I put on a jacket, wait for her in the corridor, and she emerges wearing a black hoodie and dark jeans. She’s got her hood up, the cords pulled tight so that it wrinkles in a circle around her face.
“Why are you laughing?” she asks, as if she’s accusing me of making fun of her.
“Nothing,” I say.
“Tell me,” she says. “Or I won’t go with you.”
I see the flicker of a smile on her face, and say, “You just look like you’re about to rob a store or something.”
She fingers the rippled edge of her hood, grins. “Is there a dress code for that?”
I shrug. “You tell me.”
We share a small silence, and I put my hand out. She looks at it for a moment, and there’s this… stoppage of time, as if someone has pressed the pause button on our lives.
We look at each other for what feels like an eternity. When she takes my hand, holds it, it fills me with some crazy kind of feeling, like I’ve got bubbles inside of me, floating me up.
I’ve never felt this before.
“You ready?”
She nods. “Sure.”
We creep down the hallway together, even though we have no real need to. Frank is long gone, the staff has left, and Glass must be in a deep and drunken sleep.
We slink to the garage, adjacent and unconnected to the house, and open a door with squeaky hinges. I spot the silver key box on the wall, open it and look through the sets of dangling car keys.
“Which car is your favorite?” I ask, looking out at the cars parked. There’s a Ferrari, a BMW coupe, a Camaro, a boxy SUV I don’t recognize, a… it dawns on me that outside of the SUV, there isn’t really a family car in here. Just two-door sports cars.
“I always liked this one,” she says, pointing to a small, old-ish hatchback hiding behind the SUV. It looks like it hasn’t been driven in a while.
I look for the corresponding key, take it, and open the driver’s side.
“Wait, I thought I was driving,” she says. “Do you even have a license?”
I blink. “Yeah, actually. We got driving lessons at the home. They even had somebody come down every day, and if we were old enough we’d take turns. Glass had me do a bunch of hours in Thailand at the best school they have there, then had my license converted for here.”
“Oh,” she says. It’s this bizarre moment, like we’ve just come face-to-face with the fact of how little we actually know each other.
As we get into the car, I’m suddenly pulled back into an old memory, one that makes me grin at the stupidity of it, but also makes me cringe at the stupidity of it.
“What’s so funny?”
“I was just remembering something.”
“What? Tell me.”
“Before I went to Thailand, sometimes the boys at the home and I… we’d, well, we’d go for joyrides. We could boost a car in fifteen seconds.”
“You stole cars?”
“Borrowed them.”
“What do you mean?”
“We usually left them somewhere nearby where we took them. We just did it to drive around at night.”
“You never got caught?”
“Sure we did,” I say. “Squad car rolls up, all flashing red and blue, and we split in different directions. They never get us. Half the time they weren’t even up for a proper chase even in their cars, let alone on foot.”
“I had no idea it was that easy to steal a car.”
“Sure it is,” I say. “How many cars are stolen per year? I’d bet fucking loads. You think every car thief is a genius?”
Dee puts out her hand, and I furrow my brow, shake my head.
“The keys,” she says. “Give them to me.”
“Why?”
I see a playful grin spread her lips. “Prove to me what you just said was true.”
“About boosting cars?”
“Yeah. In fifteen seconds.”
“Alright,” I say, returning her smile and dropping the keys into her open palm. “Are you going to time me?”
“Just do it already.”
I shrug, and say, “I’m going to need the keys, though.”
She just tilts her head to the side.
“Actually,” I say, digging through my pocket. I pull out my set of house keys that Glass gave me. “It’s fine.”
I peel off the plastic seals covering the screws on the steering column, use a key to unscrew them. I crack it open, find the wiring harness connector, and pull out the battery, ignition and starter bundle of wires. I use my key to strip them, twirl the battery and ignition wires together, and then spark them with the starter wire.
The car rumbles to life, and I rev the engine to prevent a stall.
All in all, it took about thirty seconds, but I’m out of practice.
“Holy shit,” Deidre breathes. “I didn’t think you’d actually do it.”
“Good thing you picked this car,” I tell her with a smirk. “Only works on older models.”
“Can you fix… it?” she asks. “So Dad won’t know?”
“Don’t worry, I’ll deal with your father if he finds out. I’ll just tell him I borrowed the car, but didn’t know where he kept the keys.”
“He won’t like that.”
“Seems like nobody has driven this car in a while, though.”
“You’re right,” Dee says. “This was Mom’s car.”
I lick my lips as realization oozes all over me like lava. I just vandalized her dead mother’s car!
I look at Dee. The atmosphere has grown somber in just an instant.
“Oh, don’t worry,” she says quickly. “I don’t care about the car.”
“What happened to your mother, Dee?” I ask her gently.
