Greed

I remembered summers when I felt too cool to stay at home. I’d leave around ten in the morning, head out to the pool to say goodbye to my mom. Bridge would’ve already been swimming two hours by then, a two-toned, thin, little nothing of a kid constantly yelling out for us to watch her make the same dive over and over again. Her lisp gone by then but her falsetto “please, Spence” got me every time. “Fine, Bridge,” I’d tell her. She’d dive in and come up; her eyes round with anticipation. “Amazing, Bridge!” my mom and I would always say, clapping.



I remembered skinned knees, birthday parties, school plays. I remembered when boys first started noticing her and that protective part of me warning off every one of my friends. I remembered the first time she came to the Holes. I marched her off to my car and drug her ass home. She was furious at me, yelling the entire way, but I’d be damned before she attended one of those things. Never mind the fact I went to them every weekend. But then I went off to college and there was nothing I could do to stop her. And then there was this. This awful, shitty thing my dad was doing to her...I was doing to her.



“Shit,” I said under my breath, crumpling up the paper I was filling out then throwing the freaking clipboard onto the seat next to me.



“What’s wrong?” Bridge asked.



“Let’s go,” I said, standing up.



“What-what do you mean?” she asked, confused.



“I mean, let’s get the fuck out of here.”



“No, we stay.”



“No, we go. You don’t want to do this anyway.”



“It doesn’t matter. Dad will—”



“Dad won’t do shit,” I told her.



“How’re you gonna stop him?”



“I just am, okay? Let’s go.”



She stood up hesitantly. “What’s your plan?”



“I don’t know,” I said, “but I’ll figure it out.”



I walked to the door but stopped when I noticed the young girl and her douche boyfriend. I dug into my back pocket and pulled out my wallet, grabbing every bit of cash I had.



“Seven hundred fifty dollars,” I told the girl, “all yours if you leave this dickhead right now, go home and tell your folks. I can even give you a ride home if you want.”



“I’ll take it,” she said without hesitation, standing.



“Wait a minute!” the jackass said, moving to stand himself.



I glared at him. “Sit your ass down,” I ordered in my most fierce voice.



The guy backed down.



“Need a ride?”



She looked over at Bridge and Bridge nodded. “Yes, please.”



When we reached the car, her eyes widened.



“Where’d you get a car like that?”



“My dad bought it for me,” I told her, cringing at how obnoxious that sounded.



“Damn, he buy one for you too?” she asked Bridge. “You’re brother and sister, right?”



“Yeah,” Bridge admitted, buckling herself in.



“You guys look exactly alike.”



Bridge and I smiled at each other.



The girl’s name was Valerie; she was a junior in high school and had only been dating the guy at the clinic for three months. He told her he’d loved her, told her he would “take care of her,” that if she got rid of the baby, he would marry her later. I told her he was lying and an asshole. She asked how I knew that, and I told her, “I’m a guy, Valerie.” She took that as explanation enough, or maybe I’d confirmed what she already knew.



Valerie’s house was tiny and in a bad neighborhood but was clean with a decent car in the drive. Her parents obviously didn’t have a lot of money, but from what I could tell, they worked hard for what they did have.



When we pulled in front, her dad was leaving for work, I assumed. I got out of my side of the car and pulled back my seat to let her out.



“Valerie?” her dad asked, hesitation in his voice. “Who’s this?”



“Just a friend,” she said. “Can you come in for a second?”



“I’m late for work already.”



“Please, it’s important,” she said.



“Fine,” he said, heading back up their wood porch.



Valerie began to follow.



“Wait!” Bridge got out of the car and ran up to Valerie, throwing her arms around her. “Don’t be afraid,” she whispered. Valerie let a tear slip and nodded her head before climbing the steps herself.



We both got back into the car and drove a little bit in silence before Bridge started to break down. She faced the window, but I could see her pained expression through the reflection.



“We pretend we got rid of it,” I said.



“Okay,” she said, her hand going to her belly.



“I have an idea, but I need some time.”



“Fine.”



Chapter Eight



I knew I only had a few days before my dad figured out that Bridge was still pregnant, and I had an idea of what I needed to do, but I was looking for the perfect opportunity to do it.



Christmas Eve morning, two days after we left the clinic, I woke early, throwing on a t-shirt because it felt a little chilly. Our house was pretty much floor-to-ceiling windows, and the floors were stone. In other words, it didn’t matter how much money you had, it was damn near impossible to warm the place.



I dialed August, my roommate back at Brown. Ladies, hands over ears. This is how dudes talk and I apologize.



