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“Yeah, it’s uncomfortable.” My mom’s stilted reply doesn’t open up for further questions.
“So it’s definitely the humerus? Or could it have been the scapula?” Kas asks, looking at my mom with a smile on his lips.
Mom mumbles something vague, trying to get away with non-committed answers. “I’m sorry, what did you say? My ears haven’t popped since the flight, so I can’t hear you.” Shrugging apologetically, I force myself to smile saccharinely.
“Oh, I don’t know the correct name for the bones.” Mom laughs awkwardly, and when we keep looking at her, she continues. “I think he said it was the scapula, but I could be wrong.”
“My God, I hope that’s not right,” Kas adds.
Picking up on the weirdness, Dad looks from me to Mom. “What’s going on here?”
“I mean, I’m not saying it’s wrong, Miranda. However, if you broke your scapula or humerus, your cast has a problem.”
“Why would you say that?” Dad glares at Kas, daring him to continue being vague.
“Roger,” Coen waits until my dad looks directly at him. “Those two bones are in the upper arm and shoulder, not the lower part of the arm. Since your wife’s cast ends well below her elbow, well, it just doesn’t make sense, does it?”
Seeing red, I stand up and lean across the table. “Where is he?” I hiss, not caring about my dad telling me to calm down. “Tell me everything, Miranda!”
“I-I—”
“Mia? What has gotten into you?” Even though I want to answer Dad, I ignore him for now.
“Don’t you fucking dare lie to me. We can do this the easy way or the hard way. The worst will include Dad finding out exactly what you’ve done, the easiest will end this quicker. Choose!” As my heart thunders in my ribcage, my breathing turns labored.
I feel my dad’s hand on my arm, trying to push me back from my mom, but I refuse to budge. If she doesn’t answer quickly, I’ll leap across this fucking table and pin her beneath me. “Don’t test me, not today!”
Mom’s eyes widen, and she leans as far back in her chair as possible, which isn’t enough room to get away from me. “I don’t know who you’re talking about, Mia.”
Swallowing, I allow myself to believe her for now. “Tell me everything. You might not know where he is, but you know something. This isn’t a coincidence.”
“I-I-I can’t… If I say anything, he will kill me.”
“WHAT?” Dad’s bellow is too loud to be ignored.
Bending down, I whisper directly into Mom’s ear, “The hard way it is.” Then I raise my hand, pretending I’m about to strike her. I’m not, I never would. But it shows me something interesting when she instinctively raises both arms to protect her face.
There’s a small hole in the underside of her cast.
“You’re not injured at all, are you?” Not breaking eye contact with my mom, I sit back down between Coen and Kas.
“Of course I am.” Now that I’m not in her face anymore, she’s regained some of her usual haughtiness.
“Mhmm,” I hum, trying to see through the web that has been cast around me. Around us. “I don’t have time for this, Miranda. Just give me the message so we can get on with it.”
I’m not sure there’s a message for me. If anything, I’m leaning toward her, making an excuse for us to separate ourselves from the others. Probably to the bathroom or something so Luis can get to me without prying eyes.
“What exactly is going on?” Dad asks, his usually kind eyes have hardened. “Someone better talk.”
I look at him and straighten my back while placing my hands on Kas’ and Coen’s thighs, squeezing them. “It’s a long story that I don’t have time for. The cliff notes version is that I’m being stalked by the same people responsible for Mark’s death.”
“Mia—”
“Somehow, the guy got to Mom, and convinced her to help them get to me.”
“Your mother wouldn’t—”
I laugh bitterly. “She would, and you know it. Don’t pretend to be oblivious to how she’s treated me throughout the years.” Canting my head to the side, I think back, and as though this version of me has better vision, I see things clearer. “I used to think it was because I’m stripping, but that’s not true, is it? It started before I left home… Although I can’t recall exactly when it began, it was before I ran away. Why is that?” I’m immediately annoyed at myself for asking the question. We don’t have the time for confessions.
