One Percenter (Entangled Embrace)

by D. R. Graham

  I didn’t want her loitering any more than he did, but it wasn’t necessary to snap at her. “You don’t have to be a dick,” I mumble. “She didn’t know.”

  He shrugs as if he doesn’t care.

  The resemblance to my dad is infuriating and I have an urge to shake him violently until he changes. “This is exactly what we’ve been talking about. If you treat women like that, your daughter will think that’s how she’s supposed to be treated by men. Is that what you want?”

  “Hell no. I don’t want her to be a dumb old lady. I’ll whup her ass, too, if she starts doing illegal shit. Why did you do it?”

  “Partly because I needed the money to buy groceries for my little brother and partly because even if I got caught, at least my dad would come home.”

  “Well, it worked. He was worried about you.” He rubs his beard, which looks more like weeks of personal hygiene neglect rather than a legitimate styling choice. “He sent you plenty of money. Why didn’t you have no groceries?”

  “My mom’s a junkie.”

  He nods as if he just remembered. Randy laughs loudly at something they are watching on TV in the other room, and the timing makes it sound as if he thinks my mom is a huge joke, which isn’t inaccurate. I kind of want to cry, but I kind of want to scream too. The opposing forces trap me in an emotional void.

  “Why didn’t my dad want to be with us?” I ask, hoping that even though he’s a total stranger, he’ll know more about how my dad thought than I did.

  “He did want to be with you.”

  I’d be more convinced if he claimed that my dad had never done a crime in his life. “No, he didn’t want to be with us or he would have been. Why don’t you want to be with your kids?”

  He shifts in the chair uncomfortably. “It’s not that I don’t want to be with them. It’s just that I can’t not be out on the road. It would kill me for real if I was tied to one place.”

  “Seriously? You enjoy roaming around from one sleazy place to another, couch surfing and stinking like a bum?” Give me a break. “Don’t even try to feed me a bullshit line about how you need to be free and not tied down, because we both know that the club has more laws telling you what to do than society does.”

  He stands and carries his plate to the sink. He rinses it first, then slides it into the bubbles. “I live for the road, and my brothers, and everything that comes with it. It’s hard to explain to someone who ain’t got it in them, but family life comes last on the list of priorities.”

  I ball my hands into fists and press them against the table. Their narrow-minded mentality is so maddening. “Stop having kids if you don’t want to be a proper dad.”

  His eyes narrow, but his expression softens as he considers what I said. “You have no idea how hard it is to switch from being the guy who is holding a gun against some lowlife’s temple one minute and playing hide-and-seek with his kid the next. We have to be a certain person for this profession and it doesn’t just turn off because we ask it to, or because our kid needs us for something—no matter how bad we might want it to.”

  “Then get a different profession.” I stand, weary from a conversation that isn’t going to go anywhere. It makes no difference to hear the excuses. Nothing is ever going to change.

  He rests his ass against the countertop and crosses his arms. “Your daddy loved you. He just didn’t show it like average folks because he wasn’t no average guy.”

  “Yeah, well, if you don’t want your eight kids to be messed up, you better find them and start giving out hugs like an average guy.”

  After a few seconds of silence, he crosses the kitchen headed directly at me. I back up, worried he’s going to hit me or something. Instead, he extends his arms out. I stare at him for a long pause, then step forward and press up against his chest for a hug. His heart beats slowly and it brings tears to my eyes because I won’t ever be able to hear my dad’s heart beat again.

  “He was proud of you, T Bear.”

  I know, but that’s not the problem. “I wasn’t proud of him. No kid wants a murderer for a father.”

  “He did what he did for the right reasons.”

  “For the club?” I push away from him, furious at the absurd creed they dedicate themselves to. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. I don’t care about all your brotherhood bullshit. There is no justification for taking another person’s life.”

  “Sometimes there is.”

  “Yeah? Enlighten me.”

  He frowns at my question. “Didn’t no one ever tell you what happened?”

