The Big Sister - Part One (13 page)

Something inside of my brother told him that Steve intended to break many more things than just a little habit, and Luke snapped.

As Steve lunged forward, his fist raised, Luke grabbed the knife and held it, point up, to ward the man away. Perhaps his stepfather didn’t see the glint of light on the blade, or perhaps he was too drunk to halt his downward trajectory. I don’t know if Luke thrust the knife upward. I didn’t ask him, and he never volunteered the information. I wouldn’t judge him for it, if he had. He deserved to defend himself, deserved that sliver of protection it afforded.

Whatever the case was, Steve found himself with a steak knife sheathed in his bulging stomach and Luke scrambling out of bed and away, pulling the knife with him with a sickening suction sound. My brother ran for the door, taking the time to tie on sneakers with slippery, bloody fingers, and not looking back, not even daring to let himself hear the groans coming from his stepfather, or check on where his mother was. All Luke could think of was escape, that this was his chance, that if he stayed somebody would kill him.

Just like Luke had killed Steve.

“Okay,” I said, drying my eyes as soon as I’d pried out the essentials of Luke’s story from his very stubborn mouth. “Everything’s going to be fine, now.”

My brother gave me a dour look that told me he had his doubts. Of course he did. He hardly knew me at all. I knew myself just fine, and I had my doubts as to just how “fine” everything was going to be.

My first inclination was to gather as much information about Luke’s family as possible, but it wasn’t a good plan. We couldn’t return to the scene of the crime, not even to get what few belongings my brother had there. Not even to ascertain whether Steve was actually dead or not.

“I don’t know if he’s dead,” Luke said, his emotionless voice scaring me. “The knife was inside him and I ran.”

“It’s all right,” I assured him as we got into my car. “You don’t have to talk about it anymore.”

My mind went into overdrive on the way back to my apartment, feverishly thinking of all the crime dramas I’d watched. If someone got stabbed, what would happen first? Police would develop leads, ferret out suspects, start hunting for my brother. It couldn’t have been anyone other than Luke. Steve had been in Luke’s bedroom, and that looked bad. They’d probably find Luke’s fingerprints everywhere. The only thing missing was my brother — and the murder weapon.

Knowing that it was only a matter of time before the law put two and two together and came to me, wanting to know when the last time I’d had contact with my long-lost brother was, I sped to the apartment, urging the car over the limit as much as I dared. It wouldn’t do to get pulled over with a knife and a scared little boy.

“What are you going to do?” Luke asked, staring at me numbly as I rushed around my apartment, throwing food into bags and taking the shoebox of savings from its hiding spot in my closet.

“We,” I corrected him, tossing some clothes that I thought could fit my brother in a pinch into a tote bag. “We’re leaving the city. The state, even.”

“Where are we going?”

I glanced at him, worried that his voice lacked the inflection that would tell me it was normal. Maybe I didn’t know my brother very well, but that was the voice of someone infinitely older, infinitely more tired than a boy his age should be.

“Don’t you worry about it,” I said. “Let your big sister take care of everything, okay?”

Luke obviously didn’t know how to sit back and relax, how to let go and let someone else worry about the details. He’d been alone since day one in that hellish family. He shadowed me fretfully as I made my hurried arrangements, even though he was dead on his feet, exhausted. Spooked by the sound of sirens in the distance, I stopped what I was doing and made a beeline for the car.

“That’s it,” I said, forcing cheer into my voice. “We’re all ready to go.”

We weren’t, but I didn’t want to push our luck any farther. Albuquerque was a big city, but I didn’t want to be there if the cops were looking for us. I didn’t know what they would do to my brother if it turned out that he had indeed killed his stepfather, but I knew that Luke didn’t deserve anything else bad. He’d been through quite enough.

