The Truths We Make (House of Poe #1)

8. Sinking Castles

Sinking Castles

Spring, 15 years before

I never thought my first-time flying would be without my mother. Or in first class. Or to see a family I have always been told I was better off without.

Oliver hums beside me, more vibrations than noise, with one headphone dangling down. The other blasts out the sounds of an action movie that bleeds into the cabin. The seats are couch-like if the couch were more crunchy than soft. Paxton had referred to this as their ‘budget airline’ in a way that made me feel his disdain, but to me, it was enough to hold my legs in place as we stumbled and bumped into the sky. All I needed was to land safely, which could be where the ‘budget’ detail might become a problem.

I had known, once, what it was like to fly with the Poe boys beside me. But that was from a tree to six feet down. This… this is something else. Like swimming underwater if the ocean was a metal tin. I don’t like how my stomach tosses and the air feels thick with use. But in only a few hours we’ll be landing, and I know I’ll feel sick for other reasons.

This whole trip was a mistake.

I should never have let Oliver talk me into this. He insisted I come, while he pushed the letter from my grandmother into my chest. He warned of regret. Of closure. Of cutting my roots needlessly as he convinced me to lie to Momma about me joining the boys at their Spring Break camp. “We’re lucky I even found out about this in time. Madeline and Isabel were sloppy throwing this one out. But you’ve got us now, Eve. They can’t hurt you anymore, no matter what your mother says.” If only he knew the stories as I did.

She didn’t talk about my father much. Didn’t call his parents grand. It was always them and him . When she mentioned them, she made sure I knew there was a reason we left. With a stern look and a fixed finger pointing at me, she would say, if you ever give them a chance to take you back, it’ll be the end of any possibility of happiness. She didn’t need to say more. I remembered what the absence of hope felt like before we moved into Dellbrook. Any family left in South Carolina was effectively transformed into my personal boogie men.

And now the Poe boys were pushing me to open the closet door at midnight.

I hunker into my seat and take a cue from Oliver, stuffing my own headphones into my ears and the splitter to zone out for the rest of the flight. It works only partially, the faces of my family taking over the different characters of the movie causing me to play out blurry childhood memories as ‘Die Hard’ .

Every gunshot is another pound of a fist; on walls, through plates and countertops. There are no heroes in my story, only screams and the breaking of things we couldn't afford to replace. When the tears softened and the quiet made the room feel stuffed with cotton, the manipulations would start. The I’m sorrys and I love yous . The excuses from grandparents and friends when they were unlucky enough to bear witness; you know how he gets . From Momma, when she was the only one around. Hugs and kisses and promises that it's just a fight, and that's what adults do , to soothe my fiery face and shaking hands. And then everything would be fine until the next drinking binge came on.

I think Momma would've lived that way forever if his knuckles would've never purpled my skin. But they did. And in the morning, before Grandma and Papa could talk her out of it, we fled. Momma never looked back, even when I struggled against her, afraid to leave behind everyone I’d ever known. Even when I told her it was only an accident. When I vowed I’d be good and that Papa promised he’d take me to the park and how I couldn’t remember a bad thing about the only people I’d ever loved.

Sometimes, even now, the memories slip out of focus and I’m not sure it was ever as terrible as I remember, even as I watch it all unfold again on the screen. It feels like a detached drama that I’m trying hard to weigh down for the sake of the story. Lost in my own world of weighing the truth of my past, I hardly notice that we’ve landed until Paxton’s hand rests on my shoulder, startling me from my seat. He notices my disorientation and helps to guide me off the plane.

The boys continue to take charge, leading us away from the gate into the belly of the airport and out into the lingering swell of storm filled air and the waiting town car. I'm not sure why their confidence and capability surprise me. Why I expected them to hesitate and morph into less when we landed. Turning into teenagers who feared what came next. Who were insecure and fragile, just like me.

