Bad Sons

by Isla Cristeon

I crouch beside her, lowering my voice conspiratorially. “Okay, I’ll pick you up, and you grab the box. Good plan?”

  With a heart tugging grin that mimics Fernando’s, she gives me a thumbs up. I grab her by the waist and stand. She giggles as I lift her high overhead then Hero plucks the box of cookies off the shelf.

  I laugh with her as I set her on the floor. “Yes! We did it!” I raise my palm in a high five and she smacks hers against mine.

  I could have totally reached the cookies on my own, but I refuse to miss an opportunity to pull this kid to my side. My life hasn’t afforded me many interactions with children, and I know I’m bound to make some serious, undoable mistake. But for now, I’ll bribe her with sugar.

  We ransack the box of chocolate sandwich cookies like a pair of raccoons. Hero shoves one in her mouth then holds two between her hands before unleashing a chocolatey grin.

  After popping one whole cookie in my mouth, I pile a stack inside a paper towel and follow Hero outside. She doesn’t bother slipping on shoes, so I leave my own sandals at the door. Laughing brightly, she runs down the porch steps then around to the back of the house. I jog after her, one hand balancing the cookies and the other one clutching my braless breasts.

  A mature oak tree stands behind the house with long-armed boughs perfect for climbing. Hanging from one of the high branches, a tire swing sways in the gentle breeze.

  Hero hops into the donut hole center of the black rubber swing, her hands tightly gripping the rope.

  “Push me,” she demands.

  “Okay, let me just put the cookies down here.”

  After setting the cookie-filled paper towel beside the gnarled trunk, I wipe my hands clean on my jean shorts. “Ready? Hang on tight.”

  I pull the tire a short way back and then let it go. Hero squeals out a peal of laughter as the swing spins gently, oscillating from side to side.

  “Higher!”

  Another push ratchets the swing another foot more, and she hangs on tightly, a bright smile punctuating the dimples in her chubby cheeks. She doesn’t ask me to go any higher, so I keep the pace steady, watching her dark hair trail behind her. A small cough follows the next smile she shoots my way, and then she sniffles once.

  Confidence builds in me. Okay, so maybe I’m not so bad at this kid thing. I could surreptitiously feed Hero cookies and give her as many pushes for as long as she wants. I can do this. Maybe she’d like to have her toenails painted. I’m good at that. And even though I’m not a natural in the kitchen, I bet she’d have fun making cake from a box mix.

  I glance at her face, making sure she’s still having fun since she’s gone so quiet, and my brow draws in concern. She looks pale, her lips nearly white. Her eyes blink shut as if she’s falling asleep, but her breaths exhale in sharp wheezing sounds. I had assumed she woke up from the afternoon nap before Jewel, but maybe she just never fell asleep. As soon as I bring the swing to a stop, her hands slip free. I gasp as I catch her in my arms.

  “Hero!” Fernando hollers from the front, worry clear in his voice.

  “Back here,” I call.

  He comes tearing around the corner wearing only a pair of jeans, and instead of wearing a look of relief that she’s safe with me, he doesn’t stop and continues sprinting toward us. Skidding to a halt, he grabs her from my arms.

  Lines of worry etch his face. “Hero, baby—”

  “She just fell asleep.”

  He turns to me with a look of concern. “Did she eat those cookies?”

  “Yeah, she asked for some.”

  “Fuck,” he whispers, setting her on the ground and pulling a set of green and orange tubes from his back pocket. “That was so irresponsible, Aida. She has a severe allergy to wheat.”

  My eyes widen and I take a step back. “Oh my God, I didn’t know. I’m so sorry.”

  “She’s going into anaphylactic shock.”

  As Fernando presses one of the tubes to the side of Hero’s thigh, Jewel comes running around the corner, a phone held to her ear. He glances toward her with a grim expression.

  Jewel speaks in clear, rapid-fire language to whoever is on the phone. “She’s three years old, and is dangerously allergic to wheat. We found a half-eaten box of unsafe cookies on the counter. We’ve given one dose of epi-pen, and my husband is giving a second dose right now.”

  Fernando jabs another tube against the side of her thigh, holding it in place, his lips moving in a silent count. A sharp inhale of air comes from Hero and then she starts crying. Fernando pulls her into his arms, his shoulders relaxing in relief.

  Jewel collapses on her knees beside her child, holding one palm tightly to her mouth and nodding as tears drip from her eyes. “She’s breathing. Okay, yes of course. Thank you.” She keeps the phone to her ear as Hero moves from Fernando and crawls into her mother’s lap. Jewel extends the phone to Fernando. “Here, hold the phone for me. They’re just staying on the line until the ambulance arrives.”

  My eyes dart between the family as my horror builds over what just happened. Bile burns in my throat as a shocking realization trickles down my spine like the creeping legs of a spider.

  I was almost responsible for their daughter’s death.

  My throat thickens with tears and I wrap my arms around myself. I clench my jaw, forcing myself not to cry over my own stupidity.

  “Jewel, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know,” I say, my lips trembling.

  She gives me a gentle look. “It was an accident.”

  “Like, why would you give a kid that many cookies anyway?” Fernando says to me, raising his hands in exasperation. “Who does that? God, she could have died.”

  Jewel gives him a sharp look. “Fernando.”

  He crosses his arms and looks at the ground for a moment, then kneels beside his wife, pressing his forehead to her shoulder as he embraces both of them. His back trembles as Jewel runs one hand in a soothing motion over it.

  I want to run away. I’m so ashamed of myself. In a selfish quest to make their daughter like me, I almost killed her. My lips turn downward in a tremulous frown, tears leaking down my cheeks. I swallow and swipe one hand over my face, attempting to compose myself.

