Chasing Impossible

by Katie McGarry

  “What about Grams?”

  “She’s dying.” He says it as if she’s already dead. As if he’s already grieved for her and his loss is already years removed. He says it with as much emotion as when he discussed me becoming somebody new. “I’ve heard she no longer has much of an idea of who she is or where she’s at. Mac will put her in a nursing home, and he’ll try to find a good one.”

  My head falls back, and I rub my hands over my eyes and this anger, this fear, this utter and complete sadness causes me to want to weep, but I have to choke down the burn in my throat. “I promised to take care of her.”

  Dad does something rare. He reaches across the table and takes my hand. “You did and now it’s time to take care of yourself.”

  “I could always be running,” I say.

  “But it’s better than dead.” He pauses. “I may not have always done right by you. Given you the type of home you should have had. But I gave you what I had.”

  When Dad goes to pull back, I grasp his hand. Needing his love. Needing his comfort. I think of that picture, the one he always carried on his phone. Of me covered in dirt, barely clothed, barely fed and wonder how, when he met me, he could feel anything other than disgust.

  “You shouldn’t have taken me in,” I say, and all the guilt I’ve shoved down to the deepest and darkest parts of me surfaces and it’s the equivalent of being pummeled by an avalanche of boulders. “You wouldn’t be in here if it wasn’t for me.”

  My father killed a man because of me.

  Dad squeezes my hand then lets go. This time, I have to let him leave. “He threatened you and he would have hurt you, too, just to hurt me. I broke my own rule on caring and it backfired.”

  Backfired because love isn’t allowed in hell and I don’t want to live in hell anymore.

  “Why did you do it?” I ask, knowing if I don’t ask now I may never receive an answer. “Why did you take me in?” Even when you knew I wasn’t your child.

  “We all have to pay for our sins,” he says. “When I saw you, I thought maybe saving you would take care of past ones and any future ones, as well. I never thought I’d care for you though. That was unexpected.”

  “I love you,” I say, and it’s like my tongue twists with the words. We don’t say things like this to one another, but there’s a chance I’ll never see him again.

  Dad grins, and it’s so shocking beautiful that it takes my breath away. “You were worth it, Abby. Having you around always made it all worth it.”

  He looks at the clock and I know he wants to make it back to his cell before he’s caught in here longer than he wants to be. Once we go past a certain time, he has to stay in here regardless. Brief visits work better for him. He stands and so do I.

  Dad mumbles something to the guard near us that he’s saying goodbye, and we briefly hug and it’s not nearly as long as I wish it could be. The ends of my mouth tremble, no matter how hard I try to keep them from moving. It’s even more difficult to blink away the wetness invading the edges of my eyes.

  He kisses my temple and releases me, leaving me feeling cold and like I might collapse to the floor. A part of me still feels like I’m three, a part of me still needs my daddy.

  Before he walks through the door to his side, Dad glances over his shoulder and raises his hand in goodbye.

  “What was my name?” I ask, and don’t care that several people stop talking to stare at us.

  “True,” he says. “She named you True.”

  And just like I popped into his life all those years ago, he disappears from mine. I turn and begin the long road to absolutely nowhere.

  Logan

  I unlock the front door to Abby’s grandmother’s house and walk in before Abby does to check out the place. Isaiah’s staying on the front porch to act as guard. A quick glance around, Nadia places her finger to her mouth then points to Abby’s grandmother, who has nodded off in the hospital bed in the front room. I wave Abby in and she drops her bag to the ground and heads straight for her grandmother.

  Abby told me and Isaiah everything her father said on the ride back to Louisville and when she ran out of things to say, she rested her temple against the window and watched the world race past. She looked alone and lost and she’s breaking my heart.

  “How is she?” Abby asks.

  “Tired.” Nadia offers a safe answer. Her eyes flicker from me to Abby and when they rest back on me, she tilts her head to let me know she’s heading to the kitchen. I nod that Abby and I are good.

  Abby perches herself on the edge of the bed and takes her grandmother’s hand. “Grams, I need you to wake up for me.” She waits a few seconds then tries again in a louder voice. “Grams, please wake up.”

  “Abby,” I start, but then her grandmother’s eyes flutter open.

  Abby smiles and pushes her hair behind her ears. “Hi, Grams.”

  The old woman’s eyes widen and she looks wildly about the room.

  “It’s me. It’s Abby. I’ve missed you.”

  Abby’s grandmother turns her head now and I shift, feeling uncomfortable. She’s searching for something familiar and it’s going to kill Abby that Abby isn’t who she remembers.

  “I saw Dad,” she says. “He misses you, too.”

  Abby’s grandmother’s voice cracks, but she doesn’t say anything intelligible, but does move her other hand to cover Abby’s. It’s the same type of movement a child waking from a bad dream would do—reach out to the nearest adult, to the one who can scare the monsters away.

  “Can I read to you, Grams?” Abby grabs the book off the table, and I decide to wait with Isaiah on the front porch. I can’t stick around and watch Abby say goodbye.

  The old door groans when I open it and it groans again when I shut it. Isaiah has his hip cocked against the railing and watches me as I mirror his position on the other side of the ramp.

