Broken World (3 page)

I don’t know why my defenses melt around him, but they always do. He can see right through me, and he’s not running for the hills. I’m not sure what to think about that, either. I shake his hand and offer a quiet, “Deal.”

“Good. Scram, before your dad calls in the National Guard.”

I start to smile but force myself to stop, not wanting to give him anymore access past my defenses than he already has. I walk away.

“Ms. Abbott-Renou,” he calls when I reach the door. “Tell your driver not to park in front of a fire hydrant next time, or I’ll write him a ticket.” He winks. “And I won’t forget to sign it.”

“You would’ve made a good politician!” I retort.

“Hey now, that’s low!” He throws his arms open like I’ve wounded him.

I leave. This time, I do smile. I ignore the paparazzi as they snap pics of me and hurry to the car, followed by a silent Fabio. I climb into the back seat while he gets in the front. The small thrill I feel at the exchange with Dom is gone by the time I reach home.

I dart into the house, not wanting to give anyone the chance to corner me. I’m ready to make a run for my closet when I notice who’s walking down the hall towards me. My half-brother, Joseph, is dressed casually. He waves for me to wait. The eldest of the three of us, he was out of the house in college by the time I turned five. I barely know him.

“Mia, c’mere,” he says and motions me out of the foyer.

We walk into the formal living area. He sits on one of the designer couches Mom imported from Europe. I sit on the other end and wait for him to give me another of Daddy’s speeches. He and Molly are model children with Shea-crafted images. As I stare at my half-brother, I wonder if perfect, confident, Ken-doll Joseph has secrets like Molly.

“How are you, Mia?” Joseph asks.

I shrug. We have the same blond hair and blue eyes, which we inherited from Daddy.

“I’m sorry I didn’t fly in earlier.” Joseph is on a special presidential appointment at the UN. I don’t know what he does, but I remember he’s always been gifted with languages.

“Why would you?” I ask, crossing my arms.

“Because I’m your brother, maybe?” He’s got Molly’s arrogant edge.

I roll my eyes at him.

“I haven’t seen you in so long. I forgot you’re not the little girl you were when I left for college.”

“Well I’m not.”

“Look, Mia, Molly and I have always been very distant from you,” he says, lowering his voice. “You were always the little princess, the spoiled daughter of the woman who replaced our mother. I don’t think either of us ever forgave your mother for that. I also don’t think we ever forgave you for what your mother did.”

“I know you guys hate me,” I say. “You don’t have to rub it in.”

“This is what I’m talking about,” he says. “This attitude. You’ve never been interested in the family image or anything outside of yourself.”

I get up to leave, furious he flew home from Europe to tell me how he and Molly hated me.

“But, then this … incident came out in the papers. I think that’s the shock it took for me to take a look at how we treated you. I called Chris, and we talked for a bit.”

“Where are you going with this?” I demand, not sitting but not leaving either.

“I didn’t know about your mother’s alcohol problem. I didn’t know Daddy wrote you off. I had no idea you were so alone.”

“It wasn’t like that for you and Molly?” I ask, puzzled.

“It wasn’t this bad. We lived in Georgia, not DC, so there was a buffer. Our mother wasn’t as interested in the social scene. We never had a normal life, but we had a better one,” he says. “In any case, you’re my sister. It’s time I started acting like your brother.”

“It’s a little late, don’t you think?”

“No, I don’t,” he said, the edge in his voice again. “If I thought that, I wouldn’t have come back at all. I’m late, yes, but I’m here now.”

“Right. Until I do something that embarrasses Daddy or the family.”

“Even if you do something Daddy opposes.”

I look at him. I don’t know him well enough to read him, and he’s got Daddy’s poker face. He can’t know how confused I am or what I’m considering doing, but his words make me think he might.

“We’ll see.”

“Mia, I’m serious. What happened to you is inexcusable. If I knew who did this, I’d do everything I could to help you get him.”

