I quickly sketch out the details: the DVDs, how my mom was an informant, see what they did to her, Lily’s reaction, Griff’s reaction—I even add how I want to give it up and how I don’t feel like I can. Lauren doesn’t say a word. We reach her car and she leans one hip against it, listening until there’s nothing left for me to say.
“People don’t understand what it’s like to have parents like ours.” For the first time, Lauren’s gaze breaks with mine. She stares into the gym parking lot’s shadows. “Parents like ours are so broken and it doesn’t mean we love them any less. Maybe it makes us love them more.”
“Not for me. Not at the time. I was so angry with her for not leaving him and then . . . for jumping and leaving us.”
“And now?”
“Now I don’t know what to think.”
Lauren shakes her head. “I don’t like it. You’re surrounded by all this . . . evil, Wick. How long before it pollutes you too?”
Maybe it already has. “It won’t.”
“How do you know?”
I tug both hands through my hair, rubbing my suddenly thumping temples. I should be pissed and yet there’s something so sad and earnest about her tone that I can’t be mad.
Maybe it’s because I worry about the same thing.
We’re surrounded by darkness. Sometimes it’s everyday evil. Maybe it’s the guy who beats his wife or cheats on his taxes or belittles his kids, but he still considers himself a good person. It’s a talent most of us have, telling ourselves we’re good when we’re not.
Then you have evil like Todd or Kyle, evil that shows us just how breakable we all are, and how much our safety depends on everyone playing along.
Until someone doesn’t.
I climb into Lauren’s front passenger seat and wait for her to finish adjusting the radio before we pull out. When did I learn about the biggest fairy tale of all? Was it from my dad? Carson? When did I realize that, deep down, we’re all nothing, just sacks of organs and blood, and someone can flick us off like a light?
I don’t want Lauren to know that.
“So Jenna Maxwell was asking me about Griff. She wanted to know what the deal was.”
My breath dries up. “What’d you tell her?”
“That you guys are forever.” Lauren’s eyes crinkle in amusement. “He’ll come around, Wick. It’ll be okay.”
“Yeah.” But I know it’s never going to be okay. There are some things that once broken, stay broken. I smile like Lauren’s right though, fake like I believe her.
Feels so good I almost believe it too.
Then I get home and find another DVD waiting for me.
30
That night, we eat Chinese takeout and watch some movie I don’t remember because Bren and Lily talk straight through it. Every once in a while, they pause, looking to me to add something. I never can. The new DVD is looping through my head. And when I finally go up to my room, I lie in bed with every light on, still too afraid to close my eyes.
I need to sleep and I can’t. “Remember Me” twirls through my head in gory colors, a whisper stuck on repeat. Maybe that’s why I watch the last of the interviews. I haven’t had my fill of monsters.
“He isn’t home much anymore,” my mom repeats, not even bothering to wipe away her tears. “He’s always gone and he gets mad if I ask him about it.”
I bite down hard on my thumbnail, tasting blood. I remember those arguments. I can smooth the crushed edges of probably ten different memories where she would ask him questions and he would answer with a slap. Or a punch.
How could I have not realized what was going on?
“Anyway, I need to go.” She bends down, drags her purse from the floor. “I need to pick up my girls. It’s hard to find someone to watch them.”
“I don’t care as long as you never bring them here.” There’s a pause as she stares at him, waiting to be dismissed.
“Who has them?” he asks.
“Samantha.”
My breath goes light and fast. I haven’t heard that name in years, but it leaps from my mother’s mouth like it was waiting for me. Sam and my mom were good friends—actually Sam might have been my mom’s only friend.
“She know where you go?”
“No.” The answer is too quick and my mom knows it. Her eyes dart side to side, never landing. “Maybe,” she amends.
“Which is it?”
“Yes.”
I sit up straighter, chest suddenly tight. Sam knew about this? At first I’m shocked, then something else lies on top of the shock, smothers it: If she knew, maybe she could tell me more.
“You think that’s wise?” the interviewer asks.
“Is any of this ‘wise’?” It sounds defiant even if my mother’s shoulders round in a cringe. From him?
From everything, I realize. She was never a tall woman and under the fluorescent lights she looks tiny . . . breakable.
“Get us better information and it’ll be done.”
The screen freezes, leaving my mom’s mouth twisted in a frown. I want to trace it with my fingertips, so I sit on my hands, watch the image dissolve into black.
What Are You Going To Do?