“You live in a pit.”
I cleared my throat. “What are you doing here, Dad?”
“You ever straighten up before in your life? I think there’s glass in your kitchen.”
“Why are you here?”
He shoved his phone into his pocket. “You were out. I let myself in.”
“I noticed.” I didn’t move, caught between running and morbid curiosity. Good thing I chose to come back—otherwise, he would’ve figured out that I wasn’t staying at my own apartment anymore.
“Donal’s dead.” He cocked his head. “But you knew that already, didn’t you?”
“Cath texted me.” The lie came so easily that it frightened me.
“Word moves fast in the family. You knew the boy, right? He was friendly with some of the people you used to hang around, but you don’t spend much time with them anymore, do you?”
“No, Dad, I really don’t.”
“Too good for the family. I always knew you were, even back then.”
“What do you want?” I clenched my hands into fists, trying not to let him bait me into the old arguments.
“What, your father can’t check in on you?”
“You haven’t bothered to so much as call in months. So excuse me for being surprised.”
He ignored that. “It’s hot in here. You been using the air conditioning? Looks like you haven’t used that bathroom in a week. Dust everywhere.”
“Good detective work, Sherlock.” I glared at him, getting annoyed with all this. “I’m losing patience, Dad. If you don’t have anything to say, why don’t you just go home? Thanks for telling me about Donal, but I’m not in the mood to fight with you.”
“Maybe I don’t care what you’re in the mood for.”
I threw my hands into the air. “Dad, what the hell do you want?”
“I want you to come home.”
I took a step back, knocked off balance. I watched him carefully, waiting for the punchline, for him to explain further, for him to do anything but sit there and watch me with those feline eyes, but nothing happened. The silence stretched.
I hadn’t left on good terms. Dad was pissed when I told him that I found a job outside of the family, and he was livid when I told him I was moving into my own apartment.
We fought bitterly for weeks. He accused me of betraying the family.
He was right, I was betraying the family. Not literally, not back then at least, but in my heart I was finished with the Doyles.
He didn’t believe I’d leave right up until the day my lease started. When I packed my stuff, he raged at me, he screamed at me until his voice went hoarse, and that was the first time since I was a little girl that I thought he might actually hit me.
Instead, I left, and we’d barely spoken since.
Now he was back in my life.
And he had no clue, no clue at all that his son was still alive, and I was the only person working to make sure it stayed that way.
“I don’t want to come home, Dad. That’s not my home anymore.”
“You’ve been away from the family for long enough. There are things happening, Fiona. Your brother’s gone and I don’t want to lose you too.”
“What kind of things?” I stepped closer to him, trying to suppress my anger. “The sort of things that got Donal killed?”
He didn’t take the bait. “You belong with the family, Fiona. You’re my goddamn daughter.”
“I don’t belong anywhere, least of all in your house. Do you remember how you were to Connor when we were growing up?”
Dad flinched like I punched him in the teeth.
We never talked about it. Never once brought it up. When Connor got older, around thirteen, Dad stopped the beatings, stopped showing up with the belt like a switch had been flipped. After that, Connor and I mentioned it less and less, and Dad pretended like it had never happened.
There was no reason for it, no reason for any of it.
“I don’t know why you’re bringing that up now.”
“We were so scared of you. Connor especially. Sometimes he came into my room before you showed up and he’d start crying, and I didn’t know what I could do. Eventually you’d show up and do your thing, and afterward I’d try to take care of him—”
Dad got to his feet. “I don’t know why the fuck you’re talking about that now.”
“Why’d you do it, Dad? Why the hell did you hit him? Why the fuck would you beat him with a belt for years, every single night, then just stop?” I was shaking. Tears were in my eyes. A sob wanted to explode through my throat.
I wouldn’t let myself break down in front of him.
All my life I wondered. I wanted to ask him so many times, but I was always too afraid he’d hurt me, or worse, he’d hurt Connor again. I was terrified that if I ever spoke the words aloud then I’d break the spell and he’d turn into a monster again and start the cycle all over again.