  “Yeah. Four guys crossed the club. My dad took care of it, and then he went to prison.”

  “There’s more to it than that.” Wing Nut rubs his leathery forehead, then runs his gnarled fingers through the coarse hair of his beard. “There were four hang-arounds who wanted to get approval to become strikers. Your daddy wouldn’t give them his vote because they were inhaling more coke than they were selling. He figured they’d be hard to manage, and he was right. They broke a few rules and got run off. They blamed your daddy so, when he was out of town, they went over to your house and gang-raped your mama.”

  “What?” I gasp and reach for the table to steady myself. A horrible chill soaks into me as if I’m a sponge and I just got thrown into a bucket of wet evil. My heart pounds and the room spins. “What?” I repeat, barely audible.

  “You and your brother were sleeping in the house when it happened. They were there all night. Your daddy hunted them down and took care of it. I would have done the same thing. That’s how guys who aren’t average show their love.”

  Stunned, I blink repeatedly. “Holy shit,” I mutter. I kind of remember when it must have happened because my mom changed. I was five years old and Cooper was three. My mom started crying all the time and I thought it was because my dad was never around. He went to jail a year later and that’s when she became a hard-core addict.

  “Sorry to upset you when you’re already dealing with the death of your brother, but you should know that your daddy had his reasons.”

  What about the reason Cooper was killed? Who could possibly have a reason for that? “Do you guys know what happened to Cooper?”

  “No, not yet, but we’ll take care of it. That’s what your daddy would have wanted.”

  I nod and cry because it is what my dad would have wanted. He must be so disappointed with me right now.

  Wing Nut seems uncomfortable with my tears. He clears his throat, squeezes my shoulder for a second, and says again, “We’ll take care of it.” Then he leaves me alone in the kitchen.

  No wonder my mom is such a mess. I should have known that it was because of something serious. How did I not know that? She used to be so gentle and sweet, exactly like Cooper. My dad always insisted that I take it easy on her when he was around to hear us bickering. It only made me hate him for taking her side. He should have told me.

  I need to go see her.

  I bolt out of the back door. With my flip-flops in my hand, I hop the chain link fence and hit a full sprint before I reach the end of the driveway.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I can see through the back porch screen door that my mom is in the kitchen. In her jean cut-offs and tank top, we look like twins, except for her weathered face and the dark circles under her eyes. She’s holding a spatula and cigarette in one hand and steadying the handle of the frying pan with the other hand. It’s quiet in the house. Usually she has the radio or the television on, so the silence seems almost creepy. When I come in, she looks over her shoulder at the creak of the springs on the screen door.

  She seems about to cry and smile at the same time. “T Bear,” she breathes out slowly.

  The guilt of being so disrespectful to her for the majority of my life overwhelms me and I don’t know where to start. I must be looking standoffish or cagey because she doesn’t try to approach me for a hug. “Hi, Mom.”

  The cry wins the battle over her face. Tears fill her eyes and, as she takes a d
rag from her cigarette, her hand trembles so badly that she can barely get it to her lips. “How are you holding up?”

  “Uh, not good.”

  She nods and bites at her thumbnail the same way I always do. “Are you hungry? Do you want something to eat?”

  I glance at the black-edged fried eggs sizzling in the pan. “No thanks.”

  She turns off the stove and moves to sit at the kitchen table. I watch her push her hair away from her forehead and take another drag from her cigarette. She blows the smoke out the side of her mouth and stares at me as if she doesn’t have a clue where to start, either.

  I sit down at the table, picking at the grain of the wood.

  “They’re working on finding out what happened to Cooper,” she says quietly. Her eyes look incredibly blue from the sunbeam that is angling through the window. For a second, I see Cooper’s eyes, then she blinks and I see her again. She frowns and the evidence of too much hard living etches her complexion like a road map. She lights another cigarette.

  “I know,” I say. “That’s not why I’m here.”

  She moves in her chair and scratches her neck, then forces a tight smile. She’s acting skittish, as if she’s worried that I’m staging an intervention and going to make my uncles haul her off to treatment. But I’m not. Not this time. “What’s on your mind, T Bear?”

