Icy Heart, Empty Chest, page 10
“I had commented on that earlier. I asked him what he was going to do about the commotion. He gave me his half smile and said he’d just focus on me. Like he was teaching me an art lesson. I remember hugging him and saying I loved that.
“Now it was his turn to ascend the stage. He nearly tripped over the light and got feedback from the microphone at first. He introduced himself as Theo, one of the Fae Golden Age experts with his doctorate in the subjects. The painting was only a small thing, hardly bigger than most conventional computer monitors.
“He started with the subject, two nymphs in a field, one resting by a tree and another looking on by a nearby brook. He described the posing was of a specific age. The tree appeared to be ancient and imbued with magic. The painting’s magic itself had the breeze floating through the trees. You could see the ripples in the paint of the water and the flowing of the first nymph’s hair. The shadows were painted uniformly. The brushstrokes were clean and intentional. There was a softness to it.
“I think I remember almost every word that he said. At one point I thought I heard a commotion behind me.
“I ignored it. I knew not everyone was as appreciative of the arts as others.
“I just kept focused on him and he on me. After describing the authenticity of the frame, he opened it up to questions. It was at that time when I turned.
“Your father and two uniformed police officers were next to me.
“In his mild-mannered way, my father asked what their presence was for.
“Your father replied it was for him and that he was under arrest. The two officers of the Magical Force took to the stage and handcuffed him next to his painting.
“He was able to squeak out through his terror what the charges were.
“Your father, in his deep voice, told him that he was under arrest for suspicion of “fraud to the museum and theft.”
“My heart was pounding in my chest. I tried to push to his side but no one would let me through. I almost caught up to him when my father’s friend grabbed me by the arm.
“‘Don’t,’” he whispered. “‘Don’t let them see.’
“I didn’t pay attention to that and was shrieking after him.
“He took me back home later. I found the spare set of keys. I remember sitting in the shower with the heat on full blast. I couldn’t get warm. I couldn’t stop shaking. I was still a minor. No one would tell me anything. I had no other family but I knew what was expected of me.
“I got up for school, tired and alone. I made myself a lunch and forced myself to eat some breakfast. I’m certain I looked frightful. I rode my bike to school and chained it. And then the looks started. They’d stare at me for a second, turn away and talk. I hadn’t turned on the computer but I had no doubts that in a small town like ours, word had gotten out, onto the web. I reminded myself to cancel the newspaper. I wasn’t going to like to see my father on the front page or in the gossip columns. I had to steel myself in homeroom, the various classes.
“I remember being called to the principal’s office who stonily put a copy of today’s paper in front of me. My father’s back was to the camera and out of the corner of the shot was me.
“His message was perfunctory at least—is there anyone he could call or did I need anything.
“I shook my head, lied and said my aunt was coming to take care of me. I remember repeating that lie a few times. As long as there was an “adult.”
“Then, there was the mail. He got quite a few letters from old colleagues, friends. I opened some. They were a comfort. Then others came, ones that just decimated his character. I just put them in a box after that.
“Bills also came in the mail.
“I distinctly remember the day I sat before his computer with my hands shaking. I knew his password involved my name. After a few tries I got it. Annie and Cora. My mother and I.
“It took a month for me to get down what I needed to do. My mom had a trust for me, one of my accounts. She had made me promise not to use it before college but I couldn’t keep that promise. I still had to eat. I still had to live here. I still had to make the house OK for Dad when he came home. When he came home. I had to remind myself that with a good lawyer, he’d get through this. I had to think positive.
“I set up the mortgage to my trust, web access, the septic, the heating. Taxes. Everything was paid on time.
“I’d do my own food shopping, learning very soon the limitations to my own cooking knowledge. Sometimes I would cook just to cook, save it for leftovers. I just didn’t want to eat during that time. Water, juice, tea or I’d get headaches. I used to like the house quiet but I came to realize later that I liked knowing my dad was here doing his own thing and I was here doing mine. At some time in the night we’d have dinner and watch a movie, do a puzzle.
“I did a lot of cleaning during that time. A lot of his stuff I had to box and put away. My mother used to say he was notoriously messy. It was just the way his brain worked. Meticulous at work, scatterbrained at home.
“It was OK. I could do it myself.
“I refused to let the house fall to disarray. No matter how bad it got I wanted it to be like he never left.
“My only real contact during this time was my dad’s friend. He’d call to check in. I’d ignore the how-are-you-doing questions and launch straight into arraignment and trial. He’d sigh and tell me everything he could find out.
“When you, Damien, didn’t call or text, I thought it was your less than subtle way of backing away from me. I thought you might have been embarrassed or angry at him or me. By the end of that year, you weren’t talking to me much. You didn’t avoid my eyes but you didn’t say much to me either. Nothing comforting or caring from my oldest friend. I wasn’t very welcoming either. I shut down the world around me. Very few could get in if they tried. I thought it was the same with you. You were collateral in all this. I thought maybe it killed you too to see him like this.
