Sacred Sins

by C. D. Reiss

  “Fair catch, kid,” one of the guys in front had said.

  His mother comforted him in Spanish, and he nodded, shrugging as if he was a big boy.

  “Good catch,” he said to Jonathan, who was about to sit down.

  Then something had happened between Jon and Drew. A communication without words or gestures. Just a look. An exchange of ideas where righteousness came up against what was right.

  I hadn’t known Jonathan spoke Spanish, but he nodded to Drew and turned to the kid, saying something more than gracias. He held out the ball. The mother tried to refuse it, but the kid held out his cheap glove. Jonathan tossed the ball up and a little to the left so it was just hard enough. The kid caught it and held it up.

  The San Pedro row gave up a little round of applause, as did the rest of the stadium. Jon chatted with the family in Spanish and we sat down. The whole thing had taken no more than a few seconds.

  “He always knew what to do,” Deirdre said in the waiting room.

  Past tense again. I didn’t correct her.

  Drew had told him what was right, and Jonathan had listened.

  I was proud of both of them.

  24

  The sisters huddled, wept, soothed each other. Their husbands brought little comfort. Tactical grief was women’s work. My father wasn’t sitting still. I found him talking to random people in the hospital halls and huddling over the phone multiple times. His preoccupation could only be attributed to one of two things.

  One, getting Jonathan a heart, which had to be far outside his purview. But there was no law against him trying.

  Two, shutting Indy up, which not only was within his power but well inside his bailiwick.

  Drew coming back was the best thing for everyone.

  He’d never accepted the man I chose. Why now?

  Because Jonathan was dying?

  Because he’d made peace with my mother?

  Because I was a grown damn woman?

  It’s about time you found your own happiness.

  Let him love you.

  He’d tried to get me to look at Will as more than a contractor.

  I liked Will. I cared deeply for him and his family, but could I trust him?

  When Will strode out of the elevator, I was waiting.

  “What do you have?” I asked.

  “Franco Junior’s not at the club. Not at home. Gareth checked the liquor store he works out of. Not there.”

  I crossed my arms and planted my feet apart as if I needed to steady myself against gravity.

  “He could be anywhere, Margie. Can you just tell me what you’re thinking?”

  “Why?”

  “Do you want me to do my job or not?”

  I did. I needed him to do his job, but maybe I wasn’t so sure who he was working for.

  “Can I see your phone?” I held out my hand.

  “For what?”

  “Recent calls.”

  He turned his head slightly, giving me side-eye. “I don’t owe you my life.”

  “You don’t. And I’ll never ask again.” I held my hand higher. “But these are mitigating circumstances. I don’t know who I can trust.”

  “You can trust me.”

  “I hope so. You have no idea how much. I’m getting it from all sides. The only person who knows the difference between the rock and the hard place is you.”

  “Which side do you think I’m playing?”

  “Did my father send you to find Drew? He pay you to pretend you were a music blogger?”

  Nothing enrages a reliable man like questioning his loyalty.

  He snapped, “That was one hundred percent my stupid idea.”

  “Because you care about me?”

  “Hard for you to believe, Margie, but you’re worth caring about.”

  He took me aback for a second. He’d disarmed me. I felt my walls drop. Felt my vulnerability. I was exposed and I didn’t like it. Exposure was dangerous.

  “This is business,” I hissed, but it was too late. My defenses were down.

  “And the suddenly reappearing boyfriend? Did you ask for his phone?” He took out his phone but didn’t hand it over. “Maybe you should be treating that like business.”

  “No,” I growled, putting my finger to his chest. “I didn’t. Because he took off up the 101 hours ago and I haven’t heard from him since. He’s risking his life and he doesn’t even know it. My father’s making threats disguised as compliments, so I need to know that you’re an ally, Delta. I need to know you’re not the one he’s been on the phone with.”

  He put up his hands, pressing his thumb to the home button of his phone until it flashed to life. The elevator doors opened.

  Will had two recent calls at nine at night. HANNAH.

  Three after. GARETH

  No blocked numbers. No dad. No FBI.

  From the corner of my eye, Monica got out of the elevator. She looked terrible. I felt the pull of her need.

  “Thank you,” I said to Will before going after Monica.

  * * *

  Something about Monica shone with hope where none existed. Even hungry with preemptive grief, she was my son’s future. She was the way he heard music from Indy’s fingers when his own failed. Her connection to him was a connection to me.

  I held her so tightly, I thought I’d break her ribs.

  “I envy you,” I said. “You know that?”

  She didn’t ask me what I envied, and I didn’t have time to list the ways.

  “If something goes bad,” she said, “like if I do something wrong, would you represent me? No matter what?”

  I pushed her away, holding her by the shoulders. “What are you talking about?”

  “Stuff. Life. Say yes.”

  “Fine.”

  Will was waiting. We hadn’t finished.

  “Go see him,” I told Monica. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

  She left, and I met my trustworthy, loyal friend in the middle.

  “Did he really make a threat?” he asked.

  “Yes, he did.”

  “What were the words?”

