Page 44 of Of Heathens & Havoc

“Saint goes here,” I say at last. “Did you know that?”

“Honey…”

“You did know,” I say, closing my eyes and massaging the bridge of my nose. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Would you have gone if you’d known?” she asks.

Yes, I would have gone. I would have run into his arms and begged him to forgive me for doing the right thing, for telling the truth.

But I don’t say anything to my aunt. I owe her so much. She took me in when I had nowhere to go, let me live with her for four years without a single complaint, as if she wanted a kid all along. But I never got attached to her the way I did with my parents. Maybe I was too old, already fourteen by the time I was rehomed with her. By then, I couldn’t trust anyone.

“Besides,” she says. “Your mother thought maybe you two could reconcile.”

There’s a weighted silence while I try to swallow, to remove the knife of betrayal that slices into me with her words. It’s not fair, the things I expect from her. But life was never fair to me, either.

“You talked to Mom,” I say flatly.

“She’s my sister,” she says, an edge of pleading in her voice.

“You’re right. It’s fine.”

“Maybe it’s time you saw her too,” she says, her words tentative, an offer more than a suggestion. She never knew what to do with me, how to raise a traumatized teenager whose mother dumped her off like a stray. She did the best she could, and I can’t fault her for loving me the only way she knew how. She’s more than I deserved.

“I have to go,” I say. “I need to clean my room.”

She sighs. “I love you, Mercy.”

“Love you too.” I hang up and drop my phone, silently battling the demons clamoring inside me. I need to get them out.

Instead, I let them pull me under for a moment. I remember the fight I heard that night, when I realized how my parents felt about me. Dad’s words confirmed my deepest fears, the feelings I’d always had. I was an outsider. No matter how many times Saint picked me, no matter how many times Mom told me I was part of the family, I didn’t belong. I had to be picked, which meant I could be put back.

“I only told her to tell the truth,” Mom argued. “She’s not lying, Jim.”

“The truth is going to get our son locked up,” he said.

A shiver always goes through me when I replay that part of the conversation. He knew Saint was guilty. That’s when I knew too. Before that, I didn’t know what to believe.

“She’s going to ruin our family,” he said. “You’re really going to let her do that to our son? Ouractualson?”

“She’s our actual daughter,” Mom said.

“You know what I mean,” he said. “You didn’t give birth to Mercy. We didn’t name her. Saint is ourson. Are you going to watch him go to juvenile hall because of some misguided need to prove otherwise, to show everyone we treat her like our real daughter when everyone knows she’s not?”

And Mom didn’t say otherwise, didn’t argue again, and that’s when I knew she felt the same, that deep down, neither of them had ever loved me the way they pretended—the way they loved Saint.

“It’s not our job to decide his punishment,” Mom said instead.

“He made a mistake. Does he deserve to have his whole life, his future, ruined because of it?” Dad asked. “If she’s partof the Soules family, she should protect our name the same way I’m trying to protect it. The same way I thought you’d protect us. You’re a Soules now. I thought you understood what that meant when we got married, but maybe you never did. Maybe only blood understands.”

“Thou shalt not lie,”she said. “What would we be teaching her—both our children, in fact—if we made an exception for one of God’s commandments to protect our son from justice?”

“It’s not justice and you know it,” my father yelled.

That’s when I snuck back to my room, lying in bed wondering what I should do. Lie and protect my brother who always protected me, or tell the truth and trust that God would protect me?

It wasn’t until later, when I’d told the truth to the judge, when I’d not only sent my brother to juvie but also his two friends, that the phone calls started. Calls that made my mother turn pale even though she said it was the wrong number and hung up without saying anything else. Calls that made Dad go in the other room and make his own phone calls afterwards. There were a lot of fights for a month, and then there was a brick through the window. That’s when Mom packed me up and took me to my aunt’s for a few days.

“Just until this all blows over.”

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