Chapter 9
MARLENA
Brandon: Where are you?
Marlena: On my way. I’m at a traffic light.
Brandon: Text me when you get close.
Marlena: I’m driving.
Ishoot the text back, but not before the guy behind me honks. I give a short apologetic wave and coast through the intersection.
I’m on my way to “family day” at the university. It’s actually a whole weekend, and it’s right after homecoming. All the kids are supposed to invite their parents, but Brandon and I are orphans. So it’s just me. But I wouldn’t miss it for the world.
I can’t wait to see my little brother in his cramped dorm room. He gets along with his roommates all right. Some of them are even attractive. Of course there’s this one guy who is always making inappropriate comments, but I let that slide. Nothing can ruin this day for me.
The university sits on a city-sized campus to the north of the city.
There are rolling green hills and perfectly manicured footpaths.
At least a dozen coffee shops and restaurants for the students to pick up a drink or a meal as they run to class.
For parents, there are a few hotels scattered around, along with some more formal dining options.
Neither Brandon nor I have a lot of money, so we’ll be sticking to the cafeteria.
He says he can sneak me in with his college ID so that we won’t have to pay for food.
We’ve done it successfully before, and I’m looking forward to the endless buffet of fried chicken and tofu that passes for the meal plan.
I pull up to the student union to find a parking spot. As soon as I’m parked, I call him.
“I’m here,” I announce.
“Great,” he says. “Where are you parked?”
“I’m at the student union,” I say.
“On my way,” he replies, hanging up before I can say another word.
I climb out of the car and close the door slowly.
I love being here. No one knows who I am, so I feel safe walking around.
They take security very seriously on campus due to all the money parents are paying.
I can spot two emergency phone towers from where I’m standing, and I see a campus security vehicle parked a few cars down.
Nothing bad could ever happen here, and that’s incredibly reassuring.
It’s a beautiful day outside, and I don’t mind just hanging around. I don’t even take out my phone because I’d rather breathe the fresh air and take in the sights. There are so many young people walking around, talking to each other, and laughing. It just feels so innocent.
“Hey, sis,” Brandon says, jogging up to me.
We hug, and I don’t want to let him go. He’s just so solid, and he’s the only family I have left. Finally, he detaches himself from my clutches, giving my hair a little toss.
“How are you doing?” I ask.
“Fine,” he says, shoving his hands into his pockets. “You want to get something to eat?”
“I’m starving,” I say.
He hands me a college ID that he borrowed from one of his female friends. I look at the picture, and it looks nothing like me. But I know from experience that no one checks, so we should be good. As long as I have a piece of plastic to swipe at the door, that fried chicken is as good as mine.
We walk into the student union together, chatting about nothing until we get to the cafeteria. I walk through as if I’m a regular college student. I feel old, but no one gives me a second glance. We split up and fill our trays, converging on a seat near a window.
“Hey, Brandon,” someone says, walking by.
Brandon raises his hand in a two-finger salute. I can’t believe how cool he is. It’s like he’s managed to figure out exactly the right amount of effort to use to say hello and not an inch more. I laugh.
“What?” he demands.
“Hey, bro,” I tease, pretending to be him.
“Knock it off,” he says, looking around like he’s embarrassed to be seen with me.
“What?” I unwrap my straw. “Do they teach you that in class? How to be cool?”
“Whatever,” he replies with a heavy sigh.
“You’re not the only person with relatives here,” I remind him. “Nobody cares how goofy your older sister is.”
Brandon snorts as if he’s not quite convinced. “I can’t stay. I’ve got to record a podcast at two.”
“A podcast?” I gasp, pretending to be shocked. “I guess you’re not that cool after all.”
“Would you give me a break?” he demands.
“I’m sorry.” I dial it back a bit. I don’t mean to offend him. I’m just happy to see him, that’s all.
“Yeah, I’m doing a podcast with one of my roommates,” he tells me, relaxing a little bit.
“It’s not that guy on the other side of the bathroom, is it?” I ask. I don’t remember any of their names, but I know the guy I don’t like is in the room opposite Brandon’s.
“Todd?” Brandon guesses.
I shrug.
“No, it’s not Todd.” He clears his throat, apparently tired of talking about himself. “So tell me about your new job.”
“There isn’t much to tell,” I lie. I don’t want to drag Brandon into my mess.
Working for a mafia man is one thing, but telling my family about it is something else entirely.
The less Brandon knows, the safer he’ll be.
