by Hamel, B. B.
“Thanks,” I say. “Seriously. That’s really nice.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
“I should get changed out of these scrubs. I smell like cat.”
“You always smell like cat,” he says.
I smile as I head upstairs and into my room. Nathan cooked dinner for me. That’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard in my life. I mean, it’s just dinner. We live together, so it’s not a huge deal. But it’s seriously something. I feel like we just passed some kind of milestone or something like that.
I strip off my scrubs and take a quick shower. I really do stink like cat though. There was this awful old cat that couldn’t stop peeing, which is obviously why her owner brought her in. And of course, she was my patient.
I love cats. Don’t get me wrong. But I definitely don’t enjoy getting peed on.
Cat stink washed away after some serious cleansing, I grab my clothes and throw them on. I’m about to head downstairs, a smile on my face, the smell of cooking chicken and lemon wafting upstairs, when my phone starts to ring.
I hesitate. I stare at it for a long moment. It’s a number I don’t recognize.
I don’t know why I answer.
“This is a free call from Patrick Lane at Phoenix State Correctional Facility. To accept this free call, press 1. To block any further calls, press 2.”
I stare at my phone. My brother.
I haven’t spoken to him since the trial. I didn’t really think he’d ever call, and honestly, I wish he hadn’t.
But I know I can’t ignore it. As much as I hate him right now, he’s still my brother.
I press 1.
“If the inmate your speaking to is in mental crisis or suicidal, call the state correctional facility immediately. Thank you. You may start the conversation now.”
And then it’s him, my brother.
“Hey, Grace,” he says.
“Hi.” I blink, staring at nothing.
“How are you?”
“Fine.”
“Cool.” He clears his throat. I can hear voices in the background, echoing in the halls. I picture wide open spaces, lots of steel and metal, guys in jumpsuits wandering around looking angry. “It’s good to hear your voice.”
“Yeah.”
I hate myself. I want to say more. I want to tell him to go fuck himself. I want to ask how he’s doing. My brother is just another average kid from a boring middle-class home, and I can only imagine how hard and terrifying being in prison must be.
Except he belongs there. No doubt in my mind about that.
“I talked with Mom and Dad,” he says. “Mom was weird. Kept asking if I’ve been keeping clean. And Dad asked if I’m staying safe.” He laughs a little bit. “I think they’re afraid of me.”
“Can you blame them?”
He hesitates. “Nah. I guess not.”
“Are you clean?”
“We do laundry all the time.”
“No, Patrick. Are you clean?”
He hesitates a second. “Yeah, sis. I’m clean. Although I don’t have to be if I don’t want to be.”
“Patrick,” I say.
“Don’t give me that. I’m not going to use in here. Shit, the guys that use are treated like crap. Once you’re in that little world, you can’t get out.”
“Or maybe you shouldn’t use because it turns you into a real piece of shit person.”
“That too,” he says. “Look, Grace. I know I haven’t said this yet, but I’m sorry. I know It’s been hard on you.”
Tears choke me. I hate myself for crying right now. “You killed someone,” I manage to say.
“I know.” He sounds like it hurts to admit. “And I’m sorry. I’m going to do my time. Maybe take some classes, get some certificates. You know, try to make good use of my time here. There are a ton of programs. I can get a job too, if I want.”
“Yeah,” I say, getting control. “Good. Get a job.”
“Can you imagine? It took prison to make me get a job.”
I don’t smile. “Look, I gotta go.”
“Come visit me,” he says quickly. “I know it’s scary and shit, but come anyway. Guys are cool during visitation, nobody wants to lose rights. Please come.”
“Patrick—”
“Please. Come visit.”
I shake my head. “I gotta go.”
“Yeah, all right.”
“Bye, Patrick. Stay safe.”
“Bye, sis.”
I hang up. My heart’s beating so fast and I’m fighting back tears. I’m not going to cry for that bastard.
He’s the one in prison and yet he’s talking about how hard it is for me. That’s Patrick, master at pulling strings. He knows just what to say to get me to feel bad for him.
That bastard. I’m not falling for it.
I clench my jaw, get myself under control, and step into the hallway.
Nathan’s standing there, his face pale.
“Nathan,” I say, surprised.
“Was that your brother?”
“I, uh—” I stop myself. “Were you spying on me?”
“No,” he says. “I was coming up to tell you the food’s ready. I overheard his name.”
I look down at the floor. “He called. I didn’t know what to do.”
“You tell him to fuck off.” His voice is flat and cruel.
“He’s my brother.”
“I know. He’s also the junkie piece of shit that murdered my mother.”
“I know that, okay? I hate him too, you know. I hate him for what he did to your family and to mine.”
Nathan snorts. “Your family? Last I checked, your parents were both still alive.”
“That’s not the point, they—”
“Fuck your family,” he says. “I don’t care if they’re upset. You could’ve done something to prevent this a long time ago, but instead you let your sick fuck brother run around the streets like an animal.”
“We couldn’t stop him,” I say. “We tried. You have no clue how hard my parents tried and how hard this has been for them. They lost a son.”
