10. Ten #2
It was my turn to frown. I wanted to do just that, but equal parts terrified of admitting the truth and of what Francis would do to them if even a whisper reached his ears.
Abbi, not content to let me stew in silence, carried on, “I thought by now, we’d earned a bit of trust. Especially after last summer.”
She was frustrated with me, but not only that. In her brown eyes I could see the hurt, too, and it stung. With a deep breath, I replied, “Would you settle for knowing that my silence is what’s keeping you safe? All of you?”
She clicked her tongue, “How about you let us decide for ourselves if we need protecting?”
My eyes watered and my voice shook a little as I asked, “Why?”
“Why what?” She paused and knit her brows together as she stared at me, “Why do we want to help?”
I gave the tiniest little dip of my chin, and she sighed, “Because, you dummy, we’re your friends. That means you don’t always have to do it alone.”
She said it so matter-of-factly, like it was something I should have already known.
And maybe I should have. Maybe I did know it, once upon a time, when three boys had done the unthinkable just to protect me.
But the intervening years had done their damage, and though Xavi was doing everything in his power to piece me back together, hearing other voices than his echo those sentiments had the tears finally boiling over.
Abbi pulled some tissues from her pocket and pressed them into my hand, “Here.”
I dried my cheeks and swallowed down the lump in my throat.
“Now,” Abbi said with a soft smile, but all of her usual attitude, “Can we please go sing our hearts out?”
I chuckled, “Yeah.”
“And afterward, it’s truth time.”
I agreed, but not before grabbing her hand and giving it a squeeze. It was the only ‘thank you’ I could muster without the waterworks starting all over again.
As we got close to the dining hall, the sounds of kids' voices screaming and singing to an old ‘90s classics made both Abbi and I smile. The song was from a movie soundtrack, one of those classic rom-coms that my mom made me watch with her a thousand times over. It was her ‘comfort film’ she’d always say.
Inside, the sounds were deafening, between the actual music and the voices of all the kids and staff.
That first song was followed by some newer pop hits, more oldies, and songs from every popular kids' movie from the last twenty years.
Many were old camp favourites that had been on this playlist since I was fifteen and had long since become part of the sing-along lunch tradition.
Others were familiar but new, to me at least. Most of the kids seemed to know the words, dancing, singing and having the time of their lives.
Abbi made a point of stopping to sing and dance with every cabin group in the Girl’s section.
And I couldn’t stop myself from noticing Cole do the same.
He jumped into the centr of one of the tables during a well-known rock ballad and pretended to serenade the cabin leader.
It was the most I’d seen him smile since I crash landed back at Agonde.
Even Brennon wandered around the hall playing air guitar all by himself to some of the same songs we used to dance to all those years ago.
Only two faces were noticeably absent, or at least it was noticeable to me.
Francis was nowhere to be seen, and neither was Jack.
Although, that wasn’t unusual. Between my brother and Jack, I wasn’t sure who was M.I.A.
more often. The Director and I had barely spoken a word since that first day of staff training, and the only time I ever saw him anymore was during the odd post-meal huddle and the weekly senior staff meetings.
Those were tense affairs anyway, given that it meant Cole, Xavier, Brennon, and I all crammed into the Director’s office like awkward sardines.
Me and Xav doing our best not to look at each other, while Cole and Brennon just looked fucking miserable.
Jack didn’t seem to care or address it, just focused on the plans for the week ahead before shoo-ing us from the room at the end of each one.
Jack’s indifference didn’t seem to trickle down to the camper experience. Abbi, and begrudgingly, I could admit that Cole, too, did an amazing job of managing not only today’s sing-along, but most of the other parts of Camp’s operations.
Singing and dancing with Michele and many of my favourite campers, kids’ I’d taught swimming lessons with last summer, made it easy to forget about all of that, though.
By the time lunch was winding down, my voice was nearly hoarse and my legs, already tired from a morning demonstrating what it meant to “tread water”, felt a little bit like jelly.
