Shit.
“The makeup is kind of a costume she wore for work,” I hedged.
“I thought she worked at a laundry.”
I chewed on my lip and cast a hopeful glance toward the waitress, praying she’d interrupt. But her back was to us. “She did sometimes—for extra cash,” I said honestly. “But she was also kind of a … performer of sorts.”
His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t say anything. Guess the kid had picked up a few of my techniques. Damn it.
“Like a burlesque dancer, kind of.” I couldn’t look at him.
“Wait a minute—Mom was a stripper?” he shouted.
The volume in the restaurant dipped as patrons tasted drama on the air.
“No, Daniel, she wasn’t a stripper.” Not really. “There was more art to it—and magic.”
My kid brother gave me a look with eyes that appeared way too wise for his young face. “Hold up, are you talking about one of those sex magic shows?”
My brows slammed down. “How do you know about those?”
“Kate, I’m sixteen. What the heck do you think my friends and I talk about all the time?”
Jesus, I really wished I could change the milkshake order to a whiskey. I slammed another gulp of water. “I was hoping you discussed sports and homework.”
He snorted. “Andy Lipshitz’s older brother went to one of the shows. Said it was like some kind of boring religious ceremony but that the hand job at the end made it worth it.”
Hearing the phrase “hand job” mentioned so casually by the kid made me want to gouge my ears out with my spoon.
But before I could deafen myself, he leaned in with an expression that was part shocked and part intrigued. “So Mom was a whore?”
“Shut your mouth.” I jerked forward and lowered my voice into a harsh whisper. “Whatever else she was, that woman gave you life. She deserves more respect than that from you.”
He looked away, his cheeks reddening with shame. “What do I care? I didn’t know her.” His eyes flicked to mine. “Not really.”
My heart contracted in my chest. “How can you say that?” He was almost six when she died. Old enough to have some memories.
He was saved from having to answer when the waitress arrived to deliver our shakes. She set the vanilla in front of Danny and the chocolate next to me. I thanked her while Danny dug into his with gusto.
I watched him for a moment, wondering how we’d come to this juncture. Seemed like just yesterday he was that cute kid who wanted me to read him a story before bed. Now he was hiding things from me and rolling his eyes as if I were the most ridiculous person ever. Pen was right, I guessed. Danny was old enough to make his own decisions. But what kept me up at night was that he was still too young to understand the long-term consequences of those choices.
But one thing was becoming clear: Hiding secrets wasn’t protecting Danny from the past.
“What do you want to know?” I said.
His head jerked up. He had a smear of shake on his chin. He wiped it with his hand instead of the napkin on the table in front of him. “Really?”
I blew out a long breath. “Yeah.”
“How did Mom really die?”
My stomach contracted. Jesus, the kid really came out swinging, didn’t he? “Why do you ask?”
“The death certificate,” he admitted.
I opened my mouth in a silent “ah.” Inside, I cursed myself seven ways to Sunday that I’d kept all that old stuff in the attic.
“The cause of death was listed as coronary failure caused by complications from Arcane substances.” The accusation in his tone cut to the bone. “Why did you tell me she was shot?”
I hardened the part of me that was still tender after all these years. The wound in my chest that was put there by guilt. “Because it was easier for you to understand when you were younger.”
He nodded, seeming to accept that. He’d been ten the first time he asked what happened to his mama. “So why didn’t you tell me the truth once I was older?”
I fidgeted with a straw wrapper on the table. My eyes stayed on my shake, which was melting into soup. “Because it was easier for me.”
He stayed quiet, like he expected one wrong word would spook me. Eventually, I looked up, my chest so damned tight, and confessed my sins.
“It was a new potion. Uncle Abe was sure it would be the hot new commodity. It hadn’t really been tested, but the plan went ahead to get it in rotation quickly.” I lifted my water with a shaking hand and took a sip to wet my dry throat. “Back then, Abe had a deal with Aphrodite Johnson. Her girls were to act as couriers because the cops knew all his guys too well.”
“Why wouldn’t they recognize the girls?” Danny asked quietly.
“Because of the makeup. When they weren’t working, they were clean-faced and less suspicious, I guess.”
He nodded for me to continue. His hands slowly twisted a napkin into knots.
“Mom volunteered to do the drop,” I said. “I didn’t know until later that she’d been saving up for a bike for your birthday so she needed the money.” My voice cracked. I cleared my throat, knowing there was no turning back now. “Best we could figure afterward was she decided to help herself to a sample.”
I closed my eyes against the sting of hot tears. In my head, I was back in that cramped room ten years earlier. The one Uncle Abe brought me into to tell me the news. Funny, I don’t remember exactly what he said, but I remembered he had a small cut on his neck, from shaving. A dot of blood had held a small scrap of paper to the wound. And when he smiled, his teeth bore the sepia stains of a man addicted to caffeine and cigarettes—“coffin nails,” he’d called them.
I felt a touch on my hand, warm against my clammy skin. When I opened my eyes, Danny’s face was all lit up with gratitude I didn’t deserve. “Thanks for telling me the truth.”
I laughed bitterly. “That’s not all of it.”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
I licked my lips. “The potion.”
“Yeah, I get it. It was bad. Uncle Abe shouldn’t have put it out there.”
“It wasn’t Abe’s fault.” I shook my head. “He was told it was safe.”
“By who?”
I looked my baby brother in the eye and pulled the trigger. “Me.”
He blinked hard.
I forged ahead. “It was my potion.”