The Poe boys had never been stripped of their ponderosity and it was silly of me to believe that, in the light of day, South Carolina would scare them. They'd already faced their past, embraced it even, and to them this was just my initiation. I've never wanted to be accepted less if it means doing this, and yet it is all I want.

"Are you hungry?" Paxton asks.

His voice slips in between my fear, unbidden. Both sets of boys' eyes stare, worry etched into teenage faces, making them look much older than they should. I know the paralyzing angst I've been inching towards has roared to the surface where none of us can ignore it much longer, but I'm determined to hold on to my charade just a little tighter. Almost home. My head shakes.

"I think we should just get on with it. I'm assuming you know where we're going?" I ask.

My voice sounds weird in my own ears. As if I've said these words too many times and they've lost all meaning. If they can hear it too, they ignore it, plowing ahead as we've all silently agreed to do. The car slips through streets once known, into a neighborhood reminiscent but unfamiliar.

A tall house with a peeling white-columned front porch stands in front of us while a black pointy fence pins us in. Black storm shutters flank row after row of windows, mocking the sky to give ‘em all it’s got. I rally myself to the memory of their shield being battered by the weapon of a windy night. Creeping tendrils of acid crawl up my stomach and into my throat as thoughts slog through my head. They could’ve helped us. Could’ve provided us shelter. Could’ve made him change. We could’ve been a family. Still, my feet move forward, keeping pace with Oliver's shoulders as he moves ahead of me to the door. They lift and fall with each step, the only star in the night sky guiding me.

A whiff of a woman answers, her dishwater hair tidied into a bun. Her sharp nose and thin lips are striking. If it wasn’t for the light hazel eyes bordering on amber, the same as my father, and my own, I would share little with the woman in front of me. As little as we look alike, our demeanor is even less. The way she tilts her chin upwards, eyes downcast, at all of us standing in her front door, you’d think we were solicitors begging for money instead of her being the one to summon us here.

“Hi, Diane. Is he here?” I ask, trying to keep my words even instead of laced with all the frustration of a child ripped from her home has.

She scoffs away the name and my tone. “ Diane. As if you don’t share at least a quarter of my DNA… or however it works. We’re family, and as little as that may mean to your momma, and your new ‘city boys’ here, it still means something.” She stands to the side, gesturing us in. “You can call me grandma and yes, of course, he’s here. Where else would a dying man be other than his deathbed, hmm?”

She asks it so casually, each word a slap. A push. A gut punch. This is what they do, Eve, my mother’s voice reminds me, they bind you with blood then break you with derision that sounds an awful lot like truth. The boys don’t hesitate as they walk by me, nodding each to Diane, unaffected by the web she’s weaving. Or unaware of it. Then their attention is on me and my frozen frame in the doorway. My hands shake and legs wobble as I step inside.

I force myself to still, to find Oliver’s eyes instead of the memories I don’t have in the pictures and walls of this house. I don’t want to dig too deep into what could have been. What they tried to take by force when they threatened to take me from Momma. What never was. I didn’t come here to see how they live, or ask about vacations, or decorations, or why they never cared before it was too late. I came because it is Papa’s last wish, and who am I to oppose a dying man’s wish?

I steady my nerves, and without looking away from Oliver ask, “Can I see him, please?”

Her sigh rocks the room, but she brushes past me anyway, resigned to my behavior. “This way, child,” she murmurs.

I look away to see her climbing a pale grey staircase with a worn wooden rail that sits to the side of the foyer. Quickly, I follow her, my first step cushioned by plush carpet. The impracticality of it blinds my eyes, as it is completely white. I float in the idea that this isn’t real, moving only in time, and yet, still turning into the first door on the landing and arriving next to a bed where a large man lies.

The light blue sheets are pulled up to his chin, his white-socked feet dangling just off the edge. His breathing is uneven—I count the inhale, as shallow as it is, and wait, panic gripping, before finally he releases the air and starts again. All I can think is, I’ve never been this close to death. His eyes open like a doll, rolling from open to closed a few times before finally settling on me.

