Chapter 12 #3
That’s what gangsters and gunners did, after all. They took the law into their own hands and meted out justice as they saw fit. In Cal’s eyes, her brother was guilty.
He came to stand next to her in front of his desk.
At his height, he towered over her, but Fern refused to back up even a single step.
After a moment, he leaned against his desk, crossing his ankles.
She hadn’t noticed his attire until now.
The business suit was stylish and clean.
Thin pinstripes made him appear more formal and enterprising than she’d seen on previous occasions.
“Sometimes, justice is a long game,” Cal finally said.
He picked a flake of tobacco off his tongue, appearing bored.
“And you think you can hurt him through me?”
He set the lit cigarette into an ashtray and angled himself toward her. “I don’t want to hurt him—I want to destroy him. Obliterate him.”
Hatred simmered in the false calm of his expression. It reminded her too much of Rodney. She tried to step away from his desk. Cal caught her fingers.
“Him. Not you, Fern.”
She tore her hand from his. “He’s my brother.” Though she wasn’t particularly proud of that at the moment.
Cal rubbed his eyes and then his forehead, as if massaging away pain. “I thought you never wanted to see me again,” he said, his eyes still closed. His lashes were thick and black.
“I didn’t,” she said, distracted. “I don’t.”
He laughed weakly as he peered over at her.
His attention caught on the neck of her dress.
The tips of Fern’s ears burned; she could guess what he was thinking about.
A gentleman from any of the novels she’d read wouldn’t have said anything.
Why she continued to think Cal would adhere to such social graces, Fern wasn’t sure.
“Is it bad?” he asked.
She covered the high neck with her hand. “It’s unseemly.”
He reached for her collar. She slapped his hand away. He laughed again. “Don’t tell me you’re embarrassed?”
She lowered her hand and stood taller, then searched the walls for something else to look at other than him.
“You’ve never had a boyfriend.”
Fern shouldn’t have felt mortified by the statement. But she did. It brought her right back to those Saturday night dinners and how utterly na?ve she’d been.
“You enjoy humiliating me.” She tilted the brim of her cloche down and reached for the newspaper clipping about Eugenia. It was time to leave.
“Hey.” Cal intercepted her hand. She shook it off.
“My parents couldn’t even pay men to come have a second look at me, and you know it.”
She grabbed her purse and spun around for the office door. The cab was hopefully still waiting out front.
“I didn’t intend to humiliate you. And I sure as hell wouldn’t enjoy it,” he said as she shuttled toward the door.
Something inside of her broke. It fissured, and a flood of what she’d been trying to hold in gushed out.
“You drugged me!” Fern wheeled in his direction again, no longer hiding behind the brim of her hat.
“You undressed me and put my body into…into lewd positions! You let a man photograph me, and Francis and the rest of your goons ogled me and laughed the whole time! Don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy it!
Don’t tell me you didn’t intend to do all those things! ”
Her cheeks felt puffy, and with horror, she realized why. Tears. Cal’s stare withered under the surprise outburst. He finally looked away.
She wiped at her damp cheeks, furious she’d let him see her cry and panicked as she realized her tears weren’t finished. Fern hurried into the front office, thankful Bessy had left for the day.
Cal caught her in the front hall of the textile building. She could see the street through the double glass doors, the sunset light fading to purple.
“I didn’t,” he said, taking her elbow and hauling her to a stop. “Listen to me, Fern. Please.”
She quit trying to wrench her arm free. Cal didn’t let go, but he softened his grip. She was using the hat’s brim again as a shield. Fern knew he wouldn’t put up with that, and sure enough, he reached for her chin and hitched it up until she was looking at him. Tears and all.
The space between his brows crumpled. “I didn’t let anyone ogle or laugh at you.”
The humming of the machinery in the vast room next to them made her pitch her voice a little louder. “I remember laughter.”
“There was no one else in the room. Just me and Stanny. No one touched you, Fern; no one hurt you while you were out.”
She shook her head. It wasn’t enough. He’d done something awful. She couldn’t ever forgive him, even if he asked for it, which he hadn’t. And he wouldn’t. She’d have wagered money on it.
“But you still did it.” Her chin slipped down now that he’d taken his hand away.
“Yeah.” He let out a long breath. “And I’m sorry for it.”
It wasn’t a lie. At least, she didn’t think it was. Something about him told her that he wouldn’t waste his breath on lies.
“Is Rodney going to hurt Buchanan?” Fern couldn’t leave without asking. She had to try to protect her brother if she could.
“I can’t tell you that, princess.”
“Because you don’t know? Or because you won’t say?”
Cal didn’t answer. He stuck his hands in his pockets and stared her down.
“Is Rodney going to come find me again?”
The subtle shift of Cal’s jaw wouldn’t have been noticeable if she hadn’t already been looking at his mouth and remembering the complicated things she’d felt when he’d nipped at her throat.
“No one’s gonna mess with you again.”
Cal didn’t say anything more about why they wouldn’t, or what to do if someone did approach her. It was as simple as that.
Fern nodded. “I have a cab waiting.”
He peered through the double doors. “I can give you a ride.”
“No, it’s okay. I…I have a cab.”
Though she’d taken far longer than she’d anticipated, the cab was still sitting along the curb.
Cal walked behind her out the front door.
The driver had gotten out and was leaning against the checkered strip along the passenger door, arms crossed.
When he saw Fern, he jumped to and put out his cigarette.
She forced herself not to glance back at Cal as her heels clicked along the sidewalk. If all went well, this would likely be the last time she saw him. She didn’t want him to think she was hesitant about it. She shouldn’t have been hesitant about it at all.
The driver opened the door to the backseat. Fern lifted her head at the squealing of tires down the street. The roar of an automobile engine. A loud, single pop, like a party balloon pierced with a needle. Then more pops, and Cal’s shouts coming from behind her.
“Fern! Fern, get down!”
Something hard collided into her back, shoving her forward and onto the concrete.