he’s not free.
“I know how you feel. But you and I aren’t exactly the same in every way, and that’s okay.”
Exactly the same? I would write a check to the warden for the entire contents of my checking and savings, right now, if he’d lock him up and throw away the key. Ana’s hopeful he’ll be paroled and she thinks we’re not exactly the same?
“Ethan? Are you still there? Let’s open it on three, okay?”
I grunt again. My feelings, her feelings, none of it will change what is. No point in arguing until I know the truth.
“One, two, three.” I hear the ripping of the paper, and a small inhalation of breath. She must have put me on speaker.
When she claps and coos, the bottom drops out of my stomach.
“Oh, Ethan! He’s getting out! Finally.”
I crumple the letter in my fist.
Her voice is at least an octave higher than it usually is. “I can’t believe he didn’t say a word to me about it, not once. He must not have wanted me to get my hopes up. They denied his first request, you know.”
“They must be out of their minds not to have denied this one.” I hate the growly way my voice emerges. It’s almost as bad as her squeaky excitement. I flatten the anger out of my voice. He doesn’t have that kind of power over me, not anymore. But I can’t quite ignore her implication. “You’ve been writing to him?”
“You said you didn’t want me to talk about him to you,” she says. “Ever. Or I would have told you that.”
I shouldn’t have said that—knowledge is always better than fumbling around in the dark. “You shouldn’t have been writing him, and you shouldn’t be happy he’s getting out, either. He’s evil incarnate.” My hands shake as I think about that night. And the many, many nights that came before it. So many horrible memories I’ve been forced to suppress.
“He said he wrote you for more than a decade and you never once replied.” She’s chiding me. My own sister.
“More than a decade.”
“Not one response, Ethan?” She tsks. “That’s not like you. You’re not hateful.”
My own sister doesn’t know me at all. “Not responding was the kindest thing I could have done.” The words barely escape through gritted teeth.
“Well, now you can talk to him in person. Our father will be released on August 28th! Now you have to fly back stateside, even if it’s only for a visit.”
I don’t crush the phone. I don’t throw it against the wall. I don’t even swear at my little sister. I’m kind of proud of how much I’ve grown. “Phillip Sims is not your father, and he’s not mine. Never say that again.”
“Fine,” Adriana says. “Fine. I forgot how touchy you get about it. Uncle William may have adopted us, and yeah, I think of him as our dad, but we still have a biological father, and he’s going to be free for the first time in eighteen years. You have to at least come back.” I can practically hear her rolling her eyes. “Even if it’s only to yell at him.”
“How can they be freeing him at all?” I practically shout into the phone. “How? After what he did?”
“He was terribly drunk the night he—the night it happened. He has given up eighteen years for taking things too far. How much more do you want?”
I want him dead. Like our mother is dead, thanks to him.
Thanks to me.
“I won’t be coming home, not to see him. Not now, not ever.”
I grab my board and sprint toward the reprieve of the ocean waves. My assistant Genevieve was right about the weather—the waves are perfect, but it doesn’t matter. I’ve never needed the peace of standing in a perfect barrel of ocean movement more than today, so of course, I wipe out over and over. Finally, after a particularly rough blow from my surfboard to my head, I cough out a bucket of saltwater and trudge my way back to my beach house, dragging my board behind me in a breach of every kind of surfer etiquette I ever learned.
Every time I try to recall the feeling of pure bliss that always surrounds me inside a perfect wave, fury battles its way back upward. My little sister Adriana doesn’t have ANY idea what a particularly deadly form of cancer Phillip Sims becomes if you allow him any place in your life. He’s a blight on humanity. She was so young that he never beat her, but I remember every single blow, every single strike, and how it always felt justified, like it was my fault for displeasing him.
I learned how to dodge and weave at the age of seven. By eight, I could curl into a tight ball that protected most of my vital organs. I had identified dozens of hiding places all over the apartment. And I had gotten believably creative with the stories I told at school to cover my injuries.
Mom told me the only thing worse than Dad hitting us would be losing Dad. He was a jerk, but he paid the bills and put food on the table.
Most of the time.
I may have been taking a beating every night, but by the time I started Junior High, not a single kid at school could whip me. I’d like to think it was because I was stronger, faster, and smarter, but the reality was that none of them knew how to take a punch like I could. I’d basically been trained since birth to take a punch. Bob and weave and take my licks and keep on going. By seventh grade, I won every single fight I fought—and I finally felt ready to take on Phillip Sims. But when the time came, I hid in the last hiding space that was large enough, Ana in the space right next to me.
I failed my mom that night, but I’ve been preparing to redeem myself ever since.
