Identical (46 page)

He pauses, clearly unsure

whether to tell me the rest.

“Please. Don’t stop now.”

I found your father, on a swing

with a young girl, about his age.

They were naked, playing with each

other. Miranda was directing them,

and her boyfriend was taking pictures.

His voice breaks a little, and

his eyes—Daddy’s eyes—spill

the tears of this horrible truth.

Your father gained his manhood,

if you could call it that, at the age

of ten. His photographs appeared

in magazines, for the pleasure of

pedophiles. And he blames me.

His words don’t so much sink

in as they are pounded in, down

through my skull, into my brain.

So much explained. So much

insight gained, in the space of ten

minutes of ugly monologue.

My grandfather’s voice quivers.

He wasn’t hurt, not physically.

But emotionally, he was scarred.

I tried to tell him how sorry I was,

but he wouldn’t listen. Wouldn’t

forgive me. For eight years, we

barely spoke. And after he left

for college, I never heard another

word from him. I followed his career

as best I could. Was happy that he

did well for himself. I kept thinking

with time, he’d come around….

Oh, no. Not Daddy. Once you’re

on his shit list, forget it. But one

burning question remains.

“Why did you call about your

ex-wife coming back? Did you

really think she wanted money?”

He crumples like a candy wrapper.

I didn’t know what she wanted.

She’d been gone so long, I wasn’t

even sure she was still alive

until she knocked on my door,

wanting to know about you.

I thought—hoped—it might

be a way back into Raymond’s

life. Your life. I’m…all alone.

Signals my ride home is curbside.

Better not leave them waiting

too long, or I might get stuck

watching Joel fish for tuna.

Did
I
just think that? Fuck!

“I have to go. My ride is waiting.”

I consider what else to say.

I’ll start with a hug. Grandpa

…um…weird…stiffens a bit

at my touch. “Thank you.”

No, thank you. For giving me

the chance to maybe get to know

you. I don’t want to die without

family knowing or caring I’m gone.

Please stay in touch. Please?

“I’ll do my best. But Daddy

won’t like it if he finds out.”

We exchange phone numbers,

and he walks me to the door.

I turn. “Can I call you Grandpa?”

His smile is weak, weary.

I’d be grateful if you did. Tell

your ride to drive carefully.

I’d hate to lose you now.

The door closes behind me.

Replay themselves over and over

in my head on the ride home.

Thankfully the return trip is faster

than the outbound was. If I hear

one more frigging giggle, I’m

going to blow it completely.

I down yet another painkiller, chase it

with a swig of the Turkey stashed in my bag.

We drop over the top of the mountain,

where the hills bump and grind toward

the valley. I’ve admired this view

hundreds of times, but today it’s different.

Today the hills are haunting,

vague as spirits fooled into being,

each blurring into the next in cool

bronze succession. Indistinct.

Yet somehow not quite meaningless.

Like information gleaned, but not

completely absorbed. Like ugly little

movies, in semiconstant replay.

My cell has four voice mails,
three from Daddy:

Where are you?

Where the hell are you?

Why did you leave without

telling me where you were

going?

Where the fuck are you?

When will you be home?

Are you okay? Do I have

to come looking for you?

I have to call him, but first

I pick up the fourth message.

Can’t believe it, but it’s Ty:

Hey. Sorry I took so long

to return your call. Been

away at a seminar. When

can I see you? Call me.

If I call Daddy, he’ll want me

to come home, and who knows

what kind of mood he’ll be in?

(I’ve got a pretty good idea.)

But seeing Ty—and getting

wasted—is way up on my

priority list. If I get high

enough, I can deal with Daddy,

as long as he doesn’t actually

come looking and find me.

He wouldn’t come looking,

would he? And if he did,

could he find me way out

in the boonies at Ty’s place?

Nope. No way. First I call

Ty. He answers, second ring.

“Hey. I’m in town. Can you

pick me up?” He agrees,

so I have Brittany drop me

at the park. “Thanks for

the ride. See you.” Off they go.

I chance a one-sided call to Daddy.

“Hi. I’m fine. I’m with friends.

Be home in a while.”
Click.

And I def know it. I power down

the phone. I’ll have to deal with

whatever consequences Daddy

decides to deal me. But meanwhile,

I won’t have my evening disturbed

by the incessant interruption of a cell.

It takes Ty forty minutes to get to

me, too much time with nothing

to do but think about today.

And that means thinking about Daddy.

No wonder he didn’t want Kaeleigh

and me to have a childhood. He didn’t.

I have no idea how I’ll feel when he’s

punishing me, but right this moment,

I can’t help but feel sorry for him.

Finally the BMW cruises into view.

I wave and Ty pulls against the curb.

I give him my hottest smile. “Hey.”

Hey. Great to see you again. Get

in.
He opens the door for me, not

quite a gentleman.
My place okay?

Is exactly what I have in mind.

The top is down on the Beamer,

the sun low in the sky, and it’s

cold outside. So why am I hot?

Feverish? Maybe. But I’m not

going to tell him that and maybe,

just maybe, the fever is hunger,

not sickness. I’m starving.

Starving for a high, a place to

hang out inside my own head.

Starving for touch. Pain, even.

A way to feel. I need to feel.

Funny how when your life is

mostly bullshit, you turn off

feeling. Sometimes it’s hard

to turn it back on again.

Last time I let myself feel was

up on the mountain with Ian.

When he turned away, I flipped

the feeling off switch.

But now, just imagining what

Ty has in mind for me, for us,

I flip it back on again. Good

or bad, I’m ready to feel.

Is the perfect place to hang out

inside my own head. The first

thing he does is disappear

up the hall, toward his bedroom.

He comes back with a party in a box.

You want to get buzzed, right?

I nod and next thing I know,

we’re smoking black African

bud. It’s not really black, but

it’s definitely purple, the buds

big around as my fist. And it

tastes like absolute heaven.

Almost immediately, my eyes

grow heavy and my tongue thick.

“Incredible,” I manage, sounding

more like “increthible.” We both

laugh, and I slide into a comfort

zone. Part of me keeps shouting

a warning. The other part tells

the first to shut up, quit trying

to fuck up my high. I realize

Ty is a dangerous man. But I

so want to walk that razor’s edge,

take feeling to a whole new level.

He senses my eagerness.

His breath warms my ear

and my heart double-times.

How far will you go with me?

He kisses my mouth. My throat.

Will you let me draw blood?

He bites my neck, and a moan

escapes my mouth, unbidden.

How high will you let me take you?

For once, I want to relinquish

control. For once, I want to

completely let go. “You decide.”

His grin is pure evil.
That’s my

girl.
He yanks my blouse over

my head, spills me from my bra.

He kisses, bites. I’m already lost,

but hungry for more. He pulls

me to my feet, hands all over me….