With startling agility, Jack scrambled to his feet, fury flaring in his brown eyes. He let out an angry grunt before charging at Ryan, leading with his head like a bull targeting a matador. Ryan easily sidestepped the counterattack before seizing Jack in a brutal headlock that reminded Grace of the boys’ scuffles in their younger days. Jack threw a series of haymaker punches that failed to make contact.
“Stop it!” Grace yelled as she threw herself into the middle of the skirmish. Ryan, who used a headlock to latch onto Jack’s neck, spun his younger brother in an erratic circle that eventually brought him into contact with his mother. Down went Grace, hard, and she let go a loud whoosh as air exploded from her lungs.
Ryan released his grip on Jack the instant his mother hit the floor. Immediately, his rage turned to shock and shame. Righting himself quickly, Jack scrambled over to Grace and helped her to her feet, giving her a good look at the red mark Ryan’s hold had left around his throat.
For a few tense moments, nobody spoke. Grace brushed bits of grime off her pants. She rubbed her hands clean on her blue knit sweater before straightening her hair, then checked in with her body, especially the knees, which thankfully felt fine.
“We are a family,” she said, breathing hard, her heart still racing. “Your father would be devastated to see this behavior, and I won’t tolerate it.”
“I’m sorry, Mom,” Ryan said, in a sincere apology.
“Sorry isn’t enough,” Grace answered him sharply. “From this point on, no more fighting, no more anger, no more talking to me through a closed bedroom door, no more disrespecting this family.”
“But the restaurant…”
“Oh, enough with the restaurant,” Grace snapped. “Your father’s gone, so he’s not here to tell you what I know he’d say. Family first. Do you hear me?”
Ryan shifted his gaze to his feet, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his pants. Jack hovered nearby, trying to catch his breath.
“Your sister comes before the business,” Grace continued. “If we have to close this place down because we’re out of money, so be it. I’ll turn the key in the front lock one last time and won’t regret for a single second my decision to put Penny above the family legacy. Not one single second.” Grace paused to try and regain her composure, but it was to no avail. Anger swirled inside her like something molten.
“If you so wish, please help us keep the lights on here, as best you can, but you need a big-time attitude adjustment, and it needs to happen starting right now.” She pointed her finger in front of his face, using it to punctuate her decree to Ryan, as if the words were floating before his eyes. “No more outbursts or pissing and moaning about any of this.” She gestured to the empty restaurant. “Penny is locked up in a wretched place, and she might end up somewhere even worse, for the rest of her life … forever. So spare me your attitude. Honestly, I don’t have the time or the patience for it.”
Without another word, Grace threw open the front door and stormed out into a humid, gray summer day.
CHAPTER 35
“HOW YOU DOING, EVE?”
Mitch got a thumbs-up sign from the girl in the doorway, along with confirmation that it wasn’t Penny or any of her other alters who’d come to see him. He noted how Eve had a slight hitch to her step as she entered the therapy room, and observed the ring of blue-and-red bruises, mixed together in a watercolor palette, that encircled her neck like a collar.
After getting settled in her seat, Eve craned her head back and kept a lookout until the guard gently closed the door behind him. This was her first time in the therapy room since the attack, and Mitch was on high alert for signs of traumatic stress, extra anxiety, any indications she might be suffering PTSD. It was Ruby and Penny, not Eve, who’d been attacked, yet somehow she knew what had happened to her. Naturally, that got Mitch’s curiosity radar pinging. Was her memory retrieval conveniently selective or was it another indication of consciousness leaking?
“I told the CO to remain outside until we’re through,” he said. “Darla is still in restrictive housing, so I don’t want you to be nervous.”
Eve giggled and gave an eye roll that reminded Mitch she was only a teenager.
“‘Restrictive housing’？ Are you buying into Whitmore’s soft-tone crap? Next you’ll start calling us ‘guests.’” She cocked her head to one side, stuck out her tongue, and scrunched up her face as if to say everything here was crazy. Her expression reverted to normal Eve. “Really, Dr. Mitch. Call it what it is, please … solitary confinement.”