Long Bright River(46)





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Kacey, meanwhile, continued to decline. She was wild and erratic by then. In her late teens and early twenties she sometimes worked as a bartender, for cash, and sometimes worked at our uncle Rich’s car dealership in Frankford, and sometimes babysat for any irresponsible parents who would hire her, and sometimes still dealt, I believe, for Fran Mulroney, Paula’s older brother. She lived at Gee’s and with friends and on the street in equal turns. In those days she spent more time in Fishtown than in Kensington, which meant I didn’t see her, yet, on my shifts. I never knew where she would be when I walked in the door at night, and I lived in anticipation of the day that she would not return at all. We rarely spoke.

Still, she was the only person who knew about my relationship with Simon. She had found a note from him among my things—it occurred to me only later that she had most likely come across it while looking for cash to swipe—and had thrust it furiously into my chest the next time she saw me.

—What the hell are you thinking, she said to me.

I was embarrassed. The note referenced a recent night we had spent together in a hotel. My time with Simon was a relief to me, an escape, the first true happiness I had ever known, and if it was a secret, well, I liked it that way. It was mine.

I put my hand over the note protectively. I said nothing.

What I believe Kacey said next was, He’s a fucking creep. Or, worse: He’s been trying to get into your pants since you were fourteen years old. Today I shudder to think of it. Since I was a small child, I have always tried to maintain my dignity in every situation. At work now, I strive to maintain my professional dignity. At home, with Thomas, I strive to maintain a certain parental dignity, to protect him from overhearing anything that might upset him, or anything untoward. Therefore, because it feels undignified, I have never enjoyed the feeling of anyone else worrying about me or being concerned for my well-being, preferring instead to give the impression that I am in all ways fine, and that I have everything under control. Largely, I believe this image to be an honest one.

—That’s not true, I said.

Kacey laughed. It was not a kind sound.

—Whatever you say, she said.

—It isn’t, I said.

—Oh, Mick, she said. She shook her head. And I saw, in her expression, something like pity.



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At twenty years old, I thought what Kacey said was neither a fair nor accurate assessment of the situation. It was I who had pursued Simon, and not the other way around. I never thought of myself as romantic, but I sometimes told myself that the moment I laid eyes on him was my only experience with love at first sight; whereas Simon told me that it had taken him years to see me as anything more than a child. Both Simon and I were aware, however, of how our relationship might be perceived by others who had known us when I was his charge, and so we always took pains to keep quiet about it. Simon had recently taken the detective exam, at last, and had passed, and was beginning a career with the South Detectives, and he didn’t want anything to derail it. When we met, it was in hotels; he said he didn’t want to risk his son, Gabriel—eleven then—learning about us, and Gabriel’s mother sometimes brought him by unexpectedly, and it was all very—complicated, was the word he used.

—One day you’ll get your own place, he told me often, and then we’ll be able to stay there.

It was largely for this reason that I banked all of my money for the first two years of my career with the PPD, and used these savings on a down payment for a house in Port Richmond. I was twenty-two years old when I signed the papers. I put down forty percent of the home’s price—admittedly, a small sum—but still more money than I have ever again had in my bank account at once. The realtor told me, impressed, that not many twenty-two-year-olds had the restraint to save up so much money, instead spending it on evenings out with friends. I am not like most twenty-two-year-olds, I wanted to tell her, but I didn’t.



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Leaving Gee’s house—and the terrible fights that she and Kacey had, which now sometimes escalated into physicality—felt like escaping from a war.

I had told neither Kacey nor Gee my plan to move out in advance. There were two reasons for this: The first was that I didn’t want either one to know much about my finances—Gee because she might begin to demand more in rent than what she already collected from me, and Kacey because I didn’t want her to have any more incentive to solicit me for cash. (I had put my foot down, by then, but every now and again she would still come to me with a plea.) The second reason I kept my plans to myself was that I believed, truly, that neither Gee nor Kacey would care.

I was surprised, therefore, when Kacey met my announcement with sadness.

The day I moved out for good, she came home to find me moving boxes down the stairs.

—What are you doing, she said to me. She crossed her arms. She frowned.

I paused for a moment, breathing heavily. I had nothing aside from clothes and books to move, but I had too many of the latter, and was learning quickly how heavy a boxful of paperbacks can be.

—Moving out, I said.

I expected a shrug. Instead, Kacey began to shake her head. No, she said. Mick. You can’t leave me alone here.

I placed the box I was holding on the stairs. Already, my back was aching; it took me days to recover.

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