by Jay McLean
Madison looks up from behind the counter of Debbie’s Flowers when I step in, a huge smile on her face. She straightens her arms on the counter and pushes up—her eyes closed and lips puckered and waiting. I wipe the sweat off my face and make my way over to her, kissing her quickly—just once. Then I go in for another, and another, and another. When I pull back, her smile’s still in place. “Another one?” she asks.
“Hey! That’s my line.”
She laughs.
I give her another one.
“You want to see what I’ve been working on?” she asks, rocking on her heels.
“Of course.” I drop my gym bag and wait while she goes to the back room and I take the time to check my phone.
Jackson: Call me. It’s urgent.
She returns a second later holding something behind her back.
“Ready?”
“For you? Always.”
“Ta da!” she says, revealing a bouquet of flowers. Half white lilies, half Madisons. “You like?”
“I love.”
“You think Christine will like them? I’m getting them delivered to her.”
“Really?” I can’t help but smile. “You don’t have to do that.”
With a shrug, she says, “I want to.” Then she reaches behind the counter for a pen just as Debbie appears from the storeroom.
“Oh good, Kyler’s here,” she sings. She rises to her toes and picks up an old Polaroid camera from the shelf behind the counter.
“They still make those?” I ask her.
“Nothing will ever replace instant memories,” she says.
She stands behind the counter and fiddles with it while mumbling, “We can send a picture of you two holding it when it gets delivered. It’s more personal that way. This damn thing...”
I chuckle as Madison wraps her arm around my waist. “You’re sticky and smelly,” she whispers.
“And you love it,” I tease.
She scrunches her nose.
“Okay!” Debbie shouts like we’re in another room. “Make it a good one,” she says, lifting the camera to her eye.
I look down at Madison, but she’s already watching me—contentment in her eyes that I’m sure matches mine.
I feel like a teenager experiencing love for the first time. Like the world has never shown me an ounce of sadness or regret. Madison—she makes everything feel like the first time. “I love you,” she mouths.
“I love you,” I say, before I close my eyes, lean down and press my lips to hers.
I hear the bell above the door chime.
The click-whoosh of the Polaroid camera.
Then Debbie’s gasp, followed by a deathly shriek.
My eyes shoot open and snap to her, but she’s no longer standing there. She’s sitting behind the counter—knees raised and her hands covering her head, shielding her.
My heart stops. “Debbie?”
“Oh my God,” Madison whispers, and I turn to her quickly. She’s facing the front of the store, all color drained from her face.
My eyes follow her gaze.
“Nate,” she whispers, just as he comes into my vision.
But the man before me isn’t the Nate DeLuca I’ve always seen.
There’s no calm in his eyes.
No intimidation in his stance.
His cap’s pulled low, his hoodie covering it.
His arms are at his sides, one hand loosely gripping his gun.
I pull Madison behind me, my heart thumping against my chest.
DeLuca steps closer, wiping his face with his sleeve.
I think it’s sweat, but the closer he comes, the clearer I see him.
His body shakes, his hand trembling as he wipes at the tears filling his eyes.
I hear Tiny’s voice. “Boss Man, don’t do this.”
Madison’s grip on the back of my shirt tightens.
She lets out a sob.
DeLuca’s movements are slow.
Or so it seems.
Then he lifts the pistol and aims at my head.
He takes the final steps to get to me.
I should move.
I should do something.
Anything.
He’s two feet in front of me now—his gun still pointed.
His chest heaves with each shaky breath.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Madison releases my shirt.
I feel her move next to me.
His gaze switches to her.
Then he blinks.
Once.
Twice.
He speaks.
“Get in the fucking car, Bailey.”
Jackson: It’s Madison.
Jackson: She’s not who she says she is.
Epilogue
I REFUSE TO look at Doctor Aroma when I ask, “You said your parents were on crack?”
“Yes, I did say that.”
“Were you serious?”
“No, Ky. It was a metaphor. They’re just loopy.”
“My parents were on crack. No metaphor.” I uncross my arms and look around her office.
“They your parents?” I ask, looking at the framed picture of her in a graduation gown with an older couple.
“Yes.”
“I could have been you,” I mumble.
“What do you mean?”
“I found my birth dad. He’s straight edge. I could’ve gone to college, got a degree. I could have been you.”
“And why don’t you think you turned out that way?”
“Like I said, my parents were on crack.”
“And it affected you how?”
“I’m allowed to be bitter, right?” I ask, ignoring her question.
“You’re allowed to feel however you want to feel, Ky.”
“As long as it’s not angry?”
“What makes you say that?”
“Because it leads me here.”
“To my office?”
“No.” I look back at her. “To the edge of destruction.”
REDEMPTIVE
Combative Part II
“Sometimes I can hear my bones straining under the weight of all the lives I’m not living.”
- Jonathan Safran Foer, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close
Bailey—Six Years Earlier
“Shit,” I whispered, feeling the first drop of rain. It was already freezing out. My jaw had begun to hurt from the effort of trying to force it shut so my teeth would stop clanking against each other. I stood up, looking for some form of shelter that the dumpster I’d been calling home no longer provided. Pulling my arms into the sleeves of my sweatshirt, I used my body heat to keep me moving. To push me forward.
