Cry Baby

by Ginger Scott

  “Hi uh…hi,” Riley says, her mouth caught somewhere in between flat and a smile. It’s only been a few days but it looks like she’s lived an entire life. She’s older somehow. Her hair has grown a little more, and it’s smoothed on the sides, a small sweep of hair pressed into tiny waves along the top. She looks like an actress.

  “I’m sorry, you look like you guys are headed out, I can…”

  “We were just going to grab dinner,” Riley interrupts. She looks back at her dad, and they stare at one another silently for a full breath. “You…you could come. If you want?”

  Her gaze peels away from her dad to me, so I look to his face to see if I’m really welcomed. The blank nothing still has him trapped, but it isn’t the rage it was a week ago. He draws his lips in tight and forces a smile, glancing at me and nodding.

  “I’ll go start the car,” he says, excusing himself past us both.

  I turn and watch his back move down the driveway to his car. He opens the door, slips in and cranks the engine a few times before it kicks over and starts.

  “Sounds like the alternator, or maybe the battery,” I say, turning slowly until I’m square with Riley again. I want to hold her hand, to touch her arm or cheek. I don’t know if it’s okay to, though. I’m not sure where she’s at…with us.

  “It’s been doing that for a few days now,” she sighs. “We don’t really have the spare cash lying around.”

  I nod and glance back at her dad. He’s feeding the car gas to rev the engine. I did that to prolong my battery too. At least, until my uncle told me it didn’t do shit. I don’t think Mr. Rojas is in the mood for car one-on-one right now, though.

  “My uncle works on cars…on the side. I can see if he has anything around, or maybe something cheap,” I say.

  My hand itches to touch hers, but I settle for looking at her hands, the way she twists them together in front of her waist. She’s unsure what we are, too.

  We are everything. We are everything. We are everything.

  I have made her my mantra.

  “That would be nice. If he has something, I mean,” she says. I step back so she has enough room to pull the door closed and lock it behind her.

  “I don’t have to come,” I say, rolling my head from one side to the other. “To dinner? I’m sure you and your dad were planning on eating alone, and…”

  “I think me and my dad could use another human being at the table.” She smiles with closed lips, but her eyes are still incredibly sad—and tired.

  I nod, my stance giving way to her direction, and I follow her to the car. I open the passenger side for her to get in and she whispers, “Thank you,” letting her fingertips graze over my knuckles. It’s like the cool of ice in a fire. I feel it all the way to the restaurant.

  We don’t go far, just up the block to the diner. It’s a decent spot, well-lit and pretty free of people I know. I’m glad this is where they were planning to come.

  “I haven’t been much in the mood to cook, and my dad…”

  “I just don’t cook,” her father says, his voice breaking through and stunning us both a little. He smiles on one side of his mouth as we get out of the car, but by the time he closes the driver’s side door, any evidence of it is gone. Riley stands still, letting her dad travel a few steps ahead before she and I join him. Her eyes are heavy with worry. I brush her arm with mine to get her attention.

  “You okay?” I whisper.

  She forces a smile and nods, but it never reaches her eyes.

  “He just hasn’t said a lot lately. That was almost funny. It’s like he shows up and then fades away again, though. Anyway,” she shakes her head and picks up her step.

  My gut sinks. I hate all of this for her. I think she would have been better off living with the lie. I wish I knew her mother. I wish she had a chance to talk about her—before talking about her became a different story.

  “Three please,” Riley says to the host. He’s an older man, probably working here to pay for his health insurance, and I wonder if he has a wife to go home to or if he’s all alone.

  I wonder if I’m looking at my future.

  The man leads us to a booth in the corner and runs through a list of soups and the nightly special before leaving us alone with our menus. We all open them at the same time, propping them up and shielding our view of everything beyond the words in front of us. I tilt mine to peek over the top, and Riley does the same. Her eyes dart to her dad, then back to me, and she lets out a tiny laugh.

  “What?” Her dad puts his menu down flat on the table and looks at her.

