Chapter 10 #2
No, the bank job isn’t bugging me. Declan is bugging me, and he’s related to both of them. Damn it.
“Give a girl five minutes to get settled before you interrogate her,” I mutter to my window, and change the subject to something… safer. “So how’s Dad?”
“Not so bad. He was admitted on Thursday, a day under observation yesterday, home last night. Beta blockers and thinners. He’s fine, a bit tired.”
“Good… I guess.” I brace myself. “And Mom?”
“Still the same,” he says with a wry note. “A little disappointed she can’t attend the Relief Society today as Dad’s unwell.” He glances across at me. “She prays for you every day.”
“Which means nothing,” I reply. “She prays for everyone every day.”
“True, but she prays especially hard for you.”
“Wastes her time especially hard, you mean.” If there’s a god, he hasn’t seen fit to cross my path. Unless three orgasms count.
Caleb pulls onto I-80, swings into the outside lane, and floors it. The bucket seat presses into my back. His Mustang doesn’t corner too well, but it does all right in a straight line.
Salt Lake City valley floor is depressingly flat, ringed by mountains on the horizon that never seem to get any closer, but the family home is in Holladay, pushing up toward the mouths of the canyons, and I actually prefer it there. Save that the family home doesn’t feel like home at all.
We talk as we drive, mostly catching up on childhood memories, because we don’t know what each of us has been doing for the past six years. And it saves me having to think about what I’ve been doing for the last twelve hours.
Then Caleb drops a bomb.
“So KaeLynn is at the house.” His tone has softened.
“Sounds like a nice Mormon girl,” I say tentatively.
“Mmm, she is. Mom and Dad approve.”
“And you?” I ask, trying to keep my tone neutral. I didn’t think Caleb was leaning religious.
He shrugs a shoulder. “Her dad is a senior partner at the bank.” A guilty glance my way. “Don’t get me wrong, that’s not why I’m with her. But it does mean I have to…” A wince. “…be more conservative.”
“Commiserations.”
“Thanks,” he says dryly, then accelerates past ninety to overtake a line of cars, like the rebellion of speed makes up for the chains closing around him. Maybe we’re not so different, in some respects. “She’s nice, though. You’ll like her.”
“Molly Mormon?”
“Not so much.” His mouth curls up. “We’ve already broken a few rules.”
Slept together, in other words. “Does Mom know?”
“Fuck, no. Could you imagine?” He gives a mock shudder, then looks across at me. “On which note, are you… uh… going to wear that?”
He means my jeans and strappy top. I did think of changing, but couldn’t be bothered. “I brought a dress for tomorrow, if I stay that long.” Unless I can get out of going to church. Unlikely.
“And does it cover the tats?” A pause. “They’re cool, by the way. I like them.”
“Depends which ones you mean,” I reply, and leave it at that.
Caleb chuckles, and a moment later, pulls into the drive. “Well, if you give Mom a heart attack, maybe we’ll get a two-for-one discount at the hospital.” He opens his door. “Should be fun, either way.”
I get out with a sense of trepidation, wondering why I bothered to come, or how long I’m going to stay. In retrospect, once every three years seems overly enthusiastic. Yet here I am, running as far away from Declan as I can get, even if it means spending time with my soulless mother.
Caleb walks straight in, the front door open, and I follow a few paces behind. The house hasn’t changed. White walls, double garage at the front, extension on the roof, subtle little signs to elevate it above the neighbors and straining the more-devout-than-thou vibe.
“Mom! I’m back!” Caleb throws his keys into a bowl on the dresser.
Inside, it’s open-plan, straight into the living room with the kitchen to one side. I’m immediately hit with the sweet smells of stewed fruit, empty cans in a neat row, my mother keeping up with her duties. Always busy.
She’s cooking in a dress that looks like Sunday best but I know isn’t, with an apron that has frills on it. She comes around the island to greet me.
“Genesis,” she says with a smile that’s strained at the edges. Her eyes pause for a moment on the botanical tattoo high on my chest, then her mouth purses as she sees the bottom of it beneath my cropped shirt. “How lovely that you’re here.”
