Lamentation

by Joe Clifford

  “Where you going?” Charlie asked.

  “To see my son.” I took a final swig of cold coffee, exiting the booth and making for the door.

  “If you see Brody,” Charlie hollered down the aisle, “you might want to ask him about his Commanderoes buddies.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Cutting across town to Jenny’s, I was praying that she and Aiden would be alone. Despite Charlie’s parting shot, I had no desire to talk to Brody. Not about bikers. Or gangs. Or anything else. I only wanted to see my family. I knew Jenny’s mom, Lynne, often watched Aiden during the day, but I didn’t bother calling to check because I couldn’t stomach the disappointment of the answer not coming back in my favor.

  I didn’t see Brody’s truck in the duplex parking lot. It was a little after noon. His shift at the plant didn’t start until three. Maybe he was grabbing lunch with a buddy, or picking up parts for his truck, or getting an early start. I didn’t give a fuck. As long as he was gone. This was my family first.

  “What are you doing here?” Jenny asked.

  “I wanted to see my son.”

  “Um, sure,” she said, taken aback by my unannounced visit. “Come in. I was about to put him down for his nap. He’s in his bedroom. We were reading stories.” She started toward the room, then stopped. “Would you like to read him one?”

  I nodded.

  Aiden’s eyes lit up when he saw me. He shot up off the chair and ran over, and I bent down and scooped him up. I hugged him tight as I ever had.

  After I read him a few stories, the last a long one about a talking chicken named Buck Buck who worked on the railroad, I tucked him in and gave him a kiss on his forehead, brushing his hair to the side. He seemed so happy to have his daddy there and when he started to fuss about me leaving, I told him that if he didn’t cry, and went to sleep like a good boy, we’d go to the petting zoo in Crawford soon. I promised. I knew I made a lot of promises. But it was high time I started keeping them.

  I quietly closed the door.

  Not a peep.

  “He was giving me fits before you got here,” Jenny said. “He loves seeing you.”

  “Please. Don’t make me feel worse.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know.”

  I must’ve sounded particularly pathetic, because next thing I know, Jenny’s got her arms around me, and, normally, I’m not the kind of guy to break down. I don’t fall apart. You keep that shit bottled up, take your hits, keep moving. There’s nothing worse than a grown man crying. Today was different. Maybe it was the stress of everything going on with Chris, or the warring going on inside of me, feelings intensified by having to drive to visit my own kid after refusing help from Charlie and Fisher at the diner. I didn’t want to look into Lombardi and the ski resort, the construction contracts, and the murder, because I didn’t want to give a shit anymore. Whatever finally broke me in that kitchen, I didn’t fight it, I gave in, collapsing under the strain, and I let her hold me for a long time.

  Jenny was so sweet—cradling my head against her breast, stroking my hair, my face, whispering that she was there and I didn’t have to be alone—that I surrendered. In all our time together, I’d never once cried in front of Jenny. Not even when Aiden was born. I honestly couldn’t remember the last time I had cried. I knew I had cried at my parents’ funeral. But that long? Had I really not cried in almost twenty years? Apparently, I had a lot bottled up. I was sobbing.

  Then something weird happened. Jenny started kissing my forehead, my cheeks, my nose, everywhere but my mouth. She kept doing it. Until I felt my arms wrap tighter, constrict around her, and then she’s pushing me back toward the bedroom, and I realized I’m not crying anymore, and that the whole time we’re doing this awkward dance, we’ve been peeling off each other’s clothes, my skin hot, every inch of flesh burning like a bad fever about to break.

  We fell back onto the bed, and she lay on top of me, and now she kissed my mouth. She kissed it deep, hard, our tongues wrapped around and probing, desperate hands groping, fumbling, searching, the click of buckles, the tear of cotton, and then her warm hand was on me, and that must’ve been the emotional release I needed because I was harder than I’d ever been. I could literally feel the blood racing, pulsing, throbbing; I was so hard it was painful. We kept our mouths smashed against each other, and I had my fingers inside her, slick like glistening sugar water, and then I was in her, and she pushed back on me deeper and deeper and deeper. It was like we couldn’t get enough of each other, both trying to swallow the other whole, devour, possess entirely. Insatiable. We came together almost instantly, collapsing in exhausted heaps beside one another. I’d never experienced anything more natural in my entire life. Higher than any drug I’d ever taken, drunker than any booze I’d ever drunk.

