Page 1 of Keys

Prologue

15 years old

I knew what was happening the moment I opened the door to our crappy, little two-bedroom house.

My mom flitted around like a lunatic, cleaning everything. As I stepped through the door, she moved to dust the bookshelves, red hair tied back in a sloppy bun, as her back was toward me. Looking down, I noted the floor was already spotless and void of any debris I might normally see there. Fresh vacuum marks were the only thing marring the surface of the aged brown carpet.

A knot tightened in the pit of my stomach because I knew what this meant. Daddy Dearest was coming for one of his visits.

As if on cue, Mom turned to face me, a beaming smile on her lips. “Great news, honey! Your dad is coming to see us. Why don’t you go get cleaned up before he gets here?”

The sigh I heaved out felt like it weighed more than me. “I’m plenty presentable, Mom. Besides, it’s not like he ever comes to see me anyway.”

Mom’s smile vanished. She bit her lower lip. “What are you talking about, dear? Of course, he does.”

I gave Mom a dismissive wave of the hand as I walked past her, heading to my bedroom. “Come on, Mom,” I called, putting my wallet and keys in the drawer of my nightstand. “Every time he comes here, he only wants one thing.”

I could hear my mother’s footsteps following me. “Now, you know that’s not true at all, Sarah.”

I turned to face her. She was standing in the doorway, hands braced against the doorframe. “Mom, come on,” I said. This must be what it’s like trying to convince an alcoholic they’ve got a problem. “You know how this works. He comes by every couple of days for a quickie--”

“Sarah!’

Mom’s cheeks turned crimson, but I didn’t stop or even pause. “--and then goes home to his real family. And every time his wife gets suspicious or there’s an election coming up, he disappears for a while. Just long enough for you to meet someone new, who conveniently heads for the hills right before he comes back for another booty call.”

Stupid cockweasel doesn’t like people playing with his toys.

“Sarah!” Anger now mixed with the embarrassment in her voice. “Don’t talk to me that way! I’m still your mother.”

At least I don’t call you ‘the red-headed harlot.’ I couldn’t bring myself to say that part out loud though. I wasn’t entirely sure Mom knew that the other ladies in town had given her that nickname, and if she didn’t, I didn’t want to be the one to break the news. Besides, angry as I was, Mom was right--she was still my mother. I couldn’t go there.

“But he’s not my father,” I argued instead. “I’m just a dirty little secret to him. The mistake he wishes you’d taken care of years ago.”

Mom’s mouth hung open. “Where do you get ideas like this? You know that’s not true. Your father loves both of us.” Her right hand flew to the puckered skin that sat at the base of her left wrist. It was the only physical flaw my mother really possessed, and she never spoke about how it happened. While it was smoothed over with age, I often wondered if it was something that my own father had done early in their relationship, since she always seemed to fiddle with it when she was stressed about him.

I could see it was no use trying to argue further. Her eyes were bright with delusion. Some kids have a parent with a drug problem. My Mom had a governor problem. I stifled a sigh. I would probably never understand that level of blind devotion to a person. Outside of him, she was sweet, but street smart and Mom usually offered the best advice to anyone who needed it. When he was around – or even just a thought – suddenly she became a weird Stepford wife version of herself. Although, I suppose Stepford mistress would be more accurate.

For at least the 4,373rd time, I’d tried to talk sense into my mom, and failed. Luckily, this time, I have a plan B.

Mom was a bundle of nervous excitement as she waited for my cockweasel sperm donor to arrive. I, meanwhile, sat on the couch in our living room, in full view of the front door. My total concentration was on the phone in my hands. It was a newer model with all the fancy capabilities. I’d been saving up babysitting money for a little over a year in order to get this baby. Now I was going to put it to good use. If I got my way, the phone would pay for itself and the college education that my mom couldn’t afford, and my dad couldn’t pay for without someone noticing.

Two quick knocks at the door told me the cockweasel had arrived. Show time.

Paying no attention to me whatsoever, Mom ushered the Governor inside and threw the lock on the door again, all in record time. You would think she was eager to trap him in this life – this house – with us, but that wasn’t it. It wasn’t her at all. It was him. He had trained her to be quick because there was less chance of being seen that way. It was pure scandal avoidance.

He didn’t notice me at all as he grabbed my mom and pulled her close, kissing her deeply. I fought back a powerful wave of nausea as my lunch threatened to make a sudden and painful reappearance. I hated this man. Even though he was my father, I still hated him. He’d dated Mom, cheated on her with his now-wife, and then married the wife while still screwing around with Mom on the regular.

My mom could have told him to go to hell, but she had zero self-respect when it came to the asshole. She stayed loyal to him even after he married someone else. She was willing to play the Other Woman to his other woman! It was revolting. Even the fact that he had two kids with his wife didn’t convince Mom that she meant nothing to him. She just convinced herself that they didn’t exist. Like any addict, her life revolved around the drug, and she was blinded to the problems it caused.

No, it had nothing to do with the usual teen angst of seeing my parents make out in front of me. It was brought on more by the loathing I had for my father, who was here, cheating on his wife. It was weird to think of him that way though, because he had been with my mom the longest. Technically, the wife was the other woman, she had just been legitimized through marriage.

After some smooching, my mother finally pulled far enough away from my sperm donor to get words out. “Sweetheart, Sarah is here today. You should say, ‘hello.’” I hated my mother for encouraging the interaction neither my father nor I wanted. The bastard turned cold, dark, brown eyes on me and offered up a fake smile as he patted me on the head twice. I would have thought he’d stop doing it after the last time, when I did it back and pulled some of his hair out in my efforts.

“Thought you might be here,” he admitted. “Here,” he handed me a doll. “Why don’t you go play quietly while I catch up with your mom?”

Always a goddamn doll. Every time. Never fails. I looked at Mom, rolling my eyes. “You’re right, Mom. He’s just dying to see me. Father of the Year, right there.” Mom didn’t seem to notice his dismissal or my sarcasm.

All she could manage was a playful, “Sarah’s getting a bit old for dolls,” as she pulled the man over to her room.

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