26. Iris
26
IRIS
Jodi stalks into my office on Monday morning, glaring like someone poured curdled oat milk in her morning latte, and I wonder what I’ve screwed up now.
“Can I offer you homemade granola?” I hold up the mason jar Nick handed me on the way out the door this morning. “My brother’s in town and on a major cooking jag. Breakfast foods might be his specialty.”
I’m not complaining. Compulsive cooking is a vast improvement over some of Nick’s former habits.
She grabs the mason jar and unscrews the lid. “I actually want to talk about your brother. He’s a liability.” She pops a handful into her mouth. “But wow,” she murmurs around the bite. “He makes kick-ass granola for a junkie.”
Her words hit me square in the chest, and I don’t hide my shock. Nick is flawed, but he’s mine. “My brother isn’t a junkie or a liability. Yes, he’s had substance abuse issues, but he’s clean, and I love him so?—”
“Cy Bradshaw just donated ten thousand to my cousin’s campaign.” She scoops out another bite as I gasp.
“Why is the owner of the local grocery getting involved? No one spends that kind of money on an election in Skylark.”
She takes a seat in front of my desk. “One of the college girls who ended up in the hospital after that drag racing accident was his granddaughter.”
“No,” I say, my heart plummeting to my feet. I thought I was free from having that part of the past come back to haunt me. “He can’t do that.”
“He’s already done it.”
“The accident wasn’t Nick’s fault.”
“Excuse me?” Jodi blinks and sets the granola container back on my desk.
“The drag race was Jake’s idea, and he was driving. They made Nick take the fall.”
Jodi’s mouth drops open, and she stares at me for what feels like an eternity. “Who told you that?”
“It’s the truth,” I insist.
“Who told you?” she demands through gritted teeth.
“My mom,” I admit. “Nick wouldn’t say anything because that was part of the deal with Lane Byrne to ensure they weren’t criminally charged.”
I remember the emotion of that awful night like it was yesterday, but the actual details are muddled after so many years. I confronted Jake, and he told me he and Nick shared responsibility and that his family would take care of things.
My mom ranted about the Byrnes using their money and power to force my brother to lie about being the driver, making it look like Jake’s worst offense was picking the wrong friend. The near tragedy was reminiscent of the secrecy surrounding the accident that claimed the life of Jake’s brother months earlier. If I’m being totally honest, I just assumed…the worst.
It suddenly feels like a portal to the truth of our shared past has opened, and I’m falling through headfirst and hurtling toward my own crash landing.
“Jake didn’t deny the accusation,” I tell Jodi. Like that makes a difference. Like my whole world isn’t tilting on its axis with the dawning realization that something I believed to be true…wasn’t.
“Did he confirm your mom’s story?”
I shake my head. “No, but I didn’t give him much of a chance to. I was so mad. Nick locked himself in his room until the moment they left. Things went from bad to worse at the camp, and after that he was?—”
“What do you mean bad to worse?” Jodi asks quietly.
I’ve told no one about the hell Nick endured under the guise of rehabilitation. Even Sloane doesn’t know. But maybe people should. Perhaps then they would understand why my brother has struggled so much. Why I’ve given him so many chances. Why I’ll continue giving him chances.
“Nick was abused at the rehabilitation center.”
Jodi looks horrified. “Do you mean…”
I shake my head. “Not sexually, but the methods the counselors used were barbaric, to say the least. One of them had it in for my brother, so he was a target the entire month they were there.”
This much I know from what Jake told me after their release. “He was starved, beaten, and made to stand in the sun for hours for whatever minor infractions the counselors accused him of. If he complained or fought back, they threw him into some version of solitary confinement. I’m sure that’s not the worst of it. Nick still won’t talk about that time in any detail.”
Jodi grimaces. “I’ve seen documentaries on those places. Why didn’t someone help?”
“We had no communication with them while they were there.” I shake my head. “Gilbert Byrne had the place shut down after that summer, but he didn’t want any publicity about it. Jake’s dad was an investor in the partnership that ran the center.”
I let that sink in for a moment before I lean forward and ask, “Are you sure about my brother’s role that night? My mom was convinced he took the fall for Jake.”
Jodi examines the granola jar like she doesn’t want to meet my gaze. “No offense, but do you trust your mom to tell the truth?”
My heart twists. My inclination has always been to give my mom the benefit of the doubt, which is half of what made my childhood so difficult. I always believed things were going to change. To get better.
It was long before the term “gaslighting” gained popularity, but my mom was an expert at it, nonetheless. Every time she told me she cared or was doing something for the good of all of us or that I needed to lighten up and learn to have more fun, I trusted her.
I’ve held a grudge against Jake all these years—one he might not even deserve. And that might be the heaviest truth of all.
I struggle to take in a steady breath. It feels like the walls are closing in on me when I think about how my mother’s lies—so much of her behavior—shaped my adult life in ways I can’t seem to control or escape. If Jake wasn’t the villain…what does that make me for believing he was?
