Page 86 of The Photograph

“Oh, as well as can be expected after a full-blown fight at home.”

Bending my head into the wind, I head up past the trees of Vesey Street toward the waterfront at Rockefeller Park, bikes clamped up like they’re leaning into a storm.

“Dad lashed out at me, Becs, it wasn’t a fight. It would have been a fight if I’d hit him back.”

She tuts. “Splitting hairs.”

Goddammit, I didn’t want to start this conversation like this. “I’ve got a favor to ask,” I say.

“What is it?”

“I need some clothes.”

“Well, come home and get some.”

“Becs.”

“What? You can’t come to the house and collect some of your things? Why did you say all that stuff to Dad, Alex? You knew it would aggravate him. And all that drama about calling the police.”

Somehow this is my fault? “Did you forget the part where he hit me?”

“He’s a bully, Alex. We’ve always known that. We all just work around him.”

I halt at the cart on the sidewalk at the corner and gesture at the man for a fresh juice.

“Yeah, excuse me if I can’t see a workaround for this.”

“You should have kept it quiet, Alex! Like everything else we do. They don’t even have to know.”

Iwastrying to keep it quiet until Nana intervened. Handing the truck guy the cash, I cross the street heading past the Citi Bike racks and into Battery Park.

Maybe she’s right and a less confrontational strategy is the better one. None of my sisters even messaged me this week, and usually I see or talk to them every day. A jogger swerves around me as I cut across the path on the Esplanade and lean againstthe railing. The Hudson shimmers in the sunshine, the gray skyscrapers of Jersey City reaching up into the blue sky.

“I don’t think it was me dangling it in his face. Nana asked me about it!”

A frustrated breath hits my ear. “Yeah, why did she do that? She’s been a vault for years.”

“I was backed into a corner, Becs.”

“Yes.” She’s quiet for a few seconds. “Yes, you were. That whole thing was scary as shit, Alex.”

And that’s a young Becca talking. My dad was terrifying when we were younger. We would cower in the cupboard in Cara’s bedroom when he went on one of his rampages. Maybe he’s not that different from Des’s dad; we just had to live with him and his terrible temper at home. Des was fortunate his dad deserted them; I hope he knows that. What is wrong with these men?

I move back to the park benches behind the main Esplanade and put the juice on the bench, opening up my lunchbox.

“I’m sorry if I sound … freaked, but it’s been a nightmare since you left.” Becca’s voice is low and wobbly. “You and Cara are so lucky not to be living here.”

It’s only been ten days! And she’s just assumed I’ve permanently moved somewhere else now. A laugh lodges itself at the back of my throat.

“Why has it been so bad?”

“Dad’s been in a rage all the time, about everything, exploding over every little thing. Mom’s getting the worst of it; Hannah and I can avoid it for most of the time. I know that sounds bad but, honestly, Alex … Hannah made a comment about the casserole being runny yesterday, and he picked up her plate and threw it across the room. He shouted in her face that he was fed up with ungrateful children who disrespected him.”

Jesus.My father’s a monster. Because his rages are intermittent and he can be quite rational about the state of thecountry’s finances or accounting standards, it’s easy to forget his temper. Things sound so much worse at home. Shame burns through me—I’ve abandoned them to his meltdowns, and left Mom to take the brunt of it, too.

“The casserole ran all down the walls,” Becca continues. “When Mom got up to clean it up, Dad just barked at her to leave it. I found her later scrubbing the carpet. You know he’s more than capable of hitting her if something’s not quite perfect around the house, even if it was him who caused it.

“You’ve got to come back, Alex. You don’t understand what it’s like being here. Can’t we just pretend that Nana didn’t say anything? Rachel, Hannah, and I are so exposed. It felt so much safer when you were here, like we outnumbered them.”

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