Lennon's Jinx (23 page)

I
call the high school and let them know I won’t be in today.

Mom’s
door is open. She’s sleeping alone and has for the past week. I’ve noticed from
her logon history on the computer, she’s been checking out recent Hollywood
films. This could be a good sign.

I
let Currie sleep while I soak in the shower. It has two heads and two seats and
is large enough for two people, not that I’ve ever invited anyone, though it is
a fantasy of mine. I sit down and let the steam clear my head.

When
it comes to Jinx, Clive isn’t as big a threat as Zach. Zach’s girlfriend Kelly
shows up at his locker every day, but at least once a week, he goes to watch
Jinx at Kichee’s Joint, alone. I’m not sure who I’m kidding because Jinx has
zero interest in me.

After
I shave and dress, I check on Currie. She’s asleep. I fix breakfast for her to
either eat here or take with us. The band plans to practice this afternoon, so
it may be best if Currie sleeps on the bed at the warehouse, so I can keep an
eye on her.

Mom
is rummaging around in the kitchen when I come out. She hacks at the Romaine lettuce
like it’s Jonathan’s head. Sometimes, it’s an icepick to the outside freezer
instead of simply defrosting it. I’ve replaced it twice from her poking through
the walls.

“What’s
up?” I ask, not really wanting to know.

“Jonathan’s
found another woman.”

“That’s
nothing new, and I already told you that.”

She
spins toward me, holding the big chef’s knife. Recalling the Dodge Charger guy,
I grab her wrist and take it out of her hand. “It’s all right, Heather. You
know it won’t last.”

Her
breathing is uneven. “It’s different this time.”

“What?
Instead of a blonde, he got himself a brunette?”

“That
isn’t funny. And she is a brunette. She’s only a couple years younger than me.”
Her expression looks as if she just had to put her favorite dog to sleep, not
that she’d care about any animal other than Jonathan. “I think it’s serious.
He’s been seeing her for over two years. It came out in the tabloid today.”

A
current one lies on the counter open to a two-page spread of Jonathan and his
girlfriend.

Currie
has met this woman and likes her. “It does sound serious.” Jonathan usually
goes after barely legal, so this is quite a switch for him. I shrug. “Well, he
was bound to move on. What are you going to do now?”

Heather
sits down onto one of the barstools. I study her. She looks more glamorous than
usual. In fact, the past week, she’s been working out hard and applying more goo
to her face.

She
rolls back her bottom lip with her teeth, thinks better of it because it might
ruin the fullness of her naturally poufy lips that helped make her popular.
“I’m not sure. I was thinking of calling Lionel.”

Yeah!
That’s her old agent. He’d take her back in a heartbeat. She hasn’t aged, and
she’s talented. “You should do that.” It will give her a reason to move back to
LA, close to Jonathan, and I won’t have to cover any more naked asses in her
bed ever again.

“Why
hasn’t Currie gone to school?” Mom asks.

“She’s
sick. Don’t worry. I’m taking her to the doctor.”

“I
can take her. Really, I don’t mind.”

Occasionally,
she makes a gesture like this for appearances. “It’s okay. I’ve got it.”

“If
you insist.” Mom goes back to hacking up salad. That’s her idea of breakfast,
especially if Jonathan has a regular.

Holding
the measured spoon of children’s Tylenol, I wake Currie. “Do you want to come
back home after the doctor’s. You can go with me to the warehouse in the
afternoon.”

She
sits up in bed, holding her head. After a moment, she swallows the syrup. “Okay.
Will you take my violin and books to the warehouse?”

Currie
doesn’t like me to be far if she’s not feeling well. It’s good to have someone
need me. “No problem. Are you hungry?”

“Not
really.”

“Get
dressed, and we’ll get going.”

Currie
staggers out of bed. She wears a long nightgown that matches her My Twinn
doll’s. Her American Girl dolls are lined up next to the My Twinn. Though Currie
acts older, she’s still a little girl.

The doctor checks Currie’s
reflexes, eyes, ears, throat, heart, temperature, weight, height, and lungs.
After all that and a twenty-five dollar copay, he tells me it’s probably just hay
fever. The Tylenol seems to have reduced her headache, so I breathe easier.

She
plods to the SUV. It doesn’t feel right when I have to help her into the car
and seatbelt her. Maybe I paid too much attention to Zoe the past few weeks,
and jealousy is nibbling away at Currie.

