My steps faltered as I read the return address on a plain white letter. It wasn’t the address that stopped my heart. It was the name. Michael McCabe.
As my heart started again, it rattled against my ribs. I tore at the paper, trying to tug the folded pages inside free. My hands trembled as I finally unfolded the contents of the envelope.
Sissy,
It’s been so long. I miss you. It hurt when you stopped coming to visit. I understand why, but I can’t change that it hurt. Doc Abrams always says to be honest with our feelings. To let them out. So, I’m doing just that.
How are you? Have you missed me at all? Did they tell you I was getting out? I have a job at a local computer help desk company. It’s not exactly mentally stimulating, but it brings in a check and makes my parole officer happy.
How about you come visit me? Or I could come to you. But I have a feeling you’re not in Charlotte like the address and bank account I found. You’re smart, but not smarter than me. Remember that. We have an unfinished game to play.
The words on the page blurred as the knowledge that I’d never be free of my brother and his torment sank in. Everything seemed to close in around me as I slipped from the here and now to that night so many years ago.
“Mom. Dad. I’m home.”
Silence greeted me as I placed my violin down in my cubby in our mudroom. They hadn’t been able to come to my recital tonight. They’d said they needed to talk with Michael, just the three of them.
Dad had later told me that they were sending Michael to a new treatment program they’d found in the Midwest. This one was specially designed for kids like Michael. They used that term a lot: kids like Michael. But I wasn’t sure what it truly meant. Kids who enjoyed hurting others? Who refused to follow the rules?
“Guys? I’m home. Where are you?” Maybe they’d taken Michael out for ice cream to soften the blow. Ice cream always made news that Michael wouldn’t like go down easier.
My stomach rumbled as I made my way to the kitchen. I could never eat before a performance, so I was always starving by the time it was over. I flicked on lights as I moved through the house. I searched for the switch on the kitchen wall, but I slipped on the floor as I moved to flip it up. My arms windmilled as the light flashed on. What the heck?
Everything came into focus at once. Blood. So much blood. Smears of it across the white-tiled floor. A handprint. A pool. I scrambled to a sitting position. As I did, I saw her.
“Mom?” I croaked. She was too still. Her eyes open and unblinking.
I tried to struggle to my feet, but before I could gain purchase, a hand gripped my neck and slammed my back into the wall. Stars exploded in front of my eyes. It took a second or two for my vision to clear, and when it did, my brother appeared, a knife tip hovering just over my heart. “We’re gonna play a game, sissy.”
“Shay. Look at me. What the hell is going on?”
Someone was shaking me. Brody, I realized in some part of my brain. Brody. Not Michael. I was on Anchor. Safe. Surrounded by water. He couldn’t get to me. “S-s-sorry.”
“Don’t you apologize. Tell me what’s going on.”
The worry etched in Brody’s face had me pulling myself together. “Nothing. Just a letter I wasn’t expecting. It was a bit of a shock. That’s all.”
“Bullshit.” Heat filled Brody’s gaze, and I fought the urge to take a step back. “That wasn’t shock. It was terror. You went white as a sheet. You’re trembling. You didn’t hear me the first five times I said your name.”
“I—I—” I scrambled to come up with an explanation.
“Shay. What are you running from?”
“Nothing. I’m not running from anything.” It was an automatic response. One borne of the time and energy I’d spent building this safe haven for myself.
A muscle in Brody’s cheek ticked. “You never go to the mainland. You never use a credit card. I don’t think a single person other than me knows your last name. You share things about yourself but never anything that might identify you. Are you really going to tell me you’re not running?”
I swallowed against the dryness in my throat. I attempted to clear the lump that’d settled there, trying to get out one word. Just one. But it wouldn’t come.
Brody moved in closer, his hand taking mine, the one still holding the letter. His mail was now scattered across the grass. “Please. Let me help you. And if you don’t want me to help, at least let me be a listening ear. I can see it. This burden you’re carrying. Let me take some of the weight.”
My eyes burned as I stared into Brody’s. I wanted to lose myself in the dark depths. To dive in and never come up for air. The truth was, I was exhausted from holding this alone. The only other person besides my aunt who knew the truth was an anonymous screen name.
I’d felt totally and completely alone for three years. Longer if I were honest with myself. Because as much as my aunt had tried to be a comfort, she hadn’t understood what I was going through. How could she? So, I was left to hold my love and hate, my hurt and patchwork healing, my hope and fear. When it came to Michael, it was always two sides of the same coin. I had to figure out how to hold onto both.
My breathing picked up speed, but I didn’t look away from Brody. I let the dark depths of his gaze anchor me to the spot. To convince me I might not be so alone, after all. “My brother is sick. He hurts people. And I don’t want him to know where I am.”
Three simple truths. It wasn’t the whole of it. But it was enough for now. More than I’d told a soul in over three years.
Brody’s gaze dropped to the papers in my hand. “Does that letter mean he knows where you are?”
I shook my head. “No. My mail is forwarded from somewhere else.” I fought the shudder that wanted to surface. Michael knew I wasn’t in Charlotte. Of course, he did. Because he was always one step ahead. But this time, he wasn’t as far ahead as he thought. He didn’t know where I truly was. Couldn’t. I had to rest in that.
“What can I do?”
The simple kindness of Brody’s question had the burn returning to my eyes. “You’re doing it. Giving me a job and a place to live where he’ll never find me.”
Brody pulled me into a hug, his large frame engulfing my smaller one. It felt as if he could block out all the bad, any threat that might come my way. I wanted to stay in that embrace forever.
“I’m such an asshole,” he muttered.
“Why would you say that?”
He rested his chin on the top of my head. “You were terrified that I was going to fire you. I thought you were just worried about losing a sweet gig. I wasn’t exactly reassuring when I got here.”
The corners of my mouth turned up as I kept my cheek resting against his pec. “You came around pretty quickly.”
He grunted. “Not quick enough. I’m sorry. And you know you’ll always have a place on Harbor. No matter what happens.”
The ferocity of his vow eased a bit of the fear still thrumming through my system. I was safe and I had a home. That was more than enough for now.
13
Brody
I leaned back in the chair at my desk. The paint hadn’t come easily today. The evidence of that was a canvas in the corner that I’d broken in two. My brain had been caught in an endless loop. The blood draining from Shay’s face. The panic in her eyes.