"I'm lousy for this." Lailea moaned shakily, after picking herself up for the third time, her side aching from Logan had sucker-punched her.
Ivaleigh stood a little ways back, pressing her lips in a show of restraint, her arms folded and her nerves screaming.
Today was Sunday, and it was Lailea's first go-round with Genevieve's and Logan's version of self-defense classes, in a large boxing ring at a training gym in Van Nuys.
Michael and Elena were there, as well, with Michael serving as the (mostly muted) commentator, and Elena feeling calmer than she had in a very long time.
"No, you're not. But you've got a black eye, and it's getting in the way. That, and you're distracted by other issues." Genevieve told her, before looking over at Ivaleigh, a devious smirk forming. "You look as though you're spoiling for it, miss. Care to take your chances?"
"With Lisette here? Fuck yeah!"
Genevieve's mouth popped open, her smirk widening into a laugh; Elena pressed her lips together.
"Oh no." Michael remarked lightly, calling, "Ivaleigh, it's been a raging delight, knowing you. I promise to make the eulogy lovely."
"Shut it, Carrington!"
Logan charged without warning, swinging a right hook hard and tight; Ivaleigh just barely managed to duck the blow, her own right fist careening outwards, slamming straight and hard into Logan's stomach, before she grabbed Logan's face, acting purely on instinct, and smashed her forehead against the woman's mouth. The scene drew the close attention of most of the men there, a few of whom had already been grumbling about four girls in the ring.
Logan stumbled back, dazed, surprised, and pleased, her lips dripping blood.
Elena and Lailea stared, and Genevieve asked after a stunned, equally pleased moment, "Do you have a belt in something?"
"Purple in jiu-jitsu. I started studyin' the moment I got here. That got burned in the fire, too."
"Show me." Lailea said in a clipped, pleading tone – both impressed and battling like mad not to feel jealous and resentful. Again.
I know it can't have been, but she makes it seem all easy.
Here came that (terrified) choking sensation again.
Gwyneth and Stanton had hit the ceiling the night before when Lailea had brought up her thoughts on having an affair with Bastian.
"I can for some," Ivaleigh said, looking at her, wondering at whatever was going on behind the expression on her face. "A black belt could teach ya better."
"I'm tryin' real hard not t' be jealous an' mad at you."
The words were out before Lailea could stop them, and Ivaleigh blinked, her whole mood shifting. "Uhm ... ?"
No one moved, waiting.
Lailea sank fast to her knees, fighting back the waves of emotion threatening to strangle her. Ivaleigh was at her side in a heartbeat, gripping her shoulder. "Spill it, Lailea. Cos my side ain't somethin' t' praise."
Lailea almost laughed, a choked, half-hysterical sound. "Are ya sure 'bout that? You never got raped, an' ya fought off the one asshole who tried – "
Now Ivaleigh did laugh, a cold, mirthless sound escaping.
"Ya really think it was just the one? Want me t' show you where I got stuck with a lit cigar? D'ya wanna hear 'bout the time I spent a night tied up in a trunk cos some prick's drug deal went south? How many times I've had t' haul ass for an escape, down stairs or through alleys? Once from a cracked-out john who wanted t' use a broomstick. The fucked up reefer addicts an' their manners? The pimps an' the ones gettin' sold? The workers an' the newborn babies I seen get dragged outta dumpsters, boys an' girls alike?"
Elena bit her lip, Shit, I owe her apologies ...
Lailea was white to the mouth, looking sick, exhausted, while the men who had been watching now looked unnerved and shame-faced.
"I learned real quick we ain't nothin' but a public convenience t' them."
Lailea acknowledged her sister's bitter tone, the anger in her eyes. But still ...
"But ... but you ain't afraid, even after all that. Or at least, you don't show that ya are. Like what happened with Guillermo Jimenez. I couldn't move, an' you were kickin' him in the nuts. You know how t' fight, an' ya don't hesitate."
"You'll learn, Lailea. It's all a process. You just need to be patient with yourself." Logan said firmly, giving her a smile.
Lailea glanced at her, taking in her words. "An' Gram an' Pops yelled at me, tellin' me in no uncertain terms that I can't go t' bed with Bastian." Lailea started crying silently, wanting to sob and scream and throw things.
"What?" Michael and Genevieve asked sharply at the same time.
"Oh, shut up, the pair of you!" Ivaleigh barked, hugging her sister close. "She was wantin' it cos she don't wanna be afraid of sex. An' she an' Bastian got a thing for each other. She trusts him."
Genevieve rocked back and forth on her heels, then thought carefully for a moment before saying, "You may not get Bastian to say yes, however, Lailea. My brother has his morals. If not, may I suggest a dildo?" She then grinned, quite wickedly, wriggling her eyebrows. "Worked wonders on Elena over here."