  “Sorry, it’s just…we all look like spies,” she says, lifting one shoulder.

  I smile at her with tight lips, but her father just lifts his menu back up and blocks his face again. Riley’s face falls.

  “Maybe I am,” her dad says, catching her attention before her eyes completely dim. “Of course, you just blew my cover, so…”

  Her mouth puckers and I press my palm over my lips hiding my smile and holding in my laugh. Riley’s eyes dance. Her dad is being funny. She needs him to be. I was here to see it, and I feel privileged.

  Riley’s foot swings sideways into mine, and I nudge her back with my toe as we both laugh through our nose and avoid looking directly in each other’s eyes. That joke—we don’t want to ruin it. It’s meant to be taken very seriously.

  We all order burgers, and they come out fast—not quite warm, and clearly saved from the dinner rush an hour or so before. The fries are hot, though, so I eat all of mine, sweeping up the cheese from my burger with the last one on my plate. Riley’s dad is picking at his food, just like his daughter. I feel guilty for having an appetite.

  “Oh, hey…” Riley says, putting her half-eaten burger back down and pushing her plate away. She’s made a good effort.

  “Yeah,” I nod.

  “I have your notebook in my bag.” Her eyes lock on mine and her mouth rests in the softest, sweetest smile.

  I swallow hard and push my plate away too.

  “Thanks, I was looking for that,” I say without breaking our gaze. Her lips begin to curve more, and I’m so caught up watching them, I don’t see the group of men walking over to our booth until one of them slides into the seat next to me.

  I see it all in Riley’s face first, and every nightmare she and I have ever had gets replayed in an instant before Dub utters a single word.

  “Baby brother, what are you doing here?” Dub’s heavy arm swings over me and pulls me to him tight. I glance to Riley’s dad. His head is cocked to one side, his eyes hazed with suspicion. Rightfully so.

  “Just getting caught up on some things from school. Can’t turn down a free dinner, too, ya know?” I laugh, and I know it’s coming out nervously. That’s not how I am with him, and this isn’t how he is with me. Something is off. Things are wrong. I’m making them worse.

  My eyes ping-pong from Riley to her dad, trying to speak without the use of words. They need to play along and go with this. They can’t be important to me; Riley can’t be important. I feel her foot rest against mine under the table and it’s shaking along with the rest of her leg. I breathe in deeply and force myself to calm down.

  “You following me?” I level Dub, shrugging his arm off me and rolling my shoulders, acting like I normally would—like I have most of my teenaged life.

  He chuckles, but I don’t think he’s fully buying my brave face.

  “Nah, we just had some business, ahhhh?” He growls out a laugh and digs his elbow into my side. He ends up coughing, which means he’s high right now. That also means he’s paranoid.

  “Right, well…you let me know if you need me for anything. We’re heading back home, but I’ll be around.” I know I messed up the second the words leave my mouth, but I have to go with them now—I need to believe every word. I need to be the other me, just for a little while.

  “Actually, I do have a thing. I’ll call you about it later. When you get home,” he says, sliding back out of the bo
oth. He walks a few steps backward and winks at me, his lid closing slowly, heavy with sleep and dope.

  They all leave, not ordering or using a restroom or anything. He really was following me. There’s no reason for him to be here. And I don’t want him following us to Riley’s home.

  “I’m so sorry,” I say, unable to look either of them in the eyes.

  “Check, please,” Riley’s dad says. The waitress’s feet slide by, but I still can’t get my eyes to glance up.

  I can hear Riley’s dad moving for his wallet, and I hear the sound of folded cash being counted. He slides the tab along with two twenty-dollar bills along the table until his fingertips are in my view. He pats down twice, and I slowly pull my gaze up to his.

  “It’s okay, kid.” His voice is soft, and his lips rest in a straight line.

  I nod lightly, wishing to travel to the end of what’s coming, to be done with this chokehold.

