Truth Be Told

by Marie James

  “He’s my dad?” he snaps, keeping his eyes on mine as if he doesn’t want to miss the second I’m forced to choose between the charade or the truth.

  “Y-yes,” I manage on a sob. My tears no longer hold the weight they used to. The sight of them on my face doesn’t make him hang his head like they’ve done in the past when I’ve grown too tired and frustrated to keep them at bay until he’s asleep.

  He’s looking at me like he’s never seen my face before. I’m no longer his mother. I’m the woman who lied about one of the most important things in his life, and forgiveness is a long time away, if it is even a possibility.

  “Alex, I—”

  He shoves past Ignacio and runs down the front steps, but when I move to go after him, the man that caused so many problems by popping back up out of the blue grabs my arm, preventing me from chasing my child.

  “Let me go!” I snap, struggling to get away from him.

  Of course, he doesn’t. That would mean he isn’t in control, and that power is all this man has ever focused on. When we were younger, it didn’t matter what the choices were, he was always the one to make the final decision—from if he was going to have me in the front seat of his granddad’s truck or bent over the tailgate, if I was going to be on my knees or on my back. If he wanted to go to a party, that’s where we ended up. If he felt like pizza, I’d have to get a burger some other time. I see it now for the control and manipulation it was, but at the time I was okay with it, knowing he’d always make the best decisions. Being a little bossy and telling me what I was going to do and not going to do was thrilling when I was a teen. My job was to please him and keep him happy. In hindsight, it was probably part of his game, part of the thrill he’d brag about to his friends after he dropped me off at home. I was nothing more than a challenge, a test to see how far he could push things with me, how much I’d take from him. I lapped it up like a starved dog, begging him for more.

  God, I was such a fool.

  “You need to calm down. He doesn’t want to see you right now,” Ignacio says, his voice calmer than the waves of aggravation I physically feel rolling off his skin.

  I know going after Alex right now is a bad idea. I don’t know that the kid will ever want to sit down with me and discuss this situation, so I do the only thing I can think of and turn all my anger, all the pain and suffering, all the shortcomings and disappointments that have happened to me since that night in his truck back on to him.

  I stop short of beating my fists on his chest because even though my mind is a swarm of questions and scenarios, I know getting violent with him will cause me problems later on if we end up in family court.

  “You,” I snap, “do not get to just show up after all this time and start making decisions for my son.”

  “Just show up? You make it fucking sound like I’ve ignored my parental duties while smoking crack and breaking the law, only to have found Jesus and remembered I have a child.” He steps in closer, and somehow I manage to stand my ground. I don’t miss the flare of heat in his eyes. He always loved it when I challenged him. “I would’ve never left you if I knew you were pregnant. You lied to me. This is on your shoulders, not mine. Given the opportunity to be a father, I would’ve done the best I could.”

  “We don’t need you. He doesn’t need you. He’s been fine without a dad.” Even with the turmoil my lies have caused, I can’t seem to keep more from spilling from my lips.

  “He’s been fine?” His eyes dart down the sidewalk in the direction Alex disappeared. “He’s fucking suspended right now, and from the interaction I had with him briefly at the school, I’d say it’s far from the first time. Please explain to me how any of that means he’s fine.”

  “The man has a point.”

  As if my day could get any worse.

  My angry tears have now transformed into ones of complete despair as I shift my body so my mother can see out the front door. A weak smile plays on her lips at the sight of Ignacio on her porch.

  “Mr. Torres, it’s wonderful to see you. I see time has been on your side. You’re as handsome as ever.”

  He somehow manages to keep that familiar smug look under control as he greets my mother.

  “Mrs. Holland, it’s nice to see you again.”

  “Brooke, please. Would you like to come in?” Mom offers, but Ignacio doesn’t make a move to enter the house.

  His eyes find mine, asking for permission, and when I don’t give it to him, he redirects his energy back to Mom.

  “Maybe another day,” he says before glancing back up at me. “This conversation isn’t over.”

  With a quick nod of his head, he walks away, climbs in his truck, and makes a U-turn in the middle of the street to head in the direction Alex went.

  I don’t know that letting him go after our son is the best thing, but I know Alex wouldn’t listen to me right now if I truly was the last person on earth. Hopefully, Ignacio doesn’t make this situation even worse than it already is.

  “What?” I ask Mom as I step back inside and close the door. “No I told you so?”

  “Give me time, dear,” she teases. “I’m just waking up.”

  Even the smile on her face replacing the grimace of pain normally there doesn’t have the power to lighten my mood.

  “This is really bad.”

  “You knew it would be.”

  That’s true. I knew if he ever came back, Alex would be livid, but when I told the lies, my son was happy and healthy. He had my dad and everything he could’ve needed. He smiled every day, his laugh familiar and at the ready at all times. The truth then probably wouldn’t have had as much of an impact as it did today when he’s in trouble at school and struggling with things he refuses to speak to me about.

  I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know how to apologize for what I’ve done.

