All These Things I've Done (34 page)

‘Can I write one for you to give to him?’ I asked.

Scarlet considered this. ‘Hmm. It’ll be harder for me to bring one back from you. The guards don’t let you take anything into his room. And if they saw I had a note from you, they might not let me come back. Why don’t I say something to him for you?’

‘Tell him . . .’ What was there to say? I was beyond sorry. ‘Tell him thanks for the note.’

‘Thanks for the note!’
Scarlet repeated in an overly bright way. ‘Will do!’

Two weeks after the shooting, I was granted leave from my house arrest to face the school’s administrative board. Simon Green accompanied me. The ad board’s task was to decide whether or not I would be allowed to attend senior year at Holy Trinity.

I won’t bother you with the details, but they voted eleven to one to expel me from Holy Trinity. (The only dissenting vote had come from good old Dr Lau.) Despite my numerous other offences (fighting, insubordination, excessive absenteeism), it pretty much came down to the weapon that I had used to shoot Jacks. Apparently, they didn’t want someone who was packing on the Holy Trinity campus. I would be allowed to finish my junior year classwork at home, but after that, I needed to find myself another school. I added this to my list of things to do.

The school’s decision? I cannot honestly say I disagreed with it.

On the way back from Holy Trinity, I asked Simon Green if we could stop at the hospital.

‘Do you think that’s a good idea?’ Simon Green asked me. ‘Charles Delacroix has made his feelings towards you perfectly clear.’

‘Please,’ I begged. (Daddy always said the only thing worth begging for was your life, but maybe he was wrong. Maybe sometimes your love is a little bit worth begging for, too.) ‘Please.’ Tears were running down my face and snot was coming from my nose. I was behaving like an infant. I was loathsome and wretched and Simon Green, who was soft-hearted and as green as his surname, took pity on me.

‘All right, Anya. We can try,’ Simon Green said.

We rode the elevator to the juvenile ward. How absurd that tall, grown-up Win was still considered a juvenile. By chance, it was lunch hour, so there were no guards posted outside Win’s room. We knocked on the door, which was orange with a cutout of a beach umbrella pasted to it. I suppose the cutout was meant to indicate that summer was nearly here even if it didn’t feel that way when you were stuck in a hospital bed.

‘Come in,’ a female voice called. I pushed the door open. The bed was empty. Win’s mother was seated in a chair by the window. When she saw me, I thought she was going to yell at me to get out, but she didn’t. ‘Win’s having an X-ray. Please come in, Anya,’ she said.

Simon Green and I did not have to be asked twice. I knew that this was a gift Win’s mother was giving me, so I did my best to make small talk. ‘How are your oranges?’ I asked.

‘Very well, thanks.’ Mrs Delacroix laughed. ‘I want you to know I think that Charlie’s behaving like an absolute barbarian,’ Mrs Delacroix continued. ‘What happened isn’t your fault. If anything, your quick thinking saved Win’s life.’

‘It’s not as if I didn’t have something to do with putting him in that situation in the first place,’ I felt compelled to add.

‘Well, yes . . . Nobody’s perfect, I suppose. Sit down a moment. Win will be back soon and I know he wants to see you. This, by the way, is a severe understatement.’

There were no other chairs, so Simon Green and I sat on the bed.

Simon Green and Mrs Delacroix did most of the talking, as I found I was too anxious to speak.

Finally, an orderly wheeled Win back into the room. He was wearing a T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants that had one leg cut off to allow room for all the black pins and other hardware holding the hip and leg in place.

My beautiful Win. I wanted to kiss him on every last broken place, but his mother and my lawyer were there. So instead I started to cry.

I had done this to Win.

Or if not done this, I had certainly been the reason this had happened to him.

Win’s injuries were not nearly as bad as what had happened to Gable, but I felt Win’s so much more. I suppose the difference was that I loved Win.

‘Let’s give the kids a moment alone,’ Mrs Delacroix said. ‘The guards will be back after lunch.’ Simon Green and Mrs Delacroix went out into the hallway.

At first, I could barely look at him. He looked fragile. No wonder his father had wanted to lock him away from everyone.

‘Say something,’ Win said gently. ‘You can’t just stand there not speaking and not looking at me. I’ll think you don’t like me any more.’

‘I was so scared,’ I said finally. ‘And worried for you. And then they wouldn’t let me see you. Or call you or anything. And now I’m here and you’re all broken and hurt. Are you in much pain?’

