by C. C. Hunter
Hayden shows up during one of the stories and he sees me and fades. I get he’s embarrassed about me seeing him bedridden and all, but I wish he’d get over it.
I leave there and go up to see Annie. When I step off the elevator, I see Hayden standing in the hall. I put my phone to my ear so I can talk to him without attracting any attention.
“Hey?” I say. He turns around. The look in his eyes sets me off. “What’s wrong?”
“Annie’s got a fever.”
I bite down on my lip. “How bad is it?”
“Doctors are worried.”
I suddenly feel a chill climb up my spine. I look back. Mr. Brooks is there.
“We have company?” Hayden asks.
I nod. “Mr. Brooks.”
“I found him,” Mr. Brooks says.
“Found who?” I ask.
“Ramon. Come with me and help me talk to him. I think I can convince him to help Annie.”
“I have his number,” I say. “I can call him. I was waiting to talk to you first.”
“No. Let’s do it in person. It’s not that far from here. We could be there in ten minutes.”
I’m debating the wisdom of going.
“What does he want?” Hayden asks.
“He knows where Ramon is and wants me to go with him.”
Hayden frowns. “No. You can just call him.”
“Please,” Mr. Brooks says. “There’s a picture of her in the paper today. I think if you showed it to him, he might . . . be persuaded. He’s eating at a restaurant. So it’ll be in public. Less danger.”
I tell Hayden what Mr. Brooks said and add, “He didn’t hurt me last time. I think it’s safe.”
I can tell he doesn’t agree, but he doesn’t argue. “I’m going with you.”
Right then, Annie’s mom walks out of the room. A tight, worn expression on her lips makes her seem older. Her shoulders are slumped forward as if exhausted. She sees me and walks over.
“She’s sleeping. Not doing so well. She’s got a fever.” She brushes a few tears off her cheeks. “But there’s a news article about her needing someone with AB blood to donate part of their liver. We can only pray someone, somewhere will agree to help.”
I nod. Then I reach out and hug her because she looks like she really needs one.
• • •
I walk into the restaurant holding the newspaper.
“You need a table?” the hostess asks.
“No, I’m looking for someone.”
I follow Mr. Brooks to the back of the restaurant. I see Ramon sitting at a table with two other guys. A feather of fear brushes against the back of my neck. Being in public doesn’t actually make me safe, but there’s no turning back.
Ramon looks up. Surprise fills his face. He says something to the guys with him and then turns and faces me.
I keep walking toward him.
“Can we talk?” I ask.
“How did you find me?” His left hand rests on the table. He drums his fingers on the top. His right is under the table. Easy access to a gun if he decides he needs it. If he decides to shoot me.
“I just saw you walk in twenty minutes ago.”
“Kind of coincidental, isn’t it?” He shifts in the booth, and his eyes become dark slits of suspicion.
“Tell him you want to talk to him alone,” Mr. Brooks says.
“If he doesn’t warm up, we’re leaving.” Hayden moves closer to me.
“Can we talk?” I repeat.
“You already are talking, aren’t you?”
“Privately?”
“Told you she wants you,” one of the guys says.
“What is it you want to say?”
“Tell him you want to tell him the truth,” Mr. Brooks says.
What truth? I wonder, but without any other idea, I throw it out there. “I want to tell you the truth.”
“About?”
I was afraid he’d ask.
I wait for Mr. Brooks to speak up. When he does, I repeat his words. “The truth about your brother.”
Ramon looks at the two men sitting opposite him in the booth. “Leave us for few minutes.”
They get up. One of them puts his face in mine. “I’ll give you a little, if you want.”
“Get away from her,” Hayden seethes.
“Leave.” Ramon’s tone is sharp.
The two of them walk away. I scoot in the seat across from Ramon.
“So what’s this truth?” Ramon leans back in the booth.
“Tell him about me looking for him when I turned eighteen.”
I hesitate, unsure if it’s the right place to start. Unsure if he’ll believe his brother would’ve shared this with me. But then I realize Mr. Brooks knows his brother better than I do. “Your brother, when he turned eighteen, he tried to find you. He went to CPS and tried to get information. But they weren’t allowed to give it out.”
“You are still operating under the notion that I give a shit. What is it with you?”
I swallow. “I think you do give a shit.”
“And what makes you so smart to think that?”
“I saw it in your eyes when I told you that your brother was dead.”
“What you saw was relief.”
“Tell him that I went back to our old house in Austin,” Mr. Brooks adds. “That I found our uncle to see if he knew where he was.”
I take in a deep breath and do as Mr. Brooks asks.
Ramon leans in. “How do you know about that?”
“He told me,” I say.
I unfold the paper and push it over to him. “This is her. This is your niece.”
I can tell he doesn’t want to look at it, but then he shifts his gaze to the paper. “I told you I don’t care.”
“Tell him I’m sorry,” Mr. Brooks says. “Tell him I know I don’t deserve his help, but I’m begging him for Annie’s sake.”
“If your brother was here, I know he’d tell you he was sorry for not being able to help you. And I know he’d think he doesn’t deserve this favor. But he’d beg you to do it.”