Besides, I still don’t know for sure that Francisco is mobbed up.
I’m clinging to the outside chance he could be a CEO.
“Okay,” Brandon agrees. “But what are you doing?”
“I’m tutoring a young man in criminal law,” I say.
“A young man?” Brandon repeats, as if it’s the stupidest thing in the world.
“Yes,” I insist. “A young man.”
“So, what are you?” Brandon asks, stabbing a fork into his coleslaw. “An old woman?”
“Hey!” I object, slapping him on the shoulder.
“You said it, I didn’t,” Brandon replies.
He’s more relaxed now, and I can see we have a lot in common.
Aside from coming through the same trauma together, neither of us enjoys talking about ourselves.
He’s more comfortable when I’m in the spotlight, and I’m more comfortable learning about what he’s been up to.
It seems we should pick a different topic of conversation altogether.
“How’s your football team?” I ask.
Brandon gives me the side eye. “I dunno. I’ve never been to a game.”
“What about volleyball? Or basketball?” I try.
“I went to see a play,” he offers.
“What was that about?” I ask.
“Macbeth,” he responds. We eat in silence for a moment before he looks at me pleadingly. “I have to go to the financial aid office tomorrow.”
I reach across the table and put my hand over his. “You know your schooling is paid for out of Dad’s trust.”
“Yeah, but—” Brandon begins, clearly torn up over the idea that he might not be able to afford his education.
“But nothing,” I assure him. “You don’t have to worry about money. You can cancel your financial aid appointment.”
“Are you sure?” he asks suspiciously.
“I’m sure,” I say.
“If there’s so much money in the trust, why do you have to bust your butt to make ends meet?” he wonders.
“The trust is only set up to pay for education,” I remind him.
“So why don’t you go back to school?” Brandon asks.
I sigh, setting my fork down and looking out the window.
I know I should be in school. When I decided not to go for my law degree, I hadn’t planned to drop out altogether.
I just needed a few years of peace before I return to the hallowed halls.
School and life were getting to be too much, so I decided to take a break.
“I’ll go back,” I promise Brandon.
“But in the meantime, you’re helping other people get ahead?” he asks.
His words sting. I wish that we could just be good together, without all the judgment. I know Brandon’s trying his best, but I can’t help dragging all our baggage into the conversation.
“What do you mean by that?” I snap.
“Just that you could be studying for your own exams, not teaching some rich asshole—” Brandon starts in with the attitude.
“He’s not an asshole,” I correct my brother, thinking of Frankie.
“Sure,” Brandon agrees sullenly.
“Thank you for your concern,” I say diplomatically. “Let’s talk about something else, okay? Tell me about your podcast.”
He sneaks a glance at me with half a smile. “You don’t want to hear about that.”
“Okay,” I allow.
“Do you think Dad would be proud of me?” Brandon asks suddenly.
I feel the weight of his question on my soul. “Of course. Why wouldn’t he be?”
“I don’t know,” Brandon says, glancing around the cafeteria. “I just see all these other kids with their parents, and I feel left out.”
“We’ve got each other,” I tell him. It’s lame, and it doesn’t quite address his admission of loneliness, but it’s all I can offer. He’s right.
I see a smattering of parents along with their offspring, laughing and having a good time in the food court.
I also wish our father could be here with us, but I’m not sure Brandon remembers how difficult our dad could be at times.
He was still young when Dad was killed, and I didn’t share all the details of the police investigation with him.
“Do you want to show me the library?” I ask. Enough is enough. I don’t want to talk about depressing subjects anymore. If Family Day is going to bring out the worst in us, then we owe it to ourselves to ignore the tradition.
“Why do you want to see the library?” he asks.
“I want to see where you study,” I say.
“All right,” he replies.
We finish up our meal and bus our own table. Walking out of the cafeteria, the security guard gives me a nod. I wonder if he knows I snuck in under an assumed name. But since there are other parents around, he probably doesn’t give a hoot.
I enjoy the walk across campus with my brother. It’s times like these that I can almost imagine living a normal life. Maybe I will go back to school and tap into the funds that are still available for my education. Maybe. But for the moment, I’m committed to helping Frankie with his studies.
I latch onto Brandon’s arm as we march through the door into the library.
There will be plenty of time to think about my tutoring job later.
I want to enjoy the time I have with my little brother.
I’m just so happy he can leave it all behind and immerse himself in the life of an average college student.
I have to admit that in that regard, I’m a little bit jealous.