Blood and Sympathy (5 page)

To be perfectly honest
with you, I don't know if I want to go to college at all. I know I should, but
at this time in my life, I'm not sure what I want to do. On the other hand,
going away to college would be a great way to get me out of Hensteeth.

I can relate with you
about being dealt a crap hand in life. Did you know that my mom died in
childbirth with me? I believe that's why my dad resents me. It's no secret he
prefers Olivia over me. I'm okay with that. As the saying goes, nobody can go
back and start a new beginning, but anyone can start today and make a new
ending. Wow, that was deep. Don't expect such enlightenment to come from me
often. LOL!

Some days I feel like
I have no freedom at all. Of course, our circumstances aren't the same, but on
some level, I get what you mean. I take my freedom where I can get it these
days, and truthfully, it's a vicious cycle. I get claustrophobic and I rebel. I
rebel and I get caught. I get caught and I get grounded. I get grounded and I
become claustrophobic. See what I mean? You'd think being eighteen would make a
difference. But not to my dad. 

I like the water too.
There's nothing better than floating around the water on a lazy summer day.
Some of my best times have been the ones spent with friends on Devil's Fork
Lake. Not a care in the world except for who's buying the beer and whether I
put on enough sunscreen.

Olivia might have been
the reason I wrote the first letter--she blackmailed me--but continuing has
been my choice.

What are your music
boxes like? Describe one of them to me. I'd like to see your work.

I can relate to what you
said about you and your brother. Olivia and I are like oil and water most of
the time. But she is my sister, and I guess that means I have to love her. And I
do, but there are days when I don't like her very much. Even though we're not
twins, we look a lot alike, and people often assume we are. Don't let anybody
kid you, Braden. It's all about what people think. Especially in a small town.
J

If you're in Hensteeth
for your eighteenth birthday, I'll bake you a cake.

I don't ice skate. Seems
sad that I've lived by Devil's Fork Lake my whole life and not once have I been
on it when it was frozen. I'm not a fan of cold weather, and I have an
irrational fear of falling through the ice and not being able to get to the
surface. Actually, it's a recurring nightmare of mine.

I don't have any
tattoos, either. I want one, but my dad would freak out if I went through with
it. What are you going to get?

I will see if I can
find a picture to send you.

Later,

Claire

It was almost dinnertime when I finished my note
to Braden, so I went downstairs to see if Olivia needed my help in the kitchen.
We took turns making dinner. Even Dad helped sometimes, when he was home.

I hummed a tune as I set the table. When the room
around me fell silent, I stopped what I was doing and frowned at Olivia and Dad,
who were both staring at me. "Why are you two looking at me like
that?"

Dad shrugged with a bemused look on his face as he
added sugar to his coffee and slowly stirred. "Why are you in such a good
mood this evening?"

"What makes you think I'm in a good mood? I'm
still grounded. Maybe I'm just going bonkers from being held captive against my
will."

Olivia snorted. "Like being grounded has ever
kept you from doing what you wanted to do."

"Says someone who's never been a prisoner in
her own home," I muttered. She wasn't going to spoil my mood. It's not
like I still didn't do whatever I wanted, I just had to learn how to be
stealthier about it. Lucky for me, after spending most of my teen years in
trouble for one thing or another, I'd learned to be resourceful. I knew how to
sneak out of the house without getting caught. That brought another grin to my
face as I finished what I was doing.

"Perhaps you could learn a few things from
your sister, no?" His spoon clanked noisily against the glass saucer.

"Oh, I've learned more than a few things from
Olivia."
Like how not to have fun.
I painted on my most saccharine
smile for their benefit. I inhaled deeply and moved to steer the subject in
another direction. "Dinner sure smells delicious tonight, Liv."

Flattery to Olivia was like crack to a junkie. She
ate that shit right up. "Thanks. I tried a new recipe."