  Um, okay. It’s probably best to just spit it out. “I came by to tell you that I found out why Dad went to prison.”

  “You already knew that.” She frowns as if she’s trying to fully comprehend what I’m saying. Based on the flicker of recognition in her eyes, she knows exactly what I’m talking about.

  “No. I knew he murdered people. I didn’t know why.”

  The memory of it seems to hit her in the gut. She places her palms over her belly and leans back in her chair. Her tongue slowly rolls across the front of her teeth. “Who told you?”

  “It doesn’t matter. I just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry.”

  Her eyes clench as if she’s trying to force the memory to stay locked away. “That was a long time ago, T Bear. It’s better if we forget about it.”

  “Forget about it how? With lines of coke or syringes full of heroin?” Shit. Why did I say that? What is wrong with me? I wasn’t going to go there.

  She glares at me, but doesn’t say anything.

  “Sorry.” I exhale. “I didn’t come here to fight.”

  She shakes her head. “I don’t want to fight either.”

  “I’m sorry about Cooper, too. I’m sorry I didn’t keep him safe.” I burst out crying—the out-of-control-wailing kind of sobbing. My forehead drops to the kitchen table and the tears pool on the wood.

  Her arms wrap around my shoulders and she rocks me gently. “Shh. Shh. It wasn’t your fault. It was my fault. Don’t ever blame yourself, T Bear. Shh. Shh. I brought you and your brother into this life and left you to fend for yourselves. It’s my fault. Shh. Don’t cry. Shh. I love you, baby, and I know I’ve been a shitty mother. I’m sorry.” She pulls my head tightly into her chest and continues to rock me. Her heartbeat reminds me of when I was little and used to crawl into bed with her. She used to hug me until I fell asleep in her arms.

  “I miss him so much,” I sob.

  “I know. Shh.”

  “I don’t want to live without him.”

  “Don’t talk like that, T Bear. He wouldn’t want to hear you saying that and you know it.”

  “It’s just not fair. Why did it have to be him?”

  “I don’t know.” She kisses my hair. “I don’t know.”

  My tears drip down onto her leg and leave little trails of moisture across her skin as they roll off her thigh. I wish I could turn back time. I would turn it back to before I was five years old so we could be happy again. Not that it would have probably made a difference if my dad was still Noir et Bleu. Something bad would have eventually happened and we’d be right back here again. The only thing that would have changed everything is if he hadn’t been a member and, if I turned time back that far, Cooper and I would have never been born. I’m not sure which is worse.

  Mom clutches me tightly. “You did a real good job raising him. He was such a good boy and we both know it wasn’t because of anything your dad or I did.”

  “He was just a good boy. It had nothing to do with me, either.” I sniffle and rub my eyes. Although being that close to my mom is something I’ve missed, too much of it feels overwhelming. I push away and exhale. “Is it all right if I hang out in his room for a while?”

  “Of course.” She sits back and lets me go.

  I walk down the hall and stand at the closed door for a long time. We lived here our entire lives and every single thing that ever happened to us had something to do with this house. At my waist level is a line of stickers that Cooper stuck on when he was about eight years old. They are shiny cars, but he arranged them in the shape of a heart. He said the heart would make Mom and Dad love each other and not fight anymore. I run my finger over the surface of each of the stickers and imagine his tiny finger pressing them on.

  Eventually, I work up the courage to turn the doorknob and slowly push the door open. The room is neat, the way he always kept it. It still smells like him. The shelf above his bed displays his collection of model cars. Resting against the pillow on his perfectly made bed is the teddy with a blue bowtie that he used to carry with him everywhere. On the desk is the framed ticket stub from the time my dad took him to a baseball game when he was ten. An overwhelming sadness presses down on me like a thick wool blanket, hot and suffocating. I slide my back down the wall, hug my legs into my chest, and rest my forehead on my knees.