“Evangeline, my darling granddaughter,” he wheezes.

His hand scoots jaggedly across to me and instinctively I rush to grab it. Regardless of if I really know this man, I cannot let him die reaching for comfort when all I can remember right now is the boom of his laugh and the smell of pine when he rubbed his stubble against my cheeks making me squeal in delight.

“Hi, Papa. I’m here. I made it.”

It’s all I can think of to say. A sweet sigh escapes him, his body deflating with the effort, and I think it’s enough. Before I’m able to say anymore, heavy boots pound up the stairs. Oliver steps to the side of me, Paxton in front, as if to take on whatever danger is coming. But as I hear the calling of hello, anyone home , I know they cannot save me from this.

I turn to the door just as a lanky form slides in. Faded brown hair that is bleeding color from its tips hangs in tangles down his chin, hiding his face before his shaking hands can push it back into the crook of his ear. He smiles at me. Then he catches the matching dark heads of the boys at my side and frowns.

“Hey, Ma. You throw a party you forget to tell me about?” he asks as he saunters over to Diane, bending down to kiss her cheek.

Diane shakes her head, swatting him away from her. “You’re here, aren’t ya? Besides, I didn’t know there would be… so many people in attendance today. I had just asked for the girl, but you know Isabel. Always wanting to make things difficult.”

She eyes Paxton and Oliver. Anger boils up on behalf of my momma. If only they knew she didn’t want me anywhere near here. That the boys who are such difficulties are the only reason I came. I stay silent, even as my fingers curl into my palms. The man takes me in, turning to acknowledge us .

“Hey, there, Puddin’. Who you got here?” he asks, voice pitched just past friendly.

He moves to lean down to kiss me on the cheek, but I take a step back, releasing my grandfather’s hand and stumbling into Oliver. His hands immediately wrap around my waist, firm enough to keep me steady. The whole room stills, the kind of moment just before violence breaks. The kind of moment I’ve witnessed this man in more times than I care to count. Even if I was young, my body remembers. I step away from Oliver to break the wave before it can build.

“Hey, Dad,” I say as I reach to embrace him in a sideways hug—a peace offering he begrudgingly accepts as his arm wraps around my shoulders.

He’s lean, his dense, ropey muscles coiled tightly under my arm. I can smell the thickness of tobacco and sweat on his clothes, and the stale whiff of alcohol seeping from his pores. I school my face from showing the fear it brings being next to him. He doesn’t mean it. It was an accident. The words roll through my mind like a mantra, one I’ve listened to my whole life. I suck in a breath, then motion to both Oliver and Paxton.

“This is Paxton and Oliver. They’re friends. Friends who were kind enough to front the bill on this trip down memory lane.” I say, eyes pleading that the boys understand this isn’t important to me, only to him .

If there is anything my father understands, Momma always said it’s taking advantage of every opportunity that is offered. I need him to see the boys as his ally. I wouldn’t tell him that Momma worked for the family, or that I was practically one of them. He didn’t need to know the details. All he needs is enough to cool his hot temper and remind him that I am his daughter, even if inside I’m not sure if that’s true anymore.

His eyes relax as he turns to them, arm still draped around me. “Well, hey boys. Thanks for bringing Puddin’ home. Been awhile.” His voice is easy, almost kind in a way that would make anyone want to agree. “We can take it from here though, if you’ve got other places to be.”

“Actually, we’re right where we need to be,” Paxton responds, not falling into the lull. I want to both kiss and slap him for his bravery. Before my dad can light up again, Diane saves us all.

“As a matter of fact, all of you need to be somewhere else. Robert needs his rest. Why don’t y’all go down to the diner and catch up for a bit before you come back to visit some more? Then we can talk about what your plans are from there. I do want to discuss the possibility of you coming home for good, young lady,” Diane says, eyebrows bent down into the bridge of her nose.

