Livia lone, p.16
Livia Lone, page 16
She sensed Sean was looking at her, but didn’t open her eyes. After a moment, she heard him say, “I’m sorry if I . . . if I said the wrong thing before.”
It made her sad that he thought it was his fault. But there was no way to explain. So she only said, “I’m sorry I don’t laugh more.”
“You laugh enough.”
She laughed, because that was so untrue.
“See?” he said, and she laughed some more. It felt good to laugh. Then she thought of Nason again, and told herself she shouldn’t be laughing.
“Can I tell you something that’s always bothered me?” she said. It helped that they were side by side on the swings, that she didn’t have to look at him while she talked.
“You can tell me anything.”
She sighed. “That first time I saw you. When you put the arm bar on Eric. Remember?”
He laughed. “You think I’d forget that?”
No, of course he wouldn’t forget it. It was a dumb thing to say. She almost changed her mind, but not saying anything felt too much like cowardice, and it was cowardice she needed to confess to.
“I should have helped you. I mean, you didn’t need my help, but I didn’t know that. I was just . . . afraid.”
“That’s okay. I mean . . . I would have been afraid, too.”
“They used to bully me, too. And for a second, when I saw them bullying you . . . I was glad. Because it wasn’t me.” She glanced at him. “I’m sorry.”
For a moment, there was only the creak of the swing chains. Then he said, “Has that really been bothering you this whole time?”
She wanted to look at him again, but couldn’t. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. You don’t have to be sorry. You didn’t even know me. I mean, you’d help me now, right?”
She looked at him and said fiercely, “Yes.”
He smiled. “I mean, not that I’d need it. Even if I only placed fourth today and you came in second.”
She laughed. It really was so good to laugh. It made her sad that she couldn’t seem to do it more.
They were quiet again. Then Sean said, “Can I ask you something?”
The gentle movement of the swing, back and forth, was pleasant. Calming. She looked at him and nodded.
“Everyone at school thinks your parents died, and that’s why the Lones adopted you.”
She turned her head and looked at the trees. They were pretty in the moonlight, all silver and black.
“But my dad . . . he was stationed in Southeast Asia, and he said your parents might have sold you. Is that true?”
She’d wondered from time to time how much he knew, how much people speculated. She supposed it didn’t matter now. And she didn’t want to lie to Sean the way she had to the police.
She kept her eyes on the trees. “Not just me. My sister.”
“Where’s your sister now?” she heard him say.
“I don’t know.”
“I’m so sorry, Livia.”
She nodded and silently said Nason. The name felt odd in her mouth—duller, somehow, disconnected. The alcohol, she supposed.
They were quiet again for a moment. Then Sean said, “My mother . . . she left us when I was seven.”
She glanced at him. “That’s terrible.”
“There was a guy she knew, in Rio. She was already seeing him before we moved back to the States. I guess she missed him more than she wanted to be with my dad. Or with me.”
“Rio . . . but I thought she was Japanese. Uenoyama, right?”
“There are a lot of ethnic Japanese in Brazil. She didn’t have brothers or sisters, so my dad told her parents we’d use Uenoyama for me, to carry on their family name. I wanted to change it when she left us, but my dad told me not to. He doesn’t want me to hate her. Or, I guess, forget her. Or something. I think he still loves her. I mean, he hasn’t had any girlfriends or anything.”
“You don’t . . . she’s not even in touch with you?”
“She left us a note. That was it for a long time. Then she tried calling, but I wouldn’t talk to her. Now she sends me a card when it’s my birthday. I don’t open them. I just throw them away.”
They were quiet again. Then he said, “It messed me up for a while. I had a lot of anxiety. I lost weight, and then I started stuttering. That’s when my dad got really serious about the jiu-jitsu. I mean, come on, half-black, half-Asian, and a stutter? He was worried I’d get the shit beaten out of me every other day. And he was right.”
Even though his story was sad, she smiled. “I really like your dad.”
“Me, too. And he really likes you. He helped me with the bullies, but . . . I didn’t have any friends. Before you, I mean.”
“I didn’t have any before you.”
“But now you’re really popular.”
“Please.”
“You are. Can’t you tell? Everyone loves you.”
“They don’t know me.”
“Do I know you?”
She looked at him. His face was so earnest, it made her sad. “I don’t think anyone really knows me.”
“I want to.”
She felt confused. Part of her liked what he was saying. And wanted to hear him say more. Even wanted to respond. But it also made her afraid.
“I should go,” she said. She let her heels drag along in the dirt, and the swing came to a stop. She stood and turned to him, looking at the ground, wanting to say goodbye, unsure of why she wasn’t.
Sean got off the swing and faced her. He reached out and touched her shoulder. Which was strange, because he never touched her off the mat. No one did. But for some reason, it didn’t bother her. The alcohol, she thought again.
She realized he was touching her . . . differently. So gently, just her shoulder. She looked at him, then down again, confused. His hand came up, and the back of his fingers brushed her hair, her cheek.
“Livia,” he said, and it was almost a whisper. He started to lean closer.
