When Niamh emptied out the ashtray with a scowl, Jonathan found himself at a loss–he had no idea what he’d said wrong this time.
“If you don’t want to talk about smoking, just pretend I never brought it up…”
His voice was gentle, careful, as if afraid to say too much.
He’d only asked because he wanted to understand her. There had been so many chances in the past, opportunities to really get to know Niamh–but he’d let every one slip away.
He didn’t want to keep making the same mistakes. Yet now, standing here, he couldn’t be sure if Niamh would ever give him another chance to learn who she
truly was.
Niamh, her back turned, had no idea what was going through his mind. She just tossed out a casual reply: “It’s nothing, really. I was a pretty rebellious kid, that’s
all…”
“You?” Jonathan blurted out, caught off guard.
In his memory, Niamh had always been the responsible one–the calm, bright, well–mannered girl. Lately, she’d added an air of sophistication and poise to the mix. “Rebellious” wasn’t a word he’d have ever imagined describing her. He couldn’t even picture it.
In spite of himself, Jonathan thought of his own childhood. “I was pretty rebellious,
too…”
Niamh turned to look at him.
Most people would have said Jonathan’s “rebellion” was just the luxury of a spoiled child. After all, he was the sole heir to the Thomas Group, born into privilege, never wanting for anything–a golden boy with the world at his feet.
But Niamh knew better. If Jonathan had really been pampered and coddled, he never would have ended up in the Aldenville Juvenile Rehabilitation Center.
She couldn’t speak for other places, but the Aldenville center, as she’d seen it, was often just a tool for the rich and powerful to punish their own children. Sure, some kids landed there for real crimes, but if you had the right parents, they’d pull strings to make your stay as easy as possible.
She remembered volunteering there, remembered Dylan swaggering around
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because his parents had paid off the right people.
But when she and Jonathan were sent to the center, they’d had no one. No favors, no visitors, no one looking out for them. On paper, their families were as powerful as anyone’s, but in reality, they were utterly alone.
No one came for Niamh. No one came for Jonathan, either.
She’d wondered, once, if Jonathan’s polite, distant relationship with Sprague Thomas and Marigold had something to do with those days in the center. But by the time she decided to divorce Jonathan, his family’s past wasn’t her concern
anymore.
“Yeah. I know,” Niamh muttered quietly.
“You know?” Jonathan echoed in surprise.
He’d half–expected her to be curious about his wild younger self. “You’d never guess
how much trouble I was back then…”
He tried for a mysterious grin, but Niamh only smiled faintly, as if she found the idea almost amusing.
Wouldn’t guess? She didn’t need to guess.
Jonathan had been the only kid in the center who flat–out refused to wear the standard–issue uniform. Every class, he’d sleep sprawled across his desk, and when the teachers woke him, he could still answer every question perfectly.
He’d dragged her out of the isolation room just to doodle all over the door with her. He’d dumped a tray of bug–riddled food over the lunch lady’s head when she tried to mess with her. He’d sent a lecherous instructor to the hospital for laying a hand on
her.
He’d snuck out in the middle of the night, scaling the fence just to catch her a firefly. He’d threatened a student who tried to steal credit for her work until the boy broke
down in tears.
She remembered everything. Every reckless, infuriating, wonderful thing.
The only one who’d forgotten was Jonathan.
He saw that soft smile fade from her face, replaced by a sadness that deepened by the second.
He lowered his gaze, a tightness swelling in his throat.
It seemed like no matter what he said, he always managed to hurt her.
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Or maybe, he thought, it wasn’t about the words at all.