“Their son is alive and well in prison,” Nathan says. “And you’re up here talking to him on the phone in my fucking house.”
“Nathan—”
“No, I don’t want to hear it.” His eyes are wide. His nostrils are flared. “You’re bringing that shit into my house.”
“Nathan, it’s not in your house. He just called me. He’s still my brother.”
“Don’t you ever—ever—talk to that fuck inside my house. You want to talk to your sick murdering brother? Go do it somewhere else.”
He stands there, staring at me, rage in his eyes. And I realize that this is one moment where I can’t calm him down.
And frankly, I don’t want to.
“You’re being a dick.”
He laughs. “I’m a dick?”
“Yeah. You are.”
“Your brother killed my mom.”
“And you’re still being a dick. I’m bending over backwards to try to make things right and you just throw that in my face.”
“Don’t talk to him in my house,” he says softer this time. “Or the deal’s off. We can go to jail together.”
“Oh, mature. Threaten me.”
He shakes his head slowly. “Dinner’s ready if you’re hungry.”
Without another word, he walks past me. I move to let him go and he storms off into his room, slamming the door shut.
I stand there in the hallway for a long moment.
“Asshole,” I say before heading downstairs.
I’m so angry. I didn’t do anything wrong. It’s not like I was nice to my brother. He called me, I answered, and that’s all. I’m not making excuses or saying what he did was fine. I’m just saying that I answered the phone.
I don’t want my brother out of my life completely. I want him to serve his time in prison and come out a better, more complete person. I want him to kick the habit while he’s in there and reflect on th
e way he let his life get out of control.
And maybe, twenty years from now, I’ll let him back. I’ll help him out, give him a place to stay, or maybe just money. I’ll help him get on his feet.
I don’t want to cut him out. But I’m not going to pretend like what he did was okay.
Nathan’s an asshole. I know he’s still hurt. The wounds are still so raw that any little touch makes them flare up in pain. But I can’t walk on tiptoes constantly around him.
I walk into the kitchen, fuming. There’s a plate on the counter with a little tinfoil over the top of it. I frown and take the foil off. There’s a single chicken breast on top of some grains with steamed broccoli on the side.
I sigh and shake my head. There’s a second plate nearby with one big bite taken out of the chicken.
He made a meal for me then I think he wanted to eat together.
Ah, shit. I soften a little bit, taste the chicken. It’s actually really good.
So I sit down and eat it all.
Damn him. I’m angry, but at least the food’s really delicious.
I don’t know what to do. Maybe I can talk to my brother on the phone when I’m not in the house, or at least when Nathan’s not home. I can probably do that. But I’m already doing so much for him. I’m tired of doing everything for this man, just on whatever whim he wants.
I need to figure this out soon, because I know Nathan’s not about to back down or change.
14
Nathan
I’m still fuming the next day. I can’t believe she’d talk to that asshole in my fucking house. I feel like she violated my space by bringing his voice into my mother’s home.
I’m not sure she’ll ever fully understand. I mean, she’s trying, and I’m trying to give her credit. But having that fuck’s voice in that house makes me so incredibly angry and sad that I can barely control it or understand it.
Grace goes to work early the next morning. I don’t make her coffee and I feel like a petty dick about it, but whatever. When she’s gone, I tidy up the place, vacuuming and cleaning, before heading out to the coffee shop to look for jobs.
Another frustrating afternoon passes and I decide to call it for the time being. I head back home, make some lunch, and I’m sitting down to eat when my phone rings.
I look down at it and hesitate before answering.
“Hello?”
“Nathan.”
It’s my father’s voice. I clench my jaw. “What do you want? I thought I made myself clear.”
“I didn’t come to the house this time,” he says. “I’m respecting your space. But I do want to talk.”
“About what?”
“I want to make you an offer.”
I roll my eyes. “An offer. This’ll be good.”
“Come on, Nathan. Don’t be a little—” He stops himself. “Come talk to me. I’ll make it worth your while. How about lunch?”
“Not hungry.” I glance at the food in my lap. “Not interested.”
“I’ll give you the company!” he says quickly. “Just come talk to me.”
I hesitate. “You pulled this once already.”
“No strings this time. Well, a small string. But I won’t be the minority stakeholder. You can make that pretty girl your minority holder for all I care.”
I clench my jaw. I don’t like that my father saw Grace or that he’s mentioning her now.
“I know you went to see the lawyer,” he continues. “I know he told you there’s nothing you can do. Just come on, Nathan. Come talk to me. It won’t hurt.”
“Might hurt you,” I say.
“A risk I am willing to take.”
“Fine. Somewhere public.”
“I’m at a bar,” he says. “Ah, I don’t know the name of it. Sorry to say.”
“Of course you are. I thought you were sober.”
“I am! I just, I like bars. They have such good food now, did you know that? America is pretty amazing.”
“There’s a park. Rittenhouse Park. Do you know it? Across from a Barnes & Noble.”
“I know where that is,” he says, sounding triumphant.
“Go now. I’ll meet you there.”
“Fine, I’ll see you—”
I hang up the phone before he finishes.