Since there was still no sign of my brother, I wanted to take advantage. I wolfed down the last of my chicken wrap–handheld foods were always on the menu for sing-along lunches–and waved a silent goodbye to Mich who was still singing and dancing her heart out alongside Nancy, one of the nurses.
Outside, the breeze off the lake was a pleasant change from the stifling air inside the dining hall.
It might have been chilly that morning, but July days get hot fast, and the temperatures seemed to be soaring ever higher.
It was also shockingly quiet after being surrounded by so much noise and enthusiasm.
Every rustle of leaves and crunch of gravel rang clearly.
Each one made me flinch as I wound my way down the main road towards the staff parking lot.
I avoided coming out here because it made me think of Betty.
Since last August, I’d often wondered whether my father totalled my vehicle or whether Jack just had it impounded the second all the kids went home.
Maybe Xav would know. I made a mental note to ask him later as I slipped inside the familiar payphone box.
In the last year, opportunities to call my mother had been few and far between.
She had to find out about my return to my father’s side from an online gossip site.
It was only months later–when Xavi caught up with me–that I finally had a way to reach her.
My father’s penthouse in West Barrett might have been filled with tech of all kinds, and while Francis paraded around with the latest cellphones, I was not permitted to access one.
In Franklin Barrett’s own words, ‘I could get everything I needed from my brother.
Something I refused to do, because God only knows what I would have had to do for Francis to allow me to have a private phone call.
Then Xavi put that phone in my hand and gave me a lifeline.
Aside from his, the only number I programmed into it was my mother’s, back at the apartment.
Less than an hour after Xavier had given me the phone, I’d feigned a need to pee and while Francis stood guard outside one of West Barrett U’s female toilets, I’d called our mother from inside a stall.
Praying with every ring that the call connected, that I was being quiet enough, that somehow my precious new flicker of hope wouldn’t be doused as quick as it had come.
Thankfully, the call did connect. As soon as I heard my mother’s voice on the other end of the line, I broke down.
Sobbing like a baby in that stall, I whispered through broken words as much as I could about what happened, about Francis and his new role working for our father’s holding company.
I’d had just enough time to mumble, ‘I love you, Mum. I miss you,’ before Francis barged through the door, shouting that I had better hurry the fuck up.
Since then, we’d only spoken a handful of times.
It wasn’t often I was free of my brother’s creepy attention, and even then, I usually had to contend with Mikhael, my father’s faithful driver.
So I planned to take advantage of the opportunity I had right now, although I opted for the payphone since I doubted even Xavi’s special cell phone would work out here in the middle of nowhere. My old phone certainly hadn’t.
The tinny sound of the phone pinged a few times, before a quiet, “Hello?” Her voice sounded tired.
Every time I called, there were new signs, new sounds of strain that made it nearly impossible to feign cheerfulness.
Most of the time I didn’t even try, but today, lunch had bolstered me enough that I could.
“Hi Mum!”
“Toni?!” Her voice ticked with panic as she whispered my name, “Is everything alright? Are you okay?”
“Yes, Mum, I am. I promise.” I heard an audible sigh.
“Thank goodness. Your father’s pictures have been all over the news, but neither you, nor Francis were in any of the photos, and I was so worried...”
Her voice trailed off, both of us too aware of what my father was capable of.
“That’s because we’re at Agonde.”
“Both of you?”
Her shock mirrored my own back on the day Francis slipped into the car with me.
He’d never stepped foot at Agonde in all my years as a camper.
When we were really young, our father had decreed we spend the summers apart so we could ‘develop as individuals’, so the summer we turned eight I was sent to Camp.
Meanwhile, all I knew about Francis’ summers was that he went for special ‘training’, again, Franklin Barrett’s words.
“Yes, both of us. I suspect it’s Father’s doing.”
She ignored my statement and asked, “How is your brother? Is he okay? Do you think he would call me? Can you ask?”
There was so much desperation, it grew with every question.
She never could see the truth of things.
And I couldn’t face the idea of shattering my mother’s heart a second time by telling her the truth, that her son was just as much a monster as her former husband.
So, I lied, or at least cushioned the truth, “He’s fine, Mum. ”