The moment I pulled out of the street that led to my apartment, Luke was sound asleep. I didn’t stop until we were midway through Texas, and it was only to get gas. I didn’t stop again until it was midday, and that was for gas, again, and to get rid of the knife. I snapped the blade off and disposed of it in two different dumpsters, the blood bleached from its surface. Luke slept through all of it. In fact, he didn’t even wake until I pulled into a budget motel in Louisiana, yawning and concerned about nodding off behind the wheel.

I fully expected my brother to ask where we were, but he just followed me quietly into the room, shaking his head when I asked him if he wanted anything to eat. He collapsed onto the bed and was fast asleep again within seconds.

It struck me that maybe it had been a really long time since he got good rest — not having to force himself to sleep lightly in anticipation of any nighttime attacks from the people who were supposed to be taking care of him.

That thought made it really hard to fall asleep in spite of my exhaustion.

It took a long time for my brother to get back to whatever normal had become for him. He disliked talking about his past so much that after I felt like I had the fullest picture of what happened, I encouraged him to never speak of it again. It would be easier, anyway, to start fresh, without all of that heartache and suffering — plus, it would be better that no one knew we were running away from a murder.

He was always more comfortable expressing himself through drawing — something I came to discover on the road. He loved that even more than music, even more than chatting it up with his big sister. Luke loved to take what his eyes were seeing or his head was thinking about and let it manifest on paper. He was a natural from the beginning. I couldn’t remember if either of our real parents was artistic or if it had been someone else who had encouraged this talent of his.

“Faith?”

I was so startled, had been so deeply enmeshed in our secret past that I actually gasped and jumped, my hand flying up to cover my mouth as Jennet’s voice called my name outside of my bedroom door.

“Yeah?”

“Everything all right?”

I looked down and sighed. How long had I been in here, lost in my horrible thoughts? I hadn’t even opened the letter from Luke’s teacher. It was still clenched in my fist.

“Fine,” I said, ripping the envelope open. “Just thinking.”

“Dinner’s ready,” Jennet said. “You coming?”

“Go ahead and eat without me,” I called. “I’m not hungry, and I need to get back to the club.”

And I needed to read this letter and figure out just how much damage control I needed to do. Louisiana had been kind of nice, all those mysterious swamps and live oaks and Spanish moss. Maybe we could turn around and go back the way we came, be safe and find a new life there.

Ms. Morgan,
the letter began. I stifled yet another sigh. Morgan had been my mother’s first name. I’d had our names changed with a little legal sidestepping once we’d reached Miami. It wasn’t hard if you knew who to go to, and Jennet had always pointed us in the direction we needed to go.

My name is Adam Shapiro, and I’m Luke’s English teacher,
the letter continued.
I wanted to write to you to convey my concern about a recent theme he turned in. I’m not sure if you know which assignment I’m focusing on, because I get the impression that you are often busy and out of the home.

Now not only was I not hungry, the bile was rising in my throat. Luke’s teacher was writing because my brother’s theme was crap and I was a crap guardian? What was I supposed to say to that? I forced myself to keep reading.

I would like to talk to you personally about Luke’s family and home life. I think understanding what he’s dealing with on that level would help me better tailor my teaching to ensure he gets the best possible attention. St. Anthony’s has a number of resources available, including child care, child counseling, and more.

Oh, God. This Adam Shapiro guy thought Luke needed counseling? What exactly had my brother written about?

Please plan on meeting with me tomorrow after school at 3 p.m. I can assure you that I want the best thing for your brother — an environment for him to thrive and succeed.

Looking forward to meeting you.

I grinded my teeth together and let the letter fall to the bed before marching straight forward into Luke’s theme. It was surprisingly short — just one full page and half of another page. How could such a pitiful offering draw such a serious response from a teacher?

It began innocently enough:

One life-changing event for me was moving to Miami. Though it is always hot, and the air is sometimes too sticky to breathe, it was exciting to be in a new place.

Then, it took a sharp turn toward crazy.

I can’t tell you where I used to live because of something that happened there, but I can give some hints. Miami is greener than my old home. Miami has more rain than my old home. And Miami has an ocean. My old home didn’t.

