20

“Your father wants to talk to you after this.”

Fiona glanced sidelong at her mother. Up until now, they’d driven to the city in total silence. Her dad had gone to the community center early, and Fiona was beginning to understand why. He probably didn’t want to interact with her until they’d had their official fireside chat.

“I guess I’m in big trouble,” was all she could think to say. Her mother exhaled slowly and loudly, and then said, “I don’t know. He just wants to talk to you. You’ll have to ask him.”

“Ugh,” said Fiona without meaning to. There was nothing more brutal than the passive-aggression, the loaded statements, the Big Talk looming in the distance. She’d had problems relating to her dad for years—nine years, to be exact—but her mother had never resorted to this in the past. “Look, Mom, I’m sorry for upsetting you the other night. But please, try and understand what I’m dealing with—”

“Let me tell you something, Fiona,” said her mother, eyes glued to the road. “You don’t understand a thing about what you’re dealing with. You think it’s easy raising a family in this world? Or trying to have a nice, simple life? Well, it’s not. And honey, if you think for a second that you know what you’re doing, or who your father is, then you’re dead wrong.”

Fiona felt anger stir the blood behind her face. Betty’s absence that week had left her stranded; without a conduit for her emotions, they were just coming off her like ambient heat. “Do you know what he did? What Dad did to that boy?”

“I know everything,” said her mom. “I know the stuff no one else knows. Anything you think would be a shocking revelation for me, I’ve known for years.” Fiona sat back, wide-eyed. Her mom smiled cruelly and shook her head. “Fiona, I love you. You are everything in the world to me. But you really screwed up this time. Your problems are only just beginning.”

Fiona stared out the window, feeling sullen and hollow. It was her first Saturday in a long time that wasn’t full of joyful anticipation. She missed him so badly—his smell of sweat and wood, his muscular frame loping forward to meet her, the excitement in his eyes as he showed her a new page in the book. More than that, she missed being admired and revered. Everyone in her day-to-day slog through life in Hamm was treating her like a little girl caught with her hand in the cookie jar. She missed being seen as an artist, equal, and love interest. It had made her feel alive; now, she was a walking corpse.

They got to the community center and headed in silently. Caroline refused to look at Fiona as she put her apron on. Calvin waved to her, and it made her cringe; it was almost as if he was trying to be extra friendly to her now that her whole life was in shambles, perfectly poised to fill the void that he’d helped create by ratting her out. Only Filip Moss greeted her typically, but his expression was all too clear—he wanted to know what Fiona was hiding.

“How you holding up, Jones?” he asked, giving her a nudge with his elbow.

“I’m all right,” she said casually, trying to laugh off her emotional strife, failing terribly. “Just got a lot on my mind.”

“Yeah?” he asked, suddenly sounding less friendly, more intense. “Looks like something’s eating you. Want to talk more?”

“I’m fine,” she huffed and put some distance between them. She didn’t want people seeing them, getting the wrong idea. And anyway, she absolutely did not want to talk about it.

When her father finally entered the room and stood up on a chair to address the gathered council, she was stunned. He looked terrible, in more ways than one. Sure, exhaustion hung on him visibly—dark rings around the eyes, hair slightly mussed, mouth half open with fatigue. But more than that, anger and suspicion lined his face. His eyes darted around the room as he spoke. For the first time ever, he genuinely seemed like he didn’t want to be there.

“All right, guys, you know the drill,” he said, his voice sounding haggard. “We’re finishing our pledge pretty soon. Just keep up your spirits, be polite, and try not to spill anything hot. Don’t want to send anyone to the burn ward.” One or two people laughed half-heartedly, but most seemed to find the comment a little edgy, especially for Robert Jones. “Everyone ready? Good. Let’s do this.”

They got to work slower than usual. Fiona and Caroline were stationed together at hot liquids, handing out drinks along with packets of creamer and sugar. Fiona could see the hem of a green Pit Viper shirt poking out over the collar of her hoodie and heard her hum a melody to herself that Fiona recognized from the album.

