“Mama? Are you up here?”
Hearing the agitation in Sierra’s voice, Twyla took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. She wasn’t looking forward to this talk. “Back here.” When her daughter walked into the second of the two bedrooms, she kept her voice calm, conversational. “The other bedroom has the door to the porch. Better if you have that one and put Bonnie and Carrie in here.”
“I heard Ruth and Merri Lee talking about jobs that needed to be filled in the Courtyard, including a secretarial position in the consulate, so I went over to talk to Elliot Wolfgard. Why did you tell him not to hire me? It’s a good job, Mama, and I’m qualified for it.”
“You have the typing skills and the rest that’s needed for an office,” Twyla agreed. “But if you’re thinking you’d get paid more for that job than working at the coffee shop or the library or helping clean shops and offices, then you’d be wrong. Everyone who lives in the Courtyard is expected to do a job according to their abilities, so everyone is paid the same hourly rate, except, maybe, the folks who actually run the businesses. I heard you might get a cash bonus in your pay envelope if the Business Association is pleased with your work, but that’s the only difference in pay.”
She could see by Sierra’s expression that the girl hadn’t taken in that difference between working for the Others and working for a human company.
“That’s beside the point,” Sierra said, rallying. “Why did you tell him not to hire me?”
“Because you lied to me,” Twyla replied quietly. Seeing the guilty look on Sierra’s face, she nodded, feeling her heart grow heavy with sorrow but also heated by a touch of anger. “And you cheated the Others who sheltered us during that storm.”
“I didn’t!”
“You told me you didn’t know how to reach Cyrus, that he didn’t leave a phone number. You told Crispin the same thing. Mr. Simon and Mr. Vlad were quite clear that local calls could be made on the telephones in the stores, but we were expected to make long-distance calls on our mobile phones or use pay phones—or receive permission before making a call. I heard you making a call, child. Heard how many numbers you pressed and knew it wasn’t a local call.”
“I can’t afford to buy time on my mobile phone right now,” Sierra said. “And it was just a phone call. The Others can afford it.”
“And that’s just the kind of thing Cyrus says to justify taking what isn’t his,” Twyla snapped. “And hearing you saying what he would say is exactly the reason I told Mr. Elliot not to hire you. You think I don’t know why you lost at least two good jobs? You think I don’t know that Cyrus came around and talked you into doing something you knew was wrong? Maybe you said no the first time he asked. Maybe even the second. But you’ve always listened to him more than you’ve listened to your daddy and me. He’s like a poison to you, getting what he wants and leaving you with the consequences. Cyrus doesn’t suffer when you lose a good job. He may be inconvenienced because one of his sources temporarily dries up, but he doesn’t suffer. The ones who pay are you and your children. Do you ever think about your girls when he comes calling, wanting you to steal supplies or tell him some confidential information that he can use to his advantage? He’s buying drugs and booze and ignoring his own wife and children while you’re struggling to scrape up enough money to put a meal in front of your girls.”
“Jimmy is my brother. We’re supposed to help family,” Sierra cried.
Twyla had never understood why so many people, including her children, couldn’t be satisfied with the name they were given. But her husband, James, had started it in their own family by calling their firstborn CJ instead of Crispin James. That had lasted all through the boy’s schooling until he went to the police academy. Then he became Monty to his friends and colleagues. Cyrus James, on the other hand, had decided on Jimmy as his preferred name from the moment he could talk. And Sierra had ended up being called Sissy by her brothers, a word Twyla suspected meant something different for each boy—for one a term of affection, for the other a term of derision.
“Aren’t your own children also family, Sierra?” Twyla asked quietly. “Don’t you owe them at least as much loyalty as you show the brother who has never done a single thing for you?”
“He did a lot, gave up a lot.”
“It’s best if we don’t have that discussion.” She had fought that battle all the years Sierra was growing up, had felt the frustration of knowing Cyrus had somehow gotten under Sierra’s skin so deep that nothing she or James or Crispin had been able to do or say could dislodge Cyrus’s influence. Away from him, the girl was bright, loving, a good mother, and a steady employee. But everything Sierra knew about right and wrong collapsed when Cyrus showed up.
“You betrayed your employers,” Twyla continued. “You’ve lied more than once to me or Crispin or your daddy when he was still alive. Most of the time you’re not a liar or a cheat. But I suspect you’ve told Cyrus enough about the Courtyard that he’s on his way here, thinking to get a handout.”
She studied her daughter. Sierra had been two years old when she and James adopted her. Crispin had been twelve, Cyrus nine. One boy had embraced having a little sister; the other boy had resented her from the day she’d come into their home. Maybe it was human nature to want to please the person who rejects you, who wants you to prove you deserve to be loved. Maybe. But no matter what Sierra did or how much she gave, Cyrus would never love his little sister. It was a hard truth for a mother to admit, but Cyrus James Montgomery had never loved anyone but himself.
“You’re a grown woman,” Twyla said, feeling tired. “If this was just another job, I would have left the decision between you and Mr. Elliot about whether he wanted you to work for him. But this isn’t just another job. Mr. Elliot deals with the mayor and the rest of the city’s government. I reckon there’s plenty of information that might be worth some money to the wrong people. Cyrus would know that, and it never takes him long to find the wrong people. And it wouldn’t take him long to apply whatever hold he has on you to do wrong for him. But this time, girl, you wouldn’t just lose a job and a place to live; you wouldn’t just be taking food away from your children. The Others have their own way of dealing with betrayal, and it’s harsher than receiving a pink slip.”
“CJ wasn’t being fair,” Sierra said. “He could have sent Jimmy the train fare if he’d wanted to, but Jimmy had to flee Toland on his own.”
Twyla noticed there was no mention of Cyrus’s wife or children. “He’s on his way here?”