Finding Purgatory (10 page)

Tori fixed Raphe with a dirty look. “Was that part of your plan to get me alone again?” She jerked her head at Brook’s retreating figure and crossed her arms.

His soft brown eyes looked sad, and she had to turn away. “Tor.” He moved to sit down across from her.

“Don’t. Don’t sit down. Just tell me what you want. Why were you looking for me?”

He hesitated, but then he sat down anyway. She looked up to yell at him but was disarmed by his flirtatious smile. She looked down at the table again. “I got you a birthday gift,” he said.

“It had better not be porn.”

When she chanced a look up, he was grinning at her. There was a glint in his eyes that always made her stare a beat longer than she wanted. “No porn,” he said, his voice low.

Tori blinked, having forgotten for a moment what they were talking about.

“Actually—” he leaned closer, his elbows on the table “—I got you one of those prepaid phones.” His eyes darted down to her smartphone. “Looks like I’m a little late on that one, though.” The conversation lapsed, and Raphe touched the pad of a single finger to her phone. He spun it around. “So, did your sister get it for you, then?”

“It’s none of your business.” She stood, grabbed her half-eaten skewer, and shoved it in the trash.

“Wait.” He grabbed her arm as she passed.

“Stop it.” She yanked her arm back.

He pressed his lips into a thin line as he looked back at her. “Explain this to me, Tor. Please.” He looked so vulnerable, Tori was taken aback. Raphe never looked so insecure. “After Christmas—”

“I’m leaving.” She took a handful of steps away, whirling when Raphe looked like he was going to follow. “Just leave me alone.”

Tori pushed her way around the tables to get to the escalator. She ran down the steps, and once she was on the bottom story, she got around the corner as quickly as possible. Then she couldn’t run anymore. She stopped, her vision blurred, and she bent at the knees, trying to catch her breath. It wasn’t the exertion that made her so winded but the emotion running through her. It seized her heart and closed her throat.

She’d never wanted to see him again.

“You okay, kid?” The guy at one of the stands was eyeing her.

Tori straightened up, furiously wiping tears from the corners of her eyes. The goddamned monster was making her crazy. And weepy. She wasn’t okay. She was about five seconds away from losing it. “I’m fine,” she said and was quickly walking again. She ended up outside where there was a bench to have her little break down on. Fuck hormones, fuck the stupid parasite, and fuck Raphe for appearing when she was supposed to be having a good time with Brook.

Her stomach twisted, and Tori groaned. She wrapped her arm around her middle. “Oh, perfect. Both of you decided to suck at once. I guess you really are related.”

She rocked back and forth a minute, trying to get a hold of her reeling emotions.

Seeing him confused her. His smile still made her happy in that ridiculous way. But he also made her scared and conflicted.

Her stomach twisted again.

“Shut up,” she muttered to the thing. “Just shut up.

Chapter 9: Insight

“W
hy do you let people like the Everetts become foster parents?”

Shane looked up, perplexed. “What do you mean?”

At the end of their first lunch together, Shane had agreed to meet Ani whenever she felt the need. That was how they ended up at West’s restaurant again one afternoon. If anything, Ani had even more questions and frustrations than before, and she wasn’t sure how to articulate them.

Ani twisted her napkin between her fingers. It wasn’t in her nature to see the worst in people. Everyone did bad things, everyone. She’d never seen the point in judging people. Even the most incomprehensible of actions made sense at some point, even if it was only for the heartbeat it took to enact them. After all, not a lot of people would understand how she could abandon her three-year-old sister. It was impossible to fully comprehend why anyone did anything when you hadn’t lived the millions of individual moments that played a part of each and every decision.

In her memories, she found herself looking down the stairs where her husband lay dying, her baby was dead, and Steven Leung stood over them with a gun in his hand.

She pushed away the scene and the rush of rage she felt, scrambling to remember Shane’s question. “The way Tori talks about her foster parents. It just doesn’t seem like they had much patience. I mean, it’s obvious they did a number on her head.”

Shane stirred his soup as he composed his reply. “You don’t have kids, right?”

