The Arrangement Anthology 2(141)

“I know you can help, but it’s bad, Peter.” Staring at my hands I try to figure out a way to get his advice without involving him, but flounder. “I’m in some messed up stuff, up to my neck.”

“We’ve all been there. Talk to me, I can help.”

“You haven’t been here, Peter. I can promise you that. I don’t think anyone in your family has, and I want to keep it that way.” I look up at him and our eyes meet. He catches my meaning.

“Sean is trying to save you, isn’t he?” I nod. “But he won’t be able to save himself.”

“That.” The word sticks in my throat. “What do I do?”

“Tell me everything so I can help you.” Peter pulls the car over and stops. We’re still in town, not far from my parent’s old house. “Avery, that’s one thing Sean has never understood—he doesn’t have to do everything alone.”

“He won’t ask you for help, and I can’t steal your life. That’s what will happen if you help me. I’m going to get out and walk away. Take care of Sidney.” I push the door open and hop out onto the sidewalk.

“Avery, get back in here. Mel said to bring you back. I can’t let you walk around alone.”

“You need to save your brother. Don’t worry about me. Please, just believe me. I’ll do what I have to do. You keep Sean in your sight and don’t leave his side. He can’t do what he’s planning if you’re there. He won’t take you down with him. Promise me you’ll watch out for him.”

“Avery, I will, but—” Peter is about to say more, but I shut the door. Turning on my heel, I hurry down the street, losing myself in the crowd. I hear his voice calling me back, but I can’t do it. I need to get to the house before Sean, before he has a chance to save me and destroy himself.





Chapter 10

I go in the house through the back door and run into the kitchen, grabbing the coffee can. I remove most of its contents, leaving the envelopes and some of the other things inside. My cheap jacket has an inside pocket; I stuff the money and the papers inside it and zip them shut, clutch the coffee can under my arm and head for the back door.

As I pull it shut, Sean’s voice comes from behind me. “Hand it over, and walk away.”

Turning slowly, I hate myself for what I’m about to do, but I have to—there’s no other way. Shaking my head, I hold onto the can tighter. “Don’t do this, please. There has to be another way. Sean, you don’t have to pretend. You don’t have to martyr yourself to save me.”

He stares at me, those blue orbs unblinking. “This isn’t for you. It’s not even about you.” He steps closer, closing the space between us. “It’s about me and always has been. Get that through your head.”

“You’re a bad liar, especially when it comes to protecting someone you love.”

“I don’t love you.”

“You mean you don’t want to love me, but you do. You mean you can’t stand the thought of losing me, so you’re doing this. You’ve ensured that everyone is safe, everyone except you. This will destroy you, Sean. You can’t do this.” I tighten my grip on the coffee can and move it farther from him.

Sean reaches out and rips it from my hands. “Too bad, because I just did.” He opens the lid, sees the envelopes, and then seals the can again. “Stay out of sight for a few days.”

“I won’t let you do this.”

“You already have.” He smiles at me and shakes the can, before turning on his heel. Sean’s shoulders are squared and rigid. He doesn’t look back.





Chapter 11

Before Sean even gets to his car, I start fence hopping. Soon, I’m half a mile away with too many houses and streets between us to count. I run and catch a bus that’s just pulling away from the curb. The driver stops and lets me on. “Thanks,” I say.

The driver nods as I pay and head toward the back, out of sight. The driver closes the doors and moves on, winding up and down the streets until we’re on the highway. It’s not the best place to read, but it might be the only chance I have. I pull out a document and start reading, but it doesn’t make sense. I pull out another and another, scanning, reading as fast as I can. The bus rolls along, and I doubt Sean is far behind me.

The next time the bus stops, I look up and an old woman takes the seat next to me. She glances at my papers and chuckles to herself. “I haven’t seen that kind of shorthand in a long time.”

“Shorthand?”

She nods. “It was commonly used about fifty years ago. I used it when I was a secretary in my early twenties, but then I married the boss.” She nudges me with her shoulder and laughs.