  Back in the kitchen, neither of us said anything, though I could see she had to work not to smile. And I did too. She asked if I wanted coffee. I mumbled okay. I didn’t know what any of this meant, and I didn’t want to ask. In that moment, I was back with my family, and that’s all that mattered. And I knew something else: it’s where I belonged. I silently begged that clock above the sink to stop. Don’t let another minute go by. I didn’t want to leave, or have one of us say the wrong thing, which would inevitably lead to a fight, because it always did. I didn’t want this feeling to end.

  Jenny waited with her back to me until the last of the coffee finished percolating and the timer beeped. She poured two mugs, grabbed some cream and sugar, brought it all to the table, and sat down. She did her best to keep a straight face, as did I, but neither of us could suppress it any longer, and then she turned away not to get caught, like we were a couple of teenage kids again. Jenny was biting her lip and I tried to catch her eye, but she wouldn’t let me, turning her head more, and I kept following her, until she giggled and said to stop it.

  Funny how one of the worst days of my life could quickly turn into one of the best.

  I spooned sugar into my cup. “Where’s Brody?”

  “Down at the bank working out the loan details. Then he’s going to work.”

  “He’s not coming back?”

  “Not till his shift ends, probably. Why?”

  “I was thinking. When Aiden wakes up, why don’t we take him down to the petting zoo in Crawford? He’d like that. My mom and dad used to take me there when I was little.”

  “It’s closed, Jay,” she said, rather coolly. “Closed down years ago. And even if it hadn’t, it wouldn’t be open in the winter.”

  “Oh.” Hadn’t thought about that. “How about, like, the Chuck E. Cheese in Pittsfield, then? It’ll be fun. We could get a pizza and let him play in the ball pit. He likes pizza.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Jenny shot up and snatched my coffee, even though I hadn’t taken a sip yet, and brought it to the sink. “You can’t take me on a date, Jay. I’m not your girl anymore.”

  “I know,” I said, “but we’re still Aiden’s parents, and … what about what happened in there?” I practically whispered it, though I don’t know why.

  “What about it?” she said, now as icy as last night’s storm.

  I pulled my cigarettes.

  “You can’t smoke in here. It’s bad for Aiden.”

  “Why are you acting like this?”

  “Like what?”

  “All cold and distant. Five minutes ago, I was inside you, and now you’re acting like …”

  “Like what?”

  Jenny’s eyes narrowed, mean, the way they did before she unleashed a torrent, only she pulled up this time. She’d balled her little fists and was ready to let go on me. But she stopped. Christ, I’d never understand women.

  “What’s going on with you, Jay?” She said it so still and perfectly calm.

  “With me? You’re the one who jumped me back there, and now you’re acting like you don’t know me.”

  “I can’t do th
is,” she said.

  “Do what?”

  “This!” Jenny shook her head side to side, as if she had to work to keep the thoughts from getting too comfortable in there. “Nothing’s different, Jay. That … was … nice.”

  “Nice?”

  “Yes, but it doesn’t change anything. My boyfriend is down at the mortgage broker’s getting us a loan on a house, and we’re going to move to Rutland, because that is what is best for my son. Just because you’re all screwed up in the head over your brother and feeling lonely—”

  “I’m not screwed up in the head over my brother—Okay. Maybe I am, a little bit. But not for the reasons you think. And I’m not saying these things because I’m lonely.” I got up and moved toward her.

  “Don’t.”

  “Why? I want to be with you. I fucked up some shit, I know. Didn’t give you everything I had, and I’m sorry, but I’ll do better this time, Jenny.”

  I kept moving toward her, and she kept backing up.

