Once upon a time—nine years ago, to be exact—I didn’t know anything about the Family Business. My parents wanted it this way, and since my father was the head of the Family, his wishes were obeyed without question. My childhood was spent being loved and coddled by members of my family and members of the Family—I was taken for walks by Father’s second-in- command, flew kites with his enforcers, and played board games with my older brother, Carter. I was constantly told I was the most precious person on the estate . . . and the most fragile. These were the twin truths that governed the first eight years of my life.

My innocence and ignorance ended on a day that started like so many others, with me skipping down the hallway that connected my family’s house with the Family clinic. This story became part of family lore, and even the parts I couldn’t possibly remember feel vivid and full of Father’s storytelling details.

But I remember the beginning. I remember spotting a girl sit- ting cross-legged on the floor outside a closed door. She had red hair, a frilly blue dress, and a smile. She was holding a picture book, and even though she was older than I was, she struggled to sound out the simple words and read them aloud.

I approached the girl, curious. The only children I ever saw were the kids of other members of the Families, but they were all boys, except for Magnolia Vickers. And she was “too wild” to be my playmate.

“Can you help me?” the girl asked, and so I did. After looking up and down the hallway to make sure no one could catch me sitting on a hard floor—I sank down next to her and read the book about a raven-haired princess who ate a poisoned apple and fell into an enchanted sleep. It was one of my favorites.

The girl squeezed me tightly in a sideways hug and looked at the pictures over my shoulder.

Even back then I knew I should tell the girl to let go, but it was so nice to be hugged. I just smiled and turned a page.

When the door opened and two tall, suited gentlemen emerged, we beamed up at them and I asked, “Daddy, do you know Kelly?” As usual, Father’s first reaction was to scan me from head totoe, taking a visual inventory of my well-being. On this day, his eyes focused on the arms twined tightly around my neck. His posture stiffened with alarm.

“Yes, I do. Kelly, please be careful with Penny.”


“She’s fine,” I said.


“Careful” was my least favorite word. I leaned defiantly intoKelly’s embrace.

“Penny’s my friend,” insisted Kelly, tugging a little harder on my neck, hard enough that I must have winced or flinched, done something that made both men spring into action and untangle Kelly’s arms from me.

The other man hugged her to his side. “You can’t touch Penel- ope. She’s . . . easy to break.”

I scowled. “What is Kelly doing here? Can we keep her?”

The men laughed and shook their heads.
“We were in that room discussing Kelly. She needs a kidney,” Father answered.


I sucked on my finger while I considered this. “She needs it?”

“Yes,” said the other man. He bent and kissed the top ofKelly’s head. “Very badly.”


“Can we give her one?” I asked Father.


“We can,” he said.


“Then you’d better or I’ll never talk to you again.” I punctuated my threat with a small wet finger pointed at him, and both men laughed again. I failed to see the humor. My world was still simple back then, I still believed in black-and-white logic: if Kelly needed a kidney, she should have it—just like when I “needed” a new dress or unicorn statue, all I had to do was tell my par- ents and one would appear in my room.

“Then, Bob, I guess your daughter’s getting a kidney.” Father held a hand out for the other man to shake. “It shouldn’t take me long to locate a match. I’ll be in touch.”

“Thank you,” Kelly’s father said. Then he bent to look at me. “Thank you too. I owe you . . .” He trailed off, swallowed, then managed a smile.

“You’re welcome, Bob,” I answered.

 “Oh, no, missy,” scolded Father. “That’s Senator Forman to you.”

“You’re welcome, Senator Forman,” I corrected, but mouthed the word “Bob” behind Father’s back, earning a less-sad smile and a wink from the other man. “Have fun with your kidney, Kelly!”

Our dads stopped Kelly when she reached for another hug. They insisted we say good-bye by blowing kisses and waving. Then Father steered me down the corridor.

“Come on, Penelope. You’re late for Dr. Castillo.” He gently tugged at the collar of my shirt and frowned at the purple marks emerging on my neck. “And I want him to take a look at these new bruises.”

I twitched my shirt out of Father’s hand and sighed. I loved Dr. Castillo but hated his needles.

There were far too many needles in my life. Far, far too many bruises.