Sins of the Father (11 page)

“Keep breathing. I’m right here. Keep breathing, Fi. Deep breaths. You’re okay.” I couldn’t see his face clearly, but Sawyer’s voice sounded strained to the breaking point.

It took a few tries to follow his orders, but I managed to get my lungs to open up, to get the oxygen to go deeper, and the fuzziness receded.

Sawyer’s arm was wrapped around my back, pinning me to his side, but I felt no desire to pull away. Instead I leaned
into
him, into his warmth, his comfort, his understanding, his acceptance. There was a part of my mind screaming at the stupidity of it, reminding me of who he was and where we were, but the rest of me was firmly entrenched in the past and he was my anchor, keeping me from drowning in it.

“It’s over.” Fingers threaded through my hair, combing it in long, soothing strokes down my back. “You survived. You’re so strong.”

My cheeks felt chapped from the combination of tears and cold as I swiped at them with the sleeve of my shirt.

Sawyer’s chest pressed into mine on a deep breath and I swear his voice turned to a growl. “Please tell me those sons of bitches are rotting behind bars somewhere. Otherwise, I’m about to be. For murder.”

It was sick and twisted that his vicious threat brought me more relief than anything. “They’re not.”

His arms clenched around me and I burrowed deeper into the hard planes of his chest, choosing for just this minute to forget who he was and accept what he was offering. “Explain. Now.”

“I never pressed charges.”

In one swift move, I was shoved away from my only source of comfort to find Sawyer staring at me in bewilderment. “You never told anyone about this?”

The tang of copper flooded my mouth and I realized I’d bitten my tongue hard enough to draw blood. “I told my parents that night.”

“And they didn’t call the police?”

“No.” I thought they would. I thought my mother would hold me in her arms and tell me that everything would be okay. That they’d take me to a doctor and hold my hand while I filed a report. That we’d face it together. I was a fool. “They said . . . They said no one would believe me. Those boys that attacked me, they were the most popular boys in town. All of them had girlfriends. They didn’t need to force someone.” My fingers traced the seashells on the bedspread as I drew a steadying breath, releasing it slowly. “I snuck out of the house to go to that party. I was wearing this slutty little skirt my mother never would have let me leave the house in. And I’d been drinking. I—”

“You’re telling me your parents said this was
your
fault?” The storm had passed, but Sawyer’s voice boomed like thunder.

“No. No one’s fault. Just . . .”

“That you were asking for it.” His eyes flashed with something more terrifying than I’d seen from him before. “
Bastard.
His daughter is gang raped and he talks her
out
of reporting it.”

His venomous assessment caused me to flinch and he pulled me back into his arms. I went willingly. “You don’t understand. It was only a few weeks before a big stockholders meeting and I was—”

“Sixteen. You were
sixteen-fucking-years-old
, Fi. You were a child who was brutally attacked.
Nothing
about that night was your fault.” His throat bobbed on a hard swallow. “Just like now. None of
this
is your fault, either. You didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t ask for this. You didn’t cause it. You don’t deserve it. Do you hear me?”

I heard him and, rationally, I knew it was the truth. They hadn’t chosen me at random. I wasn’t targeted because of the party I was at, or the amount I’d had to drink, or the dress I was wearing. This was all happening because of something my father had done that I still didn’t fully understand. In some ways, it was reassuring to know that I didn’t need to shoulder the guilt of the things that had happened to me. In other ways, it was terrifying. Because if I wasn’t the problem . . . then how could I ever hope to fix it?

Chapter 11

~Sawyer~

*7 years ago*

“Higher!”

I laughed at Sylvie’s squeals of delight as I grabbed hold of the ropes and rushed forward, ducking beneath the swing and pushing her as high as my fingertips could stretch.

“Christ, Sawyer, are you trying to send her into orbit? That’s high enough.”

“Higher! Higher!” Sylvie cried, and I knew she was doing it just to get a rise out of her brother.

She got it.

“I said
enough
.” He scowled first at her and then at me, making it clear my part in this hadn’t gone unnoticed. “It looks like it’s going to start raining soon anyway.”

“Who cares?” Sylvie leaned as far back as her short arms would allow, eyes closed, long blonde hair streaming behind her as she flew like an angel toward the heavens.

The heavy, dark clouds looming overhead guaranteed Frank was right, but I understood her reluctance to let the moment go. It was our one chance—our one week each year at the beginning of summer vacation—to taste the freedom of normalcy. To let go of the constant stress and fear and pain. And we all wanted to make every moment of it count.

