Chapter 2

Two Weeks Later

I sat at the long side of the big dining room table, with Dad at one end and Andrew at the other end. It was amusing: Dad, apparently, had taken to heart that thing he’d read in a magazine a few months ago, about having family dinners now and then to “solidify relationships.” Like a little hearty dinner talk every Sunday would make up for years of benign indifference.

Melville carried in a steaming platter of prime rib from the kitchen. “Yum.” I speared a piece of medium and added it to the broccoli and other sides on my plate.

Andrew and Father were in a conversation over some details of Dad’s business. Andrew was going to take a management-trainee job with Cameron Industries next year. I wondered whether Andrew’s seemingly inexhaustible supply of wild oats would be used up by then. While they talked, I took some salad from the bowl, ignoring the potatoes. I’d been avoiding starches, among various other classes of foods.

Andrew said, “Amy and I went ahead and got those genetic tests Friday, Dad...”

Hey, wait! I didn’t know that Andrew had gone in for testing, too. I started to ask him about it, but stopped when I saw the look on Father’s face. Dad was positively beaming.

He pounded a fist on the table. “That’s great! That’s great! I’m really glad you two have worked out your differences. I’ve been noticing it in the last month or so, but this really tops it off. Marriage is a wonderful thing. It’ll be nice to see the family start growing.”

I looked quickly back and forth between Andrew and Father, confused.

What the hell was Dad talking about? Then it all came clear in my mind, the way it all connected together. I nearly inhaled the lettuce I’d been about to swallow. I coughed in a panic, choking. Melville came behind me, hitting my back. “Heimlich, Miss Amy?”

I finally coughed the lettuce out, and held up my hand, and rasped, “Sorry, I’m okay, I’m okay.” The others were looking at me—Andrew had that smirk again, now that he saw I was safe. I coughed again. “Really, I’m all right. It’s over.”

That was why Andrew was so hot on the idea of me getting tested. Somehow I’d missed the obvious. Why hadn’t I been sufficiently suspicious to begin with? Sure, a lot of people had the testing, for some good reasons that didn’t apply to me. It’s all just a voluntary thing. It’s just for information, to eliminate some worries. The only people who were required to have it...

The genetic tests were only required when siblings planned to have children. It ensured that they weren’t both carrying a recessive genetic defect that would show up in the babies.

I tried to clear my head, while Andrew and Dad resumed their conversation. Andrew had gone back to asking about Dad’s business, aiming the tiniest smile in my direction, daring me to bring the conversation back to its previous subject.

Andrew’s been telling Dad we might get married and start a family together—and now Dad thinks I’ve agreed to it! I’ve got to straighten this out!

I opened my mouth to speak, and stopped myself just in time. The conversation would be difficult to complete without mentioning my Academy plans—and if I didn’t, Andrew probably would, especially if I was wrecking whatever scheme Andrew had cooked up. Maybe he wouldn’t, but I couldn’t take the chance. And Andrew knew that. That was what the little smile was about. He’d wanted to taunt me by talking to Dad about the match right in front of me, knowing how Dad would react, and knowing I couldn’t afford to say anything to contradict Dad’s current impression.

I should have seen the signs. Ever since that day, when I came home from the mall following my major makeover, and Andrew, for the first time in his life, had looked like he had the hots for me ... I squeezed my eyes closed. The way he looks at me in my room from the hallway sometimes, so I started closing my door more often. The way...

Oh no! I almost groaned out loud, remembering another thing I’d been ignoring.

“Dad, I, uhh ... Well, I’d feel better if I could lie down for awhile.”

He gave me an understanding look. “Of course, sweetheart. Will you be back down for dessert?”

“I’ll ... uhh, I’ll try. Sorry to wreck dinner.”

Dad held up his hands. “Don’t even think about it. We’re just glad you’re okay. Come back down if you feel like it.”

I nodded, turned and forced myself to walk slowly from the room. When I reached the stairs, I took them two at a time, trying to be quiet so they wouldn’t know how panicked I felt. I checked my computer, and sure enough, there was a notification from the site that they’d found me a match, with a picture and biography for Andrew. Yecch!

I tiptoed down the hall to Andrew’s room, and tried to calm my heart. I just had to check one thing, and it would only take a few seconds.