A shiver ran up my spine, spreading to the rest of my body. Thunder clapped, and just like that, heavy sheets of rain poured down on me; soaking me from head to toe. My toes, now frozen thanks to the giant hole at the tip of the only pair of shoes I owned.
my breath, attempting to run and find shelter. I didn’t get far. I was so weak I could barely stand. I’d given up on trying to remember my last meals—given up on trying to work out time and days.
I slowed to stroll, my body fighting against my will to find somewhere warm.
Somewhere safe
The evil lurkers came out at night, especially in the wet, knowing that the sounds of raindrops hitting against the pavement, or anything really, would drown out the sounds of yelling and screaming while they tormented other homeless for their few possessions. The worst was when they’d prey on the elderly. Or the women. Because apparently beating and raping aren’t criminal offenses when it came to the homeless vs. the homeless. No one cared.
Reaching into my bag, I fished around for the toy cell phone I found and brought it to my ear. I started speaking into it, like I was focused on a mission to get home. Saying things like, ‘yeah mom, I’ll be home soon’, just so those who saw me thought I had a purpose in life. Little did they know—my only purpose was shelter, and maybe even a warm drink.
/> I don’t know how long I walked before I came to a stop outside an empty diner. I shoved the fake phone back in my bag and looked up. The lights above the building flicked on and off, but everywhere else, darkness surrounded me. My breaths were short, sharp, tiny spurts used up of whatever energy I had left. Though barely able to breathe, the sounds of inhales and exhales amplified in my eardrums. Like a constant, inconsistent, humming.
I pushed open the doors of the diner; the bright fluorescent lights blinding me immediately. The smell of food overwhelmed my senses and my stomach flipped at the thought of it.
I pushed my arms back into the sleeves and pulled the hood off my head. Then I stood for a moment, waiting for my body to stop shivering.
“Unless you’re here to eat, you need to leave,” I heard. Slowly, my eyes roamed the small space for the voice. A middle-aged man was leaning against the counter; his dirty apron on full display. Dammit. How could he tell? I should have kept the phone to my ear.
The largeness of his frame intimidated me to the point where all the words caught in my throat. “Did you hear me?” he asked.
It took all my energy to nod. “Bathroom,” I managed to squeak, hoping for working hand dryers to warm me up.
“Paying customers only,” he said, straightening to full height.
“I—”He pointed to the door. “Out.”
I wanted to cry.
Though I knew I couldn’t.
But what I wanted more was food.
Food and warmth. “Please—”
“Out.”
I turned on my heels, my wet shoes slipping easily against the tiled floor. Then I opened the door and stepped back out into the pouring rain. I rounded the corner of the building and leaned against the wall, using it to shield me from the downpour—if only for a little while.
Too weak to stand, my body slumped until my ass hit the cold, wet, concrete. I used my arms to cover my head, and started the count in my head. Two hundred.
That’s normally the number I’d get to. It was enough time to give my mind and my body reprieve, just long enough to get back up and start the same mission again; Food. Shelter. Pretending like I was a somebody.
A door slam shut, but I didn’t lift my head.
Twenty one
Twenty two.
“Here,” I heard, but I was too afraid to look up. “Take it,” the young male voice said.
Twenty three.
Twenty four.
“Just come in. Buy a burger and a drink. Use the bathrooms. Whatever you need.”
My stomach rumbled on cue, though whoever was speaking to me wouldn’t have heard it over the constant thunder now roaring in the skies.
I felt a hand on my bare knee, exposed by my ripped jeans. “Please,” he said, and the genuine sincerity in his voice gave me the courage to finally look up.
He smiled around a soaking wet cigarette. “I promise I won’t hurt you.”
He placed a scrunched up piece of paper in my hand as I used the other to wipe the rain away from my eyes. When I could see clearly, I looked down at his hand, now covering mine. He grabbed my wrist and helped me to stand. “I make a mean double cheese. I’ll even throw in some extra fries.”
I wished I could see him properly. See the eyes of a boy that was opening his heart to me. But it was too dark—the space between us too clouded by the falling rain.
“Please?” he said.
I managed to nod.
He smiled again, causing the cigarette to fall from his lips. “I’ll see you in there.”
I walked back in to the diner, a stride in my step and a new sense of hope. Marching up to the counter, I eyed the man that denied me previously. I uncrumpled the cash in my palm—a twenty—and did my best to slam it down on the counter. Behind the kitchen, a door opened, and my savior entered, his smile widening when he saw me.
He used his index finger to wipe the wetness of his eyebrows and shook out his arms slightly. He nodded, encouraging me to find my voice.
My eyes trailed back to the man behind the counter. “I’ll have a coffee, a coke, a double cheeseburger and fries, please,” I said confidently, pushing the twenty toward him.
