Fractures

by M R Field

  Go get ’em, tiger.

  He chuckles, and I continue sketching before my mid-morning appointment takes place. I feel a sense of dread beginning to unfurl in my gut, but I keep sketching to clear my mind as best I can. One more hour until I, too, have to grow some balls of my own.

  My hand uncurls from the throttle as I glide my bike to a standstill by the warehouse. Outside, it still looks like a construction site, but inside, the restaurant is really taking shape. Considering it’s been almost two weeks since I was here last, I had to come and face Ricardo for the project, as initially promised. The guilt for being so pissweak was eating away at me. Rolling in on my bike wasn’t anything I normally did, but I had to have something that I could control within my fingertips.

  Calling in sick last week had been a cop-out, especially via email. I half expected Elly to march over to my place and rip me a new one, but she didn’t. I just got a few messages reading, “Coffee machine misses you. Cups are getting cold.” I was just too overwhelmed to face any of them. But enough was enough. I had balls dammit, and it was about time I used them.

  Tucking my helmet under my arm and taking my bag off, I walk through the entrance to the building and familiarise myself with the new changes. The bar itself has been built, the wall behind it is almost finished, yet the wine-holder holes look strange with the undercoat. But I know it is going to be pretty cool when completed. Despite the floor’s protective covering, I still tap my shoes on the door’s step to remove the excess dirt from outside. I no longer took them off, though. Old habits die hard to keep floors clean.

  Walking across the flooring, my eyes scan the hall for Ricardo, but I don’t see him. Placing my helmet on the bar top, I sign in, then unzip my bag and get my safety vest and hard hat out, followed by the folio as well, to go over the wall designs. I leave the bag next to my helmet. Amongst the sound of drilling and the nails being hammered, workers surround the room, each doing their individual jobs, from painting walls to adjusting lights. I can hear his muffled voice in the distance towards the kitchen. Stepping closer, I see the room is well lit up, and the stainless steel walls and benches have been fitted, showing more distinctly the shape that the kitchen will have.

  “Hello, Theo.” Ricardo startles me. He stands to the side with a piece of paper in his hand and his phone to his ear.

  “Hey.” I clear my throat as he continues speaking on his phone, only to cut off the conversation.

  “Excuse me, Louis, but my son is here. Yes, the architect. Thank you. I’ll pass that on … Yes, his details are on that business card I gave you. Good. Adiós.”

  I blink heavily. My son. Still feels weird hearing that. Not going to freak out today. Hopefully.

  “That was my dear friend Louis Owen—”

  “From L. Owen constructions,” I interject, my mouth drying up. That company owns half of the city. He is one of the big investors. Apparently, he missed out on the casino rights by a sliver. Fuck, this guy is loaded to his eyeballs, and all the architect firms want in on his action.

  “He dropped in here last week and liked the look of the place.”

  “But it’s unfinished,” I mutter.

  “He’s a visionary. He can see where it will go. So, consider yourself lucky. He’s got a new frontier in his back pocket and is probably calling Cole as we speak. Prepare to be very busy. He will work you like a machine. But you can handle it. I have faith in you.” Ricardo tucks his phone into his suit jacket and smiles. “Coffee?” His chin lifts towards the machine.

  I shake my head. “You didn’t need to do that. I don’t want it to seem like your friend is giving preference to my work because you’re my—”

  “Theo.” Ricardo turns to face me, stepping forward to place his hand on my shoulder. “Son, you need to give yourself more credit. I didn’t need to do anything.” Waving his other hand around the place, he continues, “This place speaks for itself. Now, onto more pressing matters.”

  My gut tightens as he stares at me.

  “Do you want that coffee or not?”

  I chuckle as my shoulders relax, and I nod. “Yeah, that would be great. Thanks.”

  He squeezes my shoulder and winks before walking over to the machine to make the coffees.

  After they’re done, we step back out into the main area as he indicates the changes from last time, not once making me feel guilty for avoiding him. I smile, marvelling at how expressive he is.