  “‘Drew coming back was the best thing for everyone.’ And ‘It’s about time you found your own happiness.’ More than a threat. He was positioning himself—”

  “I know what he was doing. How can I help?”

  Do the impossible. Find Franco and every one of his goons.

  Do what he’d already promised. Manage Theresa and Jon’s ex-wife.

  Do the unexpected. Produce Indy.

  As if he’d pulled the last request from my mind and executed it, my phone rang.

  Indiana Andrew McCaffrey was calling. Will saw the name.

  “I have things to do.” After squeezing my arm for comfort, he walked away.

  I picked up to hear a rumble. “Indy?”

  “Hey, Cin.” He sounded as if he was trapped in a tin can.

  “Where are you?”

  “Riding the 101. Just getting into Ojai.”

  “How are you calling?”

  “Phone’s in the helmet. How are you doing?”

  His voice was an anchor dropped in a storm. He was far away, but he was with me. Right here.

  “You left the helmet at my house.”

  “I have a spare. I like my head the way it is. Fits like shit, but it’s better than nothing. You didn’t tell me how you were doing.”

  “Fine. Terrible. When you get back to the hotel…”

  “What?” There was a delay. Half a second on his side of the headset. Enough to feel like an hour. “Sorry. Shit, this guy’s an asshole.”

  “I want you to…” Do what? How was I supposed to keep him safe?

  “I’m coming back to the hospital to meet you.”

  No. He was expected. He had to go somewhere until I could figure it out.

  He wouldn’t go where I told him. His son was here.

  What a fucking idiot I was.

  “Indy…”

  “I got him, Cin. I got a statement
for proffer.” His tone jerked as if he was talking to someone else. “What the fuck? Dude. The Camaro’s not for fucking with people.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “He’ll testify. The money was for the Carloni brothers to sell stuff to Strat.”

  He thought I was asking about the murder. I wasn’t.

  “Indy. The Camaro. Who—?”

  “He had a physical description. It’s going to work, Cin baby. We’re going to set you free, and you’re going to be mine again. I’m happier about this than I’ve ever been about anything.”

  “Pull over!”

  “I just need to know if you’ll have me. Will you? Fuck!”

  A screech came over the headset, followed by a crack that sounded like thunder right after lightning. And another crack, then a scrape.

  “Indy!” I shouted in the silent hall. “Yes! Yes, please… yes!”

  The phone hissed in my ear, then… nothing.

  * * *

  Calling Indy back got me nowhere. He’d been in an accident. I knew what I’d heard. And either the phone was busted or the helmet was.

  Please, God. Let it be the phone.

  Let.

  It.

  Be.

  The.

  Phone.

  My mind was confused, but my body had habits. It was habit that walked me to the elevator and habit that sent me up to the floor where my family waited.

  If Indy was dead or even hurt, I was going to lose my shit. Even as my body sent me upstairs because that was where I always went, I calculated odds and distances. Ojai was an hour away without traffic. I could go. Shit, how long did it take to clean up an accident? How long did they wait before they sprayed blood and brain off the asphalt?

  Indy could be dead.

  Jonathan would be dead.

  My father should be dead.

  Getting arrested tomorrow would be a relief.

  I went to my family even though I wanted to be alone with my impotence. I didn’t trust myself to make a decision or open my mouth. I wasn’t thinking. I couldn’t think. Couldn’t come up with a decision or a tactic. I didn’t even know what I wanted except for everyone I loved to be all right.

  When I got to our waiting room, the pristine box that held us like pigs in a pen, everyone looked at me. Waiting.

  I had the answers. I fixed everything. I was the rock the Drazens were built on and I was crumbling.

  My feelings had picked the lock. Stormed into the room and overturned the tables, wrote on the walls, marred the floor.

  Let them.

  I could have fought the emotions having a brawl in my head.

  Let them come.

  But I didn’t. Because anger and sorrow wrecked the joint along with love. I couldn’t pick through them. They all had to come.

  “Don’t look at me,” I said, moving my attention between my sisters and mother. “I can’t fix this. I can’t fix anything. I’m done. Mom? You take Dad back, you live with the consequences. It’s not on me.”

  “Margaret?” my father said from the shadows.

  I’d known he was there. He always was.

  “Fiona,” I said, looking at her in her designer shoes and unkempt coif, “I’m going to jail for you. That’s the last thing I’m doing. For anyone. Leanne.” I turned to her. “I’m not moving any more money. Bribing factory owners and laundering kickbacks isn’t my job anymore. Deirdre—”

  “Margie.” Mom came up to me, almost within reach, but she stayed back as if she was afraid to be within striking distance. “What—?”

  “Deirdre,” I said.

  Her magazine had gotten soft at the corners and her eyes went big and empty.

  “If you go into rehab again, I’m not standing between you and the gossip columns. If they eat you alive, so be it.” I glanced at each of them. “Theresa can deal with her own decisions. I’m out.” I landed on the sister closest to me in age. “Sheila, it’s all yours if you want it.”

  “You’re under stress,” my father said with a dog whistle of condescension.