He cleared his throat, then, over his shoulder; “Order for—”
“I heard!” my hero shouted, now clearly visible under the diner lights. “I’m on it!”
He winked at me, and my stomach flipped. For a completely different reason other than hunger. He gave me a half smile that lit a spark in his eyes.
The man in front of me spoke up. “Here’s your change,” he said, then pointed to my left. “Bathroom’s that way.”
Chapter Two
The need to find warmth apparently outweighed the need to fill my stomach. This made evident by the fifth push of the hand dryer button and the enormous glee I felt as I dipped my head underneath, combing my fingers through my hair.
A knock on the door had me jumping out of my skin.
“Occupied,” I shouted, just as the dryer timed out and switched off.
A chuckle came through from the other side, and without knowing for sure who it was, I opened the door.
My generous hero smiled wide, then threw his arm out toward me, holding a plastic bag. “Found some clothes in my car,” he stated, eyeing me up and down quickly. “They’ll be big on you. But they’re dry.” He motioned his head to the counter. “Your food’s ready.”
“Thank you,” I mumbled, taking the bag from him.
He just nodded and left me to change.
***
I’d just taken a seat to start my meal when he approached from the other side of the counter. He placed a set of keys right next to my plate and said, “Take your time, I’ll be done in an hour. You can wait in my car, put the heat on.”
I don’t know what I’d done to deserve his generosity, but I sure was grateful for it. “Are you sure?”
He nodded slowly, his hand reaching up and moving my hair behind my ear. “Just stay okay? Don’t leave without me.”
I returned his nod, not knowing what else to do.
Even though I had a safe warm place to go after my meal, for some reason I felt safer being in the same room as him, a complete stranger. So, I took my time eating. Occasionally, I’d catch him staring at me with a frown that made me squirm in my seat. After an hour, he removed his apron and sat down next to me. “You ready?” he asked, looking down at his phone.
“Yes,” I said quietly.
He glanced up then—an almost shy smile on his face. His gaze moved from me to the darkness outside. The rain had stopped now but it was windy. The type of cold wind that I hated. When his eyes moved back to mine, his smile got wider. He reached up and pulled the hood of his sweatshirt I was wearing over my head, then reached in his pocket and pulled out a pair of woolen gloves. He placed them carefully over my hands. And I let him. I even let him hold my hand afterward and help me down from my seat. He held it all the way to his car while he opened the door and helped me to get seated. The entire time I fought to keep the grin off my face.
It’d been a while since someone had cared. But he did—and I had absolutely no idea why.
“You’re safe now,” he said, as if somehow reading my thoughts. He smiled again before closing my door and making his way around to the driver’s side. Once he was settled, he turned to me. “I’m house sitting for a friend. They’ll be back in a few days. I know you have no reason to trust me but I’d like for you to stay there, just until they get back.”
My heart slammed against my chest. I knew what this was now, and as much as I wanted the warmth and comfort of a roof and a bed, I just couldn’t do it. “I won’t sleep with you,” I mumbled, reaching for the door handle.
His hand on my forearm squeezed tight and froze me to my spot. A scream caught in my throat. I tried to pull out of his hold but he released me quickly and without a fight. His arms went up in surrender. “I’m sorry,” he rushed out. “I didn’t mean to put my hands on you like that. I promise you, that
’s not what this is. You can stay at the house. Different beds. Different rooms. Hell, you can take the entire house, I’ll sleep in my car.”
“What?” I asked, shock clear in my tone.
His phone rang; cutting off whatever response I was struggling to form. He sighed before hitting answer and lifting it to his ear. “I was working. What happened? Are you okay?”
I saw him release a heavy breath. “So what’s up?” he asked.
He waited a beat. “What kind of help, Ky?” he said, his eyes moving to mine. Gently, he took my hand in his and squeezed once, as if assuring me of what he’d said earlier. He mouthed a ‘thank you’ and pulled a packet of cigarettes from his pocket, lighting one and then offering them to me. I shook me head. “You’re after drugs, aren’t you?” he said into the phone.
I tensed.
Drugs.
He was a drug dealer.
I hated drugs.
And I hated everything that came with it.
I made a move to get out again, but he held my hand, his eyes narrowed as he searched my face.
“No,” he said, and I wasn’t sure if it was meant for me or the person on the phone.
He switched the car on and turned the heat up. “Because, Ky, you’re not like that. I’m not going to be responsible for—”
Whatever the Ky person said must have cut him off. He lifted both my hands and placed them in front of the air vents. Covering the phone, he whispered to me, “I’ll be back,” And stepped out of the car.
I closed my eyes and rested my head on the seat. What the hell was I going to do? Before I got a second to think, his door opened and he sat down again. “I’m sorry,” he told me. “That was my brother. I gotta help him out with something.”
“You’re a drug dealer?”
“No,” he said through a laugh. “Not at all. But I’ll to be honest with you. I’m going to help my brother get some. We’ll just go to a party, get him what he wants, and then we’ll leave. And I meant what I said, I’ll sleep in my car. You can have the house to yourself. I don’t have any ulterior motives. I promise.”