The first sign of the incoming deluge was the metallic pinging of rain hitting the tin roof of the stables. The steady beating took on a deeper pitch as it raced across the pasture and I tugged the old swing to a stop to help Sylvie jump off.

“Run!” She bolted toward the closest building. Being small was a disadvantage to her in many ways, but not when it came to speed. She was halfway across the grassy field, arms flung high, before Frank and I even started running.

We burst into the stables, clothes plastered to our bodies, panting for breath, and laughing so hard I doubted we’d ever be able to catch it. Sylvie took the hem of her oversized tee and wrung it out, creating a puddle around her feet. I planted my hand against the wall outside the tack room and caught myself eyeing the strip of pale skin above her waistline.

“We should go.” Frank shook his head, spraying Sylvie with raindrops. “Grandad will get worried if we don’t come back to the house soon.”

“Not yet.” Sylvie retreated, wandering farther along the alley toward a stall where a big gray mare had poked her head over the door to investigate our intrusion. She held her hand out long enough for the horse to get her scent and then ran it up her neck to scratch behind her ears. “Please? Just a little longer?”

Frank glanced my way. We both shared her reluctance to leave. Back at the house we’d be expected to start packing. Our week—our break from reality—was over. Tonight Mr. Varis would come to take us home. If it was anything like the past, he’d have a week’s worth of pent up aggression to unleash.

“That’s a good girl. Such a good girl, Stardust.” Sylvie leaned in, pressing her forehead to the horse’s neck.

Her name was actually Mildred, but Sylvie hated it. Said a beautiful horse like that deserved a beautiful name, so at age six she’d renamed the horse Stardust, claiming that she could wish on her and all of her dreams would come true. Every year before we left, she’d go to that horse’s stall and shut her eyes. It wasn’t a mystery what she was wishing for. I’d yet to see it come true.

“Come on.” Frank grabbed my arm and tugged. “I want to show you something.”

I shot another glance at Sylvie, where she was nuzzling the horse’s fur, before following Frank into the tack room. It smelled of sweat and leather. I inhaled deeply, letting the calm that the strange combination brought me take root. Saddles were piled along the back wall. Bridles,
harnesses, lead lines all dangled from pegs. I knew how to use it all. Grandad made sure we were capable around the horses from the time we were five. I ran my fingers over the worn, buttery leather of the nearest saddle, while Frank rooted around on the floor in the corner.

“What are you looking for?”

“This.” He waved me over without looking up. “Come here.”

I stood behind him, peering over his shoulder at . . . the floor. “What?”

Frank dug his fingers into the crease between two boards and wiggled until one of them popped loose. Inside was a metal Ninja Turtles lunch box covered in rust and dirt. I ignored the million and one questions I had and watched him pry the lid off.

My mouth dropped open. “What is that?”

“Money.”

I could see that. Tens, twenties, fifties all stacked in neat little piles. There had to be close to a thousand dollars in there. “Where did you get it?”

“I’ve been saving it for years. Most of it I took from Dad when he wasn’t paying attention.” A cold smile cut across Frank’s face. “There’s seven-hundred and sixty-eight dollars in here.”

“What’s it for?” When you’re sixteen, seven-hundred and sixty-eight dollars seems like a fortune.

“Us.” Frank started repacking the cash in the box. “This is our escape, Sawyer. You, me, and Sylvie. As soon as we have enough, we’ll take it and go.”

“When?” I itched to take it and run now. All three of us. We could build a life out of that. Couldn’t we?

“I don’t know. We need more.”

“Then why show me? Why now?”

“In case.” He snapped the lid and lowered the box out of sight, sliding the floorboard back into place.

“In case what, Frank?” I thought I knew where he was going with this and I didn’t like it.

“In case something happens to me. I just want you to know where it is. If something happens—”

“Nothing’s going to happen to you. We’re getting out. All of us.”

“
If
something happens, Sawyer, take the money. Use it to get Sylvie and yourself out of here. Start over somewhere else.” His gaze collided with mine and I could tell he was serious. “Give her a good life, Sawyer. Just promise me that.”

Frank didn’t ask me for much and this was one promise I had no trouble making. “The best.”

A horse’s whinny drew us back out into the alleyway where Sylvie was brushing Stardust’s mane.

