Frank and Michelle

The next morning, in what had become a routine, I was woken up by Conroy jumping on my chest and snuggling up to my face; instead of getting up right away, however, I stayed in bed a bit. It was a Sunday, so I had plenty of time before I actually needed to get up, and after what had happened the previous day I didn’t really feel up to facing the day anyway.

I wallowed in feeling miserable while petting Conroy for at least half an hour, until he started swatting at my hands and fingers and nibbling on them, a clear signal that he wanted to be fed. I got up, reluctantly, and quickly threw on some clothes before making my way downstairs.

Michelle was sitting at the living room table, dressed just in a nightgown and a robe, nursing a mug of coffee; her eyes were sunken and bloodshot, and her hair was a mess – she looked like she hadn’t gotten any sleep the previous night.

“...Good morning,” I said, in a neutral tone.

She looked up at me. “Please sit down, Frank,” she said. “We need to talk.”

This didn’t bode well. But then again, I couldn’t just avoid the conversation, could I? I pulled back a chair and started to sit down.

Conroy meowed, and we both turned to look at him: he was standing beside the kitchen door, staring a demanding stare at us. I turned to Michelle, and she understood the question in my eyes.

“Go on, else we’ll never be able to talk in peace,” she said, with a small, weary smile. I went to the kitchen, filled the cat’s bowl with kibble, then walked back to the living room and sat down at the table as Conroy started munching on his breakfast.

Michelle was leaning on the table, looking at her mug clasped between her hands, not meeting my eyes. The silence stretched on and on, apparently neither of us wanted to be the first to start talking. After what had probably been only a few minutes, but had felt like several hours, I decided to take the initiative.

“Em--”

“I’ve been thinking,” she cut me off. “About yesterday. About Danny.”

She fell silent again. I could see the turmoil in her eyes. She was clearly thinking about how to say what she was about to say.

Then she lifted her gaze from the mug, looked at me in the eyes. “You deserve better than this, Frank.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

Michelle took a deep breath. “Listen, I… I care about you. A lot.” She kept looking at me. “I know I said I couldn’t tell you about what happened between me and Danny, but… I’m scared. I’m afraid of losing you, Frank. Of losing what we have.”

Her gaze was filled with determination now. “And if I hide my past from you, I’m afraid it will drive a wedge between us. And I won’t allow Danny to do that.”

I was floored by what she’d said. She cared about me? A lot? Did she mean as a friend, or…? And what about she and Danny

Before I could collect my thoughts Michelle continued. “But you need to promise me one thing before I tell you.”

My mind still spinning, I nodded. “Anything.”

“No matter what I say, don’t do anything about Danny. Especially not for my sake.” She stared me dead in the eyes again. “He can be dangerous, Frank. I’m not kidding about this. We were unlucky to run into him yesterday, but if we don’t go looking for him he probably won’t come looking for us. What happened between me and him is in the past, let’s let sleeping dogs lie.”

I digested what she’d said. Don’t do anything about Danny. I could do that. I still had a grudge about the day before, about what he’d said to Michelle, but in the end, this was her battle; she was asking me not to interfere, and I had to respect that.

I nodded again. “Okay. I promise.”

Michelle took a deep breath, leaned back into her chair, and let out a long sigh. Then she steeled her resolve, and spoke.

“Danny is my brother.”

My mouth opened to say something, but nothing came out. I closed it, then opened it again, then closed it again. I could feel my brain trying to catch up with my ears, to comprehend what she’d just said.

“He’s your brother?” was what I said in the end, in a disbelieving tone of voice.

Michelle gave a nod, while trying to keep a neutral face; her eyes betrayed the turmoil that her mind was going through, though. “Half brother, to be precise. Same mum, different dads,” she said.

“But he doesn’t look anything like you!” I protested. “And he’s, like, ten years older than you are!” Dumb as they may sound, those were the first objections that came to mind.

“Twelve, actually,” Michelle replied. “And you can’t see the family resemblance because, well...” she gestured down at herself. “But I assure you it’s there. About ten years ago we looked like twins.”

I was speechless. That guy was Michelle’s brother. I could scarcely believe it. The only reason I didn't reject the idea completely was because Em wouldn't lie to me, not about something like this.

“And also,” Michelle said, and then took a deep breath again before continuing, “He’s the reason I ended up in jail.”

No, wait. Now I was speechless. The level of disbelief I was experiencing was nothing like I’d ever felt before.