The only response I have would make her reconsider letting me leave this house, so I just nod my head. There’s no way I’m coming back here to live. So, even though I think I might puke if I try to eat, anything is better than this bedroom where a dying man lies and where Diane wants to discuss my future. Where I’m sandwiched between my old life and new. I need air. I need space. I need home. If only I knew what that meant.

We funnel out, Diane rounding to our side of the room, ushering us as we go. She chatters about local odds and ends to my dad as she does and I can’t help but wonder, how much has he changed? A small hope flickers to life as we file down the stairs, past framed photos and affordable artwork. By the time we get outside, I’ve almost forgotten the smell of too warmed skin and stale cologne.

Ahead of us on the walk, Dad lets out a long, low whistle at the site of our waiting chauffeur and SUV. “When you go big, Puddin’, you really GO BIG,” he calls back to me.

My cheeks tint in embarrassment. I pray the Poe boys won’t believe their money is the only quality drawing me in. Fear grips me at the thought that after this trip, they may never look at me the same. It’s that fear that has me barking out, Dad, a little more sternly than I should. He just shrugs and opens the back door himself, sliding in.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper to the boys.

They say nothing as they follow me into the car. We take the five-minute trip to ‘Bill’s Place’. What you would think would be a cozy little hometown burger joint is just a bar with only enough food items on the menu to keep people drinking. Inside is dark and hazy, remnants of decades spent having cigarettes smoked every minute they were open. The lights are sickly yellow, a few tittering on orange, showing a long bar top, a few cocktail tables with tall chairs, and three pool tables. The floor sticks to my sneakers with every step, ear-splitting squeaks calling out from the feet of our group as we enter.

A few people mill around, but none of them are eating. Dad leads us to an open table and sits, patting the space next to him for me. A bottle dyed blonde with roots halfway down her face sways up, dropping menus for the three of us before turning her smile to my dad.

“Heya, Bobby. You want the usual, doll?” Her mouth smacks on the gum she’s probably had in her mouth all day .

Dad smiles back and nods. “Yes, please, Maggie! Make it a double, though. With the rugrats in town, I need a little pick me up.”

Her hips swing her back behind the bar and silence descends as we all pretend to look over the options of cheeseburger, nachos, and chicken strips. By the time she comes back, hands full with multiple beers and a dark liquid sloshing in a shot glass she places in front of my dad, I am ready to leave. My skin crawls seeing the familiarity my dad has with this place and the number of drinks he’s starting with. My gut is telling me this is a bad idea, but I have little choice at this point but to push on. The shot is up and gone, Dad wiping his mouth, when the silence can hold no longer.

“So, Bobby , what do you do?” Paxton asks, only a fraction of his distaste for this place and the people in it clear.

Still, my dad is not amused.

“It’s Mr. Hillton to you, son. You may have money, but I am still your elder. Some might say your better, so I’ll ask the questions.”

“Did you say Hilton? Like the hotels?” Oliver asks, intrigued.

My hand goes up to rub my forehead that burns in my palm.

“I did. But it’s two L’s son, so don’t be too interested. We were the Hilltons, of peanut fame, before our good for nothing great granddaddy sold it off. If he would’ve just held on, we would have been millionaires! Can you imagine?”

“I cannot,” Oliver says, as he stares down the glasses Dad has already emptied.

“What about you two? What do you do? Or better yet, your family? And how do you know my daughter?” he asks with rapid fire interest.

Oliver and Paxton look at each other before looking at me. I want to tell them not to answer, that I still don’t think it’s safe that he knows. My momma’s voice warns me to be careful. Don’t let any secrets slip. You don’t want to leave again, do you, Eve? She asks in my head. Before I can say anything, before they can answer, a call from across the room saves us.

“BOBBY! We got a bet over here to settle!” A man yells.

“Just hold your horses, Ray! I’m coming.” He gets up and looks at me as if remembering something important. “C’mon, girl! It’s time to learn how to really hustle a man out of his money.” He grabs my arm and pulls me toward the pool table and who I can only assume is Ray, his questions already forgotten .

