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“The problem is, you don’t earn back the pieces of you that mold or go missing when you give your heart to someone else. And I didn’t think I wanted those pieces back, didn’t think I needed them. Being with your mom gave me an immeasurably happy life, three kids I couldn’t be more proud of, illegal activity and other issues aside—and yes, I was proud of Murphy most of his life. Even a little at the end.”
Clearing his throat, he adjusts the tie around his neck with one hand, shifting in his seat. “When I was twenty, I could’ve easily dealt with her loss. I’d already been orphaned and to federal prison, so I was rough around the edges, anyway. This kind of thing wouldn’t have fazed me. But now... I don’t know what to do with myself. I don’t remember how to exist without your mother.”
Sadness burns my esophagus, hot and discomforting. Pushing my shake onto the desk, I fold my hands in my lap, considering his words.
Like me, he’s afraid his identity is fractured. Maybe absent altogether, outside of the relationships he’s forged and the people he takes care of.
But unlike my father, my fear isn’t hurting other people.
My mother’s tired face flashes before my eyes, followed quickly by Boyd’s stoic, impassive one, the truth a stick of dynamite with a slow-burning fuse.
Or am I?
“You’re cheating because you’re a coward,” I accuse, pushing to my feet. “And that is undeniably worse than if you were cheating because you fell out of love with her. When you love someone, you don’t ever, ever, give up on them, even when it means sitting on the sidelines waiting for them to get better, or if it means you might be uncomfortable, because I can guarantee she has it worse.”
As he swallows my words, I turn, starting to make my exit and pausing at the last second, pointing at him.
“And while you’ve been struggling, I’ve been watching my fucking mother disappear and dealing with it completely by myself. And I can’t do it anymore, Daddy. I just can’t. She absolutely refuses to let anyone but me help her, and I’m drowning in schoolwork trying to take care of her. I’m a kid, I’m not equipped to handle this shit.”
He drags a hand down his worn face. “Sweetheart, I know it’s hard.”
“It’s not hard, it’s impossible. She loses more and more control over her body every single day and refuses to acknowledge it. Half the time, she can’t even remember her own name, or she’s off in dreamland with Murphy, acting like he wasn’t practically burned at Kieran’s stake.”
“Stress can have a great toll on our memories—”
Leaning forward, I smack my palms against his desk in frustration, another downward spiral hitting as I replay the conversation my mother and I had where she hinted she wanted me to help her kill herself.
That’s not the kind of service I can provide.
“Mom needs help. And not the kind I can give her.” I gulp, each word a hot knife to my throat, slitting me wide open just so I can bleed out.
Voices in the lobby draw my attention, and I clear my throat, wrapping up our lunch. “Twenty-four-hour care, Dad, or she’s gonna be gone before you even have time to feel bad about fucking someone behind her back.”
Sweeping the garbage from his desk into the trash can below, he sighs as I reach the door. “I’m... I don’t want to be alone, Fiona.”
“Who does?” I ask softly, my heart shattering for a million different reasons—for him, our family, my mother. It cracks wide, fractures that can’t be repaired, only haphazardly glued and replaced. A stronger vessel, maybe, but a makeup of separation that doesn’t ever quite look the same. “You wouldn’t be alone, though, you know. You’d have Kieran and me.”
As if I’ve conjured the Devil just by speaking his name, he and Boyd are half crouched with their ears pressed against the door when I throw it open. I spare one single glance at Boyd, dozens of thoughts filtering through my mind when I meet his heady gaze, but I swing my head toward my brother, tilting my chin up.
“Mom’s moving into a home and we’re selling the house.” I tack the last bit on for good measure, sure I don’t want to keep living in the mansion where my father is fucking some bimbo. Don’t want to continue being trapped by the ghosts stuck in its walls.
Kieran blinks, raising his eyebrows. “Excuse me?”
Rolling my shoulders, I shrug. “You heard me. All of us need out of that haunted mansion, and she needs twenty-four-hour care that I can’t give her. Talk to Dad about the specifics, I’m going to drama club.”
Flipping my hair over my shoulders, I keep my stare straight ahead and march from the lobby to the elevator, climbing on and darting to the back. My hands curl over the railing in desperation, anxiety clawing through my stomach like a caged animal, but I don’t drop my head until the doors close and it begins to move.
When it does, I collapse.
