Chapter 2 #2
When I reach the living room, I realize it is much wider than I imagined.
A large table is positioned by the windows on the right, overlooking the garden.
Catherine and Judge Harrington are already seated, waiting for us.
Judas takes a seat across from Catherine, and as I step closer, I notice a plate already set beside him for me.
Carmen, you survived Juvenile Hall. You can survive lunch with Judas Harrington, I tell myself.
I sit down. As soon as I do, I look at Catherine and I smile.
She always smiles. It creeps me out.
I smile back.
People like that always have something to hide.
On the table are two silver trays of meat with vegetables and two glass bowls of salad. Catherine places a piece of meat on Judge Harrington’s plate, then adds salad and potatoes. He touches her hand, his fingers tangling with hers.
Is it wrong that I find it so gross? Growing up without this kind of affection, it feels strange. Uncomfortable.
As everyone starts serving themselves, I reach for the salad bowl. At the same time, Judas grabs it too. His fingers brush against mine.
His skin is soft.
Eww. What’s wrong with me?
“You know you can just ask, right?” I say, letting him take the bowl.
He rolls his eyes and gestures toward Catherine with his hand.
She presses her lips together, then looks at me.
“Judas can’t talk, Carmen.” She turns to him. “He can understand, but he can’t talk.”
“Like he can’t, or he just doesn’t want to?” I raise a brow, looking at him, then back at her.
He brushes his thumb under his chin and slowly drags his hand down his chest while looking at Catherine.
She laughs. “Judas!”
I raise my brow again, my brows pulling together.
“He can’t, Carmen,” she says. “There was an accident in 2005, and he hasn’t been able to talk since.”
“Oh.” I lean back, pushing my fork around the salad, my appetite fading. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“How could you?” she says gently. “And it’s okay to feel confused.”
I nod. I feel awful. Something tightens in my chest.
“Well,” the judge says, leaning his elbows on the table as he turns to me, “Carmen. Off topic, when will you be able to start school?”
“School?” I ask, swallowing as a piece of salad sticks in my throat.
“Yes,” he says. “We can give you time to adjust, but you will go to school.”
His tone is coming out sharp, while his blue eyes stay on me.
“Yeah,” I say quietly, staring down at my plate. “Whenever is fine.”
“Whenever is not an answer,” he says. “How about Monday?”
I nod.
“Very well,” he says. He wipes his mouth with a tissue and stands. “I will make a few calls.”
Catherine looks between Judas and me. Then she stands too, following Judge Harrington out of the room, leaving Judas and me alone at the table.
We sit there, staring at our plates, awkwardly dragging food across the porcelain plates.
“Judas,” I start, still looking down. I can see his body tense as he turns toward me, but I don’t face him. “I... I didn’t know,” I try to say. “I’m sorry.”
I try to meet his eyes, but before I can, he stands. He lifts both hands and smooths the air between them. I don’t understand what it means. I only know that he turns away and leaves.
I guess it’s just me now, I think, continuing to push the food around my plate.
I set the fork down and move my hands to my thighs. My fingers find the hair tie, and I snap it against my skin again.
As if that would help. Nothing does.
Catherine comes back, looks at me, and sits down. Before she smiles, she rests her wrist on the table. She pulls out a Pandora bracelet from the white sleeve of her blouse, a safety-pin charm hanging from it.
“Whatever is in your head,” she says, holding the chain between her fingers, “I promise you it’s temporary.”
I bite my lip, nervous, gripping my own wrist and saying nothing.
“You can talk to me.” She moves her hand across the table, closer to mine. “It’s easier when you tell someone.”
“No one understands,” I say. “They just think I’m seeking attention.”
“I can try to understand.” She smiles softly. “I love attention.”
I can see her trying. I can see past her smile, see the vulnerable teenager she once was, not so different from me. But the walls I build around myself are growing thicker every time I meet someone new. Her trying to crack them won’t work, no matter how hard she tries.
I nod.
She presses her fingers beneath her eyes, holding back tears, then opens her mouth.
“If this is making you uncomfortable, let’s talk about something else,” she says with a small smile. “Ask me anything.”
“Hmm,” I say. “What happened to Judas in 2005?” The question slips out, the first thing that comes to mind.
She exhales and straightens her posture, the charm still caught between her fingers. “He got hurt,” she says. “William and I don’t really talk about it.”
She clears her throat. “We think talking about it might make things worse for him. He still has nightmares sometimes.” Her gaze drifts toward the garden. She presses a hand against her jaw.
“When William brought him home, he didn’t leave his room for months. We had to homeschool him.” She exhales again. “He still has a hard time finding friends. He has Ella, but even that feels temporary.”
“Do you think he will ever speak?” I ask. I look at her, then my gaze drops back to my hands.
“All the specialists we visited gave us different answers.” She sighs. She pulls a small metal square purse from her bag and flips it open, sliding out a cigarette. “Do you smoke?”
I shake my head.
“Good,” she says. “It’s not good to smoke.” She pauses before pressing it to her lips.
“I always told Judas to be himself, and I’ll tell you the same thing. Life is hard.” Another sigh. “And when it gives you an opportunity, you take it. William is an old grump.” She chuckles softly. “But I’ll always be a cool mom if you need to talk to me.”
She winks. “No secrets.”
No secrets.
“I’m going out for a smoke,” she says. “Are you coming?”
“I’m going to my room,” I say, standing.
“Okay.” She stands too.
“Thanks, Cat,” I say. “You seem like a really good mom to Judas.”
Her left eye shines as a tear comes.
“It means a lot.” She smiles.
This time it isn’t wide or stretched. Just a small smile, tucked into the corner of her lips.
I smile back and turn away, heading down the corridor until I reach the middle staircase. That’s when I noticed Judas standing in front of my bedroom door.
As I get closer, he lifts his hand, fingers moving as he tries to sign something.
I don’t understand.
I’ve never felt sorry for not knowing something before, but right now I want more than anything to hear what he has to say.
He rolls his eyes. Then he extends his hand toward me, holding a black phone in his palm.
“A phone?” I ask.
He nods.
I take it and open the screen. It’s one of the new iPhone models I once only dreamed of having, but now it feels like a brick in my hands. There’s already a message waiting in the notifications below.
“Is this from you?” I ask.
He nods again.
I open the message. On the screen, in bold letters, a contact labeled BIG brO reads,
You are such a bitch.
I laugh. I look at him, blink, then look back at the screen.
“Wow,” I say, chuckling. “You can write?” I brush past him. “Thanks for the phone, asshole.”
He nods, lifts two fingers in the air towards me, then disappears into his room. The door slams shut behind him.
Another message pops up.
??
Very funny.
I type back.