“Come on, Syl. It’s time to go,” Frank insisted, proving once more that the horse’s name should have remained Mildred.

I wrapped my arm around her shoulders as she shuffled closer. Today was always a hard day for all of us, but we’d get through it like we always did. Together.

Bags packed and stacked by the front door, Sylvie sat at the kitchen table clinging to the stuffed cat her grandad had given her. The thing looked ancient, but he said it used to belong to her grandmother, so I knew Sylvie would treasure it even though she’d never met the woman.

“Did you guys have a nice time?” Mr. Varis, Sr. dropped a plate of cookies on the table. They were store bought, but we didn’t care.

“Oh, yes.” Sylvie snapped up two cookies.

Frank nodded and took a cookie for himself. I declined the offer. I’d eaten so much good food since we’d arrived—real, home-cooked meals—that I thought I might explode with a single bite more.

“Yes, sir. Thank you for inviting me again.” He wasn’t my grandfather, but he never failed to include me in these summer escapes. Each year as I grew older, I wondered more and more if he really knew what they meant to us. What the rest of our lives were like. If so, he never let on.

“Oh, Sawyer, you know you’re like one of my grandkids. Besides, what would the terrible trio be without its third member?” He’d called us that for as long as I could remember.
The terrible trio.
I liked it. I liked being considered a part of something. A family. Besides my own. For one week every year, we were our own little family—Frank, Sylvie, Grandad, and me—and it was perfect.

The sound of tires on the gravel drive brought an end to the daydream.

“Load up. Let’s get the hell out of here. I don’t have all damn day.” That was the man’s hello to his children after being apart from them for a week.

Frank and I hustled to get the car packed, while Sylvie hugged her grandad goodbye.

“Dad.” Mr. Varis nodded to the older man.

“Benny.” Grandad’s eyes narrowed on his son. “Have you been drinking?”

I was so used to seeing him that way that the glassy look in his eyes and slight slur to his words went unnoticed.

“You can’t get behind the wheel of that car and drive these children—”

“Don’t you lecture me on what I can and cannot do with
my
children, old man.” Tangling his fingers in Sylvie’s hair, he tugged her away from her grandad.

When she cried out in pain, Grandad made a move toward her, but Frank beat him there. “Get your goddamn hands off her.”

Mr. Varis glared into his son’s eyes with enough venom to kill an elephant. Frank didn’t even flinch.

“I said let’s go.” He gave Sylvie a rough shove toward the door and I was right there to catch her.

“Benjamin Francis, you were raised—”

“You’re drunk.” Frank cut through his grandad’s objection, knowing as well as I that this would only lead from bad to worse. “It’s raining, the roads are slick. Why don’t you let me drive?”

Frank had only had his permit for a few weeks, but I’d have preferred to get into a car with him any day of the week.

“Who the fuck do you think you are, telling me I can’t drive my own damn car? Get your ass out there.
Now
.”

“No.” Frank held his ground, though the tension rocketed up by degrees and Sylvie huddled deeper into my embrace. “I’m not letting Syl get in that car if you’re driving.”

Mr. Varis took a sloppy swing and Frank tackled him. I twisted, swinging Sylvie out of the way just in time as they crashed to the floor. There was nothing more we could do but stay back and help clean up the mess when it was over. I knew that. Sylvie knew that. Grandad did not.

“You leave that boy alone! Get off him right now. Right now or I’ll—I’ll—call the—” Grandad made a choking sound and stumbled backward into the side board.

Only the sound of a glass vase shattering brought an end to the brawl.

“Grandad?” Frank shoved his father off of him and climbed to his feet.

Sylvie’s face had been buried in my shoulder up until that point and she fought to free herself, but it wasn’t something I thought she should see. The old man lay on the floor, gasping for air like a fish out of water, clutching the material of his red and black flannel shirt over his heart.

“Grandad!” Frank collapsed to his knees beside his grandfather.

“Shh. Shh, Syl, it’s alright.” Hot tears dampened my shirt collar as she continued to struggle in my arms.

“Sawyer?” She whimpered my name and I held her tighter.

“It’s okay. It’s okay, Syl.”

“Call a goddamn ambulance!” Frank shouted at his father who belatedly seemed to realize what was happening.

Lights, sirens, emergency room, doctors, nurses . . . none of it was enough to save the life of the only good man any of us had ever known as we watched Sylvie’s wish burn to ash.