"Hey!"
Ivaleigh bit her lip to keep from giggling, while Michael stuck his fingers in his ears, briefly squeezing his eyes shut, muttering, "La la la la la ... "
"What's a dildo? An' what's a pimp?" Lailea asked, and Elena clamped her mouth shut. Jeez, she doesn't know anything.
Ivaleigh stared again, all the humor gone.
Except what was done to her.
Ivaleigh pulled Lailea to her feet, ushering her towards the boxing ring exit. "Lesson's over for now. C'mon, sis, you an' I need t' talk."
Five steps from the ring (as Genevieve and Logan were each sliding their ways out), one of the beefier gym-goers (dressed in a sleeveless shirt and shorts), had the temerity to take a hold of Lailea's arm. "If you need some lessons in bedroom games, honey, I got somethin' for you to play with."
Are you fuckin' kidding me?!
This asshole can't possibly be serious!
Lailea stiffened, paling, before cracking; a snarl erupted, vicious and guttural (Ivaleigh held still – Pray for the poor soul that crosses her), and then her fist was zeroing in at top speed, connecting solidly with the man's nose, breaking it on impact, a small bit of blood squirting.
His two buddies, standing back a few feet, started laughing uproariously. "Well, that worked."
One of them looked over at Lailea, sobering some. "You can't be more than ... what? Sixteen? Seventeen?"
"Yes t' the latter." Lailea exhaled, as Ivaleigh pulled her further away, the both of them exceptionally confused and cautious. Genevieve, Logan, Michael, and Elena all eyed the three men, their mouths pressed taut in flat lines.
"Tim here outweighs you by about a hundred twenty-five, easy." the other friend said. "And you just broke his nose."
Wiping the blood away, hissing in (amused) pain, Tim managed ruefully, "Nithley done, mith. You handled yourselth good. Excuthe me."
"Oh. Yes. Right. Um. Thanks."
On Tuesday, Lisa Collins decided to give into her 'conscience' and put a phone call in to Drake Barrett's employers; by this time, though, Barrett, Caitríona, Ivaleigh, and Lailea had already discussed the entire situation (late on Sunday afternoon) with Fiona Perry.
Sitting in her (decorated to distinguish) office, hearing everything that had happened regarding the Storm twins and what Lisa Collins's reaction had been, Fiona was ten kinds of unsettled and disgusted, but readily assured them all that she would personally see to Diamond's future with Caitríona, provided that Drake Barrett bowed out to avoid causing the firm any embarrassment.
"And get some counseling, while you're at it, Drake. Because, you know, you're only about two steps short of being labeled a pedophile. If this got into the papers, I don't know how many would actually care that Miss Storm was a prostitute. What they'll see is that you're a family lawyer who paid for the services of a sixteen-year-old."
"Yes. Thank you, Fiona. I'll be gone within the hour."
"What's promptin' you t' be accommodatin'?" Ivaleigh asked, suspiciously.
Barrett shook his head, just barely refraining from patting her shoulder. "It's not me she's protecting, Ivaleigh, it's herself and this law firm. If it gets out over my preferences, everything comes out, I'm sure. And Fiona worked too hard to become a senior just to lose it all for my dabblings. I think I'll move cities, I'm not so old that I can't start over."
It was Fiona Perry who answered Lisa Collins's phone call, and, after listening to her rant, delivered the news of Barrett's swift exit and her own intentions concerning the adoption case, with sharp relish, before hanging up without waiting for an answer – personally, she had no use for, and would not bend to, racism or would-be blackmailers.
It was Wednesday (the same day of Johnny's hearing); Bastian had considered waiting until the weekend for to deliver the bombshell, except that his mother (holding Diamond), Ivaleigh, and Lailea met him at the airport, intent on hearing whatever it was that he had discovered.
"I think it would be better if we did this with your grandparents and uncle present."
At a little past 6:30 in the evening, the five of them walked into the Millers' hospital room, where Leonard was sitting with them, the three of them eating a chicken-and-mashed-potatoes dinner.
"Ah, welcome back, Mr. Quinn." Gwyneth greeted him unsmilingly, in a cold, clipped tone. "My husband and I are telling you now that, in no way or form, are you allowed to go to bed with – "
"Yes, I've already heard all about that." Bastian interrupted impatiently. "What I'm failing to understand is why you didn't tell any of us that Lyle Harris, your daughter's would-be husband, was black."
Stanton dropped his fork to the floor, where it clattered loudly, his eyes widening while Gwyneth paled to ghost-white, her lower lip already trembling.
Leonard held still.
The air left the room at light speed, a screaming chill remaining.