  “Over here”—he gestures to the side wall—“I want to have portraits of couples dancing. I want them dressed traditionally and put into various poses.”

  “I could source some dancers and find a costume shop or something …” I offer, even though it’s not my job. But I want to help after running out on him like an idiot. He waves the piece of paper in his hand at me.

  “There are at least nine different types of dances. We are not just Flamenco.” I nod, taking the paper from him. “I want couples doing the Jota Aragonesa, Muñeira, Zamba Bolero, and of course, the Paso doble.”

  I look at the sheet. Photos of dresses are printed out onto it.

  “You want me to get Trin to sew these?” I hold the images to face him. “She could, but it will have to wait for a month as she’s … busy.” I know this project would thrill her, but seeing as her surgery is just a couple of days away, there is a bee’s dick of chance that I’ll let her see these. She’d try to start, and no way am I letting that happen. She’s already teased me about playing nurse for her, so if dressing up in a white dress is what I have to do to make her rest, that’s what I’ll do.

  “Not needed.” He shakes his hand. “These dress pictures are of my mother’s and a few of my sister’s. The girls have some too, but they don’t get up and dance like they used to. Eloise is a qualified teacher, who I hope will do a workshop here once a week or fortnight. Maybe a Thursday night.”

  “My friend Trice teaches dance, I’m sure she’d love to learn. Her old dance partner Aidan would join her too if needed.”

  “Can she teach, too?” he asks.

  “She already has her own classes, and will be back working weekends, but I’ll mention it. I’m not sure if she’s trained in this style, but it’s worth asking. So, do you have a photographer in mind? I could probably suggest who we use for our website. Do you have your models hired?”

  “No photos.” He shakes his head and gestures to the picture in my hand. “My daughters will be in some of those portraits, but your friend and her partner can be as well.”

  “That might be expensive, getting in all those models,” I explain, but he waves his hand at me.

  “No matter. It will be worth it. They will make the pictures feel more real to me.”

  “Sounds great.” I stare at the walls, wondering how big these portraits are going to be, when I realise something. “If you don’t want photos, what do you want?”

  “Paintings. I want them painted directly onto the wall. Not in frames. I want them part of those walls. They will be our history blended in.”

  “Sounds fantastic. Have you found an artist? There are a few in town I could locate for you, get them to draw up a few designs to see if it’s the style you’re after.”

  “No need. My artist is standing right next to me.”

  The speed with which my head flicks back makes me wonder how it’s still attached. “Huh?”

  “Theo, I want you to do it. This is my family, and you’re part of it.”

  A small wave of pride tingles my skin, and I turn back to face the walls. Already, I can see the silhouettes of movement on them. Second to drawing, painting is another interest of mine, and the thought of doing more of it really sends a surge of eagerness within me. I raise my hands, letting the empty coffee cup hang from my finger as I position them into a square in front of me. Yes, I can see what I will do. “I don’t know what to say. I’d love to.”

  I can’t wipe the smile off my face, and I hope I won’t need to. We walk over to the bar, more ideas beginning to form. “I
’ll get the girls to dress up,” I rush on excitedly, “and get some photos taken to give me an idea. I think they will love it. I’ll even find a partner for the girls, if needed.”

  Ricardo’s eyes darken. “So long as they’re good boys and I don’t need to get my gun license.” His brow tightens for a moment before he winks, and I laugh. “Good, the wall is ready. You choose when you’re able to do it, after all the other things are finished.”

  “I can come in after the workers leave and start planning.”

  “You remind me of your mother, Amaya, when you’re happy,” Ricardo gently adds, as he puts our cups on the bar top. Our conversation takes a turn into the awkward, but I refuse to close him off this time.

  “I only have a few photos of her.” I shrug. “Don’t remember a lot, to be honest; I was only four.”

  “What do you remember?” he asks candidly.

  “Her laugh and the tight hugs she gave me. Sometimes I remember snippets of when she read to me before bed.”

  “What do you know about her and I?” He leans against the bar, and my fingers curl into my bag.