She shook her head. “I . . . I have to go.”
She turned and ran toward the Lones’ house. She didn’t want Sean to see her cry.
33—THEN
She had just changed into sweats and gotten into bed when the door to her bedroom opened. Mr. Lone, of course. She sat up, her heart pounding in anxiety and disgust. What was he doing? He never did the bathroom thing late at night—only when Mrs. Lone was out of the house. Where was she?
He stood in the doorway, wearing a robe over his pajamas, watching her. “You’re back late,” he said.
“There was a party.”
“Ah, a party.” He stepped inside the room, closing the door behind him. He looked at her. “Well? Was the party fun?”
“It was okay.”
“I didn’t know you liked parties.”
“I—I don’t like them. Sean wanted to go.”
“Ah, Sean. Your friend.”
She didn’t know what to say to that. If he was here for the bathroom, she wanted to just get it over with.
He sniffed. “Is that alcohol I smell?”
“No,” she said, without thinking.
“Don’t lie to me, Livia,” he said, his voice louder.
“I—someone put something in the punch. I didn’t know.”
“Oh, but you know now?”
“I didn’t know until after I drank.”
“My God, you’re not even sixteen, and you’re drinking alcohol? In my house?”
“It wasn’t in your house—”
“That’s hardly the point. The point is, it’s illegal, Livia. You committed a crime. And you’re my daughter. I’m responsible for you. Does that not mean anything to you?”
She’d been feeling so many things earlier in the day. When Malcolm told her he loved her. When people were congratulating her at the party. When she and Sean had talked in the playground, about things they’d never talked about before. When he had touched her shoulder, and her hair, and her cheek, and started to lean closer.
But it was all being smashed now, broken apart, taken from her.
Mr. Lone walked over. He stopped at the edge of the bed. She could hear his breathing. And see the bulge under his robe.
“I guess you’re old enough for almost anything now, Livia. Is that it? Maybe I just haven’t appreciated that. That you’re old enough.”
“Please,” she said, and hated herself for it.
His breathing was getting louder. He reached for her hand, and placed it on the bulge.
She tried to satisfy him with just her hand. But it wasn’t enough. He made her do the other thing, too, the thing Skull Face and the others had made her do, the thing with her mouth.
She managed not to cry. But all she could think about was that Sean had wanted to kiss her. And she’d run away. Run away to this instead.
34—NOW
When the recording ended, Masnick’s face had turned so white that Livia wasn’t sure whether he was going to cry, or attack her. To help him make the right choice, she kept the Glock on him and gestured to the bench. “Why don’t you sit down, Mike?”
He shook his head. “I got nothing to say to you.”
She sighed. “Don’t you think we’re a little past that? I told you. I’m on your side.”
He glanced at the Glock. “You always point a gun at a guy when you’re on his side?”
She smiled. “Only when I’m not sure if he’s on mine.”
He hesitated, then sat, watching her, saying nothing.
She lowered the Glock a fraction. “Look, we both know what’s going on. Weed gets out in less than a week. And that’s it for you and Jenny. And ‘that’s it’ is the best case. ‘That’s it’ assumes no one ever finds out. Because if anyone were to find out? About a Hammerhead shacking up with a brother’s wife, and while the brother was in prison, no less, on a fall he took for the gang? Well, shit, we both know the Hammerhead penalty for betrayal, Mike. You guys use hammers. Starting at the feet, and working your way up. It’s not a good way to die.”
Livia could hear his breath whistling in and out of his nostrils. He looked so scared, she realized he wasn’t going to be able to think clearly. And while sometimes that was a good thing, this time, fear might be counterproductive. Because fear might prevent him from seeing that although she was threatening him, she was also his only hope.
“But here’s the good news,” she said. “I want to take Weed down.”
He blinked. That hadn’t been what he was expecting.
“Yeah, that’s right,” she went on. “I’m not interested in you. I’m not interested in Hammerhead. This is strictly between me and Weed. Give me what I need. And all your problems are solved.”
He squinted at her. “You expect me to betray a brother?”
“I expect you to protect yourself. And Jenny. What do you think Weed will do to her?”
He laughed. “Yeah, there’s just one little problem with your ‘Hey, Mike, I’m your friend, just here to solve all your problems’ bullshit.”
“What’s that?”
“The only cunt who’s threatening to make any of this bad shit happen is you.”
She nodded as though considering. In fact, she’d been ready for that reaction. She shrugged. And tossed him the Dictaphone.
He flinched—obviously, it was the Glock he’d been focused on. But he caught it smoothly enough.
“It’s yours,” she said. “I don’t have a copy.” He’d know not to believe that, but it didn’t matter, either.
He looked at the Dictaphone, then back at her. “What’s your point?”
“My point is that my little recording isn’t the only threat. If I could find out, so could someone else. And regardless, Weed is still coming home to his wife and daughter. And when he does, no matter what else happens, you and Jenny . . . that’s over.”
“Oh, and you want to help me with that.”
“I don’t want to help you with anything, any more than you want to help me. You want Weed out of your life. I want something I can use against him. That’s all this is about.”
