You Can't Catch Me(48)

She flinched. “I wish you’d call me Mom.”

“You must be joking. ‘There are no mothers or fathers. Only citizens. We all belong to one another—’”

“Stop.”

“What? You don’t want to hear the words of your precious Todd anymore?”

My father came out of the lodge with my aunt Tanya. He went by the name Trevor, a T name like the rest of them. I was supposed to change my name to one when I turned eighteen, but that had never happened. I wondered what Kiki’s name was now, but I also didn’t want to know.

My father wasn’t wearing white. Just a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt that had a faded college logo on it. His hair was gray, too, and I wondered how old my parents were. One more thing Todd had stolen from me—the basic details of the members of my family were lost to me.

“Jessica, don’t talk to your mother like that.”

“My mother. Ha. Right, sure, Trevor. Whatever.”

My mother’s lips were trembling, and she was doing what I did when I was nervous: rubbing the scar on her wrist over and over like it was a magic talisman.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean—”

“You didn’t mean to what? Ruin my life? Ruin the lives of the rest of our family?”

Kiki was standing next to me now. She rested a hand on my shoulder. I shrugged it off.

“Honestly, Therese, how could you? I mean, if you wanted to come here and live with that monster, so be it. But then you had a child. You had me. And you stayed anyway. Even when Todd made us move up the hill and told us to sit this way and talk that way. You had to know that was wrong. You had to.”

“I didn’t . . . I couldn’t . . .”

“Right. Sure. And what was supposed to happen on my eighteenth birthday? What was supposed to happen in that cabin right over there?”

I pointed to the cabin that I’d built all by myself the year I was seventeen. Maybe someone else lived there now. One of Todd’s other playthings.

My mother was as white as her clothing. Tanya and Trevor stood on the porch, looking down at us. Then that girl came out. The one who’d been standing near my mother at the funeral.

“You couldn’t protect me from whatever was supposed to happen. So, I had to leave. And the only thing I feel bad about is that I didn’t drag Kiki with me and burn this motherfucking place to the ground as we left.”

“Jessica! Don’t speak that way.”

“Why? Because you can’t take it? Because that little girl is standing there? Who the hell is she, anyway?”

My mother looked at the ground, and I knew. Wherever she came from, she was my replacement.

I felt manic and unhinged. I couldn’t control my shaking body or the words flying out of my mouth.

“Where are her parents? Why the fuck is she treating you like you’re her mother? I want some fucking answers.”

“Jessica.” It was Kiki, speaking low, her voice shaking. “Leave it.”

“Leave it?”

I looked at her. Her eyes were filled with tears. “Please?”

I felt as if I were going to shatter. “Yeah, fine, fuck it. But there’s one thing I’m not going to do.”

“What?”

“I’m not leaving you behind, not this time, even if I have to take you out of here kicking and screaming.”

Kiki smiled at me for the first time that day. “I’d kick and scream if you left me here.”

Many, many beers later with Covington, I do something I’m going to end up regretting.

I go see Liam.

I do not give him a heads-up. No text. No call. I settle up my tab and tell Covington I have to head out. I do this because with each beer I drink, my anger with Liam for taking me back to the LOT grows. I know this isn’t rational. I asked him to go with me to see Jessie, which brought us near Schroon, and the rest, well, the rest was predictable. But, still. He didn’t have to stir all that up again. He knows how hard I’ve worked to put it behind me. To lead a seminormal life.

Yeah, Liam. You hear me? That was not okay.

I need to tell him. Not in a text, not over the phone, but in person.

So that’s what I’m doing. I’m on the subway heading in his direction, keenly aware that I’m one of those drunk people on the subway, weaving slightly, maybe even muttering aloud to herself.

But who cares? Who cares, Preppy Boy with the large headphones that I can still hear music through who’s staring at me? I have something to say and I will not be denied.

So long as I don’t pass out before I get there.

I wait outside Liam’s apartment building until someone leaves. I don’t want to ring his bell and be denied entry. Not that he’s ever done that before, but I have a feeling tonight might be different. Maybe because I feel different. For once, there’s nothing about Liam that’s intimidating me. Alcohol is a wonderful thing.

I walk up the three flights of stairs to the top floor. The entrance to Liam’s apartment is a heavy metal sliding door on a track that’s almost too much for me to open. One of his many security precautions. Plus, it won’t be unlocked. It’s never unlocked. And no key to find lying around somewhere. Nope. So, I have to knock. I have to knock.

I am knocking.

As I’m knocking, I hear a sound. A laugh. A woman’s laughter. Oh my God. Liam has a woman in there. What am I doing? I should get the hell out of here.