Ray is a short, balding man, whose belly protrudes well beyond the tips of his feet. For as portly as he is, he’s agile as he throws a pool stick at my dad. Dad’s hands are slick, and his eyes are glassy, so it’s no surprise when it clatters to the floor.

“RAY! IF YOU THROW ONE MORE POOL STICK, YOU’RE BUYING A NEW ONE!” Maggie, the lip-smacking server, calls out.

Ray just chuckles, shaking his head in good humor.

“What you got there? You giving a last-ditch effort on your debts, Bob? Begging the gods for mercy with a good luck charm? C’mere, let me see her,” Ray says, laughing.

My dad swings me around to face Ray.

“This here is my daughter, Evie O,” he says, smiling proudly.

“Actually, Dad, it’s just Eve now,” I say, trying to quell the overwhelming need to run from this room and never be around any of these people again.

His face falls, and I want to apologize. For correcting him. For changing. But then Ray whistles, just like Dad did when he saw the car, and I see the dirty parts reflected by him in this place, and I don’t feel as sorry.

“Anyway, she came around to see her pop. She’s thinking about coming back home, too. Bout time if you ask me. She came here all by herself, all grown up and such. Hell, she’ll fit right in around here, too.”

My dad looks around the bar and I can just picture his plans for me—I’m waitressing here, serving him and his friends drinks, and when I get paid, he’ll take every dollar to spend right back here. It’ll be a cycle I’ll never break. Momma’s words come to me: once they have you, they’ll never let go. Love is a trap, my darling.

“Well, where in the heck she been hiding? Is she of age? Maybe I’ll just take her as payment for your debts. What do you say, sweetheart? You want to go on a date with big daddy Ray and help out yer old man? I promise to treat you real nice,” he says, voice slick and sloppy.

Ray gets close to me, his thick fingers grabbing at my chin, the other reaching around to my backside. I can smell the stale taste of beer with every word he breathes into my face. He’s laughing, but there’s a gleam in his eye telling me this isn’t a joke. Not to him. Not if we allow it. My hand flails behind me, begging my father to remove this man’s hands from me, but I only catch air. Panic swells as he steps closer, lips pursed and eyes closing as he takes the silence as permission. I’m frozen in disbelief, unsure if the laugh I hear behind me is really my dad .

A hand breaks in, shoving Ray and his putrid lips away. His fingers snap the skin on my chin as he’s forced from me. Another hand tugs on my arm, my shoulders, pulling me through the dingy room. Voices, loud and angry, screaming about that’s my property and who the fuck do you think you are ? Footsteps following. Hand holding as we run. Then it’s just the air conditioning of a town car and the streets speeding away.

The boys are talking to themselves and on their cellphones. Conversations about plane tickets and what we should do now, where we should go, do we tell Isabel. It’s all in the background. My dad’s laugh and dirty fingers touching my face and backside are all I can focus on. My body feels like his grime has seeped into it, and now I’m tainted by it. My mind runs down the fear of possibility. What if I’d come alone? It’s too much to think about. My momma was right. She knew. I should have listened. And now, Paxton and Oliver know what I come from. Who I am. They’ll never look at me the same. My arms coil around me, trying to hide away the parts I wish they’d never seen.

“Eve? Eve! Did you hear me? Diane just called your cell. Your grandfather passed away…” Oliver is holding my hand, thumb rubbing comforting circles in my palm, his voice drifting from urgent whispers to terrified pleas.

Everything is numb and then the sound of his raspy breath, the feel of his papery thin fingers wrapped around mine, comes into focus and I know I should do something . I can’t let them see that I’ve lost all respectability, even if I think I have.

“We have to go back,” I say.

