Somehow, I knew she would not come get me.
Downstairs, in the dining area of the solarium, he was all dressed for the day in his business suit, but Mum wore a long, white silky nightgown. She was speaking to him, but he was hardly paying attention.
I sat down, and a maid poured orange juice into my glass. Another servant placed a runny egg and toast on my plate. “Thank you,” I said to them, like I always did.
Once they were gone, Uncle reached for his case,, grabbed some papers and threw them on the table in front of Mum. “These are the adoption papers, sign them.”
Mum peeked at me. With my widened eyes and slight shake of my head, I begged her not to do it. I could see she was a little surprised herself and worried, but once she tore her gaze away from me, she signed without reading them. “Killian,” she called my name.
My heart was hammering in my ears so loudly I didn’t hear the next words that tumbled out of her mouth. Then they popped.
He interrupted her and said, “From now on, you’re going to address me as father.” I met his gaze. It seemed like he was only capable of scowling over me as Mrs. Burnette looked at Mum that day they fought. Did he think himself above me? That didn’t make sense. We were both of Irish Traveler families. “Athair,” he clarified as if he thought me incapable of understanding simple English.
I swallowed deep, squinted, confused, and leaned forward while asking, “What?”
“Killian, it makes sense. Ricard has been providing for us—” She repeated it, and I still wasn’t sure what they were trying to tell me. His glare was daring me to defy him.
“But he’snotmy father.” I scrunched my eyebrows, still confused and surprised I’d heard them correctly. It didn’t make sense.
“I’m going to be providing housing, nutrition, and education for you, which is more than what your riffraff of a Da ever did. The least you can do is get used to calling me father,” he ordered. Mum wasn’t smiling anymore.
“By the way, Star, I want to do something about the horrible accent. I’ll have my assistant search for the best linguistic instructor and also someone to start teaching him French. He can’t go to school only knowingShelta.”
I sat there, staring at Mum, only half listening to this man who I now had to call father. All that time, I’d been pretending this would be okay, her sleeping in the same room with him, me staying here with the man who murdered my family, her marrying him and acting as if we weren’t here against our will, as if we were a family. Could I do this? At least I didn’t have to call him da. At least that would stay the same. Too many things were changing and none of it was in our control. Everything was a command from him—the wedding, the adoption, how I addressed him, the instructors, and now school. Mum seemed just as anxious as me.
She leaned her head to the side while he ignored us.This is a good thing, she mouthed to me while nodding, but I didn’t respond.
The food laid on my plate untouched, suddenly appearing disgusting. “Excuse me.” I grabbed a toast and walked to my room, where I ate alone. Everything I did these days was alone.
What was the benefit of all this? When I woke at night and turned the handle to my bedroom door, it opened. I was no longer locked to my room like a prisoner. A cold wind swept through the dark halls which were only lit by the moonlight shining through small windows at the ends.
Since I was constantly being treated like a ghost, I decided to roam the house like one, exploring the halls, the main rooms like the kitchen, living room. I didn’t know why but I wanted to know every detail of gilded cage. The last room I walked into was his office where there were hundreds of books on shelves behind his desk. I swept my hand over them wondering if he had myfavorite books somewhere. Then I was too tired to keep going and went to my room.
The letter of the day is A.Ais for Abandonment.
Lifeatthehousechanged a lot. Mum always had to give all her attention tohimwhen he was around, and there seemed to be an influx of visitors at all times of the day and night.
He always required that I be present when people arrived, bending us into performing as a loving family and me the obedient, quiet son in his evil theater. He’d introduce me as his son, ruffling my hair. I’d greet everyone coldly and try to walk away, but sometimes, he didn’t allow it, so I’d stay silent and still for hours as they talked about business. We’d become trained actors for him to use.
While I sat like a still doll, I imagined ways I could kill him. Poison. I envisioned him grabbing his throat, his tongue out, his eyes rolling back, and his body convulsing then dropping to thefloor. It brought a smile to my face. Stabbing. I could grab a big knife from the kitchen and push it into his stomach. Blood would rain all over my face and the floor, then he’d drop dead. The more times he dropped dead in my imagination, the easier it was to smile. But underneath the smile that his visitors praised was a continuous river of rage that rushed through every one of my veins, warming them right under my skin. Sometimes, it would leak, and I would find myself angry at Mum, having to remind myself she was on my side and not to blame.
What used to be long sessions of conversations with tea or drinks and cigars then dinner, mutated into parties that ran from Friday to Monday every weekend. At first sight, one could mistake their fancy clothes and cars as a sign of grace and morals, a sign these were good, intelligent people of a higher class than Mum and me. Then I started finding them naked, sleeping in piles in the living room every Monday morning on my way to the kitchen. The first time, the unfamiliar disgusting odor kept me from checking if they were alive. The next time, I stared at them sleeping with all their private parts exposed. There were piles of a white powder on the coffee table that had been moved to the side, and goblets with wine and flutes with stale champagne everywhere. Some of the glasses lay broken on the floor, staining it with the liquids. The parties were so often, but it surprised me how quickly I became unfazed by it.
On those Mondays, I’d stay in the kitchen with the servers and cook so I wasn’t alone. After my experience with that weird man on the wedding day, I didn’t feel safe with these people.
A few months passed, even my birthday passed without anyone noticing, Uncle Ricard stopped caring about introducing me.Thank God.As soon as I’d see or hear his buddies talking, I’d lock myself in my room. It was boring in my room. I would try to read the few children’s books Mum had collected to readto me, would watch the cars line up the front of the house then obsess over that sinister tapestry and fall asleep out of boredom.
Only once did I gain the courage to check on Mum by sneaking to the end of the hall and peeking from the dark corner of the stairs down to where they were all laughing, drinking, smoking, and kissing. It was early in the night, so there was only one naked woman. She was loud as several men touched her. It all looked so disgusting, so I left.
Although I was relieved Mum was safe, I couldn’t stand how comfortable she was among them, how well she fitted in. She was nothing like the woman I used to know; she’d become a stranger I wasn’t sure I liked. I had watched her place her purse on a side table next to the grand couch, then walked back to my room and didn’t come back out until Monday. I was grateful every time the cook brought me food, but when I looked into her eyes silently asking what she thought about the state of the house, she stayed expressionless.
Mum’s purse was in the same spot when I came down, so I opened it and grabbed her cell phone. It had the option for the camera without needing the passcode, so I took pictures of their faces, their bodies pressed against one another, skin upon skin. One young man was splayed open like a sea star, his hairy, sagging balls and small penis in plain view, allowing me to take pictures of them. After taking as many pictures as I could of every face and body. The old cook came into the living room and called, “monsieur Killian...” Startled at the sight of her while I was doing something dangerous made me forget the phone on the coffee table. I followed her, knowing she had my breakfast ready. There were two stools against the wall where there hung a long narrow shelf for the servants to eat.
Seconds later, we all lifted our heads when a female scream filled the house. “What the fuck is this!” I didn’t recognize her.
The servants and I stayed unfazed by the growing commotion on the other side of the house, until I heard my uncle’s voice, “Star? Care to explain why there are pictures of my visitors on your phone.” Then, I sat up oh so rigidly straight when his question reminded me where I’d placed the phone. I had not planned for anyone other than my mother to see those pictures.
“Is this what you’ve been doing? Taking pictures of us to blackmail us later on? I trusted you, Ricard!” the stranger yelled. The old white female cook standing next to me looked at the gardener across the room as if they were having a silent conversation.Here we go againis what I read from the gardener’s expressions. But when I returned to her gaze there was a judgement. Without a word, I could already tell from her judging eyes that she knew I’d done something wrong. I swallowed deep.