He scratched his head and said, “Look, I’d help you if I could. But I don’t know anything. Weed’s been in prison. I mean, he’s practically clean now.”
She chuckled. “You trying to tell me Hammerhead doesn’t have something sweet and moneymaking all set up for him when he gets out? After he does sixteen years for the gang? Come on.”
There was a pause. She was pretty sure she had him. Just one more nudge.
“Mike. I know you told Jenny you’d think of something. But there’s nothing else. This is it. This is your chance. Don’t blow it.”
There was another pause, longer this time. She let the silence do its work.
He looked at her. “I give you something you can use, and that’s the end of this? No more recordings, no more threats, no more bullshit?”
“Yes.”
“I have your word on that?”
“Yes.
He leaned closer. “Good. Then you have my word, too. And my word is, if you fuck me on this, Livia, then I better be dead at the end of it. Because if I’m not, I’ll find you. And if you think being a cop will protect you, you don’t know me. And if you think what Hammerhead does for betrayal is bad, I swear, by the time I’m done with you, you’ll be begging for just a nice little hammer. Begging. So you better know what the fuck you’re getting into if you and I make this little deal of ours.”
She looked at him, letting him see she respected the threat, but that she wasn’t afraid of it, either.
“Tell me,” she said.
35—THEN
Livia’s junior year went by in a blur. Neither she nor Sean ever mentioned what they had talked about in the playground that moonlit night, or what had almost happened.
Livia’s focus on school, jiu-jitsu, and wrestling was more intense than ever. Even Malcolm grew concerned about her dedication, telling her it was important to throttle back sometimes, to find some balance. She knew he meant well. But he didn’t know what she was enduring in the Lone house. He didn’t know the only way she could push it all away was to obsess about the things she cared about, the things she could control.
She wondered if Rick knew, though. He visited once during the summer and then again in the fall. Both times, he seemed to go out of his way to find a moment alone with Livia, a moment in which he asked her how she was, how everything was going, was everything okay. The way he looked at her, the tone of his voice, always made her feel like he sensed something, but wasn’t sure what. Maybe it was too hard for him to face because it was his brother-in-law, his family. Maybe he couldn’t fully accept what was happening to Livia because if he did, he would have had to accept that his sister, Mrs. Lone, knew what was happening, too, and did nothing.
Livia wasn’t certain Mrs. Lone knew, of course. But over time, she had decided that for the woman not to see, she must have been willfully closing her eyes. The bridge club meetings were just too convenient. And besides, Mr. Lone had started coming to Livia’s room even when Mrs. Lone was home, typically at night, presumably after Mrs. Lone was asleep. But would he really have taken the risk if he hadn’t known Mrs. Lone already knew . . . and that she was unwilling to do or say anything about it?
Livia did sometimes consider confiding in Rick. Or in Malcolm, who also periodically asked how things were in the Lone house, how they were treating her, in a way that made her feel he might suspect. But she was afraid to trust anyone, even Rick or Malcolm. She no longer really believed Mr. Lone knew anything about Nason, even though she continued to cling to that hope. But telling Rick . . . who knew what might happen? And if she told Malcolm, wouldn’t it put his job at risk? And that was assuming anyone else would even believe her story. Probably they wouldn’t. Just as Mrs. Lone averted her eyes because she didn’t want to know, so many people were in thrall to Mr. Lone and his brother, who together were responsible for the prosperity of the entire town. They’d all believe the traumatized little Lahu girl was lying or delusional rather than face the truth—that their local deity was a monster.
Besides, next year she would graduate. She would be eighteen, and could go anywhere, do anything. She thought she knew what she wanted, too: to be a cop, like Rick. She would carry a gun. She would find the monsters and put them in prison. Or maybe even shoot them. She would protect people like herself, people like Nason, from people like Skull Face and Mr. Lone. She would move to Portland, where Nason had disappeared, and keep looking for her there. Be a cop during the day and maybe go to college at night. She hadn’t told anyone—she was afraid if she didn’t keep her plans secret, Mr. Lone would do something to spoil them—but she was pretty sure this was the right path for her. All she had to do was endure Mr. Lone for one more year, and she would be free.
Senator Lone continued his visits. In a way, he was even creepier than his brother. Partly, it was the widely spaced eyes, staring in slightly different directions. Partly it was his legislative aide, Matthias Redcroft. Whatever Redcroft did for the senator, it wasn’t just legislation. The way he was constantly an arm’s length away, gazing at the senator worshipfully while at the same time coldly observing his interactions . . . something about him seemed sick to Livia, though she could see nothing wrong with his body. When the senator visited, she did her best to stay away from both of them, but Redcroft especially.
Malcolm had been right about the year being hers—Livia went undefeated in the regular wrestling season, after which she crushed every one of her opponents in postseason competition, winning her first state championship by pinning her opponent in the first round of the finals. When the referee raised her arm in victory, she had never felt so filled with happiness. For just that instant, there was nothing else—no Skull Face, no Mr. Lone, not even Nason.