“She died when I was young. That’s all I know. I don’t know how or why. Dad never talks about her.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me, too. I can’t even remember what she looks like, and Dad doesn’t keep photos around the house. Sometimes that bothers me, you know? But most of the time, I just don’t think about it.” She turns to me. “Do you know what your mother looks like?”
I shake my head. “She left me on a church doorstep as a baby. Never met her, never seen her, never heard her. Well, not literally never, just nothing that I can remember.”
“Would you want to? See her I mean… hear her?”
I suck in a breath of air. It’s a question I’ve thought about for a long time. “Sure,” I say eventually.
“But why? She just abandoned you. She wasn’t there for you.”
“People do all kinds of shit,” I tell her. I don’t know how to put my thoughts into words. “I do what I want, and I don’t want to hold a grudge against my own mother. Even if her reasons were stupid, or bad, or whatever… how can I stay bitter?”
“But your life could have been so different.”
“It could have been worse,” I say. “She wasn’t a stable person, and had a drug habit to boot.”
Dee fidgets. “Really?”
“That’s what I was told.”
“By whom?”
“She was seen leaving me. People around the area knew her, everybody knew what she was about. I found out from a social worker who lived in the area and worked in the home.”
“Is she still alive?”
I shrug. “I don’t know.”
Dee pauses for a moment, then asks me, “But wouldn’t that mean that when she was pregnant—”
“Obviously she stopped using during that time,” I say. “That must have been hell for her. But for that, I’ll always owe her one.”
“Owe her one,” Dee echoes.
“Yeah,” I say. “My life, probably.”
“Come on, let’s go,” she says, looking straight ahead. “And change the subject. Let’s not talk about our parents.”
I put the car into gear and drive us out of the garage. The doors are automatic, don’t require a signal. Nobody breaks into Johnny Marino’s house and steals his cars. Not unless they want to end up floating face-down in the river.
“Tell me where to go,” I say.
Dee gives me rough directions, and after a bit of searching, we come to the mall. I park the car beneath a tree, shield it in the shadow, and together we climb out and walk through the near-empty parking lot.
“This way,” she says, taking my hand. “There’s something eerie about walking through an empty mall at night, don’t you think?”
We pass by a guard post, and I spy that he’s sleeping, slumped into his chair, newspaper on his chest. I stop, peer at him, measure how deep he’s sleeping. His breaths are very slow; he’s been out for a while. Coffee sits cool in a paper cup, untouched, not steaming.
“What are you doing?” Dee hisses at me, but I put a finger to my lips. I kneel down, turn the doorknob carefully, pull open the door, wincing as it creaks.
The guard doesn’t move. I reach out, unclip his keys from his belt, clasp them in my hand so they don’t jingle, and then shut the door.
“Damn it, Duncan!” she breathes as we walk away. “Tell me before you do shit like that.”
At the main entrance to the mall, I unlock the door inset into the steel shutters that have been pulled down, and we weave our way through dark hallways.
“Here,” she says, leading me down a set of steps until we come to a wide double-door. I test the door, find it unlocked, and we walk in, and instantly feel the cold of the indoor ice rink.
Dee guides me to the seats that surround the rink, and sits down, puts her feet up on the chair in front, and holds herself, shivering.
I sit down next to her, wrap my arm around her, and ask her, “Why did we come here?”
“Frank used to take me. I spent more time with him growing up than with Dad. He… well, he kind of raised me. I mean, he wasn’t a surrogate father or anything,” she says, scoffing at the thought. “In fact, I’m not sure he should ever be a father. But… he was there for me more than Dad was.”
“Do you like him?”
“I used to… a lot. We got along, you know? I found him funny, and he seemed soft and less threatening than Dad. Frank’s like a teddy bear, and compared to Dad who is more like a… I don’t know, a cannon ball or something, it was just easier.”
“Frank may look soft, but I’d guess he isn’t at all.”
“No,” she says. “He can handle himself. Anyway, then I found out what he did regularly… like what he did to that poor man tonight.”
“And you stopped liking him.”
“Not really… I don’t know how to explain it. I just like him less, but I still like him. He’s always kind to me. He’s pretty thoughtful, actually, for a man so utterly devoted to my father.”
“Huh. I haven’t really had a chance to speak with him.”
“He’s alright, but he’s a slave to Dad. He’s super loyal, that’s why Dad keeps him around. You need loyal people.”
“Especially if he’s your driver and bodyguard.”
“Exactly.”
After a moment, I turn to Dee. “Let’s go ice skating.”
“How? The ice is covered.”
“Come on, I’m sure we can get it off.”
I stand up, take her hand, and together we amble toward the office and booking area. I see the control panel, find the corresponding key on the guard’s chain, and unlock it.
There’s a bright green button with a stenciled label beneath which reads ‘Cover’. I press it, and there’s a loud humming, a grinding of gears, and then the cover is pulled back across the ice, and into a recess on the long, closest side of the rink.