“Them,” I correct him. “There were two.”

“My god, Mia.”

“And I’m the one doing community service.”

Joseph frowns. Exhausted, I leave him and go to my room. I can’t help thinking of the rapport between Dom and Gianna. He’d given her a ride to work when her car broke down. I haven’t seen my half-brother in person in years.

Joseph is more of a stranger to me than Dom. I don’t know if I can trust Joseph or if he’ll turn his back on me the moment I do something Daddy disapproves of. He admitted that he and Molly have always resented me. I don’t know how they can suddenly not.

I trust Dom more than my own brother, maybe because I understand Dom’s ulterior motive in talking to me. I don’t know anything about Joseph, aside from his official story.

I hate being so confused about my own family.

“I need to rest,” I tell Joseph and start away.

“I’m here if you need me,” he calls.

“Okay.”

The minute I reach my room, I grab my journal and start writing.

I sat through the most depressing session today at the clinic. Did you know there are a lot of girls my age who end up knocked up after being raped? The ones at the clinic are way too poor to go to a real doctor. I don’t know what to think…part of me is sad for them and part of me can’t stop thinking that I just want to hide under a rock.

Joseph is here.

I pause, too mixed up about his appearance and words to write what I feel.

He almost seems like he wants to help. I don’t know what to think about that, either... I hardly know him. I always thought he’d be like Daddy, and I know I can’t trust Daddy at all. I’m so afraid of being hurt again. I wish we had a relationship like Dom and Gianna’s. Dom would never let anyone hurt his sisters, and he’d never betray them either.

I don’t know if the same is true for Joseph. Or Molly. I’m meeting her tomorrow morning for brunch. I’m kinda scared. She’s always looked down at me. Will she be decent like Joseph?

I’m mentally and physically exhausted. The session at the clinic sticks with me, and I can’t think of those other girls without wishing I wasn’t too screwed up to know how to help them.

The next morning, I ride alone in the car to meet Molly for brunch. Grudgingly, I have to admit Dr. Thompkins is right. It’s getting easier to go out. I still feel nervous and worried someone will grab me. My phone has become my crutch, and I clench it in my hands. Dr. Thompkins says that’s okay for now.

 Molly is already seated drinking coffee when I arrive. She’s well-dressed, her make-up flawless. Like mom, she’s a natural beauty with perfect features, a slender shape and bright blue eyes. My gaze goes at once to her huge engagement ring. In comparison, I feel like a dirty slob. I’m dressed in jeans, even if they’re expensive ones.

“Nice rock,” I say, sitting.

Her insincere smile tells me she thinks I’m being crass. I didn’t go to the Southern finishing schools she did.

“I’ve ordered for you,” she says, her cultured, heavy Southern accent rolling off her soft voice.

“Thanks.”

“Joseph’s in town.”

“Yeah, I know. How’s the wedding planning going?” I ask.

“Exhausting. I’ve hired three assistants, and it’s still overwhelming.”

“Hmmm.” What do I say to that? Molly’s nails are always perfectly manicured and her hands soft. I doubt she’s doing anything other than ordering people around.

“Is your mother coming back to town soon?” Molly asks.

“Allegedly. We’ll see if she actually shows.”

“Hopefully she does. I could use her advice on European designers.”

I look up from watching the waiter pour my coffee. Molly knows the designers as well as Mom. She spends her summers in Europe.

An awkward silence falls, and I doctor up my coffee.

“Caffeine isn’t a good idea for you right now, sweetie.”

I flush. Molly waves the waiter over and orders me herbal tea. I always feel off around her and Joseph. Neither of us talks until after the tea is brought. Molly pours me a cup. I sip at it and clench the warm cup in my hands to keep from fidgeting. Our food comes out, and I start to eat.

“Your mother helped me out last year. I had a moment of indiscretion, as Daddy would say.”