“Hi, Mom.”
She half-turns away, gesturing at her apparatus. “I’d get you something to eat, but the kitchen is a little busy at the moment.”
“It’s fine, I’m not hungry.” I actually am, but I know I’m going to be fed more calories-per-hour here than I’ve eaten any time since leaving. “Where’s Dad?”
“In his study.” She’s back weighing out sugar on a set of scales.
And that’s our three-year reunion taken care of.
I walk past Caleb, who gives me a subtle eye-roll, and head for my father’s hide-away. I’m sure he spends time in there to avoid Mom, especially when she’s in this mood, but I’m grateful it’s a little more private.
His door is closed, and I knock.
“Come in.” His voice sounds weaker than I remember, but his smile when I enter is as strong as ever. “Genesis!”
“Hey, Dad.”
He stands slowly, looking frail, then opens his arms to me. “What a wonderful Fourth of July surprise! A hug for your old man?”
It’s no effort at all to cross the room and slide into his embrace, and the guilt of leaving comes back as strong as ever. If Mom wasn’t around, I’d probably still be here. How different would my life be then?
If I thought the fireworks last night were awkward, Church on Sunday is the most uncomfortable I’ve been since I trashed the bike I had before my Ducati, and spent a week with cracked ribs.
That morning, Mom eyes my dress and her lips tighten so much they almost disappear. “It will be awfully cool in the chapel, dear. Perhaps you’d like to borrow… something for your shoulders?”
Translation: “For God’s sake, cover up those tattoos before my friends see them.”
The service is bad enough. Socializing afterwards? I’d rather ride a scooter naked down Sunset Boulevard.
“My gosh, it’s Genesis. How long it’s been.”
“You are looking well, dear. Oh… not married?”
“Is that… a tattoo under your cardigan? What an… interesting design.”
“What did you say you do? Do they mind you showing that at the office?”
Fortunately—and in an ironic turn—my mother comes to my rescue, steering me toward the door. Though I’m certain it’s more to save her reputation than my discomfort.
Caleb follows me out, KaeLynn demurely on his arm, though her eyes dance with amusement.
“Well done for offending the entire Relief Society in one morning,” she says, then leans in and murmurs, “I fucking love your ink.”
It’s probably a blatant manipulation to make her boyfriend’s sister like her, but it works anyway.
“Let’s go home,” Caleb says, heading for his Mustang. “Mom and Dad will be ages yet.”
But after that, it slowly gets easier. Mom never stops looking at my tattoos—or at me—without disapproval, but that in turn leads to her avoiding me, which I regard as a win.
Dad grows stronger as the days pass, and I spend a few hours with him in the garage, more rearranging the tools than doing anything meaningful.
We talk bikes—I talk, he listens. It’s nice.
Before I know it, several days have passed, and I’ve only thought of Declan… well… every five minutes.
After dinner on Wednesday, Caleb hooks my arm in his, and pulls me out into the garden. “Why are you really here?”
“What do you mean?”
“Dad’s getting better, and you’ve not left. Last time it was barely forty-eight hours, and you couldn’t wait to leave. This time, you’re…” He pauses, regarding me thoughtfully. “…it’s like you’re hiding.”
“I’m not hiding.” Am I hiding?
“Not convincing,” he says, then waves his free hand dismissively. “Oh, I don’t think you’re trying to ‘lay low’ in a Butch-Cassidy-Sundance way, but something is bugging you. And if you’d rather be here than facing it, how bad is it?” He tugs my arm closer. “Tell me.”
“You’re a dick.”
“You’re an annoying brat.”
I give a short laugh, looking away. Then pause, taking in the garden, the house, the view of the mountains. “It’s funny, being back here. At moments, I wonder what would’ve happened if I hadn’t left.”
“You’d have gone to college, met some guy, probably be married with a kid or three, and bored out of your fucking mind.”
I glance at him sharply. “Is that my life, or yours?”