"Two of Gertrude's school friends, Veradie Robbins and Emmabelle Mitchell, were incredibly forth-coming. And they've agreed to serve as witnesses for the trials."
Lailea and Ivaleigh stared, first at Bastian, then at their grandparents, their mouths hanging open, two pairs of eyes huge with shock.
Caitríona wasn't much better, and leaned in a few inches, all ears.
"Lyle Harris is black." Ivaleigh finally managed, after a lengthy silence, a thunderstorm of implications whirling, in the style of a Category 5 hurricane.
"None of the neighbors were standing for it." Gwyneth managed to breathe in a reedy tone, closing her eyes for a moment. She shook her head, swaying a little, and her granddaughters saw, in that moment, just how old she felt.
"They spit at her. At both of them. Twice, Lyle was badly beaten. More than twice, Gertrude was cornered. They tore her clothes up and cut her hair. Once, someone blew up Lyle's car. The police pulled them over more times than I can remember. For Stanton and I, it was bricks through all our windows. Burning crosses. Death threats. Hate mail. Our bosses telling us we would be fired if we didn't "correct the atrocity"." She faltered there, her eyes watering.
"So ... not cos he was a con-man."
"No, but we let that be our excuse, after we found him stealing from us. He had his reasons for that, though. He was trying to keep his siblings fed. Gertrude wouldn't listen to any of the trouble. She ignored everything. She loved him. His murder charge came later." Stanton took a long, deep, rattling breath. "We'd always given her everything we could. But this was too much. We had to protect her. Too many others weren't understanding. We were terrified that it would kill her. So we turned him in."
Gwyneth took a deep gulp of breath, fighting some form of crackling hysteria. "Gertrude never forgave us. We never forgave ourselves. A few weeks later was the holiday party that we mentioned on the night you were arrested, Ivaleigh. The one that she returned from with the bruises and the ripped clothes. Now you know why the police weren't so helpful. They didn't care. We even tried to involve the neighbors, but all they said was that she'd gotten what she deserved, running around with a ... with a black man. It didn't help that no one could get her to talk."
Leonard looked sick, white to the mouth and shaking.
"She told Veradie and Emmabelle, although they said they can't for the life of them figure out why them and not you two." Bastian answered, and Gwyneth and Stanton blinked, staring, a wild something forming in their eyes. "She swore them to secrecy, promised that she would deny it if they said anything. They said they could tell by her face that she meant every word. Emmabelle stated that she thought that Gertrude was afraid, more than anything, of what would happen should she retaliate. Or maybe she didn't realize it could go both ways. According to her, the assault was as much verbal as it was physical. They were five men that Lyle Harris knew, all black. One of them was his cousin, Jeremiah Walker. Apparently, they all blamed her for his going to jail, thereby losing one of the main bread-winners for the family, in the middle of the Depression."
Ivaleigh shivered. "But ... why wouldn't ... why didn't she say somethin'?"
Leonard took a deep breath, weeping, and said a prayer begging forgiveness. "Because Lyle Harris wouldn't believe her."
He didn't look at any of them, admitting this, the words flowing, heavy in his mouth, unstoppable.
"She went and visited him at the jail, I followed her, and eavesdropped, and he wouldn't hear a word of it, especially not against his cousin. He told her she had been nothing but a good time, and to get out and never come back. She cried and screamed and he wouldn't listen. Even with the bruises staring that bastard in the face. Then she went and confronted Harris's family. I followed her there, too. They pretty much told us both to go fly a kite, and that if Gertie tried to bring charges against the friends and the cousin, they would all get together and lie and provide alibies. Two of the bigger ones said that if she didn't leave the property, they'd break her neck and throw her into the Long Island Sound, and then lynch me, for 'the long over-due poetic justice', as they put it, before burning our house to the ground with Mom and Dad in it. They blamed her as much as Jeremiah Walker and Harris's friends did. I tried to go to the police, but Harris's family was watching somehow. That was what that fire was, in the pantry that night. Them proving a point."
Gwyneth and Stanton could only stare, winded even now, the tears leaking slowly.
Leonard's heart was hammering by this point, his breaths shallow gasps, his own face wet. The last bit was so damning.
"She left later because of the baby."
Gwyneth and Stanton inhaled so sharply it hurt, the air between their teeth sounding like a high-pitched whistle; they turned still as statues. Ivaleigh and Lailea were speechless, both mouths hanging open.
"I didn't know she was, I only realized it when she wrote me the October after, saying she'd had a girl at a hospital in Georgia, named Willodean, and left her there. I should have told you, and I'm sorry that I didn't, but all I could think was, what would the consequences be? A white couple raising a black baby was unheard of back then. Plus, Gertie was gone, to God knew where, and she didn't write which hospital, or which city, or anything. It just felt so ... hopeless."