Years ago, when Andrew had been—oh, fifteen or so, I’d started hearing strange noises from his room—odd, breathless grunts, really. I’d laughed when kids at school had explained it to me. Exploring his room later, I’d discovered, under his bed just out of sight, a magazine, turned to a picture of a voluptuous naked woman with bunny ears. She had such a clear “Come here, I want you” look on her face it may as well have been written there in visible letters. The next day, my twelve-tear-old classmates and I had giggled over the idea and pretended to stick our fingers down our throats.

Andrew never found out I’d discovered his secret vice, and he had stopped doing it several years ago, when his fantasy girls had been replaced with any number of real ones. Suddenly, lately, very quietly so that only ears that were familiar with the sound could have picked it up, Andrew had started doing it again.

It’s probably in that same place. Old habits.

I got on my knees, reached under the bed, and closed my fingers on a single sheet of paper. I turned it right side up and looked at it, and felt a sudden violent chill as I focused on the image on the page. It was essentially what I had suspected. Only worse. A lot worse.

It was a picture of me, as I’d anticipated. Andrew had taken this picture me and others, just last week at high school graduation. In several shots I was beaming at the camera in my cap and gown. Andrew had suggested I take off the regalia and drape it over my arm.

I’d been fully dressed under the gown. I was going to a party with some of the girls from school that evening to celebrate, and had worn my favorite cute lacy top, showing lots of cleavage, and a short skirt, knowing nobody could tell how much informality the gown was covering, and not wanting to bother to change outfits before I went to the party. I was grinning at the camera, so happy that day I didn’t care who was holding it. That was the picture I was holding in my hands now.

The knowledge that Andrew had been masturbating to a picture of me was bad enough. But he’d done a little digital manipulation to the image before printing it.

In the picture, I was wearing a slave collar. Marriage was not an accurate description of what Andrew had in mind.

I had no idea how long I’d been standing there, holding the picture. I heard a noise and whirled around. Andrew was standing in the doorway, glaring at me.

If he’d expected me to fly into a guilty panic at being found in his room, he was profoundly disappointed. In a tight, raspy whisper that owed nothing to my earlier choking, I said slowly, “Close—the—door!”

Andrew looked so surprised at my reaction that he actually began to back into the hallway. I shot him an exasperated look, my teeth clenched. “No, you ass! Close it behind you! Close it with you in here!”

Andrew seemed to be recovering some of his characteristic disdain during the time it took to follow my order. The smirk was nearly back. “Found what you were looking for, I see.”

I took a couple of deep breaths, and spat out the words through a tight jaw. “Andrew, there is no way I’d marry you, and I’m sure as hell not going to be your slave!” I shook the picture at him.

Andrew held up both hands in a conciliatory gesture. “Fine, fine, just keep it down, okay?”

In a slightly lower voice, I said, “Okay, I’ll keep it down, but only because I’ve got my own reasons. I don’t give a shit what you want.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Is that what I get for offering to help you?”

“Help me?? How??”

“Will you let me talk?”

I stared at him, as if daring him to make a move and risk getting his arm torn off. “Go on.”

Patiently, but as if he had to feel his way along that unfamiliar virtue, he started, “Look, I want the same thing you do. I’m probably just better at thinking out the what-ifs than you are.” He stopped, waiting for an interruption. I just kept glaring at him, so he continued.

“Nothing’s changed ... Amy. I do want you to go to the Academy. And you know why.”

Cautiously I said, “Well, of course. The money.”

He nodded. “Duh. There’s no reason to lie about that.”

“Like you lied about why you wanted me to register for a match?”

He grinned and shrugged. “Would you have done it if I’d told you why?”

“Of course not!”

“Well, there you go. I had a reason to lie. I don’t have one for saying I want you at the Academy. It’s obviously in my interest.”

I threw up my hands. “Then what the hell is this all about? Why do you want Dad to think we’re getting married?”

“I told you. I’m thinking about what-ifs, before it’s too late. I swear I won’t say a word to dad about the Academy, and when you tell him I’ll support you. But what does happen if you don’t get in?”

“I will get in.”

“Amy, get a grip for just a minute. Everybody who applies thinks they’re getting in. A lot of them don’t. Most of them don’t. Then what? What happens when you get that rejection? Go running to that guy, what’s his name, Scott? The guy you met at the mall? Get a little comfort from him? Get married to him?”

I sighed, exasperated. “I’ve been with him like three times. It’s just for fun. He knows we’re not getting married because of...” I stopped, blinking.