Chapter 13: Ben
"There's a present on its way to you," my sister says. I can hear honking in the background and then it sounds like she's holding the phone away from her ear as she yells, "It's a crosswalk, asshole! Pedestrians have the right of way!"
"Good morning to you too," I tease her back. The honking fades as she curses under her breath. "How's the festival? How is DC?"
"Wet and crowded. I'd give my Nikon 24-70 for a desert assignment right now."
"Only you could be salty about a cherry blossom festival."
"Yeah, well, you try getting a decent shot while thousands upon thousands of yokels swarm the tidal basin and the humidity defies science. I haven't had to drink water since I landed. I'm just absorbing it from the air like a frog." I laugh because that so perfectly sums up my sister. "How are Mom and Dad?" she asks.
"Enjoying early retirement. Mom is making wind chimes out of recycled trash and Dad is building a shed."
"Well, that sounds very... nice." Ella sounds like she'd rather stab herself in the neck with a rusty pipe than make wind chimes and build a shed.
"I think it is for them," I say. "They miss you. Mom thinks you're in India and can't get reception."
Ella laughs. "Yeah, sorry about that. I needed a break. She keeps asking if I've met anyone. She wants grandbabies and hasn't come to terms with the fact that you are her only hope."
"It's a bleak prospect."
"Surely there must be someone out there for you. You're so normal."
"Oh yeah, totally normal," I scoff. "Reclusive hacker screams normal."
"But you're a rich, reclusive hacker. You can get away with the rest because it's balanced out by your bank account. Speaking of the rest, thank you for helping my friend the other day."
She's being vague on purpose. We rarely talk about the people I help in my side work. Mostly because the fewer breadcrumbs we leave, the better. It's bad enough that Ella often has a physical connection to them.
"Piece of cake," I tell her.
There's a lengthy pause. I know she has something to get out, and she's struggling. I'm patient.
"It was bad," she finally says.
"How bad?" I ask.
"I'm not supposed to talk about it. Support groups are supposed to be anonymous."
"Well, technically she's a completely new person now. Does confidentiality apply when someone disappears off the face of the Earth? Besides, I can tell you need to talk about it and it's not like you can do that in a support group. I'm a vault, Ella. You know that."
My sister makes a choking sound. Shit, I made her cry.
"She turned up in a group out here all black and blue," she says through the tears. "She had handprint bruises on her arms and her face was still swollen. They locked him up, I mean they had plenty of evidence. But then he started calling her from prison. Sent letters. Threatened her over and over. Even from behind bars, he had someone trash her car and throw rocks through her windows. It wasn't going to end until one of them was dead."
A story she knows only too well. My sister survived her own abusive marriage, but some trauma never goes away. Much like the guilt I carry because I was too self-absorbed with my work to see what was happening with my sister.
"She's safe now, Ella." I try to calm her as much as I can, considering I'm on the far side of the country. "And so are you. We took care of her. She has a new life, and no one will ever know where she went."
"I know," she whispers.
"I miss you. Come out to California when you're done with D.C.," I tell her.
"Yeah, I'd like that. Maybe in the fall. How's the girl next door?" she asks, changing the subject. I can hear her voice is still shaking, but if she's ready to talk about something else, that's fine.
"Lilah? She's... a firecracker. I'm sure you'd like her."
"I bet I will," I can hear her smiling through the phone. "Does she know what you do?"