There was three full minutes of roaring silence, all the new knowledge attempting to sink in.
Caitríona was the first to speak, carefully. "Ivaleigh, Lailea, tell me about your father."
"Wha ... why?"
"Because I can't help but wonder how Gertrude Miller, rape victim, managed to become Ambrosia Lynn Storm, rape enabler. Her husband is the only answer that I can come up with. I spent two weeks in a hell-hole ... " Her voice trembling, Caitríona shut her eyes for a moment, shaking the nightmares away. "And the monster was someone I thought I could trust. Believe me, I understand her pain. It made her half-mad. And I think he, Ambrosia Lynn's husband, must have sensed it somehow, took advantage of it until she turned it on herself."
"T' this degree?!" Ivaleigh whispered shrilly.
"Insanity loves misery."
"Is all that why you're keepin' your distance from Diamond?" Lailea demanded of her grandparents. "You don't wanna remember how ya fucked it up?" Her voice started low and rose, higher and higher. "Oh, my God, if you were so damned worried 'bout what was happenin', why didn't you just let her marry him an' leave?!"
"Because he wouldn't have! Not in the end, at least, I don't think." Stanton protested weakly. "And it was the Depression! Where in America do you think they could've gone that would've been any different?"
"So you turned him in!" Lailea screamed.
"We were trying to protect Gertrude!" Gwyneth protested, shaking.
"AN' LOOK WHAT HAPPENED! LIARS, BOTH OF YOU!"
Ten seconds into the ringing silence, the door opened behind them, revealing two nurses and a doctor and a hospital guard. "You know ... we can hear you all the way down the hall?"
"Good." Lailea snarled, flinging her grandparents a vicious look before walking away.
"Lailea, where're you goin'?" Ivaleigh called, cautious; Lailea in a rage was as rare of an occurrence as fire rainbows.
"T' talk t' Mama."
Gertrude Miller was being held at the Alhambra City Jail; she was sitting on the scarce bunk in her cell, with her feet up and her eyes staring blankly ahead, when Lailea surged into sight, everything flaring. Without preamble, and only vaguely aware that her sister and Bastian were right behind her, she started demanding answers.
"Why didn't you say somethin'?! How could ya protect Lyle Harris an' his family like that?! How could you be such an inhumane hypocrite?! What were you THINKIN', TAKING IT OUT ON INNOCENT KIDS?! YOU CRAZY, MERCILESS BITCH! WHAT ABOUT ME?! FITZ?! IVALEIGH?!"
"How many times have I told you not to raise your voice at me?" Her tone was rasping, hollow. She'd known it would all come out, eventually.
She's a hopeless case, Bastian thought.
"Me an' Lailea got the right t' scream." Ivaleigh moved two steps closer. "Tell us 'bout Willodean."
Gertrude blinked, a small, irritated v forming between her eyebrows; her mouth twitched, a bitter line, raw hurt flashing in her eyes, before something cold and untouchable descended over her expression. Her head gave a minute wobble. "What happened to your faces?"
"Like you give a fuck." Lailea hissed.
Bastian spoke up forcefully. "Ambrosia Lynn, I've heard what your brother had to say about what happened concerning the Harris family, and Gwyneth's and Stanton's account of things, but I need your side of the story, as well."
Gertrude gave him a smirk that almost mocked, all blistering, bitter coldness. "Why? Do you think it would deem me unfit to stand trial? That some judge would call me crazy and have me tossed in a looney bin? Give me shocks? A lobotomy?"
"Either way, you'd never be able t' hurt anyone ever again. What Harris's friends an' cousin did t' you is on them. Everythin' else is on you." Ivaleigh answered calmly, her own expression just as devoid of emotion. "Tell us 'bout Willodean."
"Why? It's over and done. I never even looked at it. I didn't name it, either. That was the horse-gums nurse."
Hate did you in, Ivaleigh realized. She looked over at Lailea, who was staring at Gertrude with brutal anger and clenched fists. Not my sister too. She looked back at her mother. "There ain't no hope for her, Lailea, an' she knows it. She won't be givin' answers. She don't care. Bastian, you'll just have t' go off what you have. An' I wouldn't be surprised if they did toss you in a psycho-joint, Gertrude. Shove ya in a jacket an' load ya up on crazy pills just t' keep ya sane. Your life's over, anyway. My regret is you won't suffer near as much as ya should, no matter what happens."
"Get out." Gertrude snarled, before twisting, turning her back on them, silently declaring the conversation finished.
It was the next morning, around 10 a.m., that Gertrude Miller had a different visitor entirely, for the space of about seven minutes. Less than fifteen minutes following said visitor's departure, the jail guard found Gertrude dead, a belt still holding her neck securely to the bars, the life choked out of her.