The ice glows in the darkness. I know it’s just a reflection of the moonlight streaming through the windows, but it looks unreal. From here, it’s too dark to see all the seats surrounding the rink. We might as well be standing alone together on an ice berg.
With Dee, I go to the shelves where they stack the skates, pick out my size, then help her find hers. We put them on, waddle onto the ice, and skate for what feels like hours.
We chat, hold hands, and she shows off some kind of ballerina-style spin which I could never hope to mimic. I try, of course. I’m never above trying.
But I fail hard, and land on my ass.
We race, go as fast as we can, laugh, and then eventually just start skating around in circles, hand in hand, again and again as if we were rehearsing for NASCAR On Ice.
I never want this night to end.
But a bright beam of light washes over us, and I jerk my head toward the entrance, see the door open. A guard is descending the steps, flashlight aimed at us.
“Fuck,” Dee whispers.
“It’s fine,” I tell her. “Nothing will happen.”
“You two!” the guard shouts. I can’t see what he’s doing; the light is blinding. “Off the God damn ice!”
We exit the rink, and then the guard draws up close to us. I hear the click of his radio, and know he’s thumbed the transmit button. He’s going to call it in.
“Wait,” I say. “We were just messing around.”
His flashlight beams at my face, then moves to Dee’s, then lingers there for a moment.
“You,” he murmurs at Dee, who just frowns in response while shielding her eyes. “I know you.”
He lowers the flashlight, and I have to blink rapidly to adjust to the darkness. I see the same guard I took the keys from. He must be in his sixties, and he’s got a white mustache and looks frail and weak.
“Here,” I say, handing him his keys.
He chews on his mustache for a moment, but doesn’t say anything to me. That catches me off-guard. Something feels off.
“Do you remember me, young lady?” he asks after a moment, straightening up.
Dee shakes her head. “I’m sorry, sir, I don’t.”
“Well, I remember you, from when you were just a little girl… and I know who you are.”
The guard looks caught between a rock and a hard place. He shuffles on the spot for a moment, then flaps his hand at us.
“Oh, it’s not worth it. You two stay here for however long you like.”
“Wait,” Dee says.
“Now, I don’t want any trouble,” he says, recoiling from Dee. He steps backward, palms up. “You do what you like.”
“Who am I?” Dee asks.
“Why, you’re Johnny Marino’s daughter,” he says, stumbling over his words.
There’s a still silence, and then Dee just sighs.
“It’s okay, we’re leaving.”
“You can stay as long as you like, now. I won’t stop you.”
“We’re leaving,” Dee says, and she steps forward, and touches the man’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. Don’t be afraid.”
“N-now, I’m not kicking you out. You want to skate, you can—”
Deidre’s voice is soft, calming. “It’s okay,” she says. “We were going anyway. Don’t worry. I’m sorry we snuck in here. We were wrong, and you’re just doing your job. I won’t tell a soul.”
The guard grumbles to himself, but acquiesces.
I look at Dee, a new admiration for her growing. She read him perfectly, calmed him, reassured him when she didn’t have to.
She could have brandished that power her name gave her, wielded it, but she didn’t.
She’s nothing like her father.
“I’m sorry if we’ve caused you trouble,” Dee says, taking my hand. “We’ll make sure everything is put back properly.”
We’re true to her word, stack the skates back, re-cover the ice, and then she tugs my hand, says, “Come on, let’s go.”
We leave the building, walk out of the mall back to the car.
“Does that happen a lot?” I ask.
“Yeah,” she says with a sigh. “Can you imagine how hard it is to make friends when everybody around you walks on eggshells?”
“It bothers you,” I say.
“Sure it does. I don’t want people to be scared of me. I’m not scary!”
With a kind of imprisoned frustration, she climbs into the car, shuts the door hard. I get in after her, start the engine by sparking the exposed wiring again, and then drive us back toward her home.
The mood has changed, and she stares out of the window, chewing her nails, so I don’t talk. She doesn’t seem to want it.
“Sorry,” she says after a while. “I just hate it when shit like that happens.”
“Don’t sweat it.”
“I wish you weren’t going tomorrow,” she says. It’s a thump right in my gut, one that is harder than any hit I ever took in a fight.
“Same.”
“But you have to, don’t you?”
I grind my teeth together for a moment. Now I feel caught between a rock and a hard place. “Yeah,” I say. “I think I do.”
“I know you do,” she says, looking away from me again out of the window.
We drive in silence the rest of the way, and when we get back, park the car, sneak inside, she tries to go to her room without saying a word, but I ring her wrist and tug her toward me.
“I’ll be back, though,” I say.
“Not for six months or however long Dad wants to train you for.”
“But I’ll be back.”
She doesn’t reply, just slips herself from my grip, and leaves me in the hallway, so that all I have is her faint, lingering scent, and her look of disappointment burned into my mind.