The same thought keeps running through my head, over and over. I’m ready, but Adriana isn’t. She can’t take a hit, and she has no idea what kind of person our biological father really is. By the time I shower and eat dinner, I’m ready.
When Dad calls for the third time today, I answer.
“You’re finally going to talk to me?”
“Didn’t seem to be much point before,” I say.
“Why’s that?” Dad’s voice is low, gruff, scratchy.
“I had no intention of coming home.”
“But now?”
I shrug. “Dunno.”
“Adriana called you.”
“I got the same letter she did,” I say. “I assume you’re going to stop her from going to see him.”
“She’s an adult. I can’t keep her from meeting him when he’s released.”
I swear loudly, angrily. “Are you kidding me right now?”
“She doesn’t listen to me,” he says. “But she might listen to you.”
“Are you really trying to leverage the release of that pile of trash to get me home?”
“You’ve played in Hawaii long enough, far longer than we ever agreed.”
“I’m not playing here,” I say. “I’ve rehabbed two hotels, and I’ve brought the botanical gardens into profitability, which you didn’t think would be possible.”
“All of which is still far below your capacity, as you well know.”
“We don’t all have to conquer the world,” I say. “Some of us are happy just living in it.”
“That’s how you’d describe yourself?” Dad asks. “Happy?”
“Would Annelise say that you’re happy?”
“Touché,” he says. “But promise me you’ll think about it. I’m still in a bind with the Riviera Grand, and I need you here.”
“Whatever,” I say. “You can whip a mismanaged hotel into shape with your eyes closed and one hand tied behind your back.”
“I’m not as young as I was.” He drops his voice. “I can’t pull the hours I used to pull, and things are rough here right now.”
He’s far from a perfect man, but my mom’s brother became my dad by choice. He could have surrendered me and Adriana to the state or tasked a nanny to raise us. Instead, he stepped in and parented us to the best of his limited ability. I’ll always be grateful. His repeated attempts to convince me to come back to Atlanta and run a newly acquired hotel there have been more obnoxious than anything else, but I never thought he actually needed me.
And Adriana definitely needs someone to talk some sense into her.
“Fine,” I say. “Fine.”
“Wait, you’ll do it? You’re coming home?”
I swallow. My life here is practically perfect. Two beautiful hotels and a fabulous botanical garden. Wonderful staff. Perfect weather. All the surfing I could want. I was making plans to expand to Oahu… but if I’m honest, Hawaii has always been an escape, and escapes are fairly close to hiding places. Both of those things are for cowards. Which means, I can’t come back to Hawaii until I’m doing it for the right reasons.
With Phillip Sims being released, staying here feels a little too close to climbing into the bathroom cabinet. Maybe it’s time for me to rectify the error I made eighteen years ago when I failed to protect my own mom. If I’d stood up to him, if I’d stopped him from hurting her that night, maybe she wouldn’t have died. Maybe I could sleep without nightmares.
I imagine Adriana lining up to take Mom’s place by his side, and my hands curl into fists and adrenaline floods my body.
“I’m not saying it’s permanent, Dad. Don’t replace me here, but tomorrow I’ll be on a flight home to Atlanta.” And I’m going to ensure that Phillip Sims never harms Adriana or anyone in our family ever again.
3
Anica
I’ve got one arm around Amy’s bony, fragile shoulders, and one arm around a humongous bowl of popcorn. My finger presses the play button and Ratatouille roars to life in all its vibrant, gluttonous glory. Mary may be eager for me to leave, but Amy and Chase and Troy are happy to have me here, at least. Even little baby Jack is snoozing away in his glider, which I take as a quiet vote of affirmation.
I may have no professional life to speak of, but I’m rocking the aunt gig.
“Uh.” Mary’s head pops around the corner. “You started the movie already?”
I pause it. “Were we supposed to wait?”
Chase is already bouncing next to me. “I want popcorn.”
I hand him the bowl.
“Oh, it’s fine that you’ve started it, but—”
Paisley shoves past Mary, her hands wrapped around her tiny belly. “You’re taking forever. Just ask her.”
Mary rolls her eyes. “James can’t be here tonight—business—and Paisley was hoping you’d come down and play with the adults for once.”
I like the kids, and the kids like me. Furthermore, I like Ratatouille. I frown.
“I hear you’re, like, amazing at charades.” Paisley beams. “And I really want to win for once.”
“James isn’t a great charades partner?” My eyebrows rise. “I’d have thought—”
“He’s fine at guessing. He sucks at acting things out, and if I don’t guess it from the one thing he tries. . . ” She tosses her hands in the air. “Plus, when we lose, he gets all glowery and refuses to play charades the next time, and it’s my favorite.” She leans closer. “Don’t let that group fool you, either. They seem like a nice bunch, but Geo is unbelievably smug.”
