saw her face, I could see that something was different. Something that made my throat close and my nails dig deeper into my palms.
Ryland was right: they had gotten to her.
Damn it, I knew I shouldn’t have taken that stupid waitressing job! If I’d been home, these people – whoever the hell they were – wouldn’t have made it past the front door! How long had they been here? What could they possibly have said to get her on their side?
In these situations, Mom and I had always been a team. In the beginning, we had tried to reason with the people who came to “discuss Ryland’s condition”, but they were never the sort of people you could talk to. They made it clear that they would do the talking and our job was to listen and agree. Finally, during the third “house call” with a therapist from some children’s hospital, I got so mad at the woman’s snotty tone and total disregard for anything Mom or I had to say that I lost it. I started screaming and shouting, and threw her out. Since then, that was the system Mom and I adopted.
OK, the system I adopted, and Mom tolerated. She didn’t want to see Ryland locked up any more than I did, but she was far too soft-spoken and even-tempered to do what needed to be done. But that was fine, as I was more than happy to do the dirty work. This time would be no different. I took a deep breath and braced myself, ready to do whatever I had to. And if I was going to be on my own this time, so be it.
“Who are they?” I asked. “What are they doing here?”
“Becca, please.” Mom forgot the coffee and was in front of me almost instantly, her hands firmly on my shoulders. “It’s not what you think – no, honey, listen to me – it’s not the same this time. They just want to help.”
“Help? You can’t be serious, Mom!”
“There is a school that–”
“A school, of course, that’s what they all say. ‘Nut house’ isn’t PC anymore, remember?”
“Becca, please, I think these people may be able to…”
I was out of the room before she could finish her thought. Help him? Help him? Why on earth was she buying this crap all of a sudden? Oh well, it didn’t matter; I would take care of it myself. They’d obviously gotten to her somehow, but they weren’t going to get to me.
Following the sound of male voices, I headed to the front room, ready to evict our uninvited guests. “Get out,” I clipped, finger pointed at the front door.
The two men slowly stood – though from courtesy or shock, I couldn’t tell. The man on the right took a cautious step forward. “You must be Miss Ingle–”
“I said out. Now. Both of you.”
“Becca!” Mom snapped, rushing past me with the tray of coffee and mugs. “Gentlemen, this is my daughter Becca, please excuse her. Becca,” she turned to me, “calm down.”
“They’re not taking him.” My comment was directed less at my mother, and more at the two men I was glaring at over her shoulder.
I took a second to actually look at them, and was a bit taken aback by what I saw. The first guy looked to be in his late forties with a long crooked nose, and dark flashing eyes that were surrounded by deep-set wrinkles – more than likely the result of a life spent scowling. The way this guy looked alone would have been enough to make Ryland run and hide.
The other man, sitting next to him – the one who had tried to speak earlier – was almost a shock to my system after studying his partner. He was young, twenty maybe, with fair hair and light eyes. His jeans and button down shirt were neat, and his hair was cut short and styled. Sitting next to each other, they looked like some sort of “before and after” anti-drug poster you’d see in a high school nurse’s office. I might have been amused, if they weren’t currently here to lock up my brother.
“Listen honey, please,” my Mom pleaded quietly. “They are from a private school in Ireland. It’s the school that…” she hesitated, and in that split second I could see the words in her eyes before she could bring herself to say them “your father runs.”
Of course. Jocelyn. Also known as my father. The man my mother had been madly