I shake my head mutely. She watches helplessly as I stroke the mouse pad on Seven’s laptop to wake it up. There’s always a laptop accessible in our place. And now that we’re together, we know all of each other’s passwords. Neither of us has anything to hide.
Her homepage is a search engine so I pull up the MSN homepage. The headline stares back at me.
Billionaire mogul Max Marshall dies in FBI raid.
When I was a little boy and something scared me, my mom used to make up a story about it. Like if I was scared of a bug, she’d tell me a story about the bug walking home after a long day to see his family. Or about how the monster under my bed was really a misunderstood creature who liked the dark instead of the sunlight.
For the first time in a long time, I wish that she could spin a story for me to make it all better. Tell me that my father is on a long vacation or that he’s the captain of a pirate ship and out to sea. But as I stare at the black and white letters on the screen, I know there’s no way to spin this story that can make it better.
Nothing can change the sick certainty that my actions are directly responsible for my father’s death.
“I called you several times this morning. Then when you didn’t pick up I came straight here.”
Her voice recedes in the background as I walk over to the window overlooking the parking lot. It’s a beautiful day, the contrast of the bright sun to the devastation going on inside my head almost ironic. I recognize a few of my neighbors walking to their cars, holding coffee mugs and purses.
It’s all so normal.
What was it Max said to me? No matter what happens, the world just keeps right on spinning. Something like that. It suddenly seems vital that I remember his exact words, the last wisdom he shared with me. We had so little time together and what we had, I didn’t appreciate.
Now it’s too late.
A while later I come back to myself and realize that I’ve been standing at the window for a long time. My mom and Seven whisper behind me and I can feel their concern in the air. It wraps around me, choking me.
I’m not sure that I can do this right now. Say the right things and appear fine. Not now.
“I’m going out.”
Seven rushes around the kitchen counter. She’s changed clothes into one of the loose sundresses she loves so much. I love them on her, too. This one is a soft yellow. She looks like a ray of sunshine peeking through the clouds.
I don’t deserve sunshine and rainbows.
“Okay, I’ll come with you—”
“No. I need to go … I need to be alone right now.”
Hurt flashes across her face but she smiles, putting on a brave face. Her hand tugs at the ends of her hair. The sight of the nervous gesture only underlines my determination that I’m not good company for her right now. I love her too much to let my darkness take her, too.
“Okay, whatever you need.”
My mom watches as I grab my keys from the counter and then pull on a hat. “I’ll walk you outside. I need to get to the bakery. Rory can only handle things until ten.”
Seven hugs her. “Thank you for coming over, Anita.”
“Call me later and let me know how he’s doing.” My mom’s whisper carries across the room.
“I will. I’ll let you know if he needs anything.” Seven glances over at me and her eyelashes flutter when she realizes I’m listening.
My mom holds out her hand to me just like she used to when I was little. I take it, holding on to her all the way downstairs and until we’re standing next to her car.
“Luke, I know this is terrible. An awful tragedy. I just want you to know that you can talk to me if you need to. Or talk to Seven. But whatever you do, don’t hold it all inside.”
She leans up and kisses me on the cheek. I watch until her car pulls out of the parking lot. My phone beeps. It’s a message from Tank.
Meet us at Gabe’s place.
At least now I have a destination. I get in the car and drive. By the time I pull into Gabe’s driveway, I realize I don’t remember anything of the ride over. The front door of the house opens before I even get out of the car and I recognize Tank’s tall frame.
When I cross the threshold, his hand lands on my shoulder and the tension inside only twists tighter.
Gabe, Zack and Finn are already inside. They all look like hell. None of us seems to know what to say so we just sit around in stunned silence. Finally Tank speaks.
“I pulled some strings to find out what happened. The official story is that Max was taken into FBI custody and died while he was being brought in. His heart couldn’t take the stress of being arrested.”
He runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “That’s all I could find out so far.”
Finn puts an arm around his shoulder. “He was in his seventies, right? Why the hell would they take in an old man that way? There are ways to take someone in without terrorizing them.”
Zack looks up. “Maybe I shouldn’t have called him back to the States. He came back to meet with me and then he just stayed, I guess. If I hadn’t done that, he’d probably be hiding out on a beach somewhere.”
Gabe nudges him. “Don’t think like that. There’s no way you could have known what would happen. Besides, when does Max ever stick around somewhere just for the hell of it? He probably was here for another reason and it had nothing to do with us.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Zack doesn’t look convinced but he doesn’t offer anything else.
I look at my brothers. Tank and Finn stand on one side, Gabe and Zack on the other. They instinctively move toward the sibling they grew up with.
And as usual, I’m alone.
I open my mouth to tell them the part they don’t know. That he was only arrested because I handed him over on a silver platter. That I warned him but it was too little, too late. That I killed our father.
But somehow the words don’t come.
My mom was right. It is a terrible thing. And it’s all my fault.
†
Three days later, I stand in front of the mirror in my bedroom putting on a tie for the second time this year. Dressing up isn’t something I usually do. Weddings and funerals, I think.
Is it any wonder most men hate wearing suits? For the blue-collar among us they represent only the highs and lows of the human experience. Usually the lows because honestly, how often does life hand out lemonade?
I’m going to burn this suit after today.
Seven appears in the doorway. Her dark hair is pulled back into a severe braid and her skin seems so pale against her black dress. It’s been a rough couple of days and the stress shows in her face. It only underscores my guilt to see how my emotional absence has taken a toll on her.
I’ve tried not to pull away, worried that she’d interpret my distance as blame. But I can tell that she’s in her own personal hell, knowing that the bargain we made to save her future condemned my father to death.
“The car is here.”
I pull her into my arms and kiss her on the forehead. She places a cool hand on my cheek, and then follows me outside and into the limo waiting at the curb. I have no idea who arranged this, no idea who arranged any of this since the last few days have been such a blur. I assume my father’s staff has handled the funeral arrangements or maybe some relative I’m unaware of.
The idea of other Marshall relatives coming out of the woodwork at this point is so absurd that I have the insane urge to start laughing. If I have any other siblings out there, they’d do best to stay away from me. If Max had done that he might still be alive.
The limo glides to a stop in front of West Haven’s only funeral home.
“I’m surprised Max wanted to be buried here instead of at home.”
“Actually, this is just the memorial service. His body is being flown back to Ireland to be buried in the family plot tomorrow.”