For the first time in ages, Fiona wanted desperately to talk to her. When she’d started spending her weekends with Peter, Caroline was the easiest member of her crew to blow off. Her old friend was just too loud and self-important and high school to worry about offending. Now that she was feeling confused and alone, Fiona missed Caroline’s boisterous attitude, the way it took all the bullshit out of the room.

“At least next Saturday will be the last one of these,” mumbled Fiona.

Caroline tightened her mouth and stayed quiet.

“Any chance we can talk?” asked Fiona.

“I don’t talk to strangers,” said Caroline firmly.

Fiona sighed. So much for that. They shuffled around each other in silence for the rest of the morning.

The hours were painful, but as they neared the end of the charity breakfast, Fiona found herself trying to draw them out further so she wouldn’t have to speak to her father. She wiped down tables she didn’t need to and offered to help wash the trays, much to the surprise of the cleaning crew. Finally, she walked back into the dining room and discovered that she was one of only a handful of people left hanging around. Even the homeless guests were gone. There was no more hemming and hawing—she had to face the music that she didn’t want to hear.

Robert Jones waited outside, staring at the sidewalk. In the naked light of day, there was nothing commanding or scary about her dad. He looked small and weak, dwarfed by the city around him; he kept his hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, and quick puffs of steam shot from his mouth. Every few seconds, he’d look up at the skyline and then say, “Hmm,” and return his gaze to the concrete. Finally, Fiona swallowed hard, set her shoulders, and walked over to him.

“Hey,” she said.

“Oh, hey,” he responded, sounding like he wasn’t expecting her, while his expression looked prepared, determined. “Let’s talk. You hungry? I can never eat the food in there. Feels wrong when we’re feeding people with real problems.”

She was surprised by the offer and suddenly realized that she was ravenous. She’d felt sick with worry when she’d gotten up, so all she’d had was an apple before hopping in the car. “Yeah, actually. Want to head to Chance’s or something?”

“No, let’s stay here,” he said. “As long as we’re in the city. There’s a deli around the corner with good knish. Have I ever given you a knish?”

“No. I’ve never had one.”

“Oh, man. Come on.”

He walked, and she flanked him, waiting for the icebreaker. She waited and waited, even as they entered a little bodega. The athletic twenty-something dude behind the counter lit up when he saw them enter and brushed down his stained apron with exaggerated debonairness.

“Robert, my man!” he cried. “Who’s this? No way this is the Fiona.”

“This is her,” her dad said with a nervous laugh. “Fiona, this is Lon. Lon, Fiona.”

“Fiona, it is the sincerest pleasure,” said the guy, leaning over the counter and shaking her hand firmly. “I’ve heard so much about you. Your dad brags about you all the time. Says you’re a killer guitarist. What do you play, funk? Rock? My brother used to date a rocker girl, but she was more goth. Wore tons of gunk on her face. You I’d peg as more of a New York hardcore chick. What’re we having?”

Her dad got a mushroom knish, and she got plain. Lon heated up the knishes and handed them over the counter with a smile. Her dad tipped him an extra three bucks, about which he made a big show of thanking Robert Jones profusely. “I didn’t know you had friends around here,” she said as they walked out of the deli.

“He’s not really my friend, just a nice guy,” said Robert, shrugging. “And Lon’s good people. I always tell him he should move to Hamm after school, but he’s not interested.” He cleared his throat and looked at his knish. “It’s always been about good people, you know?”

Her dad picked a stoop about a block down and carefully lowered himself onto it. Fiona sat beside him, feeling more confused than ever. She’d never pictured Robert Jones eating lunch on a stoop or cracking wise with the deli guy. He was supposed to be closed-minded, almost a redneck. It bothered her to consider that he probably knew more about the city than she did.

They munched on their knishes for a bit—hers was damn good, but his smelled better, and she regretted not being adventurous—until Fiona was too impatient to wait for him any longer.

“I’m sorry about what I said the other night,” she started. “I was just upset.”

Her dad didn’t reply for a bit, but then went straight to the point: “How much do you know?”

She sighed. Here we go. “I watched the meeting where he made his presentation to the council,” she said. “And I followed you out to the winery sign and watched you and Edgar and…” She went silent. It suddenly felt too horrible to say.