My heart thudded in my chest. Was this my brother’s idea of a joke? I had expressly forbidden him from doing anything like this! How hard would it have been for him to just write about that stupid day at the zoo, about how his face had lit up when he found out he was going to the school we both wanted for him? It wouldn’t have been sucking up, and it wouldn’t saved us both a lot of grief.

I like Miami better than my old home because I get to live with my sister in Miami. We live with our friend, Jennet, the corn queen. Jennet is always laughing. What’s even better is that our neighbor, Nick, is going to teach me how to play the guitar if I teach him how to draw.

This part warmed my heart minutely. We did have a good community going here, though maybe it wasn’t the traditional nuclear family Adam Shapiro thought my brother should have. Sorry, Mr. Shapiro. Sometimes life doesn’t let us have such luxuries as nuclear families. Sometimes all life gives us is one other person we would move heaven and earth for to make sure that everything goes right.

My sister says that I need to give Miami a chance, to give myself a chance to make friends and memories so I won’t have to worry about my old home anymore. I know she’s right, but it’s just hard sometimes when my most life-changing event is a secret.

I let all the papers float to the ground. There it was. My brother was basically letting it all hang out. Of course this theme would’ve raised a bunch of red flags for any teacher. I guess, if anything, I should probably be thankful to this Adam guy for bringing it to my attention. But I didn’t want my brother in therapy, and I didn’t want him ostracized at his school.

Most of all, I didn’t want him extradited to New Mexico on murder charges.

Getting through this latest crisis was going to depend on how smoothly I could reassure Luke’s teacher that my brother was just fine — especially when I wasn’t one hundred percent sure that my brother
was
just fine.

“Hey, thanks for the other day, Faith.”

I jumped a little as Sol sidled up next to me. I’d been so deep in thought while waiting for my cue to go on stage that I hadn’t even heard her coming.

“What are friends for, right?” I asked, smiling at her. Truthfully, I’d forgotten all about her drama in the dressing room, and I wasn’t any closer to puzzling together the answer. I was too caught up in my own drama.

“Thanks for not asking too many questions,” she continued, her luminous brown eyes studying the floor for a few moments before meeting mine again. “It’s super personal, and I really don’t want to drag anybody into it.”

My mind toyed around for a few seconds on what could be too personal to share — drugs? Crime? Something illegal? Abuse?

“If you were in trouble, would you tell me?” I asked. I really did like Sol, and I’d felt responsible for her ever since she started working at the club. I wanted her to have the tools to succeed.

Sol seemed to not know what to say. “I wouldn’t want to get anyone else in trouble,” she admitted finally. “Especially you. You’ve been so kind to me.”

She had my full attention now, and I forgot about listening for my cue, or eyeing the clock ahead of my appointment with my brother’s teacher.

“I’m worried about you,” I said, “and that’s the truth.”

Sol gave me a brave smile and shook her head. “You don’t need to worry about me,” she assured me. “I just have some things I need to get worked out.”

“Well, you know where to come to if you think there’s anything I can do, okay?” I said, giving her a little squeeze. What could a girl as sweet as Sol get herself into that was so bad? Of course, if I hadn’t witnessed the aftermath myself, I might never have guessed that my brother was capable of stabbing his stepfather. We were all capable of shocking things if pushed hard enough, I guessed.

“Let’s always stay faithful to our next act, Faith!” the DJ announced, and I began making my way up to the stage, purging my brain from all my worry, focusing on the task at hand: making money.

The song went well, and I ducked into the dressing room to check the time and start getting ready. I was dabbing at my face with a paper towel, wondering if I had time to slip into the shower before meeting Adam Shapiro, when Parker strode into the room.

“I’ve got a customer who’s dying to meet you, Faith,” she said. “I’d say he’d want at least one private dance.”

I groaned. “I’m actually in a hurry,” I said. “I have a meeting I have to go to.”

“A meeting?” Parker raised a dark eyebrow. “Sounds important.”

“It’s a school thing for my little brother,” I said. “Troublemaker.”