  “Stop,” she said, now pressed against the counter. I tried to move in to kiss her again, but she wouldn’t let me, kept turning her head, pushing me off. “I mean it, Jay.”

  “I know you still love me too.”

  “We have a child.”

  “Don’t give me that. That’s not how you still love me. You still love me like you did back there. Don’t you think I felt it? You can’t fake that.”

  “It doesn’t matter if I do.” She strained to push me away, but I didn’t give an inch. “Stop it.” She stared out the window, through the open blinds. “People can see in here. Please. Move.”

  I looked out the window. The streets were barren and white.

  “No one can see anything.”

  “Let me go. I mean it.”

  I had begun to back off when a key turned in the tumbler and the door shoved open. The two of us froze like deer on the Turnpike, right before they get flattened by a big rig. Brody kept his hand on the door handle, mean mugging our way.

  “What are you doing here?” Jenny asked.

  Brody yanked the key out of the lock, glowering at me. He tossed his giant, clanking ring on the table. “I live here?” He made for the fridge, snagged a beer, and slammed the door. “What’s he doing here?” Brody didn’t turn to look at me as he asked. Using the countertop, he popped off the bottle top and chugged his beer.

  Jenny spun around to the sink and ran the water. “Jay stopped by to see Aiden.”

  “That so,” Brody said, slipping off his leather jacket, which, although faded and worn, was probably the nicest he owned. Underneath, he was wearing what he probably considered to be dress clothes, meaning not his usual jeans and T-shirt. He looked ridiculous in Dockers and motorcycle boots. Brody must’ve felt self-conscious, because he immediately tugged off the collared golf shirt, leaving only a wifebeater and torso covered in ink.

  “I thought you were going to work from the bank,” Jenny said, water still running, back still to him. “How’d it go, by the way?”

  Brody smoldered by the fridge. He eyeballed me as he answered her question. “How’d it go? Fucking bank says we can’t get a loan!”

  I hadn’t said a word since Brody had gotten home, and I didn’t want to be there for this conversation.

  “Give Aiden a kiss for me when he gets up,” I said, and went to retrieve my coat from the back of the chair, but Brody hooked the chair with his foot, pulling it toward him, out of my reach.

  “Don’t leave on my account, Jay,” Brody said. “Have a seat. I obviously interrupted something.” He spread his arms in a magnanimous gesture, alternating his stare between Jenny and me. “Please, go on.”

  “Nothing left to talk about,” I said.

  “You sure? How goes the hunt for your faggot brother?”

  “What’d you say?”

  Brody pulled out his cigarettes, extracting one with his teeth.

  “You know I don’t want anyone smoking in here,” Jenny said.

  Brody lit up anyway. “Fucking bank says I can’t buy a house. Better believe I’m smoking in the fucking apartment I rent.”

  Jenny slid open the window and a cold gust blew in.

  “Yeah, Jenny was telling me about your faggot brother,” Brody said. “Blowing dirty trucker dick down at the TC. That’s gotta suck.” Brody snickered. “No pun intended.”

  I lunged and snagged my coat. I could see where this was headed.

  “Y’know, everyone in Ashton knows he killed your parents, that’s been going around for years. But finding out your own brother, the one you used to look up to, is a whore as well?” Brody looked at Jenny. “I’ll be glad when the cops pick up his sorry ass. I wouldn’t want someone like that around my son.”

  “Okay, Brody,” I said. “I get it. You’re having a bad day. Sucks about the loan.”

  “What the fuck would you know about it, huh, junk man?”

  “Brody, why don’t you go to work?” Jenny pleaded.

  “Why don’t you shut the fuck up?” Brody said, swilling some more beer.

  The open window chilled the apartment and the heater kicked on, a loud thrumming, droning beneath the floor.

  We’d passed the point where I could walk out now. I sure as shit wasn’t leaving Jenny and my son with this guy, not the way he was acting.

  I dropped the coat. “I think I will stay.”

  “Terrific!” said Brody. “What do you want to talk about?”

