Chapter 3I Became His Worst Curse

On my third day at the fish plant, Lyle called me into his office.

“Maeve. Close the door.”

I stood by the threshold, my hand resting on the frame. I didn't shut it.

He spun around in his leather chair. A freshly opened pack of Marlboros sat on his desk, and he held an unlit cigarette between his fingers.

“Did your dad not tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“What we agreed on.” He put the cigarette between his lips, flicking his lighter twice, though the flame wouldn't catch. “You don't need to be down on the wet floor of the processing line anymore. Come work in my office. Help me organize the invoices. The work is light, and I'll double your pay.”

“No, thank you. I prefer the processing line.”

He stood up, walking around his desk until he was standing right in front of me.

The pungent smell of raw fish mixed with his heavy, expensive cologne washed over me, making me take a step back.

“Maeve, don't play hard to get.” He leaned down, his eyes scanning my face. “You know about your dad’s tab, right? He owes me fifteen grand.”

“What?”

“Last year, when your brother got into that mess at school, your dad came to me to bail him out. I lent him the cash.”

I hadn't known about the money.

But as he spoke, his eyes continued to crawl over my face, lingering on my collarbone.

“So you see, I’ve been very generous to your family.” He reached out, his thick fingers catching a strand of my hair and tucking it behind my ear. “Come work in the office. We can get to know each other. If things go well, we can just forget about that fifteen-thousand-dollar debt. Your dad won't have to pay back a dime, and I’ll even cover your brother’s college tuition. It’s a win-win.”

I backed up until my spine hit the doorframe, my hand finding the brass knob.

“I don't know what you're talking about, Mr. Briggs.”

“You don't?” He smirked, flicking his cigarette ash onto the floor. “Go home and ask your dad. He knows exactly what I mean.”

I turned, threw the door open, and walked straight back to the processing floor. I stood by the deep industrial sink at the far end of the room and plunged my hands into the ice-cold water, scrubbing my skin until it was raw.

I could still feel the phantom pressure of his fingers against my ear.

When I got home after my shift, my father was waiting for me in the living room.

A stack of hundred-dollar bills and a single sheet of paper sat on the coffee table.

“Briggs bumped your pay. Four hundred a week, starting now. But you need to sign this.”

The paper was a voluntary transfer request. From the processing floor to the main office.

“I’m not signing it.”

“What did you say?”

“I said, I’m not signing it.”

My father crushed his cigarette into the glass ashtray and slowly stood up.

He didn't hit me. In eighteen years, he had never laid a hand on me.

His punishments were always redirected.

“Gavin!”

Gavin peeked his head out of his bedroom, his face pale. He had a guilty look, probably from trying to figure out how to request a replacement copy of my college acceptance letter online.

“Your sister is being stubborn. Starting tomorrow, you’re dropping out of school. You can go work at the fish plant with her.”

“Dad!” Gavin ran into the living room. “You can't do that!”

“I can do whatever the hell I want. I'm your father.”

Gavin spun around to look at me, his eyes rimmed with red. “Maeve, just sign it.”

“Gavin.”

“Just sign it! Please!”

I looked at him, and for the first time in days, I laughed.

“I told you. I’m not shielding you anymore.”

My father raised his hand and slapped Gavin across the face.

The sound was sharp, echoing loudly in our small, cramped living room.

Gavin clutched his cheek, tears welling in his eyes, but he forced himself not to cry out.

He was fifteen, almost as tall as our father now, but in front of this man, he was still just a child who only knew how to kneel.

“Maeve,” Gavin whispered, his voice cracking. “What do you want from me?”

“I want you to see things as they really are.”

My father raised his hand again.

This time, Gavin didn't flinch.

He took the second slap head-on, then stared straight into our father’s eyes. “You can hit me all you want, Dad. But you can't sell Maeve to Lyle Briggs.”

The entire room went dead silent.

My father grabbed Gavin by his collar, lifting him slightly off his feet. “What did you just say?”

“Briggs was touching her in his office today. You knew about that, didn't you?”

“Who told you that?”

“I walked past the plant after school. I saw Maeve walk out of his office. Her hands were shaking.”

My father let go of his collar.

There was no anger on his face, no shock. Just a dark, irritated scowl of someone whose secrets had been dragged into the light.

“You don't know what you're talking about,” he muttered, sitting back down and lighting another cigarette. “Briggs just has a rough way of talking. It didn't mean anything.”

Later that night, Diane came over again.

She stayed in my father’s bedroom for a long time. Through the thin drywall, I heard her whispering.

“Frank, you need to lock this down. Briggs was very clear. Either we make this happen... or we get Maeve’s birth certificate and ID and set a date to get the paperwork filed.”

“She’s only eighteen. The courthouse might not even license it without more verification.”

“In a town like this, who cares about the courthouse? Just throw the reception first and get them living together. Briggs is getting impatient. He brought it up to me last month.”

I leaned my back against the wall, my eyes narrowing at the detail hidden in her words.

He brought it up to me last month.

To her. Not to my father.

Diane was the one orchestrating this entire thing.