Jacob
I’m off Penelope in a flash, my heart drumming a rapid, heavy beat.
Penelope snatches her leggings from the floor and scrambles to untangle her underwear from them.
She’s in the middle of yanking her leggings up her knees when Elizabeth opens the door. I stand to block Elizabeth’s view. By attempting to preserve Penelope’s modesty, I attract my sister’s suspicion.
Her sharp gaze snaps to below my navel at the prominent clue of what Penelope and I were up to. There’s a joke in there somewhere about “hard evidence.” Nobody in this room feels like laughing right now.
The truth fills the room, taking up all space, sound, and air. Elizabeth’s features twist with anger and disgust.
“I knew it!” she hisses.
“Liz—”
“I knew you were having sex with her!”
Fuck.
Fuck fuck fuck.
“I haven’t—”
She raises her hand, a white plastic bag with the convenience store’s large red logo on it dangling from her grip. It rustles noisily as she points a finger at me.
“Don’t you lie to me!” She steps to the side and jabs her accusatory finger at Penelope. “Look at the guilt all over her face! It’s like she’s holding up a goddamn sign!”
I glance at Penelope whose pink cheeks could light up the darkness. For once, I don’t enjoy her humiliation.
Her body is rigid, her eyes sparkling in the light, and there’s a slight grimace on her face. She looks like she’s begging the universe to spirit her away from here. I would gladly tag along if she were successful.
“I didn’t want to believe it, but the clues kept stacking up,” Elizabeth continues, her features pulled tight.
“That fuck me collar she’s wearing, her hair on your pillow, that vibe between you two tonight.
The second I’m gone, you’re all over each other!
My god! I bet if I’d been quieter, I would’ve caught you fucking—”
“Elizabeth,” I cut in, anger rising inside me too. I’m pissed at myself that I got carried away again and wound up in this mess, dragging Penelope into it as well. “Can we talk about this outside?”
“No! There’s nothing to talk about! I don’t want to hear your rationalizations why you have a sexual relationship with your stepdaughter, Jake. That’s pretty fucking wrong!”
It floats through my mind to argue that Penelope isn’t my stepdaughter anymore. She hasn’t been for a long time either. Though it doesn’t really make it much better. In society’s eyes, this is still a disturbing situation.
People are going to think all sorts of fucked up things. Say fucked up things. They’ll use words like “grooming” even though that’s not true.
I never looked at or thought about Penelope in any sexual way while I was married to her mother. My troubles began the day she showed up asking for refuge.
Elizabeth jabs her finger at Penelope again, her teeth bared.
“And you! I sent you to see my brother hoping your situation would help bring you guys back together as a family. Instead you spread your legs for his money! You’re just like your mother, a whore—”
“Elizabeth!”
I stride toward her. My sister and I have done things to upset each other over the years. This is the first time I’ve ever felt immense dislike for her. I might say something I’ll regret for the rest of my life.
She backs up as I approach her. I swerve around her and yank open my front door, the freezing air slicing at my lungs.
“It’s time for you to leave.”
Betrayal shines in my sister’s eyes and the plastic bug rustles as she clutches it tighter. I feel even worse than I already do.
Elizabeth opens the bag and takes out the red licorice twists Penelope asked her to buy. She tosses it on the floor, and the candy’s crinkling thump is loud and unpleasant in the silence.
With another disdainful look at Penelope, my sister spins on her heels and storms out of the house.
I hold the door open, the cold air numbing my skin. I stare blankly at my porch bench, listening to the sounds of my sister’s departure.
The angry slam of the car door, her engine rumbling alive, her tires crunching on the snow as she pulls out of my driveway. Then she’s gone.
I let out a deep exhale through my nostrils.
This night went from fantastic to a fucking shitshow.
And it was all my fault.
I feel like a piece of shit for throwing my sister out of my house. She was the only one who supported me when I needed it the most.
I’ll contact her tomorrow. She should be less angry by then. I’ll tell her I’m sorry, and hopefully she’ll be willing to have that talk about me and Penelope.
A sniffle behind me draws my attention. I look over my shoulder at Penelope.
She’s crying.
I shut the door and go sit beside her, wincing at the ache between my legs.
She’s soft and trembling against me when I wrap my arm around her. I pull her close and rub her arm.
I hate to see her cry when she showed me she’s strong this past week. Despite the things I’ve done to upset, frustrate, and humiliate her, I’ve never seen her shed any tears.