‘Only when I try to stand or sit or turn over or breathe,’ he joked. ‘Here, help me back into bed, lass.’ He leaned on me to stand, then he pushed himself into bed. He winced.

‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Did I hurt you?’

He shook his head. ‘No, of course not, silly girl. You make things better.’ I bent down, and I kissed his leg on one of the places where the pins went in. Then I crawled into his bed and lay down next to him for a bit.

We must have fallen asleep because the next thing I knew, guards were running into the room and pulling me out of Win’s bed. I fell hard on the floor and landed on my knee. It would leave a terrible bruise, but in that moment, I barely felt it.

‘Leave her alone,’ Win said. ‘She’s fine! She’s not doing anything.’

‘Your father’s orders,’ the guard replied with an apology in his voice.

‘He didn’t say you should throw a sixteen-year-old girl on the floor,’ Win yelled.

‘Come on,’ Simon Green said. ‘We should go before this gets worse.’

‘I love you, Anya,’ Win called out.

I wanted to reply but they’d already shut Win’s door. As Simon Green was dragging me to the elevator, he muttered, ‘Mr Kipling’s going to kill me for taking you here.’

Simon Green dropped me back at the apartment. After my return was noted by the policeman meant to monitor my actions and protect me from the rest of my family, I went straight to my room. On my way down the hall, I was accosted by Imogen.

‘What happened to your knee?’ she cried. The day had been warm enough that I was wearing my school skirt and no tights.

‘Nothing,’ I said. In point of fact, my kneecap was starting to throb. I felt silly complaining when I compared it with Win’s injuries.

‘It doesn’t look like nothing, Annie.’ She escorted me into my bedroom. ‘Lie down,’ she ordered, which was the only thing I’d wanted to do anyway. I was cried out – the well never ran very deep with me – and what I wanted to do was hibernate like a bear. The good thing about house arrest, about being isolated from most everything and everyone, was that I could sleep in the middle of the day and no one cared.

Imogen returned with the ubiquitous bag of frozen peas. ‘Here.’

‘It’s fine, Imogen. I just want to sleep.’

‘You’ll thank me later,’ she said.

I flipped on to my back. She felt around my kneecap. Ugly bruise, but nothing was broken and she assured me that I’d live. Then she set the peas in their place.

‘Why is it always peas?’ I asked, thinking about the numerous times I’d rested a bag of peas on Leo’s head or the night we went to Little Egypt when I gave the bag to Win. ‘Don’t we ever have frozen carrots or corn?’

Imogen shook her head. ‘The corn gets eaten the quickest. And none of you like carrots so they’re never bought.’

‘That seems logical,’ I said. Then I told her that I wanted to sleep and so she left me alone.

Late that night (Natty had already gone to bed), I awoke to a knock at my bedroom door. It was Imogen. ‘You have a visitor,’ she said. ‘It’s your boyfriend’s father. Would you rather see him in here or in the living room?’

‘Living room,’ I said. My knee had tightened up something awful, but I did not want to encounter Charles Delacroix in a horizontal (i.e. weak) position. I pulled myself out of bed. I smoothed down my school skirt and shirt, ran my fingers through my hair, and limped out to the living room.

‘I’m sorry about that,’ Mr Delacroix said, indicating my knee, which ten hours later had become black, blue, puffy and all-around spectacular. He was seated in the crimson velvet chair, and I couldn’t help but think of the times I’d seen his son seated in the same place.

‘I’m also sorry about the late hour. Work has forced me to keep exceptionally long hours and also, well, I did not want to make my visit to you cause for a photo opportunity.’

I nodded. ‘Maybe you also didn’t want to see me with my lawyer present,’ I suggested.

‘Yes, Anya, you’re right. I wanted to have a discussion that was only between you and me. The situation we find ourselves in is personal but it is also business. That’s what makes this matter unusually complex for me.’

‘Business is always personal if it’s
your
business,’ I said.

Charles Delacroix laughed. ‘Yes, of course. I like you very much!’

I gave him a look.

‘Oh, don’t be so surprised. You’re terribly likeable, just not for my son.’

At least he was honest.

‘All right, so I’m here to give you the lie of the land, if you don’t mind. We tested the bullets that you used to shoot your cousin. They came from the same gun that your brother used to shoot Yuri Balanchine. So, what are we to infer from this, Anya?’