We
go home and Currie sleeps well into the afternoon while I work on a new song.

As
I’m about to drive to the warehouse, my cell rings some Crank tune that Currie
programmed into my phone. She likes the female lead singer who has an edgy tone,
yet on other songs, she sounds as sweet as sin. It’s an underground band that
Currie picked up online local to the Chicago area.

“Hello,”
I say.

“Hey,
could you give me a ride?” Jinx asks. “It happened. My car died. I swear I’ll
get it fixed by this weekend.”

“No
problem. Can you be ready in fifteen?”

“Yeah.”

I
drive in that direction while speed dialing Mrs. Nowak in the hands-free set
Currie bought me. “How’s Zoe doing?”

“Much
better today. We’re going to rest at home today and catch up on schoolwork. She
goes back in a couple days for observation, but I think she’s been through the
worst and the doctors say her white blood cell count has improved. How’s
Currie?”

“The
pediatrician says it’s hay fever. She’s taking the day off though to rest.”

“This
is hard on them. Thank you, Lennon for being so good to Zoe. She went on and on
about how you saved the day yesterday when she got sick all over Clive.”

“My
pleasure. We’ll talk later.” Poor little Zoe. She so desperately wants to be
normal. Clive was a good sport about it. He always is.

Currie
and I will go back to hospital visits in a few days. Right now, she needs the
break.

When
I pull into Jinx’s driveway, Currie’s asleep. Jinx doesn’t fly out the door, so
I get out. I leave the SUV running with the heater on but lock the doors, using
the spare key.

As
I’m about to knock on the door, I hear yelling inside, and it’s not Jinx. The
voice sounds masculine. I shuffle through the bushes to the window and peek in.
The sheer curtains obscure my view. There’s a crash. This time it’s Jinx
screaming.

I
try the door. Luckily, it opens. I don’t want to interfere with a parent
disciplining a teenager because it’s not my business, but I can’t shake the
image of the bruise on her face.

Before
I call out her name, I hear. “You’re eighteen now and plenty legal. You wanted
it before, why not now?”

Oh
God, it’s her stepfather. A sick feeling swirls in my gut, and sympathy pores
out of me for her. What a dick?

“Leave
me alone,” Jinx yells.

“I’m
not taking that from you. You little tease.”

As
I turn the corner, a well built, middle-aged man backhands Jinx, sending her flying
and crashing into the wall.

“That’s
enough,” I say, waving my hands.

The
guy’s five-ten, five-eleven, but his body reminds me of a prize fighter. I’m
hoping my height will intimidate him, and I won’t have to fight because that
would end badly for me.

“Stay
the hell out of this,” the guy charges me.

Not
good. I’m not quick or strong. I push out my arms. He swings wildly at me. One
punch lands on my chin. Another hits my gut. Pain sears into me. I’ll be
feeling this tomorrow. I shove him back, which catches him off balance. He
stumbles backward and falls to the floor. Lucky break for me.

I
signal Jinx to get out while I do the same. Blood gushes down her forehead. She
picks up her keyboard by the door and is in the backseat of my SUV with her
instrument before I reach the car. I scramble into the driver’s seat.

The
guy storms out of the house, shaking his fist at me. I don’t wait and peel out
of the driveway and down the street.

“Oh
my God,” Currie says. “What happened to you?” She stares wild-eyed at Jinx. She
takes a napkin from the seat pocket and hands it to Jinx.

I
adjust my mirror. Her brow is split wide-open. Blood pours from it. “Currie,
call nine-one-one and have the cops meet us at the emergency room.”

“No.
That won’t be necessary,” Jinx says. Her eyes plead with me.

“Not
going to happen. This nonsense has to stop. Even if you won’t press charges, I
am.”

“I
don’t want any trouble. Please don’t.” Her voice is not much above a whisper.
Her hand clasps my arm between the bucket seats. “My mom won’t understand.”

“You’re
crazy,” Currie says. “That guy deserves to go to jail. Why wouldn’t your mom
care?”

“Was
that your stepfather?” I ask.

Jinx
nods while pressing the blood-soaked napkin against her brow. Currie gives her a
wad of them when it soaks through.

“That’s
messed up,” Currie says. It’s a good sign that she’s feeling better.

“When
did you turn eighteen?” I ask.

