Kick by CD Reiss Page A

me rot in that grey room.
    “Thanks, Doc.”
    He stood and opened the door. “I want you to remember that when you see your mother. She’s in visiting.”

fifteen.
    M argie caught me in the foyer, on the way to the visiting room.
    “Have you seen Mom?” I asked.
    “I have no idea what she’s doing here. I told her to stay home. Jonathan’s a wreck over his girlfriend, and Theresa’s no better. They’re mad at Dad, but won’t say why, which is fucking typical Drazen bullshit. You sure you don’t want to stay in here?”
    “I’m sure.”
    “Between you and Jonathan, the press is going apeshit.”
    “Fuck them.”
    “I wish I could get myself committed. “ Her phone dinged, and she tapped it. “Hang on, this came from the prosecutor.” She scanned the email. “Provided you’re cleared to leave here, you agree not to contest the charge and waive the preliminary hearing. We accept aggravated assault. Community service. I’m inclined to tell him to fuck off. Deacon’s denying it all, so bail and a grand jury appearance is my guess.”
    “What does the press want?”
    “They want you turning on a spit.”
    “Take the plea.”
    “As your attorney, I wouldn’t advise it.”
    I shrugged. “I’d rather not have this over my head. Or have Deacon change his mind after I see him and beg forgiveness. Just take it and be done. A little community service won’t kill me.”
    “As your sister, I approve.”
    I sneered at her playfully, and she hid her smile.
    ***
    The garland and lights were gone from the visiting room, as if Christmas had been mentioned once and wiped away. Mom paced in front of the window, a wisp of a thing with a bent neck, tapping her finger on her chin.
    “Hi, Mom.”
    When she faced me, I knew she wasn’t there to join me for the therapist’s recommendation. Her eyes were on fire, her jaw set. She sat down like it was her job.
    “What’s happening?” I asked.
    “How are you?”
    “I’m f—”
    “Did your father ever touch you?”
    “Mom!”
    “Answer me!” She slammed her palm on the table.
    I held my hands up and sat back. It was too much. I needed time to think, to talk to people. To breathe, for Chrissakes.
    “Fiona, tell me. I’ll protect you. I’ll put myself between you and anything. But just tell me. Did he ever touch you in a way that made you uncomfortable?”
    “No, Mom. He never touched me inappropriately.”
    “Your sisters?”
    “Why now? I’m twenty-three years old. What happened?”
    She sighed then pursed her lips, a series of facial tics that meant she was holding in an emotion, any emotion. I said nothing. My heart was pounding too fast.
    “There’s talk that he’d had a relationship with the girl who just died.”
    “Jonathan’s girlfriend?”
    “Previous to that, when she was a bit younger, but yes. Your brother didn’t know until recently, and he’s not happy with it. So.” She sat up straighter. “Did he ever touch one of your sisters?”
    I wished for time, and my wish was not granted. The clock still moved. Things had been said in pledge. We’d held our hands up and made promises, and though I’d broken plenty of promises in life, I’d never broken pledge. None of us had. We had a code of silence, and inside of it sat our denials, our shame, our bonds.
    “I can’t say,” I said. “Not directly.”
    Mom’s face melted, constricting, as if her tears shrunk and crinkled it. I snapped up the ubiquitous box of tissues and put it in front of her.
    “So it’s true,” she spit out before the sob choked her.
    “It’s complicated, Mom. It’s not what you think, but I can’t say. It’s not my place.”
    “You think you’re protecting someone, but have you thought that the way you all are… that you hurt each other with this wall you put up?”
    “Yeah, I’ve thought about it.”
    “What are you all afraid of?”
    Afraid? I wasn’t afraid of being cut off from their money. I had more than I needed, and it couldn’t be