Ani flinched. “N-no.” That was the easiest answer. In her head, visions flashed. She remembered Mara hopping up and down in her crib, her hands out, calling,
“Mama!”

“I don’t either. My sister does, though. She loves her kids. It’s frightening how much she loves them. But sometimes? They drive her absolutely insane.” An adoring smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. “She’ll call me to vent because she knows I won’t judge her when she says parenthood is a thankless task. Her kids—sometimes they frustrate her so much she calls me in tears, this close to tearing her own hair out. No one can break your heart quite as succinctly as your kid can.”

One after another, visions of Mara hit Ani, each like a blow to her gut. She remembered her as a newborn after Jett had gone back to work. Back then, it seemed like Ani hadn’t slept for days, and Mara wouldn’t stop crying. Babies had no concept of love. They were all take, all neediness, with no give. And then she remembered how much it hurt when Mara was a little older and had slapped her hands away, insistent that she only wanted Daddy. She remembered tantrums and days when Mara just didn’t want to be good no matter how much Ani scolded or bribed.

Shane spread his hands wide, oblivious to her mental barrage. “And teenagers are probably the most irritating group of people on the planet. They’re all hormones-gone-wild, know-it-all little brats—every one of them. Even the good ones. My sister says sometimes, just sometimes, her kids make it a challenge for her to like them. Nothing could make her not love them, but like and love are different things.

“At the end of the day, though, they’re her kids. She loves them. She chose them.”

His expression grew sad, and for a minute he looked exhausted beyond his years. “But what if they weren’t her kids? What if she was only a temporary stop? What if she never loved those kids because she didn’t raise them?”

Before Mara, Ani had never had very much patience for other people’s children. When a handful of her friends had babies in their twenties, she was often annoyed at having to deal with them in order to spend time with their parents. Loud, insistent, needy little beings, they complicated everything.

“Every kid deserves patience and compassion,” she finally answered. Maybe her friends’ children had often annoyed her, but she’d picked them up, played with them, and answered their endless litany of bizarre questions.

“It’s easy to think that when you don’t have to be a parent to these kids. Parenting is a twenty-four seven job. In a fair, just world every foster parent would be up to the task. Ideally, my job shouldn’t need to exist, but it does.”

“Parents who mess up or die, I get that. But why solve the problem of one useless or absent parent by handing a kid over to another?”

His answering laugh was dry and lacking any kind of amusement. “Do you know what’s required of every parent by law? They have to keep a kid fed, clothed, reasonably healthy and safe, and in school. That’s it. That’s all the system is trying to do—take care of the basic necessities. Anything else is just a bonus.”

That concept didn’t sit well with Ani at all. “So if not because they care about kids in need, why do these people become foster parents?”

“Money. They’re not bad people. Everyone has to make a living, and there are a lot worse ways to earn money than to open your home to a kid or six in need.” His laugh then was a little more genuine. “Believe me, no one is getting rich off foster kids.

“It’s not easy. Even the most compassionate of our parents can only do so much, and it’s difficult not to get jaded. Putting aside having to deal with visitations and the drama that arises from that, these kids tend to have more problems than most. When the kid herself is making it impossible to help her, which happens a lot, what can you do?”

Ani scoffed and looked down at the table. “That I understand.”

“I thought you might.” His tone was sympathetic. “I’m curious, though. Why are you targeting the Everetts specifically?”

“Are you defending them?”

“No. Like I said, I’m just curious. It’s not as though they were the only people who took care of her.”

“She talks about them more than anyone else.” Ani tapped her fingertips on the table. “I don’t even know how many families she was with.”

“More than enough.”

Ani sighed. “We went out to dinner the other day, and she made some offhand comment, wondering how hard it would be to find a simple waitressing job. I tried to talk to her about the future. College. What she might want to do after the baby is born. She wasn’t very receptive. She’s never receptive when I try to do things like that for her.”

Her voice dropped to a near growl as she clenched and unclenched her fists. “There are so many things I think she should have, so many things I want to give her. Not material things, for the most part, but opportunities. But I can’t get her to understand she can do what she wants, be anything she wants. I would help her.”