  I’m the last to leave the booth, and Riley’s dad holds the door open for me as we leave. His hand falls to the center of my back, patting me twice, and the feel of his touch—this tentative acceptance—hits me in the center of the chest, exhausting my breath and burning my eyes with hopes and wishes. I don’t cry, but I close my eyes for the last few steps to the car to keep everything in. There’s no time for any of it—feeling. My phone has already buzzed with an address from Dub.

  The game has begun.

  The ride home is as quiet as the ride there was, and the closer we get to our neighborhood, the more I feel the pressure of a ticking clock. My pulse drums, and I’m getting dizzy from the shadows cast on my lap by the streetlights we pass.

  “I’ll walk home from your house,” I blurt out. Riley’s head turns quickly, but her dad only glances at me in the rearview mirror. “I think I should is all. Those guys don’t need to think you do me any favors, and I just think you should get inside.”

  Riley’s eyes draw in. I’ve worried her, and I don’t want to do that, so I glance toward her father so she thinks I’m doing this for his benefit. Her mouth tugs in on one side.

  “Really, it’s okay,” I insist.

  “Text Riley that you make it home safe,” her dad says as we round the corner to her street. We pass the courts, a place neither of us has been in days, and the lights are on. There’s a decent game of three-on-three happening, and it captures Riley’s attention as we pass. It’s Lotus and a few of his friends. She’d be safe there for a while, at least until they’re done.

  “You should play,” I say quietly. Her dad still hears me and catches my eyes in the mirror. Riley doesn’t answer.

  We make it to her driveway a few seconds later.

  “Tristan’s right, Riles. You need to get out and put some work in…” He stops when Riley cuts him off.

  “It doesn’t matter. I’m never going anywhere anyway,” she says, and both her dad and I rock back hard with the stop of his car. It’s not the motion that gets us but the surrender we hear.

  “Don’t be stupid,” I say, not choosing my words very well but getting them out quickly.

  Riley turns slightly in her seat while the motor still hums around us. Her dad is squeezing the steering wheel, flexing his hands.

  “I’m not being stupid, I’m just being practical. I’m smart, and I can go to school and study what I want. I’m just focusing is all, and living here…with what’s happened…” She stalls, and her father slaps his hands on the wheel hard, jarring his daughter with his outburst.

  “What’s happened is we filled in the missing pieces of our puzzle, Riley, but that doesn’t change anything about where we are and what you get to do. I won’t let it. You don’t get to quit on you. Not an option.” He turns the motor off and clutches the keys in his hand, not fully looking at her, and the sound of his breath is heavy through his flared nostrils.

  “Say goodnight to your friend,” he growls, stopping just before stepping out of the car. “Tristan, it was nice having you join us.”

  His words are capped off by the heavy slam of his door, and for a few seconds, Riley and I stare at the space he just left.

  “I think that was progress,” I say, trying to make a joke at a time when nothing is really funny. Riley smiles, and I catch it on the side of her face, her eyes are still staring at her dad’s form as he marches up the driveway and lifts the garage door. I should offer to fix that some time. I should fix ours.

  I should do a lot of things.

  “He’s moody. He’s been like that all day—up and down, then up again,” Riley says. “The detective called this morning. They linked my mom’s murder to another body they recovered on the other side of town about eight months ago. I guess the bullets matched. They said it looked like she just got caught in the wrong place. The other body was from some gang called Tribe?”

  I’m sure one of our guys did this. If not, the Tribe cut out one of their own. Someone messed up and took Riley’s mom down, too. It could have been crossfire…it could have been a drive-by on the highway. Hell, Dub’s shot people while they’re filling up on gas. Someone threw her mom away like scrap paper. They didn’t even bother to cover her up well. Whoever it was, they weren’t on the inner circle. I would have known.

  I would have been called to clean up the mess.

  “How are you?” I say, leaning forward to press my forehead against the back of her headrest. She’s just right there, yet out of reach.

  “I’m okay…and I’m terrible,” she says, a sad, short laugh escaping her lips. “If that makes any sense at all.”

