As Charlie left, I relooped my rope and shaped the pattern again beneath my hands. The rhythm steadied my pulse, a metronome against the uncertainty clawing at my throat. It was a long time before I fell into a fitful sleep that night.
The Shaws sure do enjoy their family barbecues, I thought as Charlie and I arrived at their house. Though I suppose it made sense, as they had to cook for a family with dietary restraints. Both Sloane and Violet had Celiac disease, so whenever food was made, it was done in large quantities.Such as this barbecue ritual of excess.
The very concept of a barbecue always felt strange to me. In my first life, celebrations had been scarce. American barbecues, I’d come to find, were about abundance spread out over red checkered cloth. Food was piled high enough to feed a small army, and there was a level of waste that would have gotten you killed in the Wasteland.
And I had fallenin lovewith it all.
When the family gathered—plates groaning under the weight of plenty, voices weaving through the evening air—I sat alone and absorbed it all. For them, this was a mundane occurrence. For me, it was proof that beauty could exist without blood payment.
Levi’s oldest friend José had come with his family. Both men stood by the grill that sizzled with carne asada and chicken, lazy grey smoke rising to greet the blue unbroken sky. They sipped their beers as they watched José’s eight-year-old twins chase Amber, who is Levi and Sloane’s youngest. The three kids ran through the yard, kicking a half-deflated soccer ball between them with their boundless energy on full display. Her sunhat bounced on her honey-brown hair as she darted away, shrieking when they gained on her.
Sloane was trying to speak Spanish with José’s wife, Isabella—a short and stout woman with a round face, dark eyes, and darker hair. From the few interactions we’d had, I knew her to be a kind woman. Whenever she spoke Spanish to the Shaw family, especially with Amber and Violet, she would take her time to speak slowly in an attempt to get them to reciprocate. The few phrases I’d heard Violet struggle with reminded me of my own time adopting Russian. Over at the picnic table, Sloane’s words were halting, and she gestured with her hands when her Spanish failed her.
Then, Sloan’s sister Dawn swooped in to translate. With bombastic hand gestures accompanying a rapid-fire staccato of Spanish, Dawn had Isabella doubled over with laughter. Dawn winked at her younger sister, then darted off to harangue Levi at the grill.
Sloane wears her heritage like a coat that is two sizes too big. I knew it was a sore spot for her, given she was Latina in blood, but not in upbringing. She’d had her sister Dawn help her learn Spanish, but I could tell she was frustrated that it didn’t come naturally to her. . . the small pinch between her brows when she struggled for a word.
Dawn, on the other hand, had been raised by her mother’s side, and it showed. The way she laughed at Spanish and English jokes alike, how she transitioned between the two seamlessly, how she turned what could have been awkward silence into shared warmth. She was a bridge where Sloane felt like a gap.
And yet, she carries it like a burden. I’d heard comments once or twice about their parents and their upbringing. I’d heard enough to decide it had not been good for either of them.
I nursed my beer from a lawn chair, the bottle cold against my palm. Despite Sloane’s reluctance, Charlie and Levi had vouched for my drinking privileges despite my apparent age. They both understood the arithmetic of my actual age, and I would be damned if I would be denied a beer. The taste still surprised me—bitter and bright. I savored it as if it were my first.
Levi handed his tongs to José, stepped away from the grill, and headed into the house. Violet’s attention snapped to him, and she followed inside.Curious, I thought as I closed my eyes and focused my hearing towards the house. I managed to tune out most of the noise around me to catch the edge of their conversation.
“What do you mean you want access to your trust?” Levi asked. His voice resonated with paternal authority.
Money? Violet rarely asked for anything. She didn’t need to, since Levi already lavished her with endless indulgences. I had called her princess for good reason—she lived like one, comfortable in the knowledge that her father’s wealth would catch her if she fell.
“Daddy, I want to invest in some businesses, and I would like the flexibility to spend without needing your consent.”
Invest in some businesses? That didn’t sound anything like the Violet I knew. They said that college could change you, but I doubted that three weeks were enough to spark a sudden interest in her personal finances.
I heard Levi’s heartbeat quicken. He must have thought the request was just as odd as I did. He said, “If you want to send me the specifics on those investments, I would be happy to look them over together with you or—"
“But Daddy, I want to make the choices myself. Even if I lose money, I want it to be because I made a mistake.”
Water running. Glass clinking. Stalling tactics. My enhanced hearing painted the scene in sound: nervous father, determined daughter, money hanging between them.
“Violet, I cannot in good conscience give you access to that much money without hearing more detailed reasoning.” There was a pause.I nearly missed what Levi asked next because he had lowered his voice. “Baby girl, did someone approach you at the school?”
There it is. Good on you, Levi. That was the question that mattered. I had to admit, I was surprised he thought to ask her.
“What? No. . . not exactly.”
Another quickening of Levi’s pulse. “What does that mean? Not exactly?”
Her frustrated sigh was followed by receding footsteps. “Just forget it, Daddy.”
Running away when the questions get too pointed, princess? That’s very telling.
Levi called after her, but I assumed she had retreated to her room. Levi cursed under his breath before heading back outside. He slammed the patio door behind him, and the sound nearly shattered my eardrums.
Fuck, that hurt.I dialed down the volume and watched Levi return to grilling meat with aggressive precision.
Why money? Why now? And why the deflection? The questions circled like vultures. When Violet failed to emerge from whatever hole she had crawled into, curiosity won the war against common sense, and I went to look for her as I abandoned my beer and slipped inside.
If I am going to protect her, I need to understand her patterns. Her hiding places. Her weaknesses.