“What’s up, fucker,” he answered. Told ya.



“Hey, asshole. What are you up to?”



“Oh, you know, a little of this, little of that. This is named Ashley, that is named Farrah.”



I laughed. “You’re a sick bastard.”



“I learned from the best, douche.”



“I taught you much, young Jedi, but I never taught you that. Guess I’m just a higher breed of human.”



“I’m gonna take an axe to that fucking pedestal, nuckfut.”



“Still couldn’t knock me down to your level.” I laughed before turning serious. “Listen, uh, I’m sort of in a jam out here. Think you could do me a favor?”



“Yeah, whatever you need, dude,” he added, all joking aside.



When I got off the phone with August, I padded over to Bridge’s room and knocked on her door.



“Come in,” she grumbled.



I opened the door and found her hunched over a trash can.



“Yeah, we’re not going to be able to hide this for long,” I said, shutting the door behind me.



“Shut up,” she complained uncharacteristically.



“Why don’t you keep crackers by your bed?” I asked, repeating something I’d overheard somewhere.



I noticed her face looked pale and her eyes were watery. I wanted to kick the ass who did this to her.



“I do, but nothing works. Nothing. I mean, nothing works. All eating crackers gives me is something more substantial to throw up. God,” she groaned, “I wish I’d never let this happen.”



“Dude, it’s pointless now. What’s done is done.”



“Thank you, Spence,” she bit sarcastically.



I hid a smirk.



“What’s the plan? Send me off to our cousin’s? Pretend my nonexistent husband died in the war?”



“Funny, but not too far off.”



“What does that mean?”



“I mean, we have to hide, Bridge.”



“Maybe I can, like, take a semester off, have the baby here, give it up or something.”



“He’ll never go for that. He’d never risk being exposed.”



“Well, maybe-maybe we—” she began, the backs of her hands against her cheeks.



“We can’t anything other than leave L.A.”



“I can’t,” she answered desperately. She stood, then realized she could barely stay upright so she slumped at the edge of her bed. “I can’t leave L.A. All my friends are here, school. What about Mom?”



“Mama’s afraid of Dad, Bridge. She’ll only stop us.”



“Maybe she’d come with us,” she added wildly, wringing her hands.



“She won’t. She’ll try to stop us and you know it.”



Bridge’s hands pushed her hair out of her face. “I can’t do this without Mama, Spence.”



“Yes, you can. I’ll be there.”



“It’s not the same,” she said honestly.



My heart broke for her a little. “I know, Bridge, and I’m sorry for that, but this is what we have to work with.”



“What are we going to do about money? Where are we going to go?”



“I’ve got some money,” I hedged. “August is helping us with the rest.”



“August knows?”



“Yeah, I had to tell him.”



She huffed, reminding me of the teenager she was and making me cringe a little. “Fine.”



“Okay,” I said, stretching across the carpet that laid at the foot of her bed. My feet hung over a few feet but I didn’t care. I tucked my hands behind my head. “Okay,” I repeated, trying to remember everything August and I talked about. “August’s grandparents own a remote cattle ranch in Montana. He’s going to talk to them and let us know if we can hide out there, at least until you turn eighteen and Dad can’t touch us.”



“Dad can find us anywhere. This seems pointless,” she said, hanging her head in her hands.



“Not this time, trust me.” She didn’t believe me, but she wasn’t going to argue. “You know how Dad always yells at us about how he doesn’t want the liability if we ever got drunk and killed someone driving?”



“Asshole,” she said under her breath.



“Well, Mom told me he put our cars in our names to release that liability.”



“No way,” Bridge said, her eyes widened as she caught on.



“I know exactly where he put the titles in his office.”



“He’ll know you’ve been in there.”



“So what? We’ll be long gone before then.”



“So we sell the cars and live off that money.”



“Yeah,” I said. “Well, that and I’ve got some money saved up.”



“How much?” she asked, crashing back down on the bed, her legs still hanging off the end.



Seven million two hundred ninety-three thousand eight hundred fifty-nine dollars and seventeen cents. I hesitated. If I was honest with her, she’d have to know everything. “Enough,” I evaded again.



“How much is enough, Spence?” she insisted.



“Enough to get us to Montana and to feed ourselves, pay for baby shit, all that. We wouldn’t have to worry.”



“Okay,” she said, satisfied enough with that dodgy response. “When will you hear from August?”



“Tonight most likely.” Bridge got really quiet. “What’s up?”



“Will we ever see Mom again?”



“I’m sure of it.”



“When?”



“As soon as we can, Bridge. We can call her as soon as you turn eighteen, if you want.”