“Well, he’s not here. And I don’t get how you think you can just speak for him. And don’t give me that crap that he dated your mom. ’Cause I don’t buy it. I found out he’s been in jail for six years. That would’ve made you, like, eleven. He’d never have told you any of this.”
“Tell him I’m here.” Mr. Brooks shifts to stand behind his brother. “Tell him.”
I cut my eyes up to Mr. Brooks. I can’t do that, can I?
Roman leans in and gets close. “So either tell me the damn truth or get your ass out of here.”
I swallow. My gaze shifts to the picture of Annie. “You won’t believe the truth.”
“Try me,” he says.
I lift my chin. “I . . . I can see ghosts.”
He laughs. A deep-belly kind of laugh.
I just sit there. “I know it’s hard to believe, but . . .”
“Tell him to ask me a question,” Mr. Brooks says. “Ask me anything about our life and I’ll answer it.”
I inhale. “He says for you—”
“He’s here now?” He laughs harder.
I nod. “He said you can ask him a question.”
“Right.”
Hayden drops down beside me. “Ask him how he thinks his friends’ phones exploded.”
“How do you think the phones of your gang exploded?”
He stops laughing, but not smiling. “You really want me to believe this crap? Get out of here!” He motions me away like I’m a fly.
“Tell him he has a heart-shaped birthmark on his ass,” Mr. Brooks says. “Tell him I used to tease him about it!”
I sit up straighter. “Your brother says you have a heart-shaped birthmark on your . . . on your butt and he used to kid you about it.”
Ramon’s smile falls off. “How do you know that? You got cameras in my place?” He slams his fist on the table.
I jump. “No.”
“We should go,
” Hayden says. “He’s getting mad.”
Mr. Brooks leans in behind his brother. Ramon sits up as if he senses the cold.
Mr. Brooks adds, “Tell him that we used to lay in bed and made up a language so we could speak it and no one else would know.”
“He says you used to try to make up a language so—”
“How the hell do you know this?”
“He’s telling me,” I say, and Mr. Brooks continues dictating things for me to repeat. “He says you two were so close. He says he took a whipping for you at the first foster home. He says you told him that you owed him, and that all he ever had to do was call in the favor. He’s calling in that favor now.”
“You tell him I owe him shit. I begged him to run away with me!”
Mr. Brooks starts spouting out things to say, and I try to keep up. “He didn’t run away with you because he wanted you to have a chance for a better life. He wanted you to have a family. Parents who cared. He said that having a family was like finding the pot of gold for a foster kid.”
“Well, he was wrong. I got shit for a family. The old man beat me. And his wife let him because she was afraid he’d beat her instead.”
“He didn’t know that. He cared about you. He was willing to live without his brother just so you’d have a better life. He says he’s missed you every day.”
Mr. Brooks doesn’t slow down. “Ask him to show you his hand where we sliced our palms open and put our hands together so we would be blood brothers in every sense.”
“He says to look at your hand where—”
“I said to get your ass out of here! Go, before I let my guys do with you what they want!”
His friends must have heard him raise his voice, because they come around the corner.
“Get up, Riley,” Hayden says. “We’re leaving now.”
I stand up. My gaze lowers to the newspaper with Annie’s picture front and center. “I cannot believe you’re going to let her die.”
“This bitch is crazy!” Ramon says to the guys. “Get her the hell away from me!”
“My pleasure.” The bigger of the guys grabs my arm.
Right then all their phones start to ring.
All three of them look at one another. Shock fills Ramon’s eyes as he pulls his phone out of his pocket and drops it on the booth. “Let her go!” he says.
Big guy releases me, and their phones stop. I walk away. Hayden walks with me, when I glance at him, he’s smiling.
“I think they know I mean business now.”
• • •
“This smells good,” Dad says as we sit down at the table to eat the homemade chili.
“Thanks,” I say. I spent two hours with Kelsey doing homework, and then I came home and started painting again. While I dipped and swirled paint on the canvas, I thought about Mom, about Dad not wanting to talk about Mom. About her having an aura. I thought about Annie and her chances of a stranger with the same blood type coming forward to save her life. I thought about Hayden, about him being unwilling to talk about what happened with Jacob yesterday.
“Do we have cheese to put on top?” Dad asks.
“I think so.” I start to get up.
“I got it.” He gets the cheese and adds a handful to his bowl. “You want some?”
“Nah,” I say.
“Thank you for cooking.” He dips his spoon into the chili.
Thank you for not coming home smelling like cigarette smoke or with bloodshot eyes. I stir my chili.
“How’s school going?” he asks.
“Okay,” I say.
“Have you done your homework?”
“Yeah. I went over to Kelsey’s, and we did it together.”
“Why did you break up with Jacob?”
I’m shocked by the question. “It didn’t feel right.”
“Did he do something wrong?” His tone is full-on parent.
“Noooo.”
“You sure?” Dad asks.
“Positive.”
He eats a bite of chili and swallows. His gaze melts on me like that cheese in his chili. “Was he upset that I called his parents?” Guilt spills out with his words.
