Page 54 of Love is Angry

“I’m not sure I want to help you. I wasn’t kidding when I said I find it hard to trust you where Madison is concerned. You were beyond vicious,” she says, and I know, deep down, that I deserve it. Still hurts, but yeah, I’ve earned this. “You actively bullied her, Rhue. Youbulliedher. Remember what you told me back in high school?”

I lower my gaze. Ahead, the main street can be seen perpendicular to our sidewalk. A throng of people flows in both directions, accompanied by the incessant rumbling of engines and the occasional but equally fastidious honk. “That I hate bullies.”

“No, Rhue. You said that there is no one more pitiful, more pathetic, more worthless, than a bully. And that is exactly what you allowed yourself to turn into, and why? Because she had sex with Dad and not you. Granted, it’s a little—ew––but come on. Toxic masculinity much?”

She’s right. Everything bad that happened to Madison at Cornell was my fault. My toxic masculinity, a trait Mom worked so hard to prevent from being passed down to me. Alas, Julian Echeveria’s legacy is much broader and more complex. Enough to defeat Mom’s decades of experience as a proficient psychologist.

“I am really trying to do better, here,” I reply. “I need your benefit of the doubt, at least. You owe me that much.”

Laura stops right at the street corner. We do need a minute to take it all in. Compared to Reynolds Street, West Main Street is buzzing with daytime energy. It’s midday on a Saturday, one week before Thanksgiving, and people have a plethora of errands to run. Add the Black Friday offers on top, and Rochester transforms into something similar to what it was back in the Eighties and Seventies—a crowded, stressed out city. Ironically, however, it seems much smaller now than how I perceived it when I was a kid. Even the familiar buildings are less intimidating than I remember.

“Here’s the thing, Rhue. If what you did to Madison gets out, it’ll ruin our family name. It’ll also put Dad’s reputation in danger!”

That draws a consternated growl from my throat. “Since when do you care what—”

“Since he appointed me co-chair of his campaign,” Laura replies, raising her chin with pride and defiance. “He’s running for city council, and he asked me to work with him on a strategy to help get Thomasson out of office so he can take his place.”

I’m stunned, and not in a good way. This is fishy. Dad never considered Laura to be anywhere near fit for any kind of political work. Even Mom had to put up with some of his more latent misogynistic jabs—his favorite being that the woman, by definition, belonged in a kitchen or popping out strapping baby boys for her husband. Laura worshipped the ol’ bastard when she was a kid, but he never worshipped her.

Hell, he’s been treating her like fucking dead weight since the fall, so… “What’s his end game?” I ask aloud, forgetting that Laura can hear me.

“What do you mean?”

I might as well do my brotherly duty and warn her. “Dad has an ulterior motive. He wouldn’t ask you to get involved inpolitics unless he was after something in particular. Something only you can provide.”

“Like what, exactly?” She sounds annoyed. It may be my fault, but the truth must be told, no matter how uncomfortable it might get for her.

“I don’t know. But it’s worth finding out.”

She scoffs, her lips twisted with fury and disgust. “You know, Dad and I have gotten a lot closer since you went away.”

“Right. That dinner we had at Il Trufattore spoke volumes,” I grumble, unable to hide my contempt.

We resume our casual walk and cross the main street. Ahead, two-level townhouses with white and red siding rise on both sides of the road, with rustic porches and small but elegant front lawns.

“He’s changed a lot,” Laura insists, stopping in front of one of the buildings. The more I talk trash about Dad, the more defensive she is of him. It intrigues and worries me at the same time. “And he’s trying to do better by me.”

“Following that same reasoning, don’t you think you should give me the benefit of the doubt, too?” I stop once we reach King Street, realizing that Laura has taken us off course. About a hundred yards earlier, we would’ve made it to the museum. This is a diversion, and I’m the last one to notice. “Wait…what did you do?”

“Nothing,” Laura replies with a cool grin.

That is a blatant lie, and she knows it. “Should I be worried about you, Laura? First you turn Dad from villain to hero—huge mistake, by the way, but I can’t change your mind on that one. I can only prepare myself for that unavoidable moment where he disappoints you. Because he will. And…” I look around. “What are we doing here?”

We’re definitely not at the museum. I’ve spent many nights sitting in my car outside this very area, staring at Madison’shouse. Twenty yards up King street is the two-story townhouse where she and Mr. Willis live. I learned every inch of that place a long time ago while I was still planning a much darker revenge. Thank the stars I never indulged into those wretched fantasies. Hate can kill one’s character. Mine has been comatose for a long time.

My heart tightens and shrinks into something hard and hot and impossible to tolerate as we approach the Willis house. There’s a tree outside in desperate need of pruning, and an antique desk drying out just under it.

“Seriously, Laura, what are we doing here?”

“I like the smell,” my sister says, smiling.

“What’s the plan, Laura?” I ask, realizing how defeated I sound. There are things I’m better off just going through—this feels like one such instance, neatly orchestrated by Laura, bless her good heart. “Are you expecting me to get down on my knees and beg for forgiveness from Mr. Willis, then hope Madison will relent?”

Laura scrunches her nose. “Well, that’s a bit dramatic, but no. Madison is home for the weekend. You can just talk to her.”

“You’re crazy,” I scoff, ready to bolt.

“She should give you a chance to at least make it right,” Laura replies. “But back at Cornell, you’re at a disadvantage because it’s not your turf. Out here…well, Rochester is Echeveria country, so to speak. It might skew her psyche a bit. Enough to get her to listen, at least.”

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