“When the trial started the media attention got overwhelming. There would be reporters outside my house every other night, doing a piece. Early on they would try to knock on the door. I opened once, not knowing. Never again. I still get haunted by the flashing of the cameras.
“The trial was its own special brand of hell. Tried and over with within a year and a half was ridiculously fast in our world. I couldn’t understand who could think my father a threat. He had a perpetual cough and grey tinging his skin at all times. He was never well and often went to the doctors and healers but only when it didn’t interfere with his work.
“I remember asking the friend, let’s call him Simon for this conversation, to pick me up to go to trial dates. He sighed and told me he should say no. He should protect me from the lies. I told him that I was a kid and I needed to see my dad. He didn’t have anything to say about that.
“The day came to cross-examine my father and the police detective that brought him in. A certain Lieutenant Daemon Whithorn. Father to my oldest friend. The biggest object of my ire.
“I remember them half dragging my father in and putting him on the stand. I knew he saw me. He didn’t dare smile but gave me a brief nod. I’d take what I could get. I was always close to tears those days and a few spilled over onto my skirt.
“Still, I paid attention.
“I saw my father’s court-appointed lawyer attempt to make his case. My father was a very private citizen who had never had a criminal conviction before. He was an expert in his field and had been authenticating pieces that were brought into the museum for decades. The museum was his home and sanctuary; he valued and cherished every piece that was brought in, restored it meticulously for exhibition. There was no motive to be found here. Any charges were erroneous and false. My father was no criminal mastermind, just the victim of wrong information.
“Those from the museum made their case. Yes, my father had a long history with the museum. He never had any disciplinary action against him. He was used in other territories to look over other pieces. His work had been invaluable to the museum. In fact, the money brought in from the benefit that night would pay his salary alone for two years over.
“Then the lies started. They painted him as desperate. A single man raising a child on a single salary. Maybe he got greedy. He was ill. He couldn’t do this forever. Maybe he needed a backup plan, so to speak.
“Then Daemon took the stand.
“It was the smile I couldn’t stand. A smarmy smirk like he was about to serve the deepest justice.
“After some initial questions about his qualifications, the defense launched into it.
“Daemon smiled all fifty of his teeth and told the court the police department had received an anonymous tip about the museum. As he handled those type of crimes, it fell on his desk. The tip alleged that my father knew in advance that the painting was a fake and that there was a plan to sell it. He was going to defraud the museum and pass off the fake as authentic.
“Simon would grit his teeth at the absurdity of it all. He was confident that most of the charges would be dropped. And most were, due to lack of evidence. All except the authenticity issue. It ended up damning him. He refused to make a deal. He said he had staked his reputation on this trial. He would walk a freed man.
“It all came down to reasonable doubt. At the sentencing, the judge told my father he had thought long and hard and had handed down the minimum sentence. Because they just couldn’t prove the reasonable doubt otherwise.
“I remember the look on his face during sentencing. I thought he’d faint, looking even more grey than normal. He was tugged away by guards to face his fate.
“‘Simon/Caesar’—Finneas, brought me outside and I remember immediately throwing up. He held my hair back, grimacing. The longest two years of my life would begin that day.”
CHAPTER 11
Damien just stared at me. Three beer caps lay before him. I took a sip of a water that Sam had dropped off.
“Cor. Why didn’t you tell me any of that before?”
I shrugged.
“You didn’t really seem to want to talk to me. Anytime we had plans, you’d reschedule. You were suddenly busy with other clubs and sports. It’s my fault too. I didn’t really talk to much of anyone during that time. If I did it was a homework assignment or some such. I heard what they said about me. You remember Lydia and Ginger? They stopped talking to me too.”
Damien put a hand to his chest and started to rub the scar with the palm of his hand.
“Dae, what’s wrong?”
I froze, not wanting a repeat of a few nights ago. He held out his other hand gently.
“No. I asked for this. I told you my father told me that I shouldn’t see you. I shouldn’t be friends with you. I don’t know why he didn’t like you so much but he made my mom drop me off and pick me up at activities. I couldn’t do what I wanted. He had me under a really tight leash. He’d monitor my phone and email so I couldn’t message you. If there was any hint of rebellion he’d…lash out at me any way that he could.” I could see his grip tightening on his bottle. I wasn’t surprised that Daemon would have resorted to physical punishment. In fact, it seemed to sit squarely in his wheelhouse. “I wanted to text you. I wanted to call. But I was afraid of him.”
As father and son went, Daemon and Damien were nothing alike, name similarity aside. Damien took after his mother more: sweet, conscientious. Daemon was more quick to anger, snarky.
“I don’t get why he hated me.” I never actually could figure it out. I had always wondered if my father or mother knew anything about it.
“I don’t either. He just made you out to be ‘lesser.’ The more I fought back about seeing you, the more he cracked down.”
“Did your mom like me at least?” I asked forlornly. I had remembered having good memories with her. She had a very kind and gentle spirit. I had always wondered about their marriage, with him being so bullish, and her so mild.
