I go into the bathroom and close the door. I don’t have to think about who I’m going to call.
I have no interest in wasting my time by calling my parents. Instead, sitting on the edge of the tub, I dial Amy, my youngest sister. I’ve almost given up hope when, on the fifth ring, just before the call goes to voicemail, she picks up.
My eyes well up at the familiar sound of her voice and I can’t speak right away. It takes her two times of asking who it is for me to answer.
“It’s me, Amy. It’s Helena.”
“Helena?”
Tears stream down my face and I’m nodding like an idiot. “Yes. It’s me.”
“Helena. Oh my God, Helena! I didn’t think I’d hear from you.” She pauses. “Not while you were…there.”
“Oh, Amy it’s so good to just hear your voice. How are you?”
She pauses. “Helena, you know about…you received my letter?”
“The obituary. Yes.” I nod to no one. “Yes, I know. I didn’t find out until two weeks later, but I know now.”
“I wish I could have called.”
“It’s okay. It’s okay, Amy. I’m grateful you sent the letter.”
There’s an awkward silence.
“How is he?” she finally asks. “How are they?”
“He’s okay.” I leave the ‘they’ out.
“Are they…hurting you?”
“I’m okay. Sebastian is okay.”
“I know why they did it. Why mom and dad did this, I mean. They told me, finally, after they were fed up of me. I know where the money is coming from. I know why we’re making repairs on the house. Why dad bought a new car.”
Hearing this, I want to cry. This is what my life is worth.
Things.
Material things.
“I’ve even been enrolled at St. Joe’s.”
“Oh, Amy, that’s great.” My heart is sinking and the optimism in my voice is forced. She must hear it.
“No, Helena, it’s not. You’re paying for it with...with…skin.”
I can’t help the sniffle and she hears it.
“I’m leaving. I won’t be part of this,” she says.
“It could as easily have been you, Amy.”
“And you’d have stayed? Knowing the truth?”
“No.” I don’t need to think about my answer. I know I wouldn’t.
“Besides, I knew it would be you. The instant he saw you, I knew it. It was in his eyes. It was only ever you, Helena.”
Why does her saying that make me stop?
A knock on my door and Gregory peeks his head in, taps his watch, and I’m back in the present.
“I don’t have much time to talk, Amy.”
“You have to go?”
I nod even though I know she can’t see it. “Just please don’t do anything rash. Take the money and go to school. You’ll still be away from the house, from them. It’s important. You have to think about your future.”
“I can’t do that, Helena. Besides, what about your future? What happens to you after? The same thing that happened to Aunt Libby or even Aunt Helena?”
“Aunt Helena was fine.”
“She wasn’t fine. Not really.”
I think about what Sebastian said about her, how she wasn’t all there, not by the end. I think about what happened to her. About the ring on my finger.
“What will you do otherwise, Amy, if you don’t go to school?”
“Live with integrity. Besides, I didn’t say I wouldn’t go to school. I just won’t go on these terms. It’s blood money, Helena, no matter how okay you say he is to you.” I hear her sniffle and I know she’s trying to hide her tears.
Gregory steps into the room now. “Time.”
“Amy,” I start.
Gregory holds out his hand.
“Can I call you again?” she asks. “I’ll store the number.”
I look at up Gregory and I realize the catch. He’ll now have access to the one person I chose to call, the one sister I’m close with.
And maybe he’ll decide to take his own Willow Girl.
“Delete it, Amy. And block it. I’ll find another way to call you.”
Gregory watches me, his expression unreadable. Not angry, just level.
“Helena—”
But she’s cut off because he takes the phone and disconnects. He tucks it into his pocket.
“Who’s Amy?”
I try to grab the phone back. “Give me that.” I want to delete his history, delete her number. Not that it matters. He knows it’s Amy. He’ll find some way to get access to her if that’s what he wants.
He catches my arm easily.
“What do you think I’m going to do with the number exactly? Call her? Ask her out on a date? Or are you afraid I’ll take my own Willow Girl maybe?”
“She’s not yours. You can’t touch her. I’ll kill you if you touch her!”
“Kill me?” He pauses, feigns being hurt. “I was only doing you a kindness. I won’t make that mistake again.” He turns to go.
“Wait.”
He stops.
“I am grateful. I just…”
He turns back to me.
“You’re not going to do anything to her.” I don’t know if it’s a question or a statement of fact or what.
“I’m glad you could talk to her, Helena,” he says rather than answering my question.