He called after they were released because he wanted to explain what had happened to my brother, assuming Nick would suffer in the aftermath. Maybe he wanted to reconnect with me—to give us a chance at exploring the spark from that summer—but I maintained that any problems Nick had were Jake’s fault, and I’d never forgive him.
I always wondered why Nick wasn’t angrier with his former friend. Now I understand—he was taking responsibility, not scapegoating someone else the way I did.
Jake might not have been totally innocent, but he wasn’t the villain my mom portrayed him to be. And I believed her without question, even knowing she’s an unreliable narrator.
No wonder all Jake wants from me now is a temporary relationship, some deep-meaning version of friends with benefits. He can’t trust me any more than I’ve trusted him.
“Even if that’s true…” I grasp the edge of my desk, pressing my fingers against the wood like it can ground me and my tumbling emotions. “I don’t understand why Cy is doing this. My brother isn’t the same person he was back then.”
“Nick’s in Skylark because of you,” she explains slowly, like she’s talking to a toddler. “Cy doesn’t want him here. If Joey wins the election, the assumption is you won’t stick around. And neither will Nick.”
“It’s not fair.” I say the words out loud, but I’m speaking as much to myself as to Jodi. “I’m being punished for my brother’s actions, just like I was for my mom’s choices.”
Then I remember my relationship with a married man. I believed him when he told me they were separated, only together on paper for political reasons. But I should have known better. I should have known not to get involved with him. So maybe I’m not being punished for my family’s mistakes. This is karma kicking me in the teeth for my choices.
I told Jake I deserve whatever bad things happen to me, and this is the universe confirming that in no uncertain terms.
“Fair or not…” Jodi grabs the granola jar and stands. “By this afternoon, there’ll be yard signs and banners with Joey’s name all over this town. He’s planning to host a pancake breakfast at the community center every week until the election?—”
“I’m already doing donuts with the mayor on Saturday mornings at the community center,” I remind her.
“He’s going to sponsor the kids’ carnival at Fun Fest.”
“I’ve shifted things around in the town budget to fund almost every activity that weekend.”
“Except for the kids’ carnival.”
“I’m a good mayor,” I say weakly. “I want what’s best for this community. But I don’t have a campaign budget because I wasn’t planning on having to campaign.”
“I know.” Jodi sighs. “And all is not lost. You have grassroots options. Door-to-door canvassing, bake sales, maybe a debate?”
My stomach lurches. “What are we going to debate—family values?”
“Okay, no debate, but Joey is serious.” She tells me that as if I don’t realize it. “You need to get your shit together, Iris. Fun is all well and good, but it’s go-time, girl.”
“Go time.” I nod. “I’m on it.”
She doesn’t look convinced but gives me a thumbs up. “Let me know how I can help—signs, setting up baby-kissing events…whatever you need. You need to find opportunities to show your dedication and vision for the future.”
“Got it,” I assure her and flip open my laptop. “My vision.”
Right now, my vision is fuzzy at the edges as panic threatens to overtake me. I’m not exactly the baby-kissing type.
Jodi leaves my office and I push back my chair and lower my head between my legs, gulping for air. I’ve spent most of my life trying to prove I’m different than my mom and brother—that I’m my own person. But what if this election digs up everything I’ve worked so hard to bury? Will they see me or just my past? And will it confirm I’m exactly what they expected—the apple fallen close to the proverbial tree.
I straighten and send a text to the book club chat, asking if anyone is available to meet me at Casa Rosa after work for emergency meltdown avoidance.
As soon as I hit the send button, I regret it. I don’t like to ask anyone for help. And in my deepest, secret heart, I remain halfway convinced the only reason I’m in this group is because of Sloane. Everyone loves her, and she made it clear that we’re a package deal when she started the book club.
I remind myself to breathe. It’s okay if no one can make it. We all have busy lives. It doesn’t have to mean anything.
But my phone pings, then pings again and again. Every single member has texted in quick succession that they’ll be there.
My eyes sting. If I were a crier, this would be the moment to cue the waterworks. Maybe that would ease the weight in my chest, even a little. Instead, my body doesn’t know how to let it out, so the pressure keeps building tighter and tighter.
I force myself to take a breath and then square my shoulders. The town doesn’t stop simply because I feel like breaking down. I gather my things and head to a meeting with the parks department and then stop in at the senior center, where no one seems to mind my porcupine energy.
Jodi is gone by the time I return to the office in the afternoon, but there’s a stack of paperwork waiting for me—permits to sign, a budget report to review, and an email from the mayor of a neighboring town asking if we’d be interested in partnering for an inter-town charity drive.
I’d like to claim I don’t spend a good portion of the day thinking about Jake, but it’s hard not to when every hour on the hour he sends me a new photo or meme of an adorable, if prickly, porcupine.
Me: I’m starting to get a complex. Am I really that prickly?
His response is a picture of a sleeping kitten.
Jake: This is how I see you.
And there goes that ache in my chest again. Reminding me that even when I’m about to break apart, the world keeps spinning on.