  What I do know is that things are going to get much worse before they get better.

  Chapter 9

  Ignacio

  I know finding Alex by driving up and down the streets in the neighborhood is a long shot. The chance is greater that he went to a friend’s house or is hiding out in one of the plentiful abandoned properties around here, but I can’t not look for him.

  I spend the next twenty minutes driving around, up and down streets so slowly, if I were in a nicer area, several calls about a suspicious man would’ve already been called into 911. The people around here don’t care. Unless I’m bothering them directly, then they don’t pay much attention. It’s how so many crimes go unsolved. People have too many of their own problems. Worrying about others just isn’t a priority.

  Somehow, though, luck seems to be on my side because I find the angry boy leaning up against the large window of a shabby convenience store. The scowl on his young face is so familiar it’s like I’m looking at myself in the mirror. How did I miss the resemblance when he knocked into me at school? It just solidifies that people see what they want to see, unable to read into much of anything unless they’re specifically looking for it.

  Parking my truck within my line of sight, I turn off the engine and climb out, making sure my truck beeps in confirmation that it’s locked. Getting broken into around here wouldn’t be surprising, and although I have great insurance, just the hassle of having to deal with something like that makes me more cautious.

  I don’t speak to him when he notices me as I approach, and he doesn’t cuss me out and dart away either. As far as I see, that’s some form of progress already.

  I may have been a wild, pissed-off teen once before, but I never tried to reason with one. If memory serves correctly, there is no reasoning with an emotional young person with out-of-control hormones. Puberty for me was brutal, and I imagine it is for Alex as well.

  Several older-looking boys exit the store, stopping for a moment to talk with Alex. Something I did more times than I can count happens right before my eyes. They chat, give bro slaps on each others’ back as they lean in close to each other. The knowledge that
my twelve-year-old son could be dealing drugs hits me in the chest like an anvil. It’s not unheard of around here for kids so young to be tangled up in something so criminal because this area breeds shit like that, but knowing my son could be in the middle of something so harmful and devious is an eye-opening thing to observe in person.

  It makes me wonder as I close the distance between us if things would be different if I was around from the beginning. I know Tinley does her best. The information Wren sent proved that she’s just as determined now as she was when we were younger. She’s always kept a job, sometimes working more than one to make ends meet after her dad passed. I know she’s taking care of her sick mother all the while trying to get control of a child that already thinks he’s too old to be parented.

  I know all of this just as much as I know that being in his life from birth would mean that my child wouldn’t be outside shooting the shit with deviants when he should be in school. He wouldn’t be in my old neighborhood acting the exact same way I did even without my influence.

  The older guys look me up and down, assessing me, no doubt trying to figure out why a man in designer clothes, having climbed out of a damn nice truck, is walking up to this gas station like he owns the place. I know approaching Alex while he’s in front of peers is risky. I know it’ll make him stand taller, act differently than he would if he were alone, and I’m prepared for that.

  The other guys grin at me, one rubbing his hands together like he has set his eyes on a chump that’s about to be rolled, but he cowers a little when my steps don’t falter. I show no sign of fear or anxiety as I step up to them.

  But before I can open my mouth to greet the small group, Alex speaks up. “I’ll catch you guys later.”

  When the other guys nod and walk away, I realize things are much worse than I thought. From the actions of the others, it’s clear my twelve-year-old son has more power in this situation than I gave him credit for. He isn’t the follower. He isn’t the one being manipulated. There’s a good chance he’s some sort of ringleader, and that idea kills me because I know what it takes to be in that position of power in an area where every person is fighting and clawing to make a name for themselves.

  This place breeds criminals, giving those without a voice, those without the chance of a better future something to work towards. I hate this for him. I hate everything about this situation, and it all boils down to the hateful words I said that night in my truck. Not only did I break both my and Tinley’s hearts, but I also set into motion the situation that has the power to ruin the life of our child.

  I don’t speak to him as I prop myself against the wall beside him, even when uneasiness settles inside of me for once again putting myself in a position I never thought I’d be in.

  I may not be able to get the kid to leave with me or go home, but at least with me being here, I know he’s a little safer than he would be on his own.

  People go in and come out of the store, but no one stops to chat. I ignore the huffs coming from Alex when one guy looks like he wants to approach but spots me and keeps on walking. It makes me even more certain that my kid is a fucking drug dealer. The only positive is that he must not be doing it at school, or he hasn’t been caught yet. Drugs on campus is one thing Mike Branford would never tolerate. The man made that clear to me the first day of freshman year when rumors started to swirl around about how I was able to get anything and everything one could ever need for a good time.

  My eyes narrow when a dark SUV pulls up, blocking the gas pumps even though it’s clear the driver has no intention of fueling up.

  My hands turn into fists at my sides when I see Cedric Ramirez round the front of his vehicle, his eyes set on me before they sweep over to Alex.

  “Hey, kid,” he says as he walks closer. “I heard there might be some trouble out here.”

  “No trouble,” Alex assures him as Cedric’s eyes look back in my direction.

