Page 59 of Fear No Hell

“Sam, short of him being Hitler or a pedophile, I don’t think that’s possible. Arthur is rock bottom for awful fathers and people.” Outside a bird crows as if to emphasize Lila’s sentiment. “Now. Put on a pair of pants, so we can go.”

The next hour of getting dressed and driving out to my mom’s house in La Grange is a blur. None of it sticks, and I’m happy—in a way—that Lila feels comfortable driving. I absolutely know I would have gotten us into a wreck whereas Lila only got us into a few close calls.

As we pull into the driveway of the cottage my mom bought after the divorce was finalized, Lila turns off the car and gapes up at the house. “It’s not what I expected,” she finally comments.

“She never wanted the big McMansion Arthur picked out for them, so when she was able to get her own place she chose something more reasonable.” It’s a quaint, lemon-colored house, bright and cheery like my mom is most of the time.

“Half the time I think she picked it out because she wanted something happy looking in her life after everything.”

“And this is where you grew up?” Lila asks as I get out of the car, gesturing at her to stay put before slamming my door closed and jogging around to the driver’s side.

I pop open her door and extend my hand to help her out.

“Nope, I’ve never actually lived here. After she left Arthur, we lived in a run-down apartment near my high school.

The divorce was heavily contested, so we were pretty broke for a while there, and it was all we could afford.

Once I graduated and the papers were signed, though, she moved here. ”

Lila rests her hand in mine and rises out of her seat.

She turns to face the house; I don’t. I can’t.

I know what I’ll see if I do: a light yellow Victorian-style cottage.

A front porch with white balustrades and rocking chairs that wouldn’t look out of place on a historic Southern plantation.

A lot of half-dead plants in terra cotta pots, courtesy of my mother’s fervent belief that she doesn’t have a black thumb.

Well-cared-for flower beds butting against the porch, alive and well thanks to the gardeners who won’t let my mother touch, much less kill, the planted flowers.

A colorful windchime hanging next to the door.

Taken together, it’s as out of place in suburban Illinois as Lila and I are.

It all looks so innocuous and, for all of the years I’ve been coming to visit here, it has been exactly that.

Now, though, it’s different. It’s the home of yet another secret. Another lie.

I bite down into my lower lip hard.

“Hey.” Lila releases her hold on my hand to reach up and drag my lip away from my teeth. “None of that. I’m the only one who gets to bite you.”

I roll my eyes as I kiss the tip of her thumb. "Bossy."

"And you love it," she retorts. “Now… do you want to go?” She gestures at the car with her free hand, at the still open driver’s side door. “Say the word, and we’ll climb back into the car and drive away. We’ll go home.”

Lila’s eyes are my focal point. Rubies that ground me in the here and now. That drive away the panic curling through me until the world sharpens enough for me to answer. “No. We’re staying.”

She doesn’t even try to hide the smile that sneaks across her face. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Another kiss against the pad of her thumb, and I finally feel ready to face the music. “You ready for this?”

“I’m right here with you.” Lila’s hand drops to seize my own, her fingers intertwining with mine.

Even though I feel cemented in place, her touch pushes me forward.

One foot in front of the other. I can do this.

My feet keep moving without much direction from my brain.

Before I know it, we’re standing on the porch, and I’m lifting my hand to knock on the front door.

My arm freezes in a raised position. Ready to knock but not able to.

Lila nuzzles my shoulder as she reaches around me to knock on the frosted glass of the front door.

It creaks open, revealing my mother on the other side.

For an elegant woman who enjoys fashion, she’s a wreck in jeans ripped by use, not fashion, and an over-large t-shirt.

I haven’t seen her like this since… my heart slams against my ribcage.

I haven’t seen her this disheveled since that very first day we ran away from Arthur’s.

“Sammy.” Her hands flutter by her sides before she catches herself and stuffs them deep into her back pockets.

“Hi, Mom.”

“I’m so glad you’re here. I’ve missed you so much.” Her eyes fill with tears. “The two of you looked wonderful together at your residency dinner.”

“You were there?” Surprised, I step forward, dragging Lila along with me. “I thought you weren’t coming. Not after you dodged all of my calls.”

“Of course I was there,” she protests. “I’ve never missed one of your graduations, and I certainly didn’t plan to miss this one. I was out of town, though, so—” She shifts awkwardly from one foot to another. “I attended virtually.”

Now that she mentions it, I vaguely remember a display screen of Zoom faces projected on one of the restaurant walls, although I don’t recall seeing hers among the squares.

“If you were out of town, where the hell were you?” I demand, totally aware I’m not even trying to be reasonable. “Where did you vanish to?”

“I’ve been trying to find your—” She gulps hard, her throat constricting with the movement. “Your father.”

And there it is. Her official acknowledgment that Arthur isn’t my father in any sense of the word. My skin flushes hot as a sweat breaks over me. Am I about to pass out? Is that what's happening here?

Completely oblivious to what I’m pretty sure is my impending panic attack, my mother continues.

“He’s not an easy person to hunt down on a good day.

And it’s gotten harder to find him since you were conceived.

I’ve spent the last several months trying to find people who can help me get ahold of him. ”

I shouldn’t be tasting copper.

My hand shakes in Lila’s. Without looking away from my mother, she presses further into me, lending her warmth. Second by second, the comfort of her touch leeches into me until I’m calm enough to grit out the easiest question. “Why did that mean you couldn’t pick up your phone?”

“It’s hard for me to keep secrets from you—yes, yes, I know, even though I’ve kept a huge one from you for years.

Don’t look at me like that.” Although her shoulders stay straight, her lip trembles.

“I didn’t know if I would be able to keep myself from blurting everything out if I talked to you before I confirmed with him what I could tell you. ”

“Him? My father? Why the fuck would he control what you could tell—”

“Is that the boy?” A voice calls from behind my mother.

I drop my gaze to my mother, who responds to my unspoken question by pushing the door all the way open. Behind her is a tall man whose face is cast in shadows.

“Is that him?” the man asks.

“Mom, care to share who this is?” Deep down, I know, but I need to hear her say it out loud. To confirm it.

“This is-he’s your…” Mom trails off before trying again. “Sammy, this is your father.”