Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93929 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93929 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
I grunt, steadying myself. My forehead throbs with pain, but luckily, I’m not bleeding. I probably won’t even bruise. I’d know, I’m a connoisseur of injuries like this.
We drive south out of the city and into Delco. Dad lives in a massive, ugly McMansion in the suburbs, as close to Philadelphia County as he can get without actually having to pay city taxes. It’s the house I grew up in, the house I despise more than anything in the world. Red parks and slams the door behind him as he stomps in through the side door.
I take my time following. Dad’s BMW is parked in front of the garage. Mom’s Lexus is probably inside. I haven’t spoken to Mom since I moved out and I really hope I don’t have to speak to her now. Mostly because I can’t stand watching her twist her head into knots pretending like everything’s okay. It’s her biggest sin and her greatest skill. I’m almost jealous of it.
Red takes me straight to Dad’s office. That’s a bad sign. Nothing good happens in this room. I have terrible memories of this place. Even as I get older, I still feel a stone in my guts just walking down the hall toward that familiar door. Red knocks once and pushes it open when Dad calls out.
“Don’t be stupid,” Red murmurs, his anger gone now. He seems oddly sympathetic. That’s not a look I’m familiar with on his nasty face. “It won’t be so bad.”
“What are you talking about?” Real fear hits me. But Red just nods with his chin and I step into the office.
Dad’s behind his desk. The door shuts with a soft click. He doesn’t glance up and I’m left standing there feeling terror slowly build. There’s a big, round carpet in front of an old fireplace behind me and lots of large windows along the right-side wall. Pictures of Dad with union leaders, activists, politicians, and artists line the bookshelves. How all these people can stand to be in the same room as my father, I’ll never understand it.
He’s got a sterling reputation though. A family man, a champion of the working class, an ally of all those who care about New York City. He’s been on more marches, been in more important closed-door meetings, and bribed more influential officials than anyone alive.
And yet I know him as a rotten, hateful piece of shit.
“Caroline.” He glances up from his phone. He’s still typing away, probably posting some mystical gem of wisdom on his Twitter account. “How are you?”
“Fine.” I learned a long time ago to speak as little as possible. He likes that.
“Good. Very good.” He puts his phone down. Dad’s eyes are a deep blue, similar to my own, but his hair’s gone gray over the years. It’s that nice silver color. His jaw’s square and his nose is squat. He looks like an Irish movie star. All my brothers have that same quality, and then there’s me. I look more like Mom: soft and small. “This is going to come as a surprise to you, but you’re here to do something important for the family today.”
I absolutely do not like where this is going. “What’s that?”
He gestures. “Sit down.”
I take a seat. “Thank you.” He likes it when I’m polite.
Dad leans forward. His long, scarred, callused fingers fold together. “You’ve been living on your own for how long now? Several months?”
“Closer to a year.”
He nods. “Very good. You’ve been self-sufficient. I didn’t like it when you wanted to move into the city on your own, but I think it might’ve taught you some things about the value of hard work.”
I feel sick. I nod and look down at my lap. “Yes, it did.”
“I’m happy to hear that. Hard work is all we have in this life.” I’ve heard this speech a thousand times, but fortunately he doesn’t give me the full version. Instead, he places his hands flat on the desk. “I’m going to ask you to do something, Caroline. It’s going to be difficult. You won’t want to do it. But I’ve tried over the years to instill a certain understanding in you. I’ve tried to teach you that the family is bigger than any individual member. That we all do what we must. I haven’t asked too much of you, not yet at least, but now it’s time.”
I want to cry. He has no idea what he’s saying. He can’t begin to imagine the hell I’ve been through. How his lessons have wormed their way into my brain and poisoned me. I nod submissively, hating myself so much for it.
“What do you need?”
He nods happily. I can tell that was the right response. “You know the Whelan family. You know how important our relationship is. They have a young son, the only son who isn’t already married as it happens. He’s close to Dermot’s age, I believe.”