  An hour before, I would have collected vague answers like bright stones and chosen the vaguest and most distracting. But it wasn’t an hour before, when my thoughts were driving the bus. This was now, and my emotions steered me toward a cliff with their full weight on the gas pedal.

  “And you.” I pointed at him.

  My father didn’t have an immediate reaction or surprise. He didn’t go on defense. I didn’t expect him to blink—and he didn’t.

  Until the lights went out.

  * * *

  At first I thought I was fainting, but the emergency lights went on. When an alarm went off, everything was forgotten and we rushed to the hallway. It looked different floodlit. The generators went on. A nurse hustled us out a set of swinging doors to follow the throng of people headed to the stairwell. We had no information. No news. Just instructions.

  I wanted Indy. I wanted Will to go up to Ojai and find him. I wanted Jonathan to be okay so I could go myself.

  None of it was going to happen.

  Sheila had me by the arm. “We have you. I don’t know what’s going on, but you’re going to be all right.”

  “You have no idea what’s even going on.”

  “So?”

  We turned at a landing and headed down the next flight, and in the turn, I had the chance to see the tenderness in her eyes. She meant it. Her ability to execute her promise was in question, but her intentions weren’t.

  “I’m not quitting to spite you,” I said.

  “I know,” she said. “Even if you were, we’d help you.”

  “I’m not going to ask anything of any of you.”

  “We’ll be there anyway.” We walked abreast down a short hall to a set of open emergency doors. “We’re not abandoning you.”

  She looped her arm through mine and held up her chin. In the hard light and thick shadows, she looked like a warrior stepping into battle. I glanced over my shoulder. Fiona and Leanne’s faces were lit by the outside light coming through the doors. Deirdre and Mom were behind them, striding forward. I hadn’t asked any of my sisters what they thought of me quitting. I hadn’t even wondered. I’d assumed they’d fight it because they needed me.

  I was wrong. I needed them, and I was glad.

  “Thank you.”

  We stepped into the parking lot where we were guided away from the path of the fire engines. There were so many flashing lights, I could barely see. So many sirens I could barely think. A helicopter circled overhead.

  Patients were being wheeled out on gurneys, their IV bags swinging like balloons. It didn’t look safe for those people to be out under the stars.

  “Jonathan,” I said, going toward them so I could find my brother.

  My son.

  Indy’s son.

  Dr. Brad Thorensen was leaning over a patient and talking to a nurse when he answered his phone. I picked up the pace to a near-run. I had to find out where Jonathan was. Tell him about Indy before he died. Look at him and see the man’s face in the face of his adult son.

  My arm was still while the rest of me ran, and I nearly fell. A cop had taken me by the bicep to keep me from getting near the patient staging area.

  “Hold on there, lady.”

  He was huge, but I was deadly.

  “I’m looking for someone.” My voice was loud and growling because my emotions assured me that I had the full right to break the line.

  “I’m sure they’re fine.”

  “Get off me.”

  “Lady—”

  “Whoa, there.” It was Thorensen, holding his phone as if it were an extension of his arm. “She’s all right. I have her.”

  The cop let me go.

  “Where is he?” I asked between gasping breaths.

  “He’s fine.”

  How could he smile?

  The motherfucker.

  If he didn’t answer my next question correctly, anger was going to travel from my brain stem, down my ar
m, and to my hand, which would feel the satisfying sting of that smile being slapped right the fuck off.

  “Where is he?”

  “Not just fine,” he said. “We have a heart.”

  “You…” My brain stem cranked the rage back so I could think. The emotional fog cleared enough for me to make sense of the details. “You have a heart? For him?”

  “It’s his if it’s a match, and we need another test, but it looks like a match.”

  “Is it near?”

  “It’s about an hour away,” Brad said.

  “Okay, that’s… that’s good, right?” I looked back at the building. “If the hospital’s not on fire.”

  “It’s probably not, but even if it is, we can do the procedure at UCLA.” He put his hand on my arm. “He’s going to be all right.”

  “I’ll tell…” I indicated the area I thought my family was, but they were right behind me.

  Fiona took my hand. Sheila squeezed my shoulder. Mom was near tears. A sense of relief wove through all of us.

  “Them,” I said when I turned back to the doctor.

  “Dr. Emerson’s on his way. You all should rest. It’s a long procedure.” He stepped back.

  The thought of his absence made me feel as if something wasn’t quite finished. As if I had one more question.

  “Doctor!”

  “Yeah?”

  “I don’t know if you can tell me this.”

  “I will if I can.”

  “Where’s the heart coming from? Geographically?”

  He thought for a second, then must have decided he wasn’t breaking any rules by revealing the location.

  “Ojai.”

  25

  I didn’t know whether to grieve or rejoice. Committing to either was a betrayal.

  Jonathan was going to live.

  His father’s heart was going to save his life.

  That’s why it was a match.

  Margie.

  All bad. I knew what happened without being told.

  Indy had died in an accident on the 101 because someone in a Camaro was fucking with him.

  Snapped neck.

  Or his ill-fitting helmet flew off and his skull was crushed.