  “I keep trying to figure out another way this can end, but I can’t find the solution,” I say.

  “Not sure there is one,” Isaiah answers. “Choices like the ones Abby made have consequences. None of them pretty. Sucks, because you figured out where you stand.”

  “I love her.”

  Isaiah nods and we stare out on the quiet neighborhood and the tranquil world Abby and her father had created. When I first came here, I thought this life was Abby’s lie and now I realize that the drug dealer was the front.

  “You did good, man,” Isaiah offers. “Not too many guys would be firm enough in themselves to love her like you did.”

  “Running into an alley? Any of us would have done that.”

  “Naw, guys are good at running in, but most of the time, they run back out when things get rough and before the job is done.” Isaiah meets my eyes. “You gave up your darkest secret to save her. Takes a strong guy to love like that. Takes a guy who knows who he is.”

  I mull over Isaiah’s words as I watch a bird fuss over a nest in the tall maple in the front yard. When I first met Abby, Dad was right, I didn’t have a clue who I was, but throughout the past months of knowing Abby, the past few weeks, the past few days, I figured it out.

  I may not have a clue what I want to do with the rest of my life like West, Chris, Noah, Ryan, and Isaiah, but as I try to figure it out, at least I’ll know who I already am. Because what I do for money, what is going on with my health, is only a portion of who I am—not the entire picture.

  “There has to be another way for Abby to get out of drug dealing than for her to disappear,” I rephrase the statement from before. “Another way that doesn’t mean her leaving.”

  Isaiah stays silent and it’s the kind that’s like being at the end of the funeral and nobody wants to leave. He’s losing his sister. I’m losing the girl I’m in love with. Unless we come up with a better solution, to love her is to let her go.r />
  Abby

  Grams has been asleep a lot longer than I’d care to admit and I close the book. For years I kept her a secret. I told stories, manipulated, and lied to keep her safe and now I’m abandoning her because I don’t want to sell drugs anymore. Because Dad can’t guarantee I’m safe within my organization. Because I don’t want to be deeper than I already am and by doing this I’ll lose everything I love.

  There’s no such thing as happy, just the idea of happy.

  I place the book on the table and walk out onto the front porch. Isaiah and Logan were both sitting and they stand when the see me. I already tried to say goodbye to Isaiah and Logan once. Both of those moments sucked. Now knowing I’ll have to do it again and that neither of them will be chasing...

  I shove my hands in my pockets to will away the pain then force a smile in Logan’s direction. “Let’s go for a walk.”

  “A walk?”

  “You move your feet, so do I. We travel from one place to another. A walk. Girls do it. I’ve seen them. They gather together at a house and then walk around the neighborhood. I always wanted to do that—just walk.”

  Most girls never wanted to walk with me—the drug dealer’s daughter.

  Logan offers me his hand and I take it, feeling a bit giddy and a bit silly as I slip my hand into his. I like Logan’s hand. It’s warm and strong and a bit rough in places yet soft in others.

  The summer day is warm, but not nearly as oppressive as the morning had promised it would be. Hard to believe that earlier today I was eating breakfast with people I feel comfortable claiming as friends and had hope of having a real life with and now I’m on the verge of being the person who will once again disappear.

  “Will you miss me?” I ask.

  Logan’s fingers tighten around mine. “Yes.”

  “Sometimes, when I was younger, I used to pretend Dad was an accountant. It’s what I told people he did and then it became a fantasy. That when he was gone, he was at some high-level accountant conference, because they do those things, right? But I loved the idea. The strong guy sporting a pocket protector and then he came home to have turkey and stuffing with pie every night for dinner. Some kids dreamed of beaches or some video game thing. I wanted dinner and accounting.”

  “My dad works on a factory line,” he says. “It’s a good job. He works hard for not enough pay, but it’s enough to take care of me and him. He’s tired all the time. Works third shift since it pays more. Mom is a manager at one of those organic foods/new age places.”

  I smile at the thought of the people behind producing Logan. “Your mom and dad sound different.”

  “Night and day. Mom would have loved you.”

  “And your dad?”

  “Loves me.”

  “Nice nonanswer,” I say and Logan chuckles.

  “You remind me a lot of my mom,” he says.

  My forehead wrinkles. “Never say that to a girl again, Logan. That is if you want to get laid.”

  “If you met her, you’d understand that’s a compliment. People are naturally drawn to her and she dates guys half her age.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Mom’s eccentric.”

  “So I’m eccentric?” It’s a pretty word for weird, but he has me.

  He circles me and then plants his hands on my hips. “Very.”

  His hands feel right on my body and my heart thumps. I lick my lips thinking of him kissing me and this gravity that exists only around him attempts to drag us closer, but I don’t know how I’ll say goodbye if I let him as near as he’s been for the past few nights. It’s like he’s already imprinted on my soul and withdrawals are going to suck.

  I twist and duck to move around him, hating the loss of his touch. “Now, now, Logan. I have a reputation to protect in this neighborhood. People around here think I’m respectable.”

