Elizabeth Finn - Brother's Keeper

Listening to her feels like being punched in the stomach. How could this have happened and nobody knew? I want to kill her father. I could kill him. Without doubt, I could kill him and think nothing of it. He deserves to die. He’s supposed to care for her. He’s supposed to protect her. She doesn’t deserve this. But I hide these traces of violent imaginings as I continue to push her for more information.

And when she’s finished speaking, I find my voice again, and the question I really need answered, “Why didn't you want me to call the police last night?”

She turns to me, instantly finding my eyes. “No. I’m sorry, but I won’t talk to the police.”

“What do you mean? He can’t get away with this. You don’t deserve to live like this. Why would you want to protect him? You don’t owe him anything, Rowan.”

“It’s not him. I hate him. He was nothing to me before my mother died, and he’s nothing to me now.”

“Then why? I don’t understand…”

“Because I have nothing. Don’t you understand? I don’t have your family. I don’t have your life. My mother was the only child of parents who passed away before I was even born. My father’s family is non-existent. Or if they exist, I’ve never seen them. I don’t get to go on with my life, my education, my dancing, my future… My life will be turned upside down. I could end up in a group home for the next couple of months, and for what? Don’t you see? I will be on my own next year. I can make it until then. It’s so close. I’ve already received my scholarship letter. I can’t screw that up now. I work as much as I can, but I can’t afford to be on my own right now. I’ll be eighteen in less than two months. Sara and I will be in Ann Arbor by next fall. I will never have to go back to that life and his shitty trailer. But I have to get there first without destroying everything I’ve worked for.”

She is fighting back tears and speaking so forcefully. It’s obvious this isn’t something that she’s considering for the first time. She has gone over and over and over this scenario many times before. But it isn’t right. He can’t get away with this. He’s already gotten away with years of child abuse. Now that she’s nearly grown, should he get away with this assault as well? There has to be some way, and I start thinking out loud. “My parents would let you…”

“That’s easy for you to say. You’re their son. I can’t do that. I’m sorry. I just can’t. They’ve already paid my way through dance school for the better part of my life, and I feel guilty enough every time they foot the bill for me. You have to understand, this hasn’t happened for years. There’s just no point.”

But I can’t accept the conclusion she’s trying to push me to. “Don’t ask me to keep this a secret for you. You can’t ask me to do that.”

She’s crying again. “I’m sorry. You were never supposed to know.”

Her comment hits like a ton of bricks, and I’m suddenly struck by the sobering words she’s saying. I might never have known had it not been for that one phone call. The idea this could have continued to go on without anyone ever finding out is terrifying. And now she wants me to make a decision that’s not only unethical but also dangerous. This isn’t a decision I can make in an instant.

“Row, you have to give me time to think about this. I can’t even think straight anymore, and I need to know I’m making the right decision.”

At that, the conversation is over, and Rowan stands to leave the room. I watch her leave and want to call her back and keep her with me. She is suddenly the most vulnerable part of my life and that which I feel an undeniable need to protect. And with her gone from me, I start to drift asleep again, but my mind is racing. I know what I want to do, but I’m compelled to think about what will happen to her if I do. I can’t force her to comply. Were I to call the police, what would she ultimately do? Refuse to speak with them? Refuse to acknowledge what he’s done? I’ve watched Rowan grow up, and I know to what degree she was neglected by that man. She has wanted all her life while Sara and I have wanted for nothing, ever. She is poor, desperately poor. She has no support system whatsoever. Should I be the one that pushes her away now? But as heartbreaking as it is, I can’t overlook the fact that she’s been wronged, and the man responsible has yet to be held accountable and never will if she has her way. He has to pay, but at what cost to Rowan?

Logan is sleeping soundly, and I have to get home and change for work. I quietly grab a pair of Sara’s shoes and find Logan’s keys on the kitchen table. I unload my bike from his car before returning the keys and heading toward home. I change quickly, not wanting to spend any more time there than necessary. Dad is watching TV in the living room, not the least bit interested in the world around him. Fortunately, his anger always fades with sobriety, and the post inebriation amnesia kicks in. The fact I had escaped him the previous night evades his memory. I leave the house without saying a word and manage to make it to work with a few minutes to spare.

It is Saturday, and we will be busy. I spend most of the evening going through the motions. My mind is fixated on Logan. My future is in his hands, and I haven’t forgotten it. I feel like I’m waiting for the doctor to tell me the inevitable bad news. On the one hand, if Logan can’t come to terms with lying for me, not to mention setting his conscience aside, then my life as I know it is over. On the other hand, if Logan does keep my secret, I’m responsible for pushing him to a lie he shouldn’t be a part of, and that jeopardizes his reputation and possibly his career. So the diagnosis is detrimentally bad and detrimentally bad. And as I obsess about his decision, I’m driven insane by my worry. What must he be thinking? What will he decide? And then I see him.

He’s just strolled in with Amy. Have I mentioned I hate Amy? She is gorgeous and everything every man in every world has ever wanted. She’s a bitch, but she hides it well. She’s the type of girl who would slit your throat to keep you down but talks sweet as pie. Logan’s been seeing her for the better part of the past two years and everyone thinks they are the perfect couple. It’s sick. Sure, they look perfect together, but what he could possibly see in her is beyond me. He is nothing like her; he has none of her selfishness. Logan has always been caring in a way she would never understand. He is good, she is bad. It’s as simple as that. I suppose she just puts on a good show for him. Never mind I hate her by virtue of the fact her boobs are three times the size of mine.

To my horror, they are seated in my section, but hey, at least I look good. Ha! What could be better than being seen in the obligatory uniform of black pants, white button up shirt, and a pathetic looking red ascot? Oh, and let’s not forget the customary black beret. I hate being lame, and I especially hate looking lame in front of beautiful women. Just once, I’d like to be the beautiful one—not the one looking like a circus sideshow freak.

Logan watches me as I approach their table. My hands are shaking as I fill their water glasses, and by the uncomfortable look on Logan’s face, he’s well of aware of this fact. Amy is off in her own little world, looking around to see if anyone she knows is there. He says “Hi”, and I manage a “Fancy to see you here,” the fake casual tone of my voice a little too contrived and obvious.

Amy suddenly decides to join the rest of the world and finally acknowledges my existence. Not, of course, in any civilized manner. “Oh my God! What happened to your face? You look terrible.” Her words are as fake as her blonde hair and pathetic personality.