“Thanks for the assessment.” It’s one I agree with, actually. Jackson isn’t a killer. But he is a man who would kill when necessary. And if he ends up convicted, how the hell will I live with the knowledge that he killed for me?
“Anytime.” Ethan smiles, but it seems a little sad.
“What?” I demand. “What happened with Mom and Dad to send you racing up to Los Angeles?”
He waves the question away. “Nothing. Really. I just needed my space. And I wasn’t even thinking about that. It just sucks that you have to deal with this murder stuff and all the crap that the tabloids are printing and posting all over the web.” He lifts a shoulder. “It’s just all a mess.”
Since I can’t argue with that, I don’t.
“I think the hardest thing on Jackson is that he didn’t get to bring his daughter home,” I say.
“Well, yeah,” Cass says. “You guys went all the way to Santa Fe and then got slammed with the news he’s a prime suspect. It sucks,” she adds, in what might be the understatement of the century.
Ethan’s reaction is entirely different. He’s staring at me as if I’ve lost my mind. “Jackson has a kid?”
I nod, realizing that although Cass has known this for almost as long as I have, I never told my brother this little family secret. “The media doesn’t know. He wants to keep it quiet to protect her from, well, from all of this mess. So don’t, you know . . .”
I trail off, and he swats my words away as if they are a nuisance. “Of course I won’t say anything, but Jesus, Syl. You’re dating a guy with a kid?”
“He’s just a guy,” Cass says. “Fatherhood isn’t his defining characteristic.”
Ethan cuts her a quick glance. “No. No, it’s not. But if it’s serious between you and Jackson, and if you’re thinking that he’s your guy and maybe there’s marriage down the line—”
He doesn’t finish the thought. He doesn’t have to. At least not to me. Because he and I have had more than our fair share of conversations about parenting. And in every single one of them we both acknowledged the fact that with parents like ours, we needed to stay far, far away from that particular vocation.
Ethan doesn’t know the hell I went through with my dad, but he does know how distant I am from both our parents. And even though they treated him like a prince when he was ill, the truth is that even his relationship with them is strained, because they never really saw him as a kid. More like a fragile commodity. And while he is willing to spend time with them and truly loves them, he’s told me at least a dozen times that he’s not sure he could be a dad, because what the hell does he know about genuine closeness?
I don’t know if he’s right about his parenting skills, but I see that distance in the way he handles his relationships with women. Hell, I saw it in my own, too. Or, rather, I saw it until Jackson.
“What’s the matter with you?” Cass snaps the question at Ethan even as she takes my hand and squeezes. “You’ve told me she’s a little angel, right?”
“She is,” I say, glancing at my brother as if to underscore the point. But the moment I see his face, I regret looking that way.
I see all the years of my childhood. All of my pain—most of which he doesn’t even know about. I see the way my mother ignored me. I see my anger at my father and his distance toward me.
I see the fragility of children, and the knowledge that it is so easy to fuck up a life.
I see it, because that fragile child stares back at me every morning from the mirror, and the woman she is now has no idea how to be a mom. Hell, that girl isn’t even certain how she survived childhood.
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” I say.
“Oh, shit. Syl—”
“Forget it, Ethan. It’s okay. It’s just been a long, weird couple of days. And the fact is, Ronnie’s not really at the top of the problem pile, you know? Keeping Jackson out of jail is what’s keeping me up at night. Not whether or not I’ll be watching Sesame Street every morning.”
I turn pointedly to Cass. “So. All well with Siobhan?”
Thankfully, Cass understands my need to change the subject. “Everything is perfect,” she says. “I’m in that lovey-dovey floaty place.” She releases an exaggerated sigh and then pats her hand rapidly over her heart. “I’m all pitty-pat and gooey and sweet. It’s disgusting, really. On anyone else, I’d want to smack them for being a walking case of sugar shock. But I’m just giddily floating along.”