“Family has to come first,” my boss said, shrugging. “I feel like I have to tell you, though, that the customer is sitting in the VIP section.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Seriously?”

“And he actually paid for the privilege of having the tables surrounding his to be empty,” Parker said, her face unreadable. “For his privacy and comfort, he said.”

“Jesus. How much did that set him back?”

My boss shrugged. “He can afford it.”

“Enough, though, that you’re trying to make it worth his while?” I asked.

“Hey, I’m just trying to make sure all my girls are making money,” Parker said. “And if I can make the customer happy at the same time, that’s just one of the many perks of the job.”

I studied the clock. I wasn’t that sweaty. I’d do a face wipe, slap on some deodorant, and drive with the windows down and the air conditioning on full blast on my way to St. Anthony’s. This could work. I couldn’t just turn my back on what could be a lucrative venture.

“I don’t have a lot of time,” I said finally. “But I’ll try to manage it the best I can.”

“Good girl,” Parker said. “Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

Five private dances, a stack of bills, and an appointment made to escort for later tonight, I was running out of the club, cursing the VIP and Parker and mostly myself. I was going to be late for my meeting with Adam Shapiro, who already didn’t think I was the best guardian for my brother.

I floored it through the streets, taking every shortcut I could think of, when flashing lights behind my halted my progress. Great. Just great. What else could possibly go wrong today?

“Ma’am, are you aware of how fast you were going?” the cop asked, pulling his sunglasses down as he bent down to peer inside my window. I caught a glimpse of my reflection in them before he pulled them completely off — Christ! I’d neglected to take off my stage makeup before leaving the club. I looked like a hooker late for a date in the middle of the afternoon. Crap was just piling up.

“I’m late,” I said, bursting into tears.

“No need for the waterworks, miss,” the cop said, holding his hands up in a surprisingly defensive posture. “I just need you to slow down. Nothing can be that important to put yourself and others at risk.”

It was important — my effectiveness as a caretaker for my brother could very well be on the line — but I wasn’t going to argue with a police officer.

“I’m sorry,” I said, wiping at my melting makeup. “God, I’m a mess. I’m really stressed out, and I’m running late to a teacher conference at St. Anthony’s.”

“St. Anthony’s? You’re practically already there. Were you even going to slow down to park?”

The idea that I was going to burn some of my hard-earned cash on a stupid speeding ticket was even more painful than the idea that I was late.

“I was actually hoping by some act of God that I could sort of drift-park the car in a way that would launch me straight at the teacher’s office,” I said, giving a laugh filled with self-loathing. “Like an action movie, or something. I really am sorry. I just bit off more than I can chew today.”

“Just slow down, miss, and be careful,” the cop said, putting his sunglasses back on and tipping his hat. “Whoever you’re going to that meeting for needs you alive and well.”

He strolled back into my car as I tried to shut my mouth in shock. I wasn’t getting a ticket? The day was looking suddenly brighter, and I hoped that boded well for my meeting.

I found the classroom without further incident after the front office gave me directions. I stopped by the girls’ restroom to check my appearance and try to clean the last of my gunky makeup off. Maybe it was a miracle that I had been pulled over — I might’ve missed the fact that I had on all the glitter and lipstick and sashayed right into the most embarrassing meeting of my life.

“Hello,” I said, holding my chin up as I walked into a meeting about my brother’s wellbeing a full thirty minutes late. “I’m Faith Morgan. I’m here to talk about my brother, Luke.”

The man busy writing something on the chalkboard turned around, surprising me with how young he was. I was surprised he wasn’t still a student somewhere. When I’d read his letter, I’d pictured someone older, portlier. Not someone this … hot.

It was stupid, maybe, that my first impression of Adam Shapiro was that he was handsome. I was there to defend myself and my brother, not try to get a date. Plus, I couldn’t even say that he was my type — if I actually had a type. I might have worked as a dancer and escort, but romance wasn’t on my radar. I didn’t have time for it.