If there was one morally acceptable thing I was
better at than my sister, it was cooking. Everything she made tended to taste
the same. We'd never starve to death with her around, but eating would never be
more than a simple intake of food as long as she did the cooking. Me? I could sauté
and season up an old shoe and people would think they were eating the finest
steak.

"Olivia tells me Jeb stopped by today with a letter
from his nephew," Dad asked while spearing a piece of pot roast off the
serving platter. "I'm happy to see you're finally doing something
productive with your time for a change."

Of all the things my dad could be proud of me for,
he'd decided that my writing to a convict in juvie was something he was happy
I'd decided to do. Most likely because I was helping out dear, sweet Olivia.

"We're just pen pals, Dad."

"Yes, of course. I commend you for doing such
a selfless deed. However, writing to a boy in prison--especially one who
committed such a horrible crime--is one thing. I certainly wouldn't condone
anything more than that between the two of you."

I leaned back against my chair and looked at him
with wide eyes. "Oh, I see. Didn't you stand up in front of the church a
few weeks ago touting forgiveness and giving people the benefit of the doubt?
You know--good versus evil and all that?"

I felt my heartbeat drumming in my ears. He was
pissing me off with his double standards. I hated the way he talked out the side
of his mouth.

"Oh, Claire, don't be so melodramatic. You're
twisting everything around. Always assuming the worst. I'm sure Daddy didn't
mean that at all." Olivia's eyes darted across the table, wanting him to
side with her. "Did you, Daddy?"

Instead, he wiped his mouth with a napkin and
cleared his throat. "Jebediah Sayer is my closest friend. He's a good man
through and through. Brogan and Braden committed the unthinkable when they
murdered their stepfather in cold blood. Do I think people should be forgiven
for their crimes? Yes, I do. Do I agree that all sins are redeemable? To be
honest, I'm not sure. Whether those boys have been rehabilitated, that remains
to be seen. I just don't want either of my daughters finding out if they're
better men once they've done their time."

The pot roast I'd been chewing suddenly dried to a
big glob of tasteless nothing inside my mouth. Olivia wouldn't look at me, and my
father wouldn't stop watching me. He cleared his throat again. "Olivia, I
believe this is the best roast I've ever eaten. You've really outdone yourself
this time."

"Thank you, Daddy," she said quietly.

Olivia thought that the sun rose and set on our
dad, but I could tell from the expression on her face that even she was having
a hard time swallowing his words.

"I think it's a little dry," I managed
to say, pushing away from the table. I cleared my dirty dishes. There was so
much tension in the room, and I knew if I didn't get out of there, I would
choke.

Finding a photo to send Braden wasn't easy. Nobody
printed actual pictures these days. While Olivia was downstairs, I crept into
her bedroom with my scissors and found her high school yearbook. She never
looked at the damn thing anyway. I knew she'd never notice a hole in one page.
Sure, I could have taken the image from
my
yearbook, but what fun would
that be?

Hensteeth High School was tiny. My graduating
class consisted of around seventy seniors. I snipped the small black and white
photo from the page and quickly put the yearbook back where I found it. It was
last year's, but I hadn't changed much. I'd have to remind myself to look
through some of my selfies and find a good one to send him.

Pleased with myself, I stuck the picture into an
envelope so I could mail it to Braden the next day.

Braden
Sayer

Her letters were like salve to my broken self.
What started out as something I was positive I'd have absolutely no interest in
pursuing had turned into something I actually looked forward to very much. Mail
from Claire always brought a smile to my face, no matter how shitty my day.

I wouldn't assume she was interested in me for
anything more than pen pals, maybe friendship. From the very first letter, she
said she wasn't looking for a love connection. A guy could always dream, I suppose.
It wasn't easy for me to understand my feelings. I'd never felt this way before
and didn't want to confuse her kindness as something more than it was.

Thoughts of her would be my undoing if I wasn't
careful. Waking up with morning wood was nothing new, but having a face and
name to go along with the dreams I was having made it nearly impossible to
think straight. Alleviating the pressure wasn't an easy option. Like I said
before, no privacy.