It shouldn’t make me happy, but it kind of does. It means Dad realizes he was wrong.
“No. I just didn’t like him as much as I should have. Plus, school’s almost over and he’s going to leave for college, so it just didn’t seem smart.” I take a bite of chili.
“We need to get you signed up for college,” he says. “Do you mind going locally for a few semesters until . . . until I save up enough to—”
“That’s what I planned.”
“Sorry,” he says. “I really wanted—”
“It’s fine, Dad. Really. I prefer it this way.” I’d worry too much about your drinking.
“Okay,” he says. “You sure you’ll be okay when I’m in Dallas?”
“Yes.” Are you sure you’ll be okay and won’t get drunk when you’re there? “Did you get caught up at work?” I ask, trying to participate in the conversation.
“Yeah. It was a hard day, though. Sad.”
“You’re a mortician. I’d think it’s always sad.”
He kind of grins. “Some things are harder than others. I have a client that . . . the state is paying for his funeral. He was a prisoner. And next Tuesday is his viewing, and Wednesday is his funeral. To be honest, I don’t think anyone is going to show. The one thing sadder than watching people mourn is when no one does.”
I remember Mr. Brooks saying nobody would show up for him.
“That is sad.” And in addition to hurting for Mr. Brooks, I feel something else. I realize what it is. I’m proud of my dad for caring.
“Did you read the paper today?” I ask.
“Yeah. Why?”
“Did you read about the girl who needs a part of someone’s liver?”
“Yeah,” he says. “Both you and I have O negative.”
“Yeah, I know. I just . . . I printed up some flyers. Tomorrow I’m going to go post them wherever I can.”
He looks puzzled. “Do you know her or someone who does?”
“No. I just . . . wish I could help.”
“That’s nice of you,” he says.
“Yeah,” I say.
“By the way, my boss called yesterday. There’s another property they want me to look at, and I can only see it tomorrow afternoon. Which means I’ll have to leave a day early. I’m hoping to be home on Wednesday. So I’ll still only be gone two days.” He frowns. “Are you sure you’ll be okay?”
I roll my eyes. “I’m fine.”
The next five minutes pass, and we eat in silence. I hear the clock ticking in the living room, I hear our spoons scooping up chili. I hear the two elephants in the room milling around. One wears a tag that reads “Dad’s drinking,” the other reads “Mom.”
My gut says bringing up either would lead to a confrontation. I consider if it’s even worth it when the chances of Dad talking is lower than one of those elephants sprouting wings and flying away.
I drop a piece of beef I saved for Pumpkin, who waits patiently at my feet. When I look up, the words just fall out. “How long did Mom paint?”
Dad cuts his eyes at me. I see the frown pulling at his lips. I wait for him to say he doesn’t want to talk about it.
“On and off since I knew her.”
I sit up in the chair. “Did she take art classes?”
“I don’t know. I know she watched those television programs of people painting.”
“Was she good?” I ask.
“I guess. I’m not an art critic.”
“You said she heard voices. What did you mean by that?”
He frowns. “Just that she said she heard voices. She went and got on antidepressant medicine.” He picks up his bowl and walks to the kitchen.
“Did they go away?” I ask.
“I think so. She didn’t mention them after that.” He faces the sink and rinses out his bowl.
“Did she
love me?” The sound of my voice echoes in the room as it was too loud.
He looks back at me. It’s an easy question, but he hesitates. “Sure. Yeah.”
Why doesn’t he sound confident in that answer?
“Did she love you?”
He looks back at the sink. “She said she did.”
“Did you have a good marriage?”
His shoulders stiffen. “Most of the time.”
“What did you argue about?”
“I don’t remember.” He starts back to the table.
“Did—?”
“Enough questions, okay?”
I hear pain in his voice. Considering I didn’t think I’d get anything out of him, I decide to give him a break. But I hope he realizes that this isn’t a subject I plan on dropping. She was my mother, and I deserve to know about her. And like it or not, he’s my only source of information.
Chapter Seventeen
Monday morning, I’m up early making more copies of the flyer about Annie in the hopes of finding someone who can help her.
“Hey,” I hear Hayden’s voice say.
I turn around, and he’s on my bed.
“Hi.” For him I pull out a smile.
“What are you doing?” He’s suddenly standing beside me.
“Printing out flyers. After school I’m going to go post them.
“Where are you going to post them?”
“Anywhere there’s a semi-flat surface to stick them to. I’m going armed with tape, tacks, and a staple gun.”
He brushes my hair off my cheek. “You are a good person, Riley Smith.”
I drop on the end of my bed. “I don’t feel like I am.” I look up. “I feel like I’m failing her.”
“Riley, you put your own life in danger trying to help her. Multiple times.”
Tears turn my vision watery. “But it’s not enough, Hayden. She’s still going to die.”
“You don’t know that. She’s better this morning. The fever’s gone. Sometimes it just takes a while for miracles to happen.”
He drops down beside me and puts his arm around my shoulders. We sit there for several long minutes. Me leaning against him.
“We still need to talk about what Jacob said.” I breathe in his scent. I love that scent. I love him.