Chapter 6 - What Marianne Asked A Twelve-Year-Old To Do
Lucas was twelve.
His biological mother was in rehab.
Gary had temporary custody.
Lucas wanted to leave.
He told a teacher Gary hit him.
A report followed.
Holloway investigated.
Mom had been married to Gary less than three years.
I was ten.
She was pregnant with Ethan? No.
Ethan was born much later.
The dates didn't line up.
I said it aloud.
“Ethan is eight.”
Mom nodded.
“So what were you protecting?”
She looked at me.
“The marriage.”
No baby.
No custody threat involving a newborn.
No financial catastrophe.
Just the marriage.
That answer made me angrier than any complicated excuse would have.
“You made a twelve-year-old lie to protect your marriage.”
“I thought Lucas was trying to break us apart.”
Gary said:
“He was.”
Mom turned on him.
“Stop.”
He stared.
She continued.
“You told me his mother put him up to it.”
“She did.”
“You said he'd go back to her and laugh about ruining us.”
“That is what—”
“I never heard her say that.”
Gary stopped.
Mom looked at Holloway.
“I told Lucas if he kept saying Gary hurt him, he might be placed somewhere neither parent could reach him.”
My stomach dropped.
Holloway's face went hard.
“You told him that?”
She nodded.
“I told him he could lose his school.”
Another nod.
“His friends.”
“Yes.”
“And Brooke?”
Mom looked at me.
I felt sick.
“You used me too?”
“I said you would blame him.”
I couldn't breathe for a second.
I had been ten.
Lucas had been twelve.
Two frightened kids placed on opposite sides of an adult marriage neither controlled.
“Did I?”
Mom shook her head quickly.
“You didn't know.”
Of course I didn't.
Lucas withdrew.
His aunt eventually took him.
Gary told us Luke's mother wanted him back.
Then Luke vanished from family conversation.
I forgot him.
Or learned to.
Holloway asked:
“Why tell us now?”
Mom looked toward Ethan.
“Because I did it again.”
I stared.
“What did you do?”
She covered her mouth.
“Not the same.”
“Mom.”
“When DCF called yesterday, I told Ethan not to say anything.”
My brother was listening from the living room.
His face changed.
I crossed toward him.
Mom continued behind me.
“I told him if he exaggerated, people might take him somewhere.”
Ethan whispered:
“You said Brooke couldn't get me.”
I turned.
Mom looked destroyed.
“I was scared.”
Ethan began crying.
Not loudly.
That somehow made it worse.
I knelt.
“You listen to me.”
His eyes stayed down.
“I don't know what happens next.”
He looked at me.
“I am not going to promise something I don't control.”
He started crying harder.
I almost changed course.
Almost gave him the promise every child wants.
You'll never leave me.
Nobody will take you.
Everything will be okay.
Instead I held his hand.
“But I will tell the truth about wanting you with me.”
He squeezed my fingers.
“And I'll show up.”
That was the one thing I could actually promise.
Behind me, Mom sat down.
Holloway asked Gary to step outside with the other officer.
Gary refused.
The officer repeated the request.
He finally went.
For several minutes, the house was quiet.
Then the front door opened again.
Lucas entered.
Twenty-six.
Dark jacket.
Wet hair.
A cut across one palm wrapped in gauze.
He looked like Gary around the eyes.
I hated that immediately.
Lucas saw me.
Stopped.
“Brooke.”
I stared.
“You remember me?”
He smiled sadly.
“You used to steal my cereal.”
Something moved inside me.
A kitchen.
A box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch on top of the refrigerator because Gary said I had enough.
Lucas lifting me onto the counter.
I remembered laughing.
Then I remembered Gary walking in.
Lucas putting me down too fast.
I swallowed.
Ethan ran toward him.
Rachel stopped him gently until Holloway nodded.
Then Lucas crouched.
Ethan wrapped his arms around him.
Gary saw through the open doorway.
His face became unreadable.
Lucas looked over Ethan's shoulder at his father.
Neither spoke.
Then Lucas looked at me.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“I should've found you sooner.”
I didn't know whether to hug him or slap him.
“Why didn't you?”
His eyes moved toward Mom.
“Because the last time I tried, Marianne told me you wanted nothing to do with me.”
Mom closed her eyes.
I turned.
“What?”
Lucas continued.
“She told me you blamed me for what happened.”
Mom whispered:
“I was trying to keep things calm.”
I stared at her.
Fourteen years of silence.
Two children who had each believed the other chose distance.
I looked back at Lucas.
“What did she tell you I said?”
He hesitated.
Then:
“That I was a liar who almost destroyed your family.”
I couldn't speak.
Because those were almost exactly the words Gary had used about Lucas for years.
Not my words.
May you like
Never mine.
And yet he had spent more than half his life believing they were.
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