October 20
Twenty-Four Years Ago
12:00 A.M.
It was exactly midnight. Her birthday was over. She was officially sixteen, and had been kissed by the two people who had celebrated with her. But now her best friend hated her; she’d seen the look in Mish’s eyes at the end of the evening. Mish was not only her best friend, but her only friend, the only reason Leo had someone to celebrate with—and Leo had stabbed her in the back. It wasn’t her fault, she told herself. It was just a game!
Except it wasn’t, and Leo knew it, and Mish knew it, and the only one who was clueless about what was going on was Brooks. She didn’t even want Brooks. She just wanted—someone who was just for her. Someone who made her feel special.
That someone was Mish. She was all she had and now Leo didn’t have her either.
Arnold was supposed to come over when the club closed, but he probably wouldn’t. He didn’t really like her; he was just being nice. He was letting her down easy. She was nothing, she was nobody. She was the kind of girl someone like Dave Griffin could use like a tissue and then forget about. Arnold wasn’t coming over.
She let herself inside the house and noticed her mom had left a message on the machine. Happy birthday, sweetie. I’m so sorry I’m not home yet. They asked me if I could night-manage the swing shift, so I won’t be home until five in the morning. I left your cake in the fridge. We can eat it tomorrow?
Leo deleted the phone message. She opened the card, and a twenty-dollar bill slipped out. Wow, that was even less than she was expecting. Things must be pretty dire.
She yawned, changed into her sweatpants and an old T-shirt, checked that the front door was locked, and went to bed.
The hand on her thigh didn’t wake her up completely, but she knew, almost immediately, who was in the bed with her.
“Shhhh,” he whispered.
She squirmed. Should she pretend to be asleep, like before? That’s what she did, ever since it started, after the first time, when he’d begun to come over at night.
Just pretend it didn’t happen.
Just pretend she wasn’t awake.
Just pretend she didn’t know what was happening.
She shut her eyes. She could feel his breath on her neck, and she cringed, repelled, her entire body paralyzed and cold.
Leo closed her eyes and felt the tears on her cheeks even though she didn’t realize she was crying. The first time it happened, he’d been looking for Leo’s mom. He came over in the middle of the day, right after he’d gotten out of prison. He was a handsome man, smooth and strong.
“Hey, your mom around?” he’d asked.
“She got a job, she’s at work,” said Leo. She didn’t pay attention to him; he was just Mish’s dad, the guy across the street, the guy who just got out of jail.
“So you’re Leo, huh?”
Leo looked up. “Yeah.”
“You know, your mom and I used to date, before she married your dad.” He smirked, crossing his arms against his chest so she could see the tattoos snaking up his forearms. There was one of a heart, one of a snake, and one of Mish’s face as a baby. She decided the tattoos were butt-ugly and looked away.
“Okay,” she said, in a tone that meant she didn’t care in the least.
“You ever know your dad?”
“Nope.”
“Yeah, well, me neither,” he said, barking a laugh. He sized her up keenly. “Want a beer?”
Leo looked up. “You’re serious?”
“Yeah. Why not?”
That first time, he just brought her a beer. That’s all they did. They sat and drank, and she’d never had a beer before; it was kind of bitter and she didn’t like the taste, so the next time, he brought her a bunch of wine coolers. Mish was working at Sears, so Leo had her afternoons to herself, and she started looking forward to his visits. He was funny, and kind of cool, and he paid more attention to her than her mom, who was always working.
It was later that the other stuff happened. The first time, it was a surprise, and she hadn’t even been able to understand what was happening until it was too late, and she’d lost her virginity. Funny thing, losing your virginity; it sounded like she’d misplaced it somewhere, like she’d lost it at the mall, or dropped it on the street.
In reality, it had been taken from her without her consent, without her agreeing to it, and she didn’t even understand that it was something you could agree to, that it was something you gave away, not something that was taken from you unexpectedly. Then she thought she was pregnant. That was the worst part. But then she got her period and everything was okay again, or as much as it could be.
He would come over a lot, at night, when he knew her mother was working at the restaurant. Sometimes she would pretend to be asleep. Sometimes she couldn’t pretend, but she knew she musn’t cry out, and musn’t tell anyone. It was a secret, a dirty, disgusting secret, and it made her feel disgusting and ashamed and gross and she hated herself for letting it happen; it was all her fault, all her fault, all her fault. And if she told anybody, they’d say the same thing.
She never, ever, ever, ever told Mish.
No, not today, she pleaded in her mind. No, please, not on her birthday, of all days. No, she didn’t want this. She never had. She just wanted to sleep, just wanted to dream of another life.
She opened her eyes.
“Surprise! Happy birthday, girl!” He was staring down at her, as if she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Just like that first afternoon. Just like all the nights after.
She saw her face reflected in his eyes, her fear and her rage, and she moved, so fast she couldn’t believe it; she was a blur, she was all motion and fury. She knew this was going to happen, she expected it. She grabbed the gun underneath her bed and pointed it at him. The gun she’d hidden there the day after he’d visited the last time. His own gun that she’d stolen from him.
“Hey now! Whoa! Hold on there!” he said, trying to scramble away and holding up his hands in surrender.
“Don’t touch me! Never touch me again!” she screamed.
Quick as lightning, he lunged, grabbing it out of her hand. He was so terribly strong, he pinned her down, but she was strong too, with fury and spite, and now they were struggling with it, rolling off the bed, rolling against each other, and she held on to the gun; she would never let go.
She had the gun in her hand, her finger on the trigger. She saw his face, the shock and the fear. This was it. This was the last time.
She had the upper hand, for once. Everything was going to change. Everything was going to be different. All she had to do was shoot.
But just then, the door banged open.
That split second.
That was all it took.
He saw his chance. He wrestled the gun away from her, turned it the other way, so that it pointed away from his stomach and into her chest.
The gun fired. One shot. That was all it took.
There was a scream.
Who was screaming?
It wasn’t her.
She couldn’t make a sound. Because her mouth was full of blood. And it wasn’t her voice. She wasn’t the one who called him that . . . who called him—
“DADDY!”