“I’m not you,” he replies seriously. “We share a little of that chaotic spirit, for sure, but I only got a teaspoonful of it. You got everything our dear mother works so hard to suppress.”
“Her?” I scoff. “The only thing she suppresses is happiness.”
Caleb waggles his finger. “Not true, sister-mine. If you were here as much as I am, seeing her with older eyes, you’d know better. She’s you—or you’re her, I suppose. Granted, more so. But yes, it’s no wonder the two of you are like oil and water.”
A curious insight. Would I have ended up like her, if I’d stayed? I shudder at the thought.
Caleb flaps his hand again. “We digress. The question was your reason for escapism.” He looks at me shrewdly. “A man?” A mock-shocked gasp. “A woman?”
“In your dreams,” I mutter.
“Kinky, but now a real possibility.”
I jab him in the ribs. He tries to move, but I’m faster.
He grimaces and rubs them. “That’s why you left, though, isn’t it? Chasing… what was his name?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
He snaps his fingers. “Chad. That guy who came through on his bike, just after you started riding. He was here what, a week?”
Four days.
“Which bit of ‘don’t want to talk about it’ wasn’t clear?”
“The bit where I keep talking about it until you tell me what is bothering you.” He affects a mock love-sick look, and a high voice. “‘Oh, Chad, won’t you take me with you on your exciting adventures?’”
I smile despite myself. “That sounds nothing like me. And you’re an asswipe.”
“‘Chad… do you have one of those… what are they called… penises?’”
I laugh and punch him, and Caleb reels back, rubbing his arm with a hiss of breath through his teeth.
No guilt; he deserved that.
“I must be getting close,” he mutters. “You’re more violent than any man I know.”
It’s almost funny, in a too-close-to-the-truth way. Especially when Chad had nothing—absolutely nothing—on Declan.
Which is the problem. If he’d been forgettable, I wouldn’t be standing in my mother’s garden in Utah. Instead, I’m here. Seven hundred miles away. Wondering if I’ve gone far enough.
It’s not even what he did, it’s that I let him. I wanted him to. I opened myself to him, and he left without a word. The worst part isn’t the hurt, it’s that I’d do it again without hesitation.
The question I’ve been trying to avoid pushes its way into my mind: Was I that bad?
“Yes, there was someone,” I say, the words slipping out before I can stop them, and I find I don’t want to. Tears prickle my eyes, but those I definitely don’t want. I dash them away. “It was a mistake, and I’m regretting it.”
“Uh-huh,” Caleb replies, mirroring my serious tone. “Yet I think it’s more than that, isn’t it?”
I shake my head. “There’s nothing more to it. I was an idiot, plain and simple. Licking my wounds.” The phrase lands wrong; too close to other things his tongue did. I have to look away from Caleb before he sees my expression.
“That’s not the Gen I know,” he disagrees. “If that were true, you wouldn’t give it a second thought. I bet you’ve found plenty of fish in the LA sea.”
Not even remotely. But I don’t bother to correct him.
“No,” he continues, psychoanalyzing me. “You fell for him, didn’t you?”
I give a derisive laugh. “It was a fleeting blip, nothing more.”
“Bullshit.” Caleb’s response is instant. “I say again: if that were true, you wouldn’t be here.” His head tilts. “It’s clearly bothering you. Why don’t you just call the guy?”
“I don’t even have his number,” I mutter. All he left me was a warm patch in the sheets where he used to be, and an experience I know I’ll never be able to repeat. I want him back with an intensity that frightens me, but I know it’s not to be. They always leave.
Caleb’s eyebrows rise. “Just fucked him, huh?”
I want to punch him for that too, but for once, I have no defense to my brother’s dirty mind, because it’s true. “Something like that.”
My phone chooses just that moment to vibrate with a text, and for a dissociative moment, I assume it’s Declan, and that he’s somehow got my number.
But when I pull it out, it’s not. It’s Kurt.
Pulling in another favor. Friday night, 7 p.m..
I sigh and put my phone away. “One more day, then I have to leave. Give me a lift to the airport?”