Adam was busy saying something — introductions, I hoped — as he held his hand out for me to shake. He wasn’t even what I expected a teacher to look like. He was wearing a button-down shirt, but no tie, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His nice tan told me he liked the beach, or at least being outside instead of cooped up inside a classroom or office. Maybe it was the buzz cut that surprised me most of all, the hair cut so short that I could just barely tell that it was blond, or the vivid blue eyes.

No, the most surprising thing was how attracted I was to him.

“I thought maybe Luke didn’t give you the note,” Adam was saying as I belatedly shook his hand, trying to force myself to pay attention instead of daydreaming.

“My brother’s always honest with me,” I said, thankful to tap into my indignant anger. “We’re family, you know. Why would you accuse him of lying in the first place?”

“You read the theme I attached, didn’t you?” Adam asked coolly. “It’s clear from the assignment that, at best, your brother’s a liar.”

“At best?” I repeated, shaking my head a little, my eyes narrowing to slits. “What’s worse than being a liar?” Maybe hearing someone else call my brother a liar. Maybe that was worse. Or maybe being the person encouraging my brother to lie — or cover up the truth. That was definitely worse. But how could we be honest about our past after what had happened? The authorities were looking for my brother in Albuquerque — probably in the entire state of New Mexico. We didn’t have any ties to Miami. It had been a nearly perfect getaway, both of us clearing out and simply vanishing.

“Well, did he tell you the wrong time for the conference?” Adam asked, his voice still cool as a cucumber. He was probably really good at deflecting conflicts, ending fights before they even got started. Well, he could try that on me all he wanted. There was no way I was backing down from this.

“No,” I said, jerking my chin at him. “I’m late all by myself. I got pulled over on the way here. I apologize for the delay.”

“Were you speeding?” Adam asked. “Is that something you do often, like when Luke is in the car with you?”

I glowered. “I don’t think I like what you’re suggesting, Mr. Shapiro.”

“And what is it you think I’m suggesting?”

The way he calmly conducted this interview, making sure he was in full control the entire time, absolutely infuriated me. I wasn’t a child, and this guy couldn’t be much older than I was. I wouldn’t be condescended to. I was doing everything I could to make this work here. Maybe it was a mistake to enroll Luke at St. Anthony’s. Maybe it was just the latest mistake in a string of errors that was killing my brother.

I ignored my self-doubt and focused on the matter at hand. If Adam wanted to play Mr. Cool, I could play that. I could be anything I needed to be when I was working at the club, or escorting. Why couldn’t those same skills be applied now?

“Let’s get back on topic, Mr. Shapiro,” I said, smiling as sweetly as I could make myself. “My time is very valuable, and I’m sure yours is, too.”

“Have a seat, Ms. Morgan,” he said, his face as placid as a calm lake.

I didn’t see anywhere to sit other than the tiny desks, so I folded myself into one and had to hide a scowl as Adam sat on the edge of his desk. I didn’t like this position — it was too much like teacher versus student, and I wasn’t about to be schooled by this pretentious man.

“I want to start off by saying that I think Luke is a very bright boy with a ton of potential,” Adam began, and I cut him off promptly.

“You don’t have to think about that. My brother is incredibly smart, incredibly talented. Have you seen his artwork?”

Adam smiled and spread his hands. “Alas, I am a lowly English teacher. Nowhere near as cool as art. I have been privy to some of your brother’s doodles, however, which perhaps I don’t appreciate as much as I could.”

I shrugged. “He expresses himself through art. He always has. I would’ve thought that someone who was so interested in understanding what made Luke tick would’ve at least had that figured out.”

“I’m not really interested in pointing fingers or placing blame,” he said smoothly. Oh, yes. He was very smooth. “I do want to figure out what makes your brother … tick, as you put it.”

God, the arrogance just dripped off this man, as if there were a better way to say everything I’d been telling him. I’d finished high school with relatively good grades, for working and trying out living on my own, but the man sitting across from me, looking literally down on me, made me feel woefully inadequate in every way.