  Mom slides down next to me. I hadn’t realized she’d followed me. “It’s going to take some time, T Bear. You can come by any time you need to. You’re always welcome here.”

  I nod, but I don’t lift my head off my knees. I don’t want to come here. It had already been too painful to come here and remember all the shitty times. Now, I will also remember the good times. The realization that Cooper and I will never make another memory, good or bad, shatters me.

  We sit together silently. She’s twitching for a hit of something, but she stays until there’s a knock on the front door. She kisses the top of my head again and goes to answer it. It’s a man’s voice, but I can’t make out what he’s saying. They talk quietly for a while, but then my mom yells, “Fuck you, motherfucker. I just lost my son. Have some God damn respect, you insensitive piece of shit.”

  What now? I stand and walk through the living room to see who is on the front steps. It’s the guy who owns the house. We call him Nesbitt. He’s a nerdy dweeb who wears high-waisted pants and golf shirts buttoned right to the top. He bought the house from my mom after my dad died and then she used all the money on drugs. My uncles had tried to transfer the house over to my name because they knew she would blaze through the money, but she figured out what they were up to before they could get it done. She sold it and arranged to stay on as a renter. She’s an addict, but she’s not stupid.

  “You’re short and three days late already, Anna.”

  “Are you fucking deaf? My kid just died. I’ll get the rest to you when I get it to you. Don’t harass me.”

  I stand behind her in support. Despite the fact that I’m ashamed of having a junkie for a mom, she is family and I don’t appreciate the fact that’s he’s being an asshole.

  Nesbitt glances at me and his face softens, maybe because it’s obvious that I’ve been crying. He peers over his glasses at my mom. “Did your kid really die?”

  “Yeah. What have I been fucking telling you?” She starts crying and lights another cigarette.

  “Sorry, Anna. I thought you were bullshitting me.”

  “What kind of sick fuck bullshits about their kid dying?”

  “Yeah, I don’t know. Sorry.” His face turns even pinker. He glances at me again and runs his finger between his neck and the collar of his shirt as if it’s suddenly st
rangling him. “Sorry. I’ll come by again at the end of the week.”

  “How much is she short?” I ask.

  “Two hundred.”

  “I’ll get it to you by tomorrow.” I’ve got plenty of money saved. Even though I’d cut myself off from her, I still put aside most of my paycheck into an emergency fund. Maybe because I never got into the habit of spending money on myself. Or, maybe because I knew one day she would need me to bail her out, and I knew I would do it.

  He nods apologetically. “No rush. Sorry to hear about your loss.” He turns and hustles down the stairs.

  “Fuckin’ weasel,” my mom mutters as she slams the door.

  “You’re the one who sold the house to him and snorted the money up your nose. Deal with it.” And, apparently, I’m still bitter. I guess I need to work on the forgiveness part.

  She huffs, but she doesn’t say anything because she knows it’s true.

  I can’t handle any more of her right now. I’m emotionally spent. My nose and eyes are raw and my skin stings from all the tears. “I gotta go.” I swing the door open. The screen slams behind me and I can feel her watching me walk away. Before I even get to the end of the path, my phone vibrates in my pocket. As I take it out, Leland’s note falls to the sidewalk.

  I read the text from Gylly as I bend over to pick up the note: Where are you, babe?

  I read the note from Leland next.

  Tienne,

  I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you needed me the most. I’m here now.

  Love, Leland.

  I debate who I should call. I’m not up to dealing with any more drama, so I decide to go with the easiest option. I dial my phone and wander down the street as it rings.

  “Hey, where are you?” Uncle Blaine asks.

  “I went by my mom’s. Do you mind picking me up here?”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  “Thanks.”

  I sit on the curb a few houses down from my own, staring at Gylly’s text in one hand and Leland’s note in the other. I finally decide to text Gylly. I’ll call Leland when I get back to Elizabeth and Blaine’s. He’ll probably want to come over to talk, and I’m definitely going to need a shower and maybe a nap before I feel up to that.