I would not help him. ‘Why don’t you tell me?’

‘Smart girl,’ Mr Delacroix said. ‘That you saw your brother and somehow got him to a safe location at which point he gave you the gun.’

I took a deep breath. I would never tell where Leo was.

‘Honestly, Anya, I don’t care what happened to your brother. He shot a mobster who no one much liked, even his own men. So, if you got Leo Junior out of the country without getting him killed, good for you. You take care of your own, I understand that. And so you’ll also understand why I have to do the same. The only thing I care about is the fact that you got my son shot.’

I lowered my head. ‘I wish I could change things. I put him in danger’s way and I’ll never forgive myself.’

‘Oh, Anya, don’t be so overdramatic. I sometimes forget you’re only a sixteen-year-old girl until you go and say something silly like that. Win will recover and the experience will be character-building for him. Life has been too easy on Win. At this point, the main reason I care about Win getting shot is because it puts his name in the news and it links my name with your name. You see my problem?’

I nodded.

‘If I don’t punish you in some way for the possession charges, I’ll be seen to be showing favouritism to the girlfriend of my son. Even worse, this person is tied to the
bravta
in some way. My enemies will argue that I am weak on organized crime. I can’t afford that. I announce my candidacy for DA the first week of June.’

‘I see.’

‘So, I’ve told you my predicament. Would you like to know what yours is?’ Charles Delacroix asked.

‘Go for it.’

‘Actually, you have several problems, poor girl. The first is your brother. I don’t care where he is but others in your family do, and if I release the bullet tests, they’ll know what you did. They’ll track Leo down, and they’ll kill him. Possibly you, too. The second is your precious baby sister, who is, for the moment, without a legal guardian. I know you’re the real guardian in the situation, but people are foolish and I doubt you want, say, Child Protective Services getting in your business. The third is the possession charges. We’ve gone over those. And the fourth is my son. He loves you. You love him. But ugh, his father! Why is he trying to keep you apart?’

Yes, that about covered it. ‘Looks pretty bleak.’

‘I can help you,’ he said. ‘I’ve been thinking of the first time we met on the ferry back from Liberty. I’ve been thinking of something you told me your father used to say to you. Do you remember what it was?’

‘Daddy used to say a lot,’ I replied.

‘You said that your father always told you that you shouldn’t make an agreement unless you knew exactly what you were going to get out of it.’

‘Yes, that was Daddy,’ I said.

‘Well, Anya, I once asked you not to pursue a relationship with my son, but I didn’t have a counter-offer. Today, I do. This offer only lasts for a very short time, though. I need you to decide tonight.’

And so, he laid it out for me. Mr Delacroix would make certain that the information about the bullet tests would never be released to the public, thus securing Leo’s safety. In exchange, I would be sent to the Liberty Children’s Facility for the summer on the possession charges so that Mr Delacroix could show his constituents that he was not weak on crime. While I was at Liberty, Natty would be at genius camp. (I asked him how he knew about that: ‘I know everything, Anya – it’s my job.’) This arrangement would help ensure that Child Protective Services would have no need to get involved with us as Natty would never go without a guardian. Over the summer, Charles Delacroix would help to push through the paperwork that made me an emancipated minor and also Natty’s official legal guardian. In exchange, I would end things with Win. I would be allowed to see him one last time before going into Liberty, but that would only be for the purposes of breaking it off.

‘I’m sorry about that last part,’ he said. ‘As I said, I like you very much. But as long as you’re with him, it’s an ongoing problem for me. And yes, perhaps I understated my concern for Win’s welfare before. Though this first bullet was character-building for the boy, I’d rather him not get shot again. I’d like my son to live to see twenty.’

I considered Charles Delacroix’s offer: Liberty for three months and no more Win forever in exchange for my brother’s safety and my sister’s safety. Two for two. Yes, this seemed fair. It wouldn’t be hard to end it with Win because, in a way, this was what I wanted to do anyway. I loved him, but he wasn’t safe around me. ‘How do I know you’ll keep your word?’

‘Because I have as much to gain and to lose as you do,’ Charles Delacroix replied.

The third Sunday in May (two weeks until Liberty), Natty and I went to church for the first time in ages. I did not confess because the line was too long, as was my list of sins. I did receive the host. The liturgy was, appropriately enough, about sacrifice: how there was redemption in it, even if it wasn’t always immediately apparent. And this was nearly enough to steel me to do what I had to do next.