Again the silence stretched. I didn’t know what to say, really. In the end I settled on asking a question.

“What did he do?”

“Stabbed a bloke in the street at night to steal his wallet,” came the reply. “You know how I said we looked like twins? Well he used that to let me take the blame. I was with Will and Pete when he did the deed, but they were quick to confirm that Danny was the one who was with them, actually, so I had no alibi. Oh, and he planted the bloody knife and the wallet in my rucksack, so the cops found them when they searched me.”

Her eyes turned dark. “They gave me ten years, I got out after seven for good behaviour, though I’m still on parole; I have to check in with my parole officer in person once a week. And I’m lucky the guy Danny stabbed didn’t die, or I’d have been looking at life.”

I was angry with Danny before, but now I was furious. Absolutely mad, out of my mind with rage. If Danny had been right there, right that moment, I have no doubt I would have torn him apart. My voice was deadly calm, though, when I asked, “And why did he do that?”

“Best guess?” said Michelle, and she turned her gaze away from me, to give a faraway stare out of the window. “He probably couldn’t handle that his little brother was actually his little sister. I’d just come out to him and the rest of my close family the week before, and they’d all assured me it was alright, they didn’t mind, and all that jazz.” I could see her eyes were moist. “Not really, as it turned out.”

I looked at Michelle for a few moments, then got up from my chair, closed the small distance to hers, and hugged her. Really tight. She was tense at first, but then I felt her relax, and she wrapped her arms around me, reciprocating the embrace.

“I’m sorry, Em,” I whispered. “I’m so, so sorry.”

We stayed there like that for many long minutes, without any more words, before she broke the embrace.

“Thank you, Frank,” she said, looking at me with tearful eyes. “I needed that.”

“Anytime,” I replied. “There’s more where that came from.”

She chuckled.

“Now, about Danny,” I continued.

Michelle looked up at me in surprise. “Frank, you promised…” she began.

“I know, and I won’t break my promise,” I cut her off. “I will not go looking for him. But,” and I locked my eyes with hers, “if I meet him by chance, then all bets are off.”

Michelle considered that for a few seconds, then gave a hesitant nod. “Okay, can’t really argue with that.”

“Good,” I replied.

We were silent for a while, then Michelle gave a big yawn, which she barely stifled. She smiled at me. “Do you mind fixing lunch today, Frank? And waking me up when it’s ready in like, three hours or so? I really need to go take a nap right now, didn’t sleep a wink last night.”

I nodded. “Alright.”

I watched her as she walked up the stairs. I had no idea she had been through so much. But she seemed to be fine now. Well, except when she met her idiot brother.

As I sat down on the couch with a book and Conroy jumped on my lap, my thought was that the less I saw of her family, the better it would be.

The universe, it seems, has a sense of humour.

That very afternoon I was on the couch again, watching a random TV show; Michelle had set up her laptop on the living room table and was catching up with some work she’d taken home when the doorbell rang. I went to answer, and found myself face to face with a woman; she was probably in her late twenties or early thirties, with long brown hair and light eyes, dressed simply in a skirt and top and jacket. She did a double take when she saw me, looked at the street number hanging beside our door as if to check she’d gotten the right address, then looked back at me.

“May I help you?” I asked.

“Um…” she hesitated, then asked: “Is Michelle home?”

I turned back and called over my shoulder. “Em, there’s someone here for you.”

When Michelle came to the door she clearly recognised the woman, and her eyes turned steely hard.

“Hi, Michelle,” the woman said.

“Jennifer,” was Michelle’s ice-cold reply.

“You’re… Looking good.”

“Thank you. So are you.” The ice was still there; it was like a layer of frost on each syllable.

They were silent for a few moments, just staring at each other; Jennifer was the one who broke the silence. “May I come in?”

Michelle just barely hesitated, only for a second, before saying “No,” and she started to close the door.

“It’s about mum,” Jennifer said.

Michelle paused, the door open just a crack.

“What about her?”

“Please, let me come in and talk. You owe her at least that much.” Jennifer’s voice was pleading.

Michelle seemed to consider the words, then sighed and opened the door again, gesturing for Jennifer to come in, and turned to me.

“Frank, this is Jennifer. My sister, as much as I wish she weren’t. Jennifer, Frank.”

I just nodded in response.

“Frank, be a dear and put the kettle on, will you?” asked Michelle. “I’m afraid this will take a while.”