There was a banner on my chest with the words: Strength, Love, and Honor. These were the words my brother and I would chant before something important. It was our motto. Our battle cry. And below those words on each pectoral was a sparrow with a compass right above their wings. My guide, my focus, and my way. It was ours, and now those words would forever be marked on my skin, and no matter how ashamed my mother was of that tattoo, it was the most important part of me. I would forever have Timothy on me, carved into my chest.
It was him.
It was me.
It was us.
Two brothers forever apart but hopefully someday we’d find our way back together again in the afterlife.
I nodded and gave the fakest smile I could muster. “Don’t worry, Mom. I plan to keep my hair combed and slicked back, and all my tattoos will remain covered at all times. You have nothing to worry about. I’m not going to embarrass you or Dad.”
Was I appeasing her? Did it make me sick to my stomach as I did so? Was this the unhealthy and twisted way my mother and I communicated now? Would a therapist have a field day with this?
Yeah, I know.
I needed to change the subject because we were going down a deep, dark hole. Whenever my mother and I talked about Timothy, it would lead to her spending days in bed in a depression that no one could get her out of. It was my duty—just like it always was—to try to protect her from the painful memories. Even when I’d been just a senior in high school, and not equipped in the slightest to deal with a hysterical mother and a broken father, it had been my duty to be the strong one. Timothy was gone, and it all rested on my shoulders. So, I knew I needed to change the topic fast.
“Remember Fallon Perry,” I began. “I saw her at Sully’s party the other night. She’s changed a lot. I barely recognized her.”
My mother flinched as if she had just been punched. “That girl… Is she back in town?”
“It seemed that way,” I said, uncertain why Fallon’s name appeared to upset my mother so much. Fallon had practically grown up in our household. I’d never thought my mother had any ill will directed toward her. “She was working for the catering company that did the party. She looked really good.”
My mother huffed. “Figures she would squander a perfectly good education. Everything was handed to that girl, and yet, here she is, wasting it by being some sort of waitress. Shame, but then again, she didn’t exactly have a good role model as a mother.”
“Her mother was nice,” I said, though why I was trying to defend our old housekeeper, I didn’t know. “Fallon was my best friend, Mom. I don’t know why you’re acting like she’s some past enemy of ours or something. I thought you liked her.”
She crossed her arms and walked over to my brother’s bed, paused for several moments, and then ran her palm over his blue, flannel bedspread. “I never liked Fallon. Your father did. He pitied that girl for insane reasons.”
I didn’t like how she was speaking of Fallon, and my patience grew thin, even in Timothy’s room which seemed to calm me when dealing with this woman. “Mom—”
“Let’s just keep the past where it belongs,” she cut in. “You have a lot on your plate right now. The last thing you need to do is to be thinking of that Fallon girl.” She shrugged her shoulders as if she were shrugging away all the memories of a girl who didn’t do anything to earn my mother’s distaste. “She always wore too much black makeup around her eyes. And her hair. All that black. So much black.”
“She was a teenager,” I defended. “There were lots of goth girls back then. It’s a normal phase.”
“Phase? Like she had a reason to act out?” my mother snapped. “That girl was given opportunities. She was lucky to have the Jacksons treat her the way we did, and—”
“Let’s drop this. I thought you would be interested to know that I had run into her. But it’s not a big deal,” I interrupted, trying to think of something else to discuss, because I could feel the tension growing in the room by the second.
“You need to focus. I don’t think you truly grasp the importance of the Trials of Initiation,” she said. “Your father is an Elder, and he had always hoped to hand down his business to Timothy. It was his dream, and the way it should have always been. You’re the second son, and don’t belong there.”
Yeah, I know.
“But the Elders made an exception,” she continued. “I hope you understand what a favor the Order is doing for this family. They’re allowing your father’s lineage to continue on, and it’s up to you to honor your brother’s memory in the best light. I don’t want you going in there and messing this up. All eyes will be on you. They know it should be Timothy, and they’ll be judging you against him.”