“She adored you but wouldn’t go against him.” His dark eyes scanned the room. “He made sure I was busy throughout the entire trial. Any after school time was taken up. The one time I snuck out, I made it a few blocks away from your house. The beating I got that night was something else.” He rubbed his neck in remembrance.
“Why didn’t you tell me any of this then? I knew what he was like, or at least I thought I did.”
“It was Mom actually. She convinced me that slowly cutting you off would be easier than fighting back, even if I didn’t want to do it. She begged me. Couldn’t stand hearing him get to me. She couldn’t bear seeing him beat me or hurt me so often. I wanted to reach out. I mean, you were just a kid. We were just dumb kids. You shouldn’t have had to go through any of that shit alone. I mean, kids always want their parents’ approval right? I shouldn’t have wanted it that hard. I should have…fought harder for you.”
“You shouldn’t have had to push that hard. I sorta had to. There was no one else but me.” I had abandoned my drink at that point. I didn’t feel like drinking. I hated being this vulnerable. All the things I’d had to swallow down for years were just pouring out of me. A downpour of truth. It felt odd in truth. I felt exposed. The raw nerve I’d covered with layers of Band-Aids was now open to air.
“Can you tell me what happened in high school? Include the lake thing. I think it’s obvious now that there were so many pieces I was missing.”
A flash of pain went through me.
“Not tonight. It’s a bit too much tonight,” I replied. My wounded heart was curling like a millipede, trying to protect itself.
“Alright.” He looked forward with sad eyes. “I wish I had known. I owe you every apology under the sun. You always, always deserved more than what you got. Wish I had never had to choose between you two.”
“Maybe I should have been smarter. Maybe I should have figured out that it wasn’t me and my dad issues, and trusted you...I should have trusted you more. It just hurt at the time.”
“I didn’t make it easy for that, I know.” His beautiful eyes glanced at me.
“Damien, I swear on my father’s grave I will get your heart back. I won’t let you die. I won’t lose you.” As I swore what I hoped was a binding oath, tears started to well up and flow. I couldn’t remember the last time I had actually cried before he came back into my life. He looked up, alarmed. I quickly brought up my sleeve to wipe them away.
“Hey! Cor, what’s wrong?”
“I don’t want you to die,” I admitted through sniffles. I felt a ballooning in my chest.
He hopped off his stool and threw his arms around me. “That’s one of the best things you could have said to me.”
He felt like home. A little piece of home from a long time ago.
I hugged him tightly back. Gods almighty he smelled so good. And all that muscle under my fingers—down girl.
“We should probably close out the tab and go home. I will likely ruin my sterling reputation of being ineffable and I have some ideas about my next steps,” I added sniffling.
He released me and raised an eyebrow. “How much do I want to know about this?
I met his eyes and took a deep breath. “I will likely have an answer for you tomorrow. But I need you to trust me.”
“I always have, Cor. That never changed.”
I gave him a watery smile. My brain was buzzing with ideas. As we headed back out to my car, I contemplated how deep I was in. I don’t know if he realized it but I didn’t care. I would go to the ends of the earth to protect him and I think I always knew I would.
As I saw him get into his car, I sent a smile and wave his way. I was hit by a flood of tears. Sliding down against my door, I stared off into my apartment. Losing Damien would be like losing the sun in the sky. I had forgotten how warm he was and how alive he made me feel. He was one of the few that could ever break me out of the hole I frequently stuck myself in.
I was in so fucking deep.
If I got his heart back then what would change? Would he be the same Damien I’d always known? Would he be able to feel anything?
What if I couldn’t find a way? He was on borrowed time as it was. Would I be able to tolerate him dying in my arms? I’d already lost my father and mother. If I lost his heart, then mine might as well cease to exist. I scrolled up to one of our longer text exchanges from sophomore year:
Cora: What happened today??? All I saw was you fighting and then your dad breaking it up!
Damien: Nico was running his mouth, threw the first punch
Cora: I’ve never seen you lose control like that. What did he say?
Damien: It was stupid.
Cora: So you’re not going to tell me? Your best friend?
Damien: He was calling you a loser, among other things. I stopped it
Cora: Oh, Dae. He’s an idiot. Was your dad upset?
Damien: He’s been going nuclear for the past few hours. I don’t expect it to stop anytime soon.
Cora: I’m so sorry. Do you need to come over?
Damien: He will not let me. I’m on lock down indeterminately
Cora: Damn. Don’t fight over me OK? It’s not worth it.
Damien: I’m always going to defend you, Cor.
Cora: Well, hopefully not at the expense of your face. ;)
Damien: I’m serious, Cora!
Cora: So am I, you have a nice face.
Damien: Gotta go, old man’s angry again.
I went over my wardrobe to find the most professional pieces that I had, laying them out on my bed. Sometimes the best disguise is the one right before your eyes. Knee length boots, pencil skirt and a blazer would be suitable for where I was going. Before going to bed, I sent him a text saying simply, Stay strong, and got a happy face back in return. I hoped it was genuine.