  “It does,” I say, bringing my hand up and reaching over the seat to her shoulder. My eyes close at the feel of her. I can sense her warmth even under the layers of coat and sweater. It’s growing colder outside, the time of year when I can see my own breath.

  Her hand lifts across her body and over her shoulder to find mine, and our fingers interlock at the ends, holding on to this small place for us that exists and promises to disappear in seconds.

  “I have to go,” I say, not able to leave.

  “I know,” she says, loosening her fingers enough to trace along the spaces in between mine. “Your book is in my bag, in the backseat. You should take it…since I was just giving you homework.”

  I nod, remembering the story and the performance we need to keep up. I’m glad she realizes that I’m not going overboard. Dub’s smart. He’s also psychotic.

  “I’d like to see you again tomorrow,” I say, my dry throat making it difficult to swallow.

  “I’d like that, too,” she says, giving my hand a final squeeze before opening her door and stepping outside.

  I know that now is the time to pretend, just in case there are eyes somewhere waiting in a car, watching to see if she’s important to me. It hurts to leave without kissing her, but I have to. I push the door open and slam it, moving in the opposite direction from her with long steps toward my house.

  “Thanks again for the ride,” I call over my shoulder, my book tucked under my arm.

  I hear the sound of her garage door being lowered, and I imagine running back and reaching her before it closes. It’s a dumb fantasy, but it takes the sting away. So does knowing that she read every word I wrote in this book. I pull it open a few houses away from mine and flip through the pages, stopping when I get to the last one with my messy handwriting and misspelled words. Her note to me is small, her letters curvy and perfect and so distinctly her.

  I might love you.

  I might love you, too, Riley. I might love you, too.

  I text her the word HOME as my mom’s car comes into view. I hover my thumb over the keyboard for an extra second, wanting to throw LOVE in the mix, too, but it doesn’t feel like the right way to say it, so I stop with that.

  My mom’s car being here means she’s home, and not at Joker’s house. I haven’t seen her in nearly a week, not since Riley’s mom was found. My mom made me go to church with her that night to pray. I wanted to, though I’m not sure my requests did any good. Maybe. I
asked for peace. It seemed like the only option on the menu.

  This is now the longest my mom and I have gone without talking since she went to rehab. I should call Dub back right away, but I know that he’s just going to take me away from home for at least the rest of the night. He’s teaching me a lesson, because I haven’t found Joker yet, or because he thinks I’m an informant too. This is how he breaks people—by abusing his hold over them. It was my job to hide the knives, and Joker stole three of them. I either look incompetent or guilty, and neither are good.

  Instead of texting him back or calling, I go inside. The house smells sweet, like polvorones, and I find a pan half filled with chocolate drops when I get into the kitchen. The oven light is still on, so I check to see if anything else is inside, then turn it off when I see it’s empty.

  “Police, there’s a strange man in my house.” My mom’s voice surprises me a little, and I jump where I stand.

  “Very funny,” I say, turning and reaching for a cookie. My mom lunges forward and slaps it out of my hand.

  “Those are for Danette. Hands off,” she says. I obey, stepping around the counter and moving close enough to hug my mom. We’re not very affectionate, so I stop short of actually embracing her, instead sweeping the stray hair that’s nearly cutting into her eye. She stops me from leaving her space fully, though, grabbing my hand and bringing it to her lips.

  “My sweet boy,” she says, and my heart sinks. I wish I had been sweeter.

  Her eyes are red and sunken in deep, her face bare of the normal makeup that makes her look alive and happy. She looks worn like this, though I would never tell her. She’s lived hard, and I think this last week and a half has brought her close to the bottom again. She’s stronger than I give her credit for—stronger than me in many ways.

  “Has Danette heard anything?” My mom’s eyes linger on mine, and it hurts because I can tell she’s trying to decide if I’m asking for me or for Dub. “I’ve been looking…for me. I want to find him, Mom.”

  Her features soften and her mouth curves slightly just before she kisses my palm again and lets go.