12. I Could, but I Won’t #2
The same type of corruption my stepfamily would infect Marcus with, like a cancer. They’d turn a good man—a good boy—into something twisted and broken. The kind of broken that hurt others.
The kind of broken I was trying not to be.
“What did you say to him?!” he yelled, his voice breaking from puberty and from grief. A reminder of how young he truly was. There was still hope for him. There had to be.
“Marc—” I began.
“This is your fault! It can’t be him! Uncle Turner was right! You’re the problem, and you always were! You’re ungrateful, and mean, and…” Tears streamed down his eyes as he grit his teeth. “I want to stay with Uncle Turner.”
I clenched my jaw and took a deep breath, curling my hands into fists. My nails dug into my palms until they bled.
“No,” I said.
“You can’t stop me!” He slammed a fist on the table.
“Yes,” I repeated. “I can.”
He was furious. I felt for him. He
“I am your legal guardian.” I pushed everything down.
The pounding of my heart, the fluttering in my stomach, the way my blood made my fingers shake with all the pent-up pain and rage.
The feeling of all the secrets wanting to burst out of my skin.
“From now until you are eighteen, I am your guardian, and I’m sorry—”
I really, really was.
“—but you will live under my rules. And I’ve decided that—”
“That you’d isolate us! That you’d keep us from our own family? You just want control! Dad was right. All you want is to control people and manipulate them. You’re sick! You’re evil! You’re…”
He went on and on.
And I took it. Because his anger needed to go somewhere, and it should be me. Because I did kill his father.
We lived like this because of me. I kept him from the only family we had. Some days, I know why I do it. Some days, my resolve to keep him away from that family is stronger.
Other days, I wonder…if my life would be better if I did send them both to them.
“You’re right,” I said when Marcus finally paused to take a breath.
It wasn’t the reaction he wanted. He wanted a fight.
But my fight was fading bit by bit, every single day.
“I’ll call the school and have you guys excused from class for the rest of the week. If you want to talk to someone, like a therapist or grief counselor, I will arrange that, too. But for now, I think it’s time to go to bed.”
“Go to bed?” Marcus took a sharp breath. “Go to bed? That’s all you have to say?”
“There’s not much else to say, Marc.”
“This is bullshit! You’re bullshit! It’s all bullshit!” He grabbed a chair and threw it; it crashed and skidded halfway to the living room before halting with a pitiful, little squeak.
Marc threw his fist through the wall and ground his teeth through the pain as he walked up the stairs, slamming his bedroom door as he went.
I didn’t react. I couldn’t. Not yet.
Because Miriam was still here.
“I don’t need time from school.” Her voice was quiet as she gave me a smile. It wasn’t forced like mine. Had she always sounded so meek? “I’m fine.”
She meant it.
She really was fine.
How was she fine?
I sputtered, every word coming out as gibberish before I finally said, “You know, it’s okay to not be okay. This is a lot. He was your dad.”
Your dad. Not mine.
She shrugged. “He’s been gone a long time. I’m used to it.”
She got up, dusted something off of the top of her torn jeans, and shrugged.
“Honestly?” She turned to me, eyes boring into my soul as if pleading for me to pay very, very close attention. “I knew he wasn’t a good guy. I know that side of my family isn’t. I just…I hope I got more from Mom than them, you know?”
My mouth opened and closed as I understood her message loud and clear. Even at fourteen, she saw more than Marcus did. How much, exactly? I wasn’t sure I was ready to know the answer, and I didn’t think she was ready to tell.
“Sometimes…” I whispered. “I forget how quickly girls have to grow up.”
She pulled her lips into a flat, tight smile.
“I’ve understood grown-up things for at least three years now.
Maybe not really, you know? Not completely.
But I understand, a little.” She shrugged.
“I don’t think finding out he’s gone is the worst thing.
I don’t really care about having a funeral or seeing him.
But if I have to, because…because of my uncles and aunts, then I will. ”
“You don’t have to.”
“I’ll go if they’re going to be assholes about it.” She looked out the window and sighed. “Do you want me to make you some tea?”
I shook my head, flabbergasted by my own little sister who clearly was more emotionally intelligent than I was.
She hung up the tea towel, making sure the edges were perfectly aligned, and walked up the hall to her room, gently closing the door and locking it behind her.
I was alone in the dark again. Just me and those damn pictures on the mantle. The one of Luke and that stupid fish had been righted, and it stared back at me like the judgment of God.
Then my phone pinged.
The threats should have terrified me, but I was already beyond fear. I was an overfilled vessel, and everything had started spilling over. I was leaking. Breaking.
I turned to the phone and sighed.
UNKNOWN NUMBER: Marcus and Miriam will be better off without you. Give them to their uncle, and you can be free. You can be safe.
UNKNOWN NUMBER: You know it’s the right thing to do.