Page 66 of Keys

“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” he admitted without easing up on the hold he had on June.

“We should take this inside the house,” June’s therapist suggested after glancing nervously at Keys and me, as if she feared we would tell Jack all about how we found his wife complacently staying in a house with her… Hell, what did I call him? He was her slaver and her ex. From a victim standpoint, the man had never been a boyfriend or fuck buddy even. He had always been her captor. If it was confusing for me to puzzle through, I imagined it was far worse for June.

As we moved to go inside too, Jack let go of his wife in order to wrap Keys up in what looked like an uncomfortable embrace for her. Through it all, she never dropped her hold on my hand.

“Thank you,” Jack whispered into her ear, though it was just loud enough I was able to hear too since Keys and I were connected. The man let go of his daughter-in-law and started to reach out a hand for mine, but then noticed the grip that Keys had on me. Instead, he offered me a tight smile and the tip of his head. There was understanding in his eyes, a realization that this strong woman beside me had been damaged by whatever bullshit her parents put her through and there was no way in hell I would let her go now.

I think he also understood that bad news awaited him, in some for, where his wife was concerned because instead of directing his attention to her again, he looked to her therapist. The defeated glaze that slid down over his previously thankful eyes spoke volumes about what he expected. He knew, at least in part, the crazy relationship his wife had with the former Senator, was coming back to bite them all in the ass.

Once everyone was settled in the living room, the therapist started talking. “I have June’s permission to disclose the information I’m about to offer. She doesn’t feel strong enough to speak for herself right now, and that’s okay. It’s been a very traumatic couple of days.” I noticed Keys roll her eyes even as she dipped her head to try to hide the gesture. I wasn’t the only one who noticed, but no one called her out on it.

She turned to address Keys directly then, and I assumed that Jack already knew whatever was about to be revealed. “Your mother grew up in foster care. She was there for the majority of her life after her parents were found dead in a drug den.” Well, now she had our rapt attention.

“Her mother was a sweet woman who fell for the wrong man,” she suggested. For some odd reason I wanted to call her out on her lack of professionalism in that statement, but who was I to judge?

“Henry was an addict from the very beginning.” She leaned in for a moment, obviously sensing something from Keys. Disbelief or disinterest, maybe? “I’ve seen their files, which is why I can tell you this part. Your grandmother was only 22 years old when she went to that drug den to drag your grandfather out. By then, June was already six-years old. Keys’ eyes flew to her mother’s then and she watched for a few moments as the woman worried her hands that sat upon her lap.

“She was raped for her troubles, brutally, by numerous assailants. Witness testimony from an undercover agent who came in and broke things up stated that the woman was being used to pay back her boyfriend’s debt. When she proved too fragile, around the same time the undercover agent came in and attempted to stop things, both of them were killed in order to send a message.”

Holy shit. Keys’ family history just got worse and worse. I wasn’t sure it was a great idea for her to hear this, especially considering how her family had already affected her ability to form attachments and have healthy relationships.

“June was found at home, four days later, when a neighbor finally grew worried about smoke that she smelled coming from the little apartment the family had shared across the hall. She had been trying to cook something for herself and accidentally caught a dish towel on fire. I noticed Keys’ mother put a hand on a scar that decorated a small portion of her left wrist.

“That’s where the scar came from?” Keys asked her mom. June nodded her head and Keys didn’t bother to speak again, leaving it to the therapist to continue with this gruesome story of her mother’s unfortunate beginnings.

“I’ve seen June’s files from her years in foster care and group homes.” The woman gulped and then glanced back up, obviously still bothered by whatever had been in those files. “She did not have an easy time in foster care. She was moved between 13 different families and two group homes before she finally ran away at the age of fourteen.”

“Fuck,” I hissed out as Keys’ hand gripped mine even tighter. They hadn’t been much different in age when each of these women had to strike out on their own. The difference being, Keys had blackmail money to keep her from having to do anything horrible to survive. I could see from the look in her eyes as she turned toward me that she had been thinking the same thing.

“Obviously, that’s where the paper trail ends, but June told me about what she had to do to survive being on the streets. She wasn’t on the streets long before she was asked to come to a party with some people who would take care of her. June went, and two days later she was pulled out of a room – a cell – where fifteen other women had been held. She was pulled out by Mr. Cassidy, and the rest, I believe you already know. She cooperated under duress.”

“You were only fourteen when he took you?” Keys asked.

Her mother nodded her head. “He thought I was older. I told them I was seventeen.”

Keys and I both offered up dubious looks, sure that the men knew she was far younger than she insisted. Not that it would have mattered to the types of monsters who traded in human flesh. Awkward silence descended over the group for a moment before Jack finally spoke, keeping his voice low and reassuring.

“Whatever happened, I don’t blame you,” he told June.

That finally seemed to break the nervous flittering the woman had been doing as her story was retold for our benefits. She leaned into him, sobbing so hard her shoulders shook. He just held onto her and rubbed his hand up and down her back in a soothing gesture. “Shh.” He continually cooed into her hair. “It’s okay. I love you. You’re going to be fine, baby. It’s okay.”

I didn’t think we needed to be there to witness their moment, so I stood and asked where the bathroom was. Keys pointed down the small hallway and I took off in that direction as she let go of my hand for the first time since we got out of the van. I smiled sheepishly as I swiped my palm across the denim of my jeans to clear away that sweat that had pooled between our hands. I noticed she did the same and offered up a half grin for me as I walked away.

After handling business, I splashed some cold water on my face, as if that would clear away all the fucking awful bullshit we’d learned. I felt dirty just dipping a toe into Keys’ family story. I couldn’t imagine how she felt after learning everything.

When I left the bathroom, pictures that were hung along the wall in the tiny hallway caught my attention. There was a whole collage of Keys from a picture that must have been taken shortly after her birth, through first day of school photos, and all the way into her teen years. It was a shrine to the daughter June no longer had in her life. A hand splayed out across the middle of my back, and I shifted my head a bit to see Keys eyes roaming over the wall in surprise.

“I take it this wasn’t here before?”

She shook her head. “No, it wasn’t.”

“Let me guess, it was a shrine to your father back then?”

She shook her head vehemently that time. “No fucking way. We weren’t allowed to have pictures of him. I’m sure my mother kept some, since she was always clipping his image out of papers and magazines, but she had to keep them hidden. He didn’t like to have his face associated with us in any way, not even to hang on our walls because he never knew who might come in and see them.”

“Jesus,” I muttered as Keys continued to trace over the images hung on the wall with her eyes. “There’s a huge gap between then and now,” I told her as I pointed to what appeared to be the last, oldest image of Keys that June had.

“Yeah,” she sadly. “That’s on her though.”

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