She waited for his authoritative rage, but it never came. When she finally glanced over at him, she nearly cried. Her father looked so heartbroken. His eyes and mouth were both downturned, and he chewed at his upper lip nervously.

Fiona had been villainizing him all week; hell, she’d been doing it for nine years. It hadn’t occurred to her until now that his secrets were eating away at him inside like a cancer of the soul.

“I’m sorry you had to see all that,” he said.

“Me, too,” she said, feeling a catch in her voice. Her accusatory conviction began to falter. She wanted to hug him, but forced herself not to.

“That all?” he asked.

“I found out that everyone gave you the money to pay him off,” she said. “But you didn’t. Did you?”

Her father softly shook his head. He picked off a bit of his knish and tossed it to a nearby pigeon, chuckling humorlessly as the bird grabbed it and waddled away. Then he sat back against the stair behind them and ran a hand through his hair. “I need you to please, please put yourself in my shoes for a second, Fiona.”

“Okay,” she said, determined to be fair. “Shoot.”

“Imagine you have a sister,” he said calmly. “I know you always wanted one, so picture her, the sister you didn’t get because we had our hands full with you. You and your sister grow up together, and she’s always a little silly. While you spend your weekends working in the city, she spends them going out on Main Street in Hamm, safe and sound. She doesn’t know anything about the real world. But you go along with it, because she’s so sweet that, well, why not be silly? If she’s that wonderful, she’s allowed to be careless. Leave the hard work to us humps.

“So, your sister, she has a son, your nephew, who’s just great but is even sillier and more careless than she is. And you watch this sweet boy grow up, and you’re always a little worried because you’ve seen some things that have taught you that the world isn’t nice to sweet people like him. And then he gets old enough to drive, and he starts getting mixed up with all sorts of bad people and bad behaviors…and then you get a call at three in the morning, from your sweet, silly sister, because her sweet, silly boy didn’t come home. And when the police go out looking for him, they find him dead.”

Fiona put a hand to her mouth to hold in the sobs.

The city around them seemed to hush a bit after her dad’s last word, as though it was suddenly interested in his story. She wrapped the foil back around her remaining knish. The half she’d eaten now sat in her stomach like an anvil.

Her father closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then opened them again, staring out at the sidewalk like he could see his checkered past chiseled in it.

“And all you want is to help her,” he said. “You want to do anything, anything at all, to punish the people who did this, who…invaded your sweet, silly life with their big, ugly world. You forget the beautiful things, the good people and the fun nights, and all you see is you and them. So you pray for an answer. You pray for something, anything. And then one day, you’re drunk and you’re talking to a bartender in the city, and Satan himself sits down next to you.”

She clenched her eyes and remembered Peter’s words from nine years ago. You made a deal with the devil, the time to pony up came, and you chumps didn’t have a soul among the lot of you.

“This…fiend, he’s overheard your story, and he has all the answers,” continued her father. “And you’re a mess. So, you agree to his terms. And by the time you’ve signed your name in blood, you realize what he has in store. And it won’t help. It’ll leave more families without their sons and daughters. But it’s too late. The deed is done. So, you figure you have two options: tell everyone who’s counting on you, including your sweet little sister, that you only did greater harm…or hide it. You tell them that everything worked out, that you just handled it. You call in every favor you’re owed, and you wipe all the evidence of this horrible truth from the lives of the people around you. And you tell your friends, and your community, you tell them all, It’s okay. What happened there was just a horrible mistake, but we took care of it. All is right in the world. Forget it ever happened.”

As he finished, his voice cracked and a tear dropped from the corner of his eye, hitting the arm of his jacket with a pat.

Fiona did her best to hold down the gorge in her throat. She’d expected raised voices and denials and threats, but not this. Not her father quietly falling apart next to her. She’d always thought that the perfect exterior her dad presented the world was hiding the dark side she’d seen that night by the winery sign. Instead, it was the exact opposite—her loving, big-hearted father had been forced into ruthlessness to deal with the horrors beyond his front door.

“What did you do with the council’s money?” she finally asked.