Ani sat back in the booth with a scowl. “From what she says, the Everetts put it into her head that to accept any kind of help on that scale was akin to being lazy.”

Shane frowned. “This is just an observation, so I don’t think it’s betraying any confidences. What I find happens all too often is the thing these kids need most, whether it’s love, trust, consistency, or something in between, is exactly what they can’t handle. It’s one of the things that makes working with them one of the most maddening things in the world.”

Ani turned the idea over in her head. “That’s a weird thing to think about—being incapable of accepting love.”

“Imagine that you grew up in hell. You know it’s not right. You know most people wouldn’t tolerate being in your situation, but it’s all you know, all you’ve ever known. There’s no real concept of innocence, because even if you don’t have a horrible story, the kids all around you do. That’s your reality. Your only reality. Everything else is a fairy tale that happens to people who aren’t you.”

He looked up at her, holding her gaze. “So then imagine, somehow, you stumble out of hell straight into heaven. Happiness can hurt, the concept of love is frightening, and luck is something you don’t know how to identify because it’s never happened to you.”

Ani was silent, stunned as she tried to comprehend what the world had to look like to her little sister. It was such a bleak place. What must it be like to trust absolutely no one?
It was no wonder Tori was so angry all the time. Or maybe it wasn’t really anger but self-defense.

Before she could find her voice again, Ani gasped as a piece of cheesecake was plopped down in front of her. Almost at the same time, West slid into the booth next to Shane, his grin wide.

“I’m sorry. Am I interrupting something?” he asked after a moment when neither Shane nor Ani spoke.

“I think that’s pretty obvious,” Shane said, his tone sardonic.

“Well, I’m sorry.” West looked and sounded unapologetic as he leaned toward Ani with his elbows on the table. “But really, this is your fault.”

“Oh?” Ani arched her eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. The way he grinned made her want to smile back.

“Shane told me you don’t like cheesecake.” His tone indicated the very thought was blasphemous in his eyes.

“I told you that to get you to shut up about her.” Shane’s eyes slid over Ani and back to his brother.

“What?” Ani’s head snapped up.

West’s smile only brightened. “Well good. That means you aren’t actually defective, and you’ll love the cheesecake.” He tapped the dish in front of her, reminding her it was there.

Ani wondered why it always felt like she’d been thrown into the middle of a conversation when Shane’s brother was around. She stumbled as she tried to catch up. “I, um . . . well, actually, I really don’t like cheesecake.”

Both brothers turned to stare at her as if she’d grown another head. Ani felt her cheeks get hot. “What? I’m not a big fan of cheese in general, let alone in cake form.”

West balked. “You don’t like cheese?” His voice was loud enough to draw attention from some of the patrons around him. He leaned back, staring at her for a long moment before he turned to Shane. “I don’t know if I like you hanging out with someone like this.”

As he pushed to his feet, West’s expression was determined. “I know my brother,” he said with mock gravity. “He won’t listen to reason. I know he’ll keep seeing you. I’m going to have to make it my mission to teach you the error of your ways.”

“Is that right?”

“This is what I want you to do. You watch my brother as he devours this rich, decadent piece of amazing. Watch the way his eyes close.” In time with his words, West’s eyes closed with a flutter of his eyelashes. “Watch the way he has to swallow back a moan because the flavor is so absolutely divine. Watch.” He opened his eyes and gave a wicked grin. “And try to understand what you’re missing. I’ll find a cheesecake you like if it’s the last thing I do.”

With a wink, he was gone again, leaving Ani both amused and perplexed.

“Ugh, do you know what sucks?” Emily groaned, flopping down on the grass next to Tori.

“Ariel on a first date,” she muttered, mostly to herself.

“What?”

“Nothing. What sucks?”

“Heartburn.” Emily rolled her head to look at Tori. She was tracing the line of her belly with her fingertips. “Pregnancy isn’t as glamorous as I thought it would be.”

Tori didn’t say anything to that. Pregnancy had never seemed glamorous to her.