I groaned and tried to find a position that wasn't
painfully embarrassing. My options were to lie there with my boner making a
tent out of the blanket, or to rub one off with the help of the thin mattress.
I waited until the last possible minute, thinking of everything I could to make
my hard-on wilt so I could dress for breakfast.

My counselor Elsa had asked me to stop by her
office so we could talk about my potential early release. Anxiety knotted my
stomach, squelching any appetite I might have had. As much as I wanted to be
free, the thought of facing life on the outside scared me half to death. Many
kids couldn't deal with the transition and wound up right back in the system.

Her office door stood wide open and I poked my
head around the corner to see if she was ready for our appointment. Elsa was a
short, plump woman in her mid-forties. Her dark hair and olive skin spoke of a foreign
heritage, perhaps Italian or Spanish. She might have been a very attractive
woman in her youth, but as was the case with most of the people here, time had
worn grooves in her face, and she had an edge about her. Friendly, but cautious
and alert, and always ready for trouble.

She looked up from her desk and gave me a tight
smile, motioning me inside. "Good morning, Braden."

"Morning, Mrs. Delmonico," I said,
taking a seat across from her. I folded my hands in my lap, resisting the need
to wipe the dampness on my pants.

She riffled through some of the papers on her
desk. "Your grades are very good, your behavior has been exemplary, and
you show wonderful decision making skills--avoiding undesirable situations and
people quite well."

My eyebrows knitted together. "Ma'am?"

She pulled a piece of paper from a folder and read
through it, relaying what was written. "I understand there was an
altercation during P.E. a few days ago?" Her eyes were cold and hard as
she searched my face. "Care to tell me what happened?"

There were certain unwritten rules in this place. If
you saw something going down, you walked away and never admitted to anything if
questioned later. If you became known as a snitch, others would definitely
target you in retaliation. You were better off just saying you didn't see what
went on or that your head was turned.

"I didn't really see anything. I was on my
way out when it happened," I lied. I hated lying to her, but it beat the
alternative. Keeping my mouth shut in this instance was definitely the only thing
for me to do. Of course, if she scanned the surveillance tapes, she'd see me
and know I was lying. Worse yet, maybe she already viewed them, in which case I
was totally fucked.

Her stony expression gave away nothing. I imagined
her to be a kickass poker player. She tucked the papers away and picked up a
pen, rolling it between her fingers. She intimidated me, and I'm pretty sure
that was her intent. I shifted in my seat and rubbed the back of my neck
restlessly.

"You realize that if you're not completely
honest with me, I do have ways of finding out the truth," she said.

"Yes, ma'am." She nodded and pushed the
paperwork off to the side. I took a deep, calming breath, and my heart began to
beat again. "So, Braden, what are your plans for when you get out of
here?"

"My Uncle Jeb has a job waiting for me at his
marina." I wiped my sweaty palms against my pants. She made me more
nervous than a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs, and I'm sure
she knew it.

"What will you be doing at the marina?"

"Odd jobs, mostly. Some small engine
repair."

"And you'll have a place to stay?" she
asked.

"Yes, ma'am. I'll be staying at his place.
He's got a small trailer on the property he's fixed up for me to use."

She nodded and made some more notes in my file.
"When you arrived at WTJDC, Braden, you were a scared twelve-year-old boy.
You were a follower. You wanted so badly to please people, and you were afraid
of doing something wrong. I've watched you grow into a fine young man during
your stay here."

"Thank you, ma'am," I said quietly. My
mouth was suddenly too dry and I tugged at the neck of my shirt for more
breathing room.

"I suspect your improvement has been mainly
due to the fact that you've been separated from your brother." She paused,
tapping her pen on the desk. "I believe it would be in your best interest
if you continued living apart from Brogan. He will be here until he turns
eighteen. What happens to him, what he does after that, is anybody's guess. My
advice to you is to live your own life, don't let him take you back down the
wrong road again. If you think WTJDC is hell, you have no idea. It's a walk in
the park compared to prison."