“Most of it we used to bribe people at the newspapers and police precinct,” he said, wiping at his eyes. “We made sure that no one would ever be able to tie the disappearances to Hamm. Your aunt got a nice chunk of it, and the Brookhams got the same amount. Mostly to cover funeral costs and let your uncle Warren take some time off work to mourn.”

“That all?”

Her father swallowed. “The rest…it was only eight thousand each,” he said. “Edgar, Darren, and I split it. For their help…and their silence.”

Fiona felt her guts churn and her temples pound. “You stole from the council,” she said, trying to make sense of it. “The economy had just crashed, people were having a hard time surviving…and you stole from them.”

“Do you think I used that money on beer and cigarettes?” he said. He glanced at her, saw the wisecrack had belly flopped, and continued. “That eight grand helped fund two Hamm council Halloween parades, two Main Street food festivals, and a junior high carnival. The people on the town council, they’re good people, but they wouldn’t give us that money to do those things, Fiona. Instead, they gave it to the devil to kidnap a bunch of kids. And I wasn’t going to allow that monster the satisfaction. So, I used it to do the right thing instead. I made him go away, and I buried that horrible thing in our past. That’s what you have to understand, Fiona, it’s always been for the good of Hamm.”

“What about Edgar and Darren?” she said. “What did they do with their money?”

Her dad shrugged. “I don’t know. That wasn’t my business.”

“Dad,” she said, trying to keep her breathing regular, “how could you?”

“Sweetheart—” He seemed to think better of being sentimental with her. “Fiona. Listen to me. This is never going to be something I’m proud of. But you need to know that the people in our town, I love them with all my heart, but they’re weak. They’ve never needed to fight for anything before. So, when the people here, who know how to fight”—he waved his arm out at the city—“when they show up and do whatever they want, there needs to be someone to take charge. The last time I just let things slide, people came into Hamm who did us harm. So, I did what it took to get rid of them.”

“By stealing from our friends,” she said, feeling her eyes finally water up.

“If I told them what we actually did, they wouldn’t trust me,” he said. He was trying to stay calm, but more fat tears were pouring down his cheeks by the minute. “And there was no way he’d do it for free, out of kindness.” He finally looked up at her with his bloodshot eyes, full of insecurity and fear. “You were telling the truth, weren’t you? You’re seeing him.”

“He’s been… We’ve become close,” she said. “I met him the night you… At the winery sign. I gave him some food and water. He remembered me, and when he showed up at a party in Hamm last month, we began talking. He’s teaching me things.”

Robert Jones closed his eyes and groaned. “Teaching you what?”

“We’ve been studying music together,” she said. Technically true.

“Fiona,” he said, “I’m not going to pretend that you being… with boys is something wrong. You’re young, it’s natural, I get that. And I understand he seems interesting. Hell, he seemed interesting to me when I first met him. But that man…he’s evil. He did something evil to those poor kids…”

The way he said “man” showed Fiona the kind of character he hoped to elicit in her mind: the Pit Viper as a mad genius, stubble on his chin, knife in his boot, craving his ill-begotten cash. But when she replaced her father’s demonic ideal with Peter, her Peter, who believed in her talent and respected her freedom and seemed so in tune with everything around him, she couldn’t make sense of her father’s story. Maybe he’d made some mistakes, but Peter was no simple villain.

And anyway, neither was Robert Jones. He was right—the council only gave a damn about Hamm when their normal lives were violated. Maybe they’d needed a lie. Maybe her father had done the right thing.

Fiona felt her body hitch with sobs as tears ran hot down her face. The truth from her father had put things in perspective…but that had only made them worse. Her heart and mind felt like ill-fitting puzzle pieces, and her gut was nowhere in sight. She wished Peter was there to hold her, then immediately felt sick with regret at the instinct.

“I need to go,” she sobbed, standing. “I need to think about this.”

“Please, Fiona, wait,” he said, dropping his knish and grabbing her arm. “Don’t go to him. Please, I know I’m not a good man, but I can’t lose you. I did this, all of this, for you and our family—”

She wrenched free from him and marched down the streets, weeping as she walked. The last time she looked back, her dad was watching her go, wearing the ashen and uncomprehending face of a man who’d been stabbed by his best friend. No one in the city around him seemed to notice his tears.