“She and Trig win a lot?” I ask.
“Is every week a lot?” Paisley’s eye twitches.
I laugh. “But Amy needs me here.”
Amy smiles at Mary. “Aunt Anica hogs the popcorn.”
My jaw drops. “I can’t believe you’d sell me out like that.”
She giggles.
“For food.” I shake my head slowly.
“So will you do it?” Paisley bites her lip. “Come help me destroy Trig and Geo.”
“If it was anyone else, I might feel bad,” I say. “But Geo—”
Paisley nods. “Is ridiculously smug? You’ve seen it?”
“I was going to say is prettier than anyone should be, so why should she always win charades, too? The universe needs a little balance.”
“Oh.” Paisley rolls her eyes. “I’m so used to that, I don’t even let it bother me anymore.”
I lift one eyebrow. “Not even a little bit?”
She shrugs. “Maybe a little bit.”
“Oh fine,” I say. “Let’s go beat them.”
When Paisley slides her arm through mine, I almost feel like I have a friend. I mean, I know this is probably a pity move. She’s probably here because I’ve officially become one of Mary’s charity projects, but right now, I can’t think of a reason that should make me upset. Assigned friends are still friends, aren’t they?
Actually, having an adult ask me to come hang out feels nice.
My social anxiety flares a little when we walk into the living room and every single set of eyes swivels toward us, but Paisley appears to sense it.
“James looks a little different this evening.” She bumps my hip with her own. “But I’d say it’s probably an upgrade.”
“Why do I feel like we’re in the presence of a ringer?” Geo presses her lips together and arches one perfectly curved black eyebrow.
“There’s no rule I can’t use a dear friend when my husband’s out of town,” Paisley says. “If she happens to be a professional writer and tonight’s theme is literature, well, that’s just too bad.”
“Oh, come on,” Trudy says. “Like being spanked by Trig and Brekka every week wasn’t bad enough.”
“It’s not our fault that none of you were grilled about academic topics every night while you were in diapers.” Brekka wheels herself toward the big blue armchair easily even on the plush carpet, and her husband Rob darts around and drops into it next to her.
“Your mother is a singular delight,” Rob says. “But as pleased as I am that my wife destroys everyone at Trivial Pursuit and charades, we may decide to forgo that kind of training with our children, don’t you think?”
“Children?” Brekka raises her eyebrows. “I’m still working on this one. Can you maybe not mention having more until we survive the first?”
Paisley has been spluttering since Rob’s comment. “Did you say Brekka destroys everyone?” Paisley releases me. “Prepare to be dethroned, nerd spawn.”
“Dethroned? That’s a mighty big prediction,” Trig says, “but at the end of the day, it’s only empty smack talk. Care to make things more interesting?”
What does that mean?
“What did you have in mind?” Paisley asks.
“How about a friendly wager?” Trig beams.
Geo whaps him on his arm. “Stop.”
“Hey, you drag me here every week.” Trig tilts his head toward his wife, his eyes soft. “You may as well let me have a little fun while I’m here, being a good sport.”
“You like it as much as I do.” Geo smirks. “Don’t even try to act like you don’t.”
“I like a good wager,” Paisley says. “But for what?”
“If you win, you pick our Halloween costumes this year,” Trig says. “You can dress Geo and me up as Bo Peep and Woody from Toy Story.”
“Or Peter Pan and Tinker Bell,” I whisper.
Paisley laughs out loud. “You’ve caught my interest. Go on.”
“But if you lose,” Trig says, “then—”
“You get to dress James and me?” Paisley frowns.
Trig shakes his head. “That’s too easy. James will find some way to weasel out of it.”
“Okay,” Paisley says. “What then?”
“We get to choose what you two wear for your Christmas card photo,” Geo says with a twinkle in her eye. So much for her objections to his idea of making a wager.
Luke laughs. “Oh, I like this, but I feel like, to make things fair, Pais has to send the cards to a list of your choosing.”
“Thanks a lot.” Paisley scowls at Luke.
“And it wouldn’t be even,” Luke continues, “unless Trig and Geo had to come to a Halloween party here, at our house, with as many guests as we invite.”
“Plus, they have to stay for the entire party,” I say.
“I like you,” Paisley says. “Did I already mention that?”
A warm feeling spreads through my chest as my social anxiety melts away. No one is teasing me, or prodding me, or asking me why I’m single, or why I’m unemployed.
“Fine,” Paisley says. “It’s a deal.”
“This is going to be fun.” Brekka’s eyes sparkle.
“Keep your mouth shut,” Rob says, “or we’ll end up having to dress our little girl up as Baby Yoda for her birth announcements.”