Penelope abruptly pulls away from me and stands, wiping at her eyes as she strides to the kitchen. She goes to the paper towel roll on the counter and rips off a sheet.
I want to comfort her but I remain seated, watching as she wipes at her eyes and blows her nose. She turns to face me again, her eyes and face pink.
“I change my mind. Please take me to the bus station tomorrow morning.”
I straighten in my seat.
The news about Fiona’s death this morning bothered me all day.
According to Cynthia’s cousin’s sister-in-law who works at Wenora’s police department, Fiona was last seen alive Friday night. The same night we hung out.
Paranoia whispered that it’s only a matter of time before everyone starts looking in my direction, even though I barely knew Fiona.
They’ll dredge up my past and whisper among themselves that maybe a guy once accused of sexual assault might commit murder too. Soon, reporters might show up.
When I saw on my camera that Penelope left the house with Elizabeth, I took that as a sign to leave Wenora. I would give Penelope the money and take her home, then I would start over somewhere new again.
Her plea to let her stay had felt like a helping hand pulling me back from falling off a cliff edge. I don’t want to examine why keeping Penelope feels like salvation, when only a week ago her reappearance seemed like a bad omen.
She steps closer. “Did you hear me?”
“Why did you change your mind?”
“Your sister called me a whore.” Her voice is unsteady. “If I stay here, there’s a strong chance I’ll prove her right. I don’t want to do that.”
I stand and approach her, wanting to hold her because she looks like she’s on the verge of tears again.
“Never mind what Elizabeth said. She’s wrong so it doesn’t matter. She’ll regret what she said when she calms down.”
“It matters. We were becoming friends, but I don’t think that’s possible anymore.” She wipes at her face and sniffles. “How I see myself matters too. I lost my car and my job, and I don’t even have two dollars to rub together. My self-respect is the only valuable thing I have left.”
“Cedric will take that and more if you leave tomorrow.”
“I’ll find another way to deal with him.”
“How?”
Penelope throws up her hands. “I don’t know! I’ll figure something out.”
“You’re letting pride put you in danger. Leaving doesn’t—”
“No, I’m stopping us from making a mistake!
” She indicates the candy on the floor. “Look at what just happened! Your sister caught us and she left the house looking like she’ll never speak to you again.
” She shakes her head, a sorrowful look on her face.
“You and I… we’re not right. I don’t belong in your life because I only cause you problems. Let me leave. ”
I don’t want you to.
I’m not ready yet.
“You still owe me a week.”
Her features twist into a scowl. “I don’t owe you anything! I don’t want your money anymore.”
“You said you wanted to stay so we could heal our relationship. That’s no longer important? Or was that a lie?”
“It is important. It wasn’t a lie—”
“Good. Then you’ll stay.”
She gives me a chilly, calculating look and it’s not hard to figure out what she’s thinking. Plotting. As soon as my back is turned, she’ll find a way to the bus station on her own.
“I warned you before, I’ll catch you if you run. Even if you run all the way back to Toronto before your time is up, I’ll drag you back here.”
“That’s funny coming from the guy who told me to ‘leave and don’t fucking come back.’” She folds her arms. “You made me promise not to disobey you. If I’m to stay, you need to make me a promise too.”
“What do you want?”
“Promise me you won’t touch me again or try to… to do what we almost did tonight. Promise me that you’ll keep things appropriate between us.”
A beat passes before the words slide from my mouth.
“I promise.”
She frowns at me until her suspicion fades into acceptance.
Of course she believes me.
I sounded genuine to my ears too.
But I know how beautiful she looks when she’s sleeping and when she comes for me. I know the sweet sound of her laugh and when she moans my name. I know her scent and what she tastes like. She’s still on my tongue and I smell her on my lips when I breathe.
Deep down, the truth lurks.
I’m a dirty fucking liar.
* * *
For years, it’s been normal to wake up alone in my bed.
This morning, I’m on edge.
I promised myself yesterday I wouldn’t share my bed with Penelope again. That resolution died last night when she insisted she wanted to go home.
Keeping her close was necessary. I didn’t trust she wouldn’t try to sneak out while I slept. I figured my sister’s words would hurt less by morning, and Penelope would realize that staying is the right choice.
It wasn’t easy keeping my promise not to touch her. A persuasive voice whispered I should pull her close and finish what we started before Elizabeth showed up.
Did she leave anyway?
Since I’m a light sleeper, I was sure I’d know if Penelope got up. Last night’s excitement—both good and bad—must have tuckered me out.