I think he wanted all of his children to be perfect, and because she wasn’t, he didn’t waste time getting to really know her. There was only once that I can remember him giving two shits about being with her and that’s when he left with her and she didn’t come back.
He admonished Mom for busting up his truck over it. Hand and fist. Words and darkness. That’s how Dad ruled his home and it worked for him.
Sometimes, I can feel myself slipping into his mindset, but I remind myself that I have a choice. I can choose to be like him, or I can choose to be like Mom.
They war with each other inside of me. Both sides of a coin that should have never been flipped—a constant reminder that no matter how good I try to be, there’s always that part of Luke inside of me lurking, ready to strike.
“Help yourself.”
I glance to my left and nod at Casey who’s holding out a large, white, ceramic bowl toward me. I use the ladle to dump a portion of mashed potatoes on my plate, then pass the bowl to my right.
I’m not hungry.
My stomach is sour right now over the thought of eating, no matter how good it smells, because my sister doesn’t seem to care that I’m here.
They eat in silence, with the occasional giggle coming from Cleo and Sierra. I steal a glance at Bryden who’s enjoying his meal, completely undisturbed by the fact that the two of them are having a little jousting match with their forks between bites.
No one seems to notice, and if they do, they don’t care. It’s so much different than being at a table with Dad.
When we ate in silence, it’s because it was commanded. He always told us ahead of time when he didn’t feel like listening to his ‘useless fucking kids’ bickering at the dinner table, and we obliged him.
We ate in fear, whereas everyone here seems to be content, happy, and carefree.
The way Mom would have wanted it, I think glumly as I place an elbow on the table and rest my cheek against the palm of my hand.
I let out a heavy sigh.
I don’t want to be disrespectful to Bryden or his home, but I want Cleo to remember who I am, so I do the one thing I think might spark a solid memory of me.
I reach over for the bread on my plate, rip off a small piece, then toss it across the table.
She looks up at me when it smacks her forehead and I smile. It’s a game the three of us would play when Dad walked away from the dinner table—something that Mom would allow because she knew it was the only fun we could really have sitting in our chairs without talking.
She furrows her brow for a moment, then swats the piece of bread away from where it landed on her lap, and then she goes back to fork-jousting with Sierra.
I clear my throat as I rip off a bigger piece, then roll it between the palms of my hands, before I steal another glance at Bryden who’s watching me with amusement.
I blanch, but he shakes his head kindly, then nods. I turn my eyes back toward Cleo since I have the approval of her ‘father’ and toss a bread ball at her again.
This time she looks angry until I hook my fingers into my mouth and stick my tongue out at her.
I can almost see it starting to sink in. The memory of her brother, who was much younger than he is now, doing his best to make his sisters happy and keep their Mom safe.
She looks away for a moment.
Come on, remember, I will her in desperate silence.
And when her face suddenly crumples and she begins to cry, I think she finally does.
Thirteen
Bryden
The boy upset Cleo—the one fucking thing I told him not to do. I can feel the anger buzzing like a hornet’s nest in my chest, a promise of violence if I don’t rein in my control.
Stay calm.
Forcing a slow breath, I push back from the table and stand, keeping my hands flat on the wood on either side of my plate. The boy turns to look at me, and I shake my head slowly. “Tsk, tsk, Richter. I believe I asked you to be patient, to not upset our dear Cleo.”
“I was just helping—”
“I think it’s time for you to go home.” I cut him off, keeping my voice steady. “I’m sure your sister is waiting for you, and I know you wouldn’t want her to be alone tonight.” I’m offering him a graceful exit, which is more than he deserves for the disrespect he’s shown. Glancing out the back windows at the last weak rays of the sun, I continue, “Let’s get you on your way before the light leaves us.”
“But I— NO!” Richter shouts, standing up so fast his chair rocks back and it’s only Heather’s quick reflexes that keep it from tumbling. A few of my children gasp, but no one speaks.
“It’s time for you to leave, Richter.” It’s easy to keep my voice level, but the only person in the house that doesn’t seem to recognize the pending threat in the air is the boy glaring at me across the table.
“Like hell I’m leaving without her!” Richter’s chest is pumping, harsh breaths moving in and out as he finally tears his eyes from me in the eerie silence that has settled over the room. He reaches across the table for Cleo, but my girl keeps rubbing her face, sniffling softly. “Cleo, you need to come home with me. Come home to me and Skylar.”
He wants her to betray me, to betray her family.
Not a chance.
The strap is still hanging on the nail in the hall and I honestly can’t remember the last time I had to use it—but that doesn’t mean I won’t. Brother or