  “That you met at a conference, and she seduced you to get pregnant and never told you about me.”

  “That must’ve been quite a shock,” he surmises.

  “Yeah, you could say that. Kind of explains why Ko was the way he was with me. Why I resented him so much.”

  “Why do you call him Ko when he was your father?”

  “Because he lost that right when I’d discovered he’d been withholding the truth about you. He never felt like one, so I can’t bring myself to call him that anymore.”

  “Are you still in contact with him?” He tilts his head to the side, studying me.

  “Barely.” I shrug. “I don’t feel the need to make the effort. I answer his calls and have a two-minute polite conversation. That’s it, though. I’ve learnt that I don’t need him.” I take a moment while the next thought enters my mind, taking me off guard. “I’m surprised that I don’t hate him anymore either.”

  “That’s because you have your mother’s goodness in you. We did meet at a conference, but it wasn’t a sordid affair, like Ko probably suggested. We became friends. Amaya was passionate about living and had a wicked sense of humour. She was serious at work, but had a lust for life. We were both too busy in our lives to have any sort of relationship. Plus, I thought I was too young to settle. I just wanted to have fun. I never knew she was married. That was the only thing that disappointed me—when I found that out. I was sad to leave, as it had been fun, but I never knew the extent of her feelings. I never got the impression it was anything more than a bit of excitement.”

  “Okay,” I grimace.

  “I’m sorry that our story isn’t romantic, Theo. But I will say that I owe my success to her. She saw in me what I could achieve. We spent hours talking about what Melbourne needed. I wouldn’t have this success if she hadn’t pushed me towards it. I will be forever grateful to her.” He takes a moment, his expression softening. “But my greatest achievement is my family, and that includes you.”

  I grip the bench to steady myself, to hold it all together. “I’m not used to this type of praise,” I say uncomfortably. “My grandparents offered little comfort under the restrained doctrine of my father. They called me half-breed, for fuck’s sake. That was how people like me were referred to as. Like it was normal to downcast us. In their attempts at kindness, they always seemed stilted.”

  “It angers me greatly that you had that life, Theo. It pained me that I couldn’t step in and take you away. I was given the impression that it would destroy you. So, I bided my time until I found other measures to assist you, when it was time to be here.”

  “What do you mean?” I frown.

  “You remember your career advisor at school?” He smirks, twirling his coffee cup across the bench slowly.

  “Mrs. Parsons? Of course. She was the one who helped me get into college.”

  “About that.” His fingers stop for a moment. “I may have had something to do with that … as well as your new music building at school.”

  “What?” My eyes bug out of my head.

  “I may have made a sizeable donation to extend the music programme further. I also spoke to the dean at the university you applied to, who was a friend of mine in college, to create ... a scholarship.”

  My heart sinks. “I thought I got that based on my results, not because I was your son.” I grimace, feeling pissed off, gritting my teeth.

  “You did, Theo. I wanted to see what my son could do. You aced those tests and earned that scholarship with your own merit. From then, I made sure that you had the best of everything in university. Did you ever wonder why your lecturers were heavily sought out? You had the cream of the crop for your entire degree. That was my condition with Paul, the dean. He made no complaints; he got a sizeable donation, too. You may have seen the new student centre.”

  “Fuckin’ hell,” I mutter. “This is crazy.”

  “No, Theo.” Ricardo ’s voice is stern, and my eyes rise to meet his. “It was all I could do, as a father who missed out on eighteen years of his son’s life. If I had known about you from the start, especially after Amaya’s death, you would’ve been welcomed at our house.”

  “See?” I tap the bar top, with my fingers. “That’s what I don’t understand. Why was Aria so thrilled to see me? If I calculated correctly, Eloise is just under two years younger than I am. I would’ve ruined your marriage, coming in later on. Been a dirty secret or something.”

  “Rubbish!” he snaps. “I met Aria a few months after the last time I saw Amaya. I knew she was the one. Our love was strong and believe me, Theo, she would’ve welcomed you.”