  “How about the Commanderoes?”

  Brody set the beer on the counter and stepped up hard. “Excuse me?”

  “The motorcycle gang you were in.” I pointed at the big panther tattoo on his arm, the one that looked like a hastily done cover-up. “That’s their insignia, right?” It was easy to see how a flaming wing and a gun would fit underneath.

  “You were smart to want to leave,” he said, falling back, flicking his wrist. “Go back to hunting queers.”

  I could see Jenny begging me out the corner of my eye.

  “The thing is,” I said, “from what I know, those gangs—sorry, those ‘clubs’—are for life, blood in, blood out. Can’t quit. Unless you have some leverage.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “Nothing. Just, you must’ve seen some shit. There has to be a good reason why you were allowed to walk away.”

  We locked stares.

  “Since you’re so concerned about my brother’s well-being, I thought maybe you’d want to help. Our practically being family and all.”

  I exchanged a quick glance with Jenny, who wasn’t a fan of either of us at that moment, her eyes a seething mix of rage and disgust.

  “Adam Lombardi—you know him, right?—seems he has some Commanderoes working security detail for him. I guess it’s like a side business for them. Bullying tenants, strong-arming, breaking and entering. Now they’re looking for Chris. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

  Brody got right in my face.

  “All I know, bro, is if the Commanderoes are looking for your brother, you might as well arrange the funeral, because he’s a fucking dead man.”

  There was no way around it now. We’d come too far. Neither of us could stand down. It was only a question of who’d throw the first punch.

  There was a light knock at the door.

  Brody and I stopped and turned as Jenny opened it.

  And there stood my brother, bum overcoat draped over a Pac-Man T-shirt, hanging off his skeletal frame and stained with hobo filth; that goofy haircut looking even goofier in the light of day; his old, brown backpack slung over his shoulder like a Sweet Pickles kid about to catch the short bus. His dirty jeans sagged, but not because he was attempting any b-boy style; he was just so damn skinny.

  Chris didn’t say anything. And neither did anyone else. Just four misfits standing in the middle of a fucked-up situation.

  I’d never been happier to see my brother in my life.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  It was Jenny who jolted out of shock fir
st, taking my brother’s hand and pulling him inside.

  “How are you?” she asked.

  He half flinched, half nodded.

  “Sit down, Chris,” she said. “Are you hungry? Do you want something to eat?”

  “What do you have?”

  “A sandwich?”

  Chris nodded, moving between Brody and me, taking the seat I’d been offered. He slung his battered brown backpack on the table, gazing up at me.

  “What’s up, little brother?” he said.

  Brody flexed once more, then retreated, resuming his position by the fridge, swilling his bottled beer.

  “Want to grab me one of those?” Chris asked.

  Brody toed open the refrigerator door, snared a beer, and flipped it to him.

  Chris caught it, then held it up. “Need an opener, bro.”

  Brody didn’t move.

  “I’ll get you one,” Jenny said, opening a drawer next to Brody, fishing out an opener, and handing it to my brother. Then she opened the fridge and collected meats, cheese, bread, and mustard to make my brother a sandwich.

  “Where have you been?” I asked him.

  He motioned toward the door. “Standing out in the hall. Listening.” He turned back to Brody. “Appreciate you being so worried about me.” Chris paused. “Sorry about the bank. Guess they decided you weren’t worth the investment.”

  Chris was a drowned rat compared to Brody, who outweighed my brother by at least sixty pounds, but you wouldn’t have known it from the way Chris talked.

  “No, I mean, the last few days,” I said.

  “You know, around.”

  “Did you follow me here?”

  Chris popped the top of his beer. “I wanted to talk to you. Can’t use the phone. They’re watching your apartment.”

  “Who?”

  Chris rolled his eyes like I was every bit the clueless baby brother.

  Jenny set the sandwich in front of him. She had even cut it in half. Such a mom thing to do.

  “Thanks, Jenny,” he said. “You’re always nice to me.”

  “You’re welcome, Chris. I’m glad you’re all right.”