I stare at my meal. My appetite’s gone but I know I’d better eat if I’m going to go meet this bastard. So I force half of it down before I get up, brush my teeth, and head outside.
Rittenhouse isn’t far but I take my time. I don’t want to do this but I feel like I don’t have any other options. The job hunt is going poorly and I’m getting a little desperate. If I could get that company back from my father somehow, I can turn everything around.
But I know it won’t be simple. It’s never simple with him.
I head into the park and it takes ten minutes before I find him wandering around a couple blocks away. He grins at me and waves, heading over with a jolly little stride.
“Hello, son,” he says.
“Come on,” I grunt. “The park’s this way.”
He follows me, whistling the whole way over. I remember him whistling when I was a little boy. He always whistled when he was drunk.
We head into the park and find an empty bench. I sit at one end and he sits at the other.
“I’m here,” I say. “Let’s talk.”
“Nathan, Nathan,” he says, shaking his head. “Why rush? It’s a beautiful day.”
His words are slurred, just a little bit. But enough that I’m instantly sure he’s been drinking. He’s not drunk, not yet, but he will be sooner or later. It’s only a matter of time.
“You have five minutes,” I say. “So talk.”
He sighs dramatically. “Nathan, my boy. I came all the way to America to see you. Can you imagine that?”
“No,” I grunt. “Which is why I’m here.”
He chuckles. “Very well. So, boy, here’s the deal. If you want the company, I will give it to you, free and clear. But you must agree to do one thing.”
“Which is?”
“You must agree to have dinner with me once a week.”
I stare at him for a long moment. “Are you insane?”
“Not at all. My boy, I want to be in your life again. You have no other parent now that your mother is—”
“Say it and I’ll hit you again.” I finally look at him. His nose is crooked and his right eye has a nasty shiner.
He holds up his hands. “Okay, okay. Very well, I won’t talk about her.”
“And you’re not my parent. You haven’t been in a long time.”
He sighs. “You know how you sound, don’t you?”
I give him a level stare. “This isn’t teenage angst. This is about you being an abusive fuck.”
“I’ve changed,” he says. “I have.”
“Really?” I cock my head at him, frowning slightly. “If you’ve changed so much, why are you drunk right now?”
He looks surprised. I can’t believe he actually has the nerve to look surprised.
“I’m not—”
“Did you think you were hiding it?” I ask, honestly bemused. “I mean, I can fucking smell it on you. I know what you’re like when you’ve been drinking. I grew up with it.”
He stares at me for a second and I can see the wheels turning in his brain. He’s trying to decide if he can deny it or if there’s some excuse he can use.
Instead, he just shrugs. “All right then. I’ve been drinking.”
“And that’s why you’ll never be in my life.”
“Look, I have a problem. I know it. I’ve got a disease and I’m trying to fight it every day. But I’m trying to change.”
“Maybe you are,” I say. “But too little, too late.”
He has the nerve to look hurt and I almost want to hit him again. I’ve been wanting to hit him ever since we ran out and left the abusive fuck behind, and I’m finally bigger than he is, much bigger. I’ve had fantasies of beating my dad up and now th
at he’s sitting with me, a sad, drunk old man, I just feel pity.
He’s pathetic. He came all the way down here just to try and get under my skin one last time. He says he wants to be in my life but I know that’s bullshit. He wants something and he thinks I can give it to him.
I just need to find out what his real game is.
“Don’t waste your time,” I say before he can argue. “I’m not going to change my mind.”
“Then you’ll never have your company.”
I laugh a little and stand. “I guess not. You know, it’s typical. Of course you want something. You couldn’t just do the right thing and give me the company that I deserve.”
He glares at me. “You don’t deserve a damn thing, boy. You got no idea what I did for your mother, I—”
I see red. I seriously see red. I step up to him, ready to strangle him, and the only thing that stops me is hearing my name called from somewhere nearby.
It’s a familiar voice. It’s a voice I really like and my attention’s drawn to it like a moth to flame. I slowly look over and Grace is standing there, wearing her scrubs and pushing her bike.
My father’s still right there, still sneering at me. I want to smash his teeth into his face. I’d do jail time for it, I’m sure, but he’d deserve it all.
But then there’s Grace. I don’t know what would happen to her if I went to jail. I’m sure she’d be fine, but…
I’d lose her.
Why the hell does that thought drive me insane?
I step back from my father. Grace walks slowly over then puts her bike on the ground. She takes her helmet off, her dorky little dark blue helmet, and her hair falls down around her shoulders.
“Are you okay?” she asks me. “What’s going on?”
I take a deep breath and turn to her. She’s looking at my father and clearly knows who he is.
“We were just having a chat,” he says. “Just a chat about his future.”
“Nathan,” she says. “Maybe we should go.”
“Oh, right, run off then,” my father says. “Go ahead. Run away. Like you always do.”
I whirl on him. I see that red again, but again, Grace’s hand on my arm stops me short.
“Don’t,” she warns. “It’s what he wants.”
I see it then. My father, sneering at me, a grin on his face. He wants me to hit him, wants me to get in trouble. I don’t know what he’s fucking doing, but he’s baiting me.