  Logan glances around at the old houses as if he’s trying to guess as to what the people inside look like. “Do they?”

  “Yep, I told them I run a food bank.”

  “You did?”

  “Nope.” My thirty seconds of playfulness fades away. “They all think I’m just like my father, but I’m going to do better than him. I’m going to get out and stay out.”

  We continue to walk and ahead is a park. The sound of little kids screaming and laughing echo along to us down the street. Dad used to take me there. So did Grams. Sometimes when I felt too heavy after selling I would sit by myself in the dark and swing, pretending to be six and carefree and not a teenager who was drowning.

  “Want to swing me?” I ask.

  “Sure.” Logan stops walking and my heart aches because he has that expression on his face. The one that says he hears someone calling him home and that it’s time to stop playing.

  “Please keep walking,” I say.

  Logan releases my hand. “I can’t do this. I can’t pretend we’re just on a walk and that you aren’t about to leave the moment Denny gives you a new ID. I can’t do this make-believe anymore.”

  “I need it.” Desperation claws at my chest. “I have always needed it. Pretending has helped me survive. When I didn’t have friends because of who my father was, when my father wouldn’t show for days, when I came to understand who he was and what he had done, then when he was arrested and on trial and Grams and everything. I love my father and my Grams but none of this life has been easy so I pretend. It’s like people who read books or see movies to escape. I pretend and I need you to pretend with me for just a few more minutes because I need to carry this very real memory with me for a very long time.”

  Logan cradles my face with his hands and the pure raw emotion pouring from him nearly kills me. “I don’t want to lose you.”

  “Do you want me to stay and sell? Do you want me to move up with Ricky?”

  “No.” He sucks in a breath and his eyes are frantically searching my face. “Maybe I could go with you.”

  I close my eyes as my mind automatically creates beautiful pictures of a future that would never happen. Asking him to go with me would be selfish. It would be stealing his life and leaving Abby behind is bad enough. “No.”

  Logan jerks away. “So that’s it. You’re the only dealer who has decided to go straight?”

  “No, but I’m not just any dealer.” I had lied to myself that I was, but that’s all it was—a lie.

  “So nobody in your position ever walked away?”

  “It happens, but usually there were extenuating circumstances.”

  “Like?”

  I shrug. “A serious wound from a deal gone bad.”

  “Not an option. Give me another.”

  “They get a real job and slowly phase out, but once again, Logan, I’m not normal.”

  “Give me another.”

  I’m looking around as if the towering trees have an answer. “I don’t know. If there was another option, Dad would have given it to me.”

  Logan swears and after a few seconds of gathering himself together, he reclaims my hand and we continue for the park.

  Wherever I go, it’ll suck being alone. I was fine with alone until I met Logan. Even with Isaiah around and then Rachel, I was still fine alone, but the world without Logan’s just too empty.

  “I love you,” I say to the ground and when he attempts to stop, I yank on his hand for us to continue forward. “I need you to keep walking, because I can barely handle saying this, but I love you. Just ignore me, Logan. Just pretend we’re walking and I’m not talking and that you just know that I love you.”

  Logan releases my hand and slips his arm to around my shoulders. We keep walking and he nuzzles his nose into my hair, feathering a few kisses, causing delicious goose bumps and I love how I fit directly into the shelter of his body. I could have been happy with him. Very
, very happy.

  Maybe I died in the alley and this is my hell. Almost experiencing happiness then losing it.

  We step onto the grass to head for the swings and my heart stalls when I meet eyes that I’ve studied before. He’s just as shocked to see me as I am him, and I have no doubt that his heart also races in fear.

  “You okay?” Logan asks.

  A little girl with many braids in her hair skips up to him and jumps into his arms. He hugs her, but still watches me. Like I’m the predator. Like I’m what’s wrong in this world. Guess I am.

  “Yeah.” I rip my gaze away from the undercover drug annoyer. “That’s a narc over there. I figured him out a few weeks ago. He remembers me and I remember him. He’s with his kid so we should go.”

  Logan glances over at him then brushes his fingers on my shoulder. “We can stay.”

  “No,” I say. “We can’t.”

  Logan

  The hunger pangs roll over me like waves and I don’t need to test my blood to know that my blood sugar is low. I walk into the kitchen, toss my keys onto the counter and stop cold.

  Both Mom and Dad are sitting at the kitchen table staring at me. Because the past twenty-four hours have been completely messed up, I check out the clock on the microwave and it confirms it’s midnight.

  Hated leaving Abby, but she promised not to go without saying goodbye and my parents would go insane if I didn’t return home soon.

  “Shouldn’t you be at work?” I say to Dad and then to Mom. “Shouldn’t you be...not here?”

  They do that long lingering look at each other and I ignore them as I head down the hallway.

  “Logan?” Mom calls. “Come back.”

  “Testing,” I say.

  I open up my drawer that contains my bag of tricks and pause. For years I’ve gone out of my way to hide my diabetes from others, hide while I tested because Mom has had a hard time dealing with the reality of my condition. I took a huge step forward this week, and I’m done acting as if this is something to be ashamed of, as if this is something to ignore.