Page 43 of The Keeper
Mack takes the phone and puts it to his ear.
“Hey man, I’m driving so make it quick. Don’t wanna get a ticket.”
I can’t hear what Jeremy is saying, but I can hear murmurs through the phone that make it clear his tone is far from happy.
“I’ll let RJ fill you in, but it wasn’t pretty. I didn’t feel comfortable making her wait around and then putting her back on the bus with everyone. I already had my car, so I figured I’d just take her home.”
More murmuring from Jeremy. I wish so much I could know what he’s saying.
“Yeah, sounds good. See you in a bit.”
Mack hands my phone back to me and I put it back to my ear.
“Hey.”
“Look, I don’t know what happened or what’s going on, but I’m leaving practice and I’m on my way to you. With traffic, I should be there about twenty minutes after you get back.”
“Jer, you don’t have to come over. I can just call you and…”
“Not now, Rachel. I’ll see you in a little under an hour.” And he hangs up.
When I pull the phone away and look at the screen, I can feel the tears building in my eyes again, partly from the conversation and partly from frustration that my emotions have been so haywire over the past week or so.
Jeremy sounded angry. The rational part of me is aware that he’s mad at our dad and not me, but I’m upset with his reaction. I have enough on my mind and don’t need Jeremy’s emotions mixing in.
“So,” Mack says, clearing his throat, “it seems like you and your dad have a complicated relationship.”
I can feel his eyes on me. I can feel the desire coursing through him to understand what he saw. But I can’t bring myself to return his gaze or give him the information he wants, so I keep my eyes out the window.
“Yeah. I guess complicated could be a word used to describe it.”
“Has he… I mean… it looked like he was getting a little bit physical with you. Is that something that… or, uhm… does that happen a lot?” His words are a jumbled mess as he tries to tactfully ask if I’m used to being tossed around.
Unfortunately for him, there isn’t really a tactful way to ask.
I’m unsure how much I want to share, so instead of answering right away, I lift my feet to rest on the seat and hug my legs, tucking myself into my knees. In a split second I realize I am literally curling myself into a ball in embarrassment. Or maybe sorrow.
Sharing this part of my past isn’t something I do. Jeremy knows some of it because he was there growing up. But the true heart of it, the actual physical and verbal abuse I’ve lived through and what it did to me… just the idea of sharing makes my stomach twist. I don’t want anyone to know how terrible it was. I don’t want Mack to know what my father thinks of me or the ways he practically tortured me for years. Or about what happened before I finally left.
I let out a sigh and keep my eyes averted. Lying isn’t an option, but that doesn’t mean I have to be an open book.
“It’s not really something I talk about.”
He’s silent for the remainder of the drive.
As we pull up in front of my apartment, I’m already preparing my bag, ensuring I can be up and out of the car as quickly as possible. I mumble a quick ‘thanks for the ride’ and hop out as soon as we come to a stop.
I know luck isn’t on my side when I hear his door close and the sound of footsteps behind me walking up the path to my door. My one mistake was not keeping my keys easily accessible, and I have to drop my bag to the ground to dig around for them at the door. When I finally stand back up, keys in hand, my eyes lock with Mack’s.
“Did you need something?” I ask in an attempt to push him back to his car without any more conversation. “Because I’m really tired and just want to relax.”
His eyes search my face, and I see the moment his decision is made.
“Yes, I do need something. I need us to talk about what happened today. Because what I saw? Shouldn’t be something you don’t talk about, RJ.” He lets out a rush of air, scratching the back of his head before bringing his hand forward to rub his face in that way he does when he’s nervous. “If you don’t talk about the things you’re ashamed of, you’ll never get past them.”
My head jerks back in response to his statement.
“Ashamed?” He nods, but stays silent. “You think I’mashamed? Of what exactly?”
