Chapter Thirty
Megan
“Megan?”
Marta’s voice reached me as though from a great distance, but I was grateful that she had interrupted my thoughts. These last couple of days, I felt like Alice falling through the rabbit hole, but there was nothing at the end to break my fall.
“Yes?”
“Honey, you don’t look good,” Marta observed, with concern. “You haven’t been yourself for the last few days.”
“I just… It’s nothing.”
“You’re still thinking about your brother, huh?” she asked. “Or is it Phil?”
And that was all it took—just the sound of his name, and I was a weeping puddle of tears with no control and no way of stopping myself. Marta looked startled for only a moment before she ran around her cubicle and came straight for me. She wrapped her arms around me, and I sunk into her warm embrace, feeling comfort for the first time in what felt like forever.
“There now,” she said, in a soothing maternal voice. “You just go ahead and let it all out. Cry until you can’t cry anymore.”
And that’s exactly what I did. It lasted almost six minutes, but when I was done crying, I felt both tired and relieved.
“Feel a little better?” she asked.
“A little,” I admitted.
“Good girl.” She nodded as she passed me a tissue.
“You’re very different from my mother,” I said. “Whenever I was upset about something, she always told me to toughen up and handle it. Tears didn’t solve anything, so there was no point in crying about it.”
“Hmm…then I’m glad I’m not like your mother,” Marta said bluntly.
I smiled. “Me, too.”
“You know what, though,” she said. “My mother said the same thing to me when I was upset about something. And it made me realize how important expressing your feelings was. Which is why I always let me children cry when they needed to. It’s cathartic.”
“Is it ever.” I nodded.
“Now, do you feel up to talking?” Marta asked.
And surprisingly, I did feel up to talking. I nodded once, and she gave me a smile and a reassuring pat on my arm.
“Tell me what’s on your mind?”
“Phil,” I said immediately.
“Have you spoken to him since the trial?”
“No,” I replied. “And I don’t think he wants to talk to me, either.”
“He’s hurt—”
“And he’s entitled to be,” I said.
“Then maybe you should try a little harder,” she suggested. “Staying silent now is not going to prove to him that you care about him.”
“I don’t just care about him, Marta,” I said helplessly. “I love him… I am in love with him, and I’m terrified that he won’t be able to forgive me.”
“You won’t know until you’ve tried, Megan,” Marta pointed out. “I know you’re scared, but try anyway.”
“It’s more than just about not believing him,” I said. “My own brother set him up… What must he think of me?”
“You didn’t set him up,” she pointed out.
“But still…”
“You and your brother are two different people, and I think Phil knows that. He can’t judge you based on your brother’s actions,” Marta said. “And, didn’t you go to court that day to bat for him against your own brother? That has to count for something.”
“I thought it might.” I nodded. “But he never even looked at me. It was like I wasn’t even there. He looked so… hurt and angry.”
“You might need to do more than just make that kind of declaration in a courtroom, Megan, honey,” Marta told me gently. “You need to talk to him, make him understand where you came from and that you made a mistake.”
“And then what?” I asked.
“What do you mean?” she asked, with a frown.
“I mean, what if he doesn’t accept my apology?” I asked. “What if he says he still can’t forgive me and that he doesn’t want to be with me anymore?”
“Then you tried.”
“I can’t live without him, Marta,” I said.
“Don’t be silly now,” she said in a measured voice. “You’re young… If Phil can’t forgive you, you will move on one day and meet someone else. But if this man truly is the love of your life, then you need to fight for him—otherwise, what is the point?”
I nodded slowly, feeling scared and vulnerable. But I knew that Marta was right. I had to fight for Phil if I wanted to make things work with him. The only problem is I had no idea where to start. I walked home that day wondering how on earth I was going to approach him. I practiced the speech in my head, but every time I started, it came out differently.
I walked into Brent’s apartment in a fog of thought. The police had done a full sweep of the place just before the trial. Once it had been found to be clean, the landlord had given me the option of either keeping the apartment and taking over the rent payments or moving out at the end of the month. I had thought about it long and hard, but I wasn’t sure I could afford to keep this place without a roommate to share the cost of it.
In any case, I didn’t really want to stay in Brent’s apartment. It smelled of him, it reminded me of him, and at the moment I wanted no reminder. It wasn’t love that was compelling me to find a place of my own. It was disgust and disappointment. I was ashamed that my own brother would do things so despicable, especially to the man I loved. I was even more ashamed of myself, for falling for his lies and believing him over Phil.
I sat down on the sofa and stared out the window for a full twenty minutes. My mind was scattered, and I knew there were several things I needed to get done, but I had no inkling of how to go about any of them. I decided to take baby steps and start with something I should have done days ago. I dialed my parents’ landline number and waited for someone to answer.
The last time I had spoken to them had been almost a month ago, before shit hit the fan, so to speak. They had no idea what was going on, and I knew that I had to tell them. I had post phoned this conversation long enough.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Mom,” I said.
“Megan?”
“Of course it’s Megan,” I said. “You have only one daughter.”