  If this man was sent to check up on a man outside of the store with Alex, it clears up any doubt I was holding on to about just how deep into trouble my kid is.

  I’m very familiar with the man before me. We ran in the same circles as teens. Before Tinley came along, we were in competition for Poppa’s attention. Gerald “Poppa” Jones owned the streets here in south Houston. He supplied all of us kids with the product we needed to make a little money. Rumor years ago, is that he was looking for someone to replace him when he retired. Both Cedric and I wanted to be a part of that. Being the top dog on the streets was where the money and security took place.

  From the looks of it, Cedric slid into that position very easily after I left, but honestly, he’d been staged to take over shortly after Tinley came along and I took a step back.

  “Cedric,” I greet when the man narrows his eyes as if he’s trying to place me.

  “Do I know you?”

  I lick at my dry lips, maintaining eye contact with him even when he puffs up his chest in an act of intimidation. His eyes dart from me back to Alex and back again, and I see the moment he realizes who I am and exactly who Alex is to me. The guy never missed a beat when we were younger, and it surprises me it took him this long.

  “Ignacio Torres,” he says, a cautious smile tugging up both corners of his mouth. “How have you been, man?”

  He comes in for one of those bro hugs I just witnessed my son do, including the rough slap on the back, and I let it happen. As much as it pains me to stand here and speak with this man in front of my son, disrespecting him would only cause more harm than good.

  “I’m good, Cedric. Just visiting the old neighborhood. You know how it is.”

  “I do,” he agrees, his eyes darting back down to Alex. “What have you been up to?”

  I know at this point I could lie. I could tell this man that I found bigger and better things, hinting at my importance in some other town and making it seem like I never got out of the game, but that would be foolish. I also see this as an opportunity to tell Alex a little about myself without forcing him to hear it.

  Cedric continues to look at Alex, and I pray the man is evaluating his position in his organization, taking into account my disappointment in my son ending up right where I started.

  “You’ve been gone what, twelve, thirteen years?”

  “About that long. Spent eight years in the Army. I’m now working for a company in St. Louis.”

  “Same old business?” Are you still wheeling and dealing?

  “Naw, man. I’m straight. I was a cryptologic linguistic, and that helped me land a job with a security firm.”

  “Crypto-what?” Cedric’s confusion draws his attention back to me, and I’m grateful he’s no longer focused on Alex.

  “Languages, man. I speak quite a few. I can tell you to fuck off like thirty different ways.” My meaning is clear, and I can see it in his eyes when he understands.

  “Cool, cool.”

  His right hand runs down the stubble on his jaw, and I wait for his true response. It’s the left hand I keep my eyes on, knowing from our history that the man is left-handed. If he was planning to pull a gun on me that would be the one he’d use. The .38 tucked inside the holster at my waist seems to warm against my skin as time ticks by.

  “Sounds like you made something of yourself. Getting out is hard, nearly impossible.” Another warning from my old friend. His eyes dart back to Alex who is watching both of us very cautiously, unsure of how he needs to behave.

  “Not impossible when getting out is the only option.” My son is done with this shit, and I won’t let it continue.

  He nods in understanding.

  “I see. Well, I just swung by to check in. Make sure everything is okay. I can settle up with Alex later.”

  “You should do it now.” I do my best to keep the growl from my throat, but some of the irritation slips through.

  “Naw, man. I have other places to be. See you soon, kid.” With that parting threat, Cedric walks away.

  His SUV slowly rolls out of the lo
t before disappearing around the corner, and it makes my blood run cold. Cedric Ramirez was always calm and calculating, a brutal force to face when he set his mind to something. This situation won’t be any different. He’s trouble that isn’t going away anytime soon.

  “So, I guess Mom didn’t lie about everything,” Alex says a few moments later. “You were a drug dealer and a gangbanger.”

  I take a moment to formulate my answer but decide that the truth is better than another lie told to this kid.

  “I made choices I felt like I had to, to survive around here. Getting away from here was hard, but it’s possible.”

  He grunts instead of asking more questions and he doesn’t speak again in the hours we stand out in front of the store. When the sun starts to go down, I ask if I can give him a ride home, but he refuses. At dusk, he gives up and turns back in the direction of his house, and although I keep my distance, I follow him all the way back until I see him disappear through his front door.

  I don’t know that any progress was made today, but I’m one determined motherfucker. After giving up on my relationship with Tinley, I haven’t given up on much of anything else, and my son will never be one of them.

  But as I drive back to my own shitty house, I can’t figure out a way to convince him to be better when he won’t even talk to me. Fuck, do I have my work cut out for me.

  Chapter 10

  Tinley

  Grateful isn’t a word I’d normally associate with Ignacio Torres, but today I am. He didn’t have to text me and let me know that he was with Alex, assuring me in a second text that he’d never let anything bad happen to the boy. But he did. Within thirty minutes of Ignacio leaving my house, that text came through, and it is the only thing that keeps me sane until Alex walks back in the door several long hours later.