You Can't Catch Me(47)

“That’s a relief.”

“I mean, Miller thinks it’s a bit weird because of the age difference, but Daisy told him to shut it.”

Great, they’ve all been talking about me. “He’s not that much older than me.”

Twelve years. An impossible gap at eighteen, but now?

“We don’t have to discuss it if you don’t want,” Covington says.

I lean against his arm. “Thanks, Cov.” The bartender brings my order and I put some cash on the bar. “See, I can pay for myself.”

“I didn’t doubt it. You must have some of the settlement money left.”

The settlement. We learned after Todd died that he’d amassed massive wealth. All those “dues” he was charging people like my parents to come live in the LOT. The “buy-in” that was required if you wanted to stay permanently. Any money you had, any money you inherited or could scam off concerned family members with promises of coming home if they’d wire the money, went to him. In the end, he was sitting on a gold mine.

I can’t remember who first posted the idea in that Facebook group we had, but it caught hold quickly. Somebody knew a lawyer. Somebody wrote a nasty letter to Todd’s heirs, family members he hadn’t talked to in decades because they weren’t “in the Family,” and threatened to expose their connection to him. They fought briefly, then caved pretty spectacularly. The money was divided among the children because we were the innocent victims. We each got an equal share.

“I used most of that on my student loans.”

“Ah.”

“You?”

“That was my seed money for the day-trading.”

“And now?”

“I’ve done all right.”

“I’m happy for you.”

Covington looks down at his hands. He flips his arm over to show me his brand. “I’ve looked into getting this removed, you know?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s not a tattoo, though, so there isn’t anything they can do about it.”

“That sucks.”

“It does.”

I push my plate toward him. “You want some of these?”

“Sure.”

We eat silently for a few minutes. The calamari are crisp and fatty, exactly as they should be, a perfect accompaniment to the beer. We each order another round as the music thrums, encasing us. I listen to the snatches of conversation that reach me from the other patrons. Someone wants to form a union. Someone’s asking if they can live with no money for a while.

“What was it like?” Covington asks eventually as he licks some aioli sauce from his fingers.

“What was what like?”

“Come on, Jess.”

I finish the second beer. I want another, but I need to keep my wits about me.

“About how you’d expect, probably. It smelled the same, you know? But all the buildings looked smaller.”

“I can’t believe our parents raised us there.”

“I know.”

“You ever forgive them?”

“Nope. You?”

“Not a fucking chance.”





Chapter 21

Replacements

After the funeral and the conversation on the dock with Kiki, I was feeling down. Not because Todd was dead, but because of everything that Todd had done. Kiki was right. I was as stuck as the rest of them. I might’ve left, but I hadn’t moved on. Besides Liam and The Twists, I didn’t have any close friends. My life didn’t feel permanent, and despite all my studying, I didn’t fit in at college like everyone else did. I had a fake backstory ready for when people asked: I’d grown up in a small town that no one had ever heard of, been homeschooled, moved to the big city, and that was it. Nothing to see here, folks! I never mentioned Todd. I never used the word cult. The scar on my wrist was hidden most of the time and was from an accident, if someone happened to see it. My parents were dead.

Only they weren’t. My mother, Therese, was standing right there in front of me as I walked back to the Gathering Place. She was dressed in white—Todd hated black, and I’d worn a black dress to the funeral out of spite rather than mourning—and her hair had gone completely gray. She’d cut it short, and with her thinness and the hard planes of her face, she might’ve been a man. She still had that light in her eyes, though, this clear certainty that dissuaded me from asking too many questions.

I’d avoided eye contact with her and my father during the funeral, but I couldn’t help but notice that there was a child standing with them. She looked to be about four, though it was hard to tell, as children in the Land of Todd were often small for their age. She was dressed in one of the Scout uniforms I used to wear, and her blonde hair was in two braids. She looked enough like me at that age that it was disconcerting. Who was she? Had my parents had a replacement child after I’d left? No, that was impossible—they were too old. Did they kidnap her from somewhere? I wouldn’t put it past them. Why was my mother holding her hand? Why was this little girl leaning against my mother as if she was someone who could provide comfort?

What the hell was happening?

“Hello, Jessica,” my mother said when I’d gotten to within ten feet of her.

“Therese.”