  “How could you possibly know that?” I rub my lips together, knowing I’m a step away from telling him to piss off.

  “Because she was a foster child and knows what it’s like to feel unloved and unwanted. To beg for a family to take her in. When I found out about you, her reaction was to get a suitcase out to help me pack to come and get you. She’s not a fool, my boy. When you came to our house, she saw what you’ve been holding in for all these years.” He looks around the bar before continuing, “This was all meant to be discussed when you came to dinner that night. I was going to show you family photo albums and discuss my parents and siblings. There are still so many people for you to meet. But that night, we all saw the pain that gripped you.” Reaching towards me, his hand clasps mine on the bar as his fingers curl into them. “It’s time to let all that go; we’re not going anywhere, and you’re here where you’re meant to be.” A sharp intake of breath freezes in my throat. “No more running, Theo. Our family is big, and there are a lot of them who will chase you if you run.” He smirks.

  “Thank you for the scholarship,” I add feebly, not wanting to hold onto any more anger, my thoughts running rapidly in my mind.

  Ricardo smiles and nods, watching my face which I am sure is a myriad of emotions. Confusion. Fear. Hope. His hand lets go of mine, and I feel a strange sense of loss, until my shoulder is suddenly grabbed and pushed into his chest. His arms wrap around me, and for a moment I freeze, until the bag I hold loosens from my fingers and drops to the floor. I take a big breath and lift my arms to embrace him, pulling him closer, my head tilting to the side. The rush of emotion pulls me under as my hands shake within his strong hold. I don’t let go. This sensation is so foreign to me, but now feels right. I don’t care if the builders are watching. Nothing is going to break this moment.

  “Now, this is something I’ve been waiting for.” Ricardo ’s voice cracks. “Wait until I tell Aria—she is going to tackle you for a hug next time.”

  A laugh escapes my lips as I add, “After my sisters, though. I think they’ve been waiting to tackle me.”

  Ricardo slaps my back before stepping back, his eyes shining with unshed tears. He’s unashamed to show emotion. Peaceful. Proud.

  “I suggest you brace yourself, as they will make you t
opple,” he jokes.

  I smirk as warmth swirls in my chest. So this is what a real family feels like. A family I can call mine. “I will …” My lips stammer, as I’m about to utter a word that I’ve never said before. Not even as a kid. “Dad.”

  His face softens as he smiles, patting my shoulder. “No.” He shakes his head, “Papá.”

  “Papá.”

  “It’s going to hurt, baby, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.”

  Love, Mum

  TRINITY

  I glide the steamer over the fabric delicately, making sure I don’t get too close to it. The soft chiffon sparkles as the beading reflects under all the natural light. She’s going to look fantastic. I admire it. Today, Queen Virginia is collecting her dress ,as well as the bridesmaids’ dresses. Despite her being a royal pain in the arse and more difficult to deal with than an ingrown hair, I have grown fond of our sessions … slightly.

  Stepping back to clip my steamer on its stand, I check for any creases that I may have missed and position the dress better. It has come a long way from the mock-up that I made months ago. I spent many weeks creating the hand-beaded trim that is now successfully weaved throughout the dress and veil.

  In a white satin, the bodice is wrapped tightly with narrow straps that move into a plunging sweetheart neckline. Beneath the breasts, a gentle beaded trim wraps around the front of the torso, which then remains fitted until it reaches the hips. Soft chiffon overlays travel down the skirt in diagonal strips, each giving the gown a weightless appearance and lined individually with a handmade beaded trim. Her back will mostly be bare, giving an alluring look to the shape of her body.

  The veil is floor-length, with the same trim from each, to match her dress. Her strappy shoes complement it perfectly, but I know that they are going to kill her feet. For months, she’s sworn as she’s worn. Trying to follow beauty trends isn’t always going to be kind to your toes.

  Next to the dress, I arrange the bridesmaids’ dresses in individually marked bags for the girls: Eloise, Leah, and Skye. I’m tempted to make pockets to slip in a hip flask in each, as they are sure as shit going to need it.