“Today.”

She’s
over two months older than me. Huh, an older woman. “I’m sorry. We’ll make it
up to you.” It sucks that her mom isn’t here to celebrate her birthday. Mrs.
Nowak has done mine since I was eight and introduced myself. Instead, Jinx’s
stepfather hits on her in both senses of the words.

I
study her in the rearview mirror. I’ve finally put all the pieces together,
Jinx’s bruise at school, the police, her fear of guys. “Currie, cover your
ears.”

“I’ve
heard it all,” she says as she cups her hands over her ears.

I
stare at Jinx. “Your stepfather raped you. Didn’t he?”

Jinx’s
mouth pops open. “I’m not going to discuss this in front of your little sister.”

“Her
ears are covered,” I say.

Currie
puts her hands down. “I’ve seen worse.”

That’s
Jonathan’s fault.

She
gives Jinx an all-knowing smile. “You know who my parents are, don’t you?” She
studies Jinx for a moment. “Your stepdad did touch you. What a creep.”

“If
you call the cops, it’ll just make things worse between Mom and me.”

Tears
are coming. I can smell the rain. “I don’t see how it could get much worse.
Look at your eye. That’s not acceptable. How old were you when it happened?”
Zach said they broke up just before they turned sixteen.

“I
was fifteen,” Jinx says in a small voice, “but you don’t understand. It was my
fault.”

“You
were fifteen,” my miniature psychoanalyst Currie says. “How could it be your
fault?”

I
catch Currie’s gaze in the rearview mirror to give her a warning glare. “What
happened?”

Jinx
is shaking so hard, her teeth are rattling. “I can’t just tell you.”

“You
can either practice on me or with the police officer,” I say. “And as much as
you dislike me, you at least know me. What happened at that party?”

Jinx
cocks her head in wonderment. “How did—”

“It’s
not important,” I say.

Jinx
stares out the window, tears streaming down her face. “It’s my fault. Mom had
just married Him. I thought he was cute. I couldn’t believe how well she’d
done. I went to a party at Izzy’s house. We got really drunk.” Her face blushes
to match that wild red hair of hers. “Oh God. This is so embarrassing.”

Currie’s
hand flits in the air. “We’ve seen worse. I’m sure. You forget I live with
Lennon.”

Jinx
cracks a half smile before another tear slips down her cheek. “When I got home,
I told my stepfather how cute I thought he was. I don’t remember much after
that. I think I passed out, but the next day, I knew what had happened.” She’s sobbing
now.

God,
that’s awful. I’m not a girl, obviously, but if some guy did that to Currie,
I’d put him in the hospital.

I
pull over the SUV, get out of it, and open the backseat door. My arms fold
around Jinx. “It’s okay. It wasn’t your fault.”

“But
it was.” She sobs into my shirt, a mixture of blood and tears stain it. “If I
hadn’t led him on.”

I’m
not one to judge. I’ve had a handful of married older women that I’m no longer
proud of.

I
force Jinx to look at me by lifting her chin. “Jinx, you were fifteen, you were
drunk. He hurt you and took advantage of the situation. He’s a predator. He
sought you out. He may have even married your mother for that reason. To get at
you.”

Jinx
stares up at me and blinks. “Really?”

I
can’t help it. I’m thinking nasty thoughts with her body pressed against mine. This
isn’t my original intention, so I step away from her. “Let’s get you to the
hospital.”

I
slide behind the wheel and drive. It all makes sense now, her behavior, her
avoidance of sex, her fear. I’m guessing Jonathan got Mom drunk when she was
seventeen before he bedded her. He certainly didn’t want to marry her before I
was born. I’m not sure what forced him down the aisle two years later.

When
we walk into the ER, a nurse smiles at me. I grin back at her so that we get
immediate attention instead of the usual two-hour wait. Currie has perked up
from the excitement, which makes me feel better. I hate it when she’s sick.

The
nurse leads us to a room. She returns with an icepack for my chin that’s now
throbbing and a sterile pad for Jinx’s cut. It isn’t long before the doctor
comes in to stitch Jinx up.

Before
he can ask what happened to her, Currie tells him, “The police are coming to
take an official statement.” Practicing attorney, psychologist, ballerina,
accomplished violinist. I wonder what she’ll be when she grows up. I’d like to
think I’ve had a hand in all that besides being her chauffeur.