“Where’s Brent?”
“Brent…” I stammered.
“I’ve been trying to call that boy for two days now, and he’s not picking up,” she replied. “Hold on; Dad’s here too. I’ll get him to pick up from his study.”
I heard her yelling for my dad, and a couple of seconds later, I heard a click, and my dad’s breathing became evident.
“Megan?” my dad said. “Where’s your brother?”
I sighed. “I have something to tell you both,” I started slowly. “And it’s…difficult and requires a bit of explanation. Are you two sitting down?”
“Megan, what are you talking about?” Dad asked.
“So dramatic, as usual,” Mom added.
I gritted my teeth but forced myself to be calm. “I’m not being dramatic, Mom,” I said. “I’m trying to handle this as sensitively as possible.”
“What are you handling?” she asked. “And where is your brother?”
“That is what I’m trying to explain to you,” I said. “If you’ll hear me out, you’ll know where Brent is.”
That shut both of them up. I started my explanation from the very beginning, but when I got to the part about Brent dealing drugs, that inspired an interruption.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Megan,” Mom cut in. “My Brent doesn’t do drugs.”
I sighed inwardly. “He wasn’t just doing drugs, Mom,” I said as gently as I could manage. “He was dealing them, as well.”
“No, he wasn’t,” Dad said with absolute confidence.
“There was proof,” I said, as my heart beat rapidly against my chest. “A huge amount of proof, actually. Brent even tried to frame Phil so that he wouldn’t be caught with drugs.”
“Phil… Is he the boy you’ve been dating?” Mom asked.
“Yes.”
“The policeman?”
“The firefighter,” I corrected.
“I’m sure it was him,” she said, without any information. “Police officers are always mixed up in shady affairs. And they meet criminals on a daily basis; he must have set Brent up.”
“What are you talking about?” I said, in annoyance. “Phil is a firefighter! He is not a police officer. And even if he were, it wouldn’t have made a difference. He doesn’t do or deal drugs. The drug dealer here is your son!”
“How can you say that, Megan?” Mom asked tearfully.
“Because it’s true.”
“This is all just a crazy misunderstanding,” Dad said with certainty. “I’m sure they’ll clear him of all charges in a trial.”
“Brent’s trial took place three days ago, Dad,” I said, deciding to pull off the bandage. “He was sentenced to ten years in prison.”
There was dead silence on the other end of the phone, and then suddenly, I noise erupted. Mom was screaming, and Dad was yelling at her to be quiet because I was obviously joking.
“I’m not joking, Dad,” I said, as loud as I could. “I wouldn’t joke about this. Brent is in prison, and he will be for a long time.”
“Caitlin,” Dad practically had to scream. “Get off the phone so I can speak to Megan…now!”
Mom’s response was to keep wailing into the phone. I heard some static on the other line and then a click as Dad hung up. Less than a minute later, I heard him wrestle the phone away from her and then the wailing became background noise.
“Megan, is this a joke?” he asked harshly.
“Not even a little bit.”
“Is it true?”
“Is Brent really guilty?” I said. “Yes, he is without a doubt a hundred percent guilty. The evidence against him was overwhelming and his ‘business partner’ outed him.”
“He could have been lying?”
“But he’s not,” I said. “He had texts to prove that he and Brent were in it together.”
“This is crazy… I…”
“I have the name and number of the officer who handled Brent’s arrest and case. I can pass his number on to you if you have any questions.”
“I definitely have questions—and not all of them for him.”
“What—”
“Why didn’t you tell us any of this sooner?”
“Because… I was scared to,” I admitted. “At first… there was nothing to tell and then when it became clear there was… I just—”
“What happened with the other one? Phil?” Dad interrupted.
“All charges against Phil were dropped,” I said. “He was set up by Brent, Dad… He had nothing to do with any of this. Brent knew how to get into Phil’s apartment because I had mentioned Phil’s spare key one time while he was in the room. He didn’t even have to break in, he just used the key, stashed the drugs, and then sent an anonymous tip to the police.”
“You should have called us. We could have done something.”
“There was nothing you could have done,” I said. “And in any case, there was nothing you should have done.”
“What does that mean?”
“Brent is a child, Dad,” I said. “He was not prepared to be an adult, which was why he kept making bad choices—these are the consequences of those choices, and he needs to feel them in order to learn.”
“He is your brother—”
“And he nearly put the love of my life behind bars for a crime he committed,” I said, as my anger revealed itself in my tone. “And, you know what? I don’t think he cared at all that he was framing an innocent man. And that should bother you, Dad; that should make you realize that your son needs help. Maybe prison is the help he needs.”
There was a long pause. “Megan, how can you be so cruel?”
I sighed and closed my eyes for a moment. “I’ll text you the number of the police officer, Dad,” I said, without getting into an argument with him over this. “Take care of yourself. Take care of Mom. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”
I hung up and stared at my phone. All that conversation had succeeded in doing was showing me that my only real family was the man I had turned my back on when he needed me the most.