I know it makes little sense to stay here, but Diane can’t rely on my dad. He’s drunk and selfish and furious. You know what he’s like. And I do. With no one else to blame, will he take it out on his grieving mother? Shouldn’t I at least warn her? The boys have already begun disowning me, so I need to hold tight to what I have left. And right now, she’s all alone in that house, with only the body of her husband, and no family around to ease the pain. My southern manners demand that I do what’s right, even if it’s stupid. Even when I’m terrified of what my dad might do if he finds me there.

“Absolutely not,” Oliver scoffs, dropping my hand in disbelief. The air between my fingers sears with loneliness. The next cut in a thousand that proves I don’t belong. He’s angrier than I’ve ever heard him. On the cusp of destruction and malevolence. And it’s all directed at me .

“But…” I start, eager to remind him of why we came, that he insisted I not cut roots needlessly. But there is no give in his fury.

“Evangeline. I said no. I mean no. That family is trash, and we are not dealing with it for one more second. We’re going home and we’ll forget this place exists.”

“Oliver, that’s my family,” I hesitate on the word, but I can’t stop the heartbreaking truth of it. I can never forget. That’s when I realize he doesn’t mean me.

Regardless of the romance the thought of being a Poe brings, I was born a Pierce. A Hillton. Their blood runs through my veins and as ashamed of that as I am, I have to face it, especially now that they know. Now that they can’t accept me after this tiny glimpse into my history. It isn’t their fault—a family built on legacy can hardly help but weigh my own.

“That’s… That’s your family ? You can’t be serious, Eve! Your family just watched as you were practically molested in the middle of a bar. You want to trust they’ll behave just because someone has died? There’s no beauty in something this fucked up.” He’s spitting fire and I can barely make out the words, sure I’ve misheard a few of them. Paxton must see the pot boiling over.

“Driver, can you pull over here?” Paxton says, breaking up Oliver’s tirade.

The driver does as he’s asked, finding a turn-out in the road that leads onto what seems to be a forgotten beach. I jump from the car, unable to look at Oliver’s judgment any longer. Paxton is hot on my heels before popping his head back in and holding his brother back from following. I turn to see, unable to stop my curiosity.

“Just… give us a minute, Oli. Please,” I hear him say, voice muffled by the wind.

“But…” Oliver tries to protest, scooting toward the open door.

“I know. Just a minute,” Paxton reasons, face stern, as he shoves Oliver back in the door.

“Fine. But, Pax, you and me? We’re family .” Oliver says.

I can barely make out the words, but it’s enough. Another bolt of guilt and shame goes through me. It hurts to know that Oliver needs to remind Paxton that I’m an outsider. Like I’ll corrupt him, too. I walk away from them both, down toward the water. Paxton jogs to catch up, taking up my hand in his.

Tears threaten my eyes as I take in everything that’s around us. The jagged bottles of glass and salty rot of shell carcasses the seagulls have unearthed. There’s a broken pier that I head for, its wooden spikes standing jagged in the water. My sneaker kicks at a dirty flop of seaweed, revealing the old bones of a mostly eaten fish.

“This place is so broken,” I burble. “Fitting, isn’t it? Just like my family. Just like me. ”

My papa is the first I’ve known to die. First, who’s held my hand mere moments before taking his final breath. And I don’t even have the right to mourn him, let alone the support. I only remember his pleas for Momma to forgive Daddy. His empty assertions that he would fix it. The truth that I didn’t know him at all hits me and I can only hope that he found peace somewhere between when we left and his last exhale. That I wasn’t a complete disappointment, even if I feel like it now.

Paxton sighs, “Oli just…” but I don’t let him explain it all away. It doesn’t matter. I won’t be the one to break up his family, too. Instead, I change the subject back to the turmoil that’s engulfing me.

“Do you think the dying see beauty in the decay? Do you think they see it in themselves?” I ask, frightened but resigned.

I know the answer, but I want to hear him say it. Want to have him tell me I’m worthy in some way, even when I feel broken. Even when the last pieces of my family tree have been poisoned. Because if he can’t, that means I really am a ship at sea with no hope of returning.