“But you’re marrying Emmitt. You’ve been together for years,” I point out. “Why not have a shotgun wedding instead of … of what you did?”

“Emmitt was detailed abroad at the time,” Molly replies. “He wasn’t the father.”

I stare at her. Perfect, darling Molly cheated on the son of a former president?

“The father was a college friend,” she says. “Emmitt and I were on the rocks at the time. He cheated on me, and I wanted to show him what it felt like. It was beyond stupid and petty. I didn’t expect to get pregnant.”

“Wow,” I breathe.

“You should know that our public personas are not who we actually are,” Molly chides me.

“Mine is. Shea and Daddy gave me no choice.” The memory of my press conference makes tears come to my eyes. I’m still humiliated by it, by seeing pictures of my battered face and body all over the news and internet.

“You’re also Daddy’s ace-in-the-hole right now. His ratings have sky-rocketed since your pictures hit the newsstands. “

“Great. I’m glad my rape is gonna get him reelected!”

“That’s the game, Mia,” Molly says coolly.

“I hate it!”

“I know. And that’s okay.”

I wipe my eyes and look at her. Her smile is genuine this time, and I see pity in her eyes.

“Not everyone needs – or wants – to play the game. Your mother always sheltered you from it. Daddy lost interest in you when he realized you’re not meant for it. We all knew it when you were young. You know Daddy. If something isn’t going to help him get elected, it’s not worth his time.”

I nod.

“That changed when you were raped. Shea’s brilliant at her job and saw an opportunity. She took it.”

Molly’s cold, calm words make more sense than I’ve ever been able to make out of my world.

“Now that you’re an asset to Daddy, you’re going to find your world growing smaller,” she continues. “I was always jealous of you, Mia.”

“Jealous?” I echo, surprised. “Why?”

“You had everything I did, plus your freedom. You could go to the mall without being hounded by press. You weren’t a puppet to Daddy’s team. You didn’t have to look perfect and say perfect things.”

I’ve never thought of Molly as being trapped in the world she seems to love. I’ve never seen
this
Molly, the one who didn’t act like Daddy’s pet. I never knew she had her own thoughts.

“I thought you were happy,” I say, confused.

“I am. It took me a long time to realize it is a game and how to play it. I’ve learned how to create an oasis away from the spotlight. Much like your mother, I love being a public figure. But watching her taught me to balance the public figure with the private, and not resort to alcohol.”

“So are you marrying Emmitt because you love him, or because Daddy wants you to?” I ask the question I’ve wanted to know the answer to for awhile.

“It’s what’s expected of someone in my position. What Emmitt and I both know is that our public images require sacrifice and work. When he proposed, we agreed that we both intend to remain public figures, whose emotions will come second to our service.”

“But you must love him, or you wouldn’t have slept with someone else to get even.”

“We care for each other, Mia, but neither of us believes in true love or soul mates or anything like that,” she says mockingly. “I let my emotions get in the way, and it almost cost me my future. What I learned from that experience was that I do value my future with Emmitt. We’ve been together for years, and we come from good families. There aren’t any skeletons in the closet. Our marriage is a safe bet that won’t embarrass either family. It’s more of a business deal.”

Maybe I should be disgusted that she’s admitting to marrying for reasons other than love. But I feel sorry for her instead. I’m not sure why. There’s no remorse or regret on her face.

“I guess we are different,” I say. I was too enthralled in her story to feel my usual unease and confusion. They’re starting to return now.

“We are.”

I wait for her to say more. She sips her coffee and nibbles on a croissant.

“Is that why you wanted to meet me? To tell me we’re not alike?” I ask.

“Partially. I didn’t want anything to do with you my whole life, until I saw your picture in the papers after what happened to you this summer.”

Her troubled look makes me want to cry. As different as we are, some small part of her cares for me. The moment passes, and she continues, her poker face in place once more.

“I think, when you turn eighteen, you need to get out of this mess,” she advises.