  Sirens wail in the far distance, announcing the impending arrival of the ambulance.

  “Do you guys need me to grab anything from inside the house for you?” I say.

  Jewel smiles softly. “No, Aida. Thank you though. But if you could throw out the rest of that cookie box and wipe the counter free from any crumbs that would be great.”

  I nod stiffly, lowering my gaze to the grass.

  “Hey,” Jewel says, catching my eye. “Don’t beat yourself up over this, okay? We should have told you.”

  The ambulance wails even louder, and then gravel crunches as it makes its way up the driveway. Fernando stands, holding out his arms for Hero. Jewel deposits her into his hands before rising to standing herself, dusting off her palms on her shorts.

  I follow behind the pair as they walk to the top of the driveway and greet the paramedics. They take quick vitals of Hero while she’s in her father’s arms, and she whines and pulls away from the uniformed strangers. Jewel climbs into the back of the ambulance and then Fernando transfers Hero up to her waiting arms. She sits on the bench along the side, then leans toward him, murmuring a few things I imagine must be all about me.

  Get that bitch out of my house.

  Please tell that child-killing whore to vacate our property.

  Next time, try not to fall in love with a woman who tries to murder our child the moment our backs are turned.

  So many possible exchanges.

  Fernando nods, and then watches as one paramedic climbs into the back of the ambulance and the other one slams the doors shut. They roll down the driveway then turn onto the curving mountain road, sirens picking up again.

  A heavy sigh lifts Fernando’s shoulders, and then he turns, walking toward me. I lift my chin, ready to take whatever he has to say with dignity. After what happene
d, I deserve it.

  He stops a foot short of me and scratches his head as he stares at the cobblestones. “I just gotta grab a few things to bring to the hospital. And I’m sorry for reacting how I did.”

  I shake my head. “It’s okay. I understand. What I did was stupid.”

  He presses his lips together as he glances at me. “We’ll talk more when we get back, okay?”

  “Sure.”

  The house lay empty as I clear remnants of the cookie crumbs off the counter. Under the sink I find a container of disinfecting wipes, and carefully go over every inch of the countertop.

  Once I’ve swept the floor, I collapse in the kitchen chair, resting my head on my hand. What happened this afternoon only serves to show just how utterly incompetent I am when it comes to kids, especially young ones. When I thought she was falling asleep, the poor child was actually dying. What if Fernando didn’t wake up when he did? I’m sure I would have figured out she wasn’t breathing soon after I had her in my arms, but I’m well aware the difference between life and death can be mere seconds.

  I shudder, gooseflesh sprouting on my arms.

  A knock sounds on the door. Shit, I forgot all about Abram. I scramble to my feet and swing the door open. My brother’s massive frame crowds the doorway, a backpack slung over one shoulder and dark sunglasses hiding his eyes.

  “Hey, sorry. I had my phone on silent.”

  I open the door wider, and step aside to let him pass. He drops his bag on the ground, removing his sunglasses and sagging his head forward. Something about his demeanor sparks my intuition.

  “Abe, what is it?”

  He raises his face to mine as he pulls off the sunglasses, revealing what he was hiding. His green eyes are puffy and red, filled with tears.

  “Hey,” I say soothingly, trying to disguise the alarm in my voice. “What happened?”

  He chokes out a small sob and steps back against the wall, tilting his head up.

  I step forward and wrap my arms around his ribcage. “Abe, talk to me. You’re freaking me out.”

  A shuddering breath releases from him. “He’s dead. Babbo’s dead.”

  Ice snakes down my spine, filling my gut with dread and disbelief.

  “No.” I shake my head. “He … He said everything would be fine.”

  Abram swallows, his throat bobbing. “I should’ve known after that stunt he pulled in the last room with Navarre’s wife and Fernando. I think he planned to die all along. I think he first tried dying at Fernando’s hands to ruin any chance you two had at being together.”

  My breath chokes in my throat as my heart catches up with my brain. Dead. My father is dead?

  “No,” I repeat slowly. “You must be mistaken. I’m sure it was all a trick. You know how he likes those fake blood packets and he has all those—”

  “Aida, he’s dead.” Abram gives me a wooden stare.

  I blink and tighten my features. “No. Let’s go back. There is no way he’s dead.”

  My brother’s features billow in a furious rage. “He’s fucking dead! What don’t you understand?”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  He grabs me by the elbow and guides me to the sofa. Vaguely, I think to tell him to remove his boots before stepping on Jewel’s carpet, but none of that matters if my father is dead. We sit side by side, and Abe pulls me against him, wrapping his arms around me. My cheek rests on his chest, and the soothing thump-thump of his heart against my ear comforts me.

  Abram begins speaking. “The last room was Don and Alfonso inside the living area of the Capulet suite. Babbo spoke to them on the other side of a two-way bulletproof mirror in a special room between the Capulet and Montague suites. He told them the crimes they’d admitted to. He held up the waivers you got them to sign. Alfonso tried spouting off some lawyer-ly bullshit, but Babbo set him straight. We have video evidence and audio evidence to submit to the courts. He laid out the humiliation a public trial would bring. The abuse they’d endure in prison from even more people they’d wronged over the years. And then he said, “I’m going to give you a gift. Something neither of you gave me. A choice.” On the table in the living room, a box opened. Inside was Don Capulet’s gun. The room Babbo and I were standing in darkened so they could no longer see us. We watched in silence as Don and Alfonso just stared at the weapon. Don kinda just laughed like a crazy person at first, and then lunged for it. Alfonso and him fought nasty.” Abram pauses and shudders. “It was brutal. Both of them were bleeding. Alfonso broke Don’s arm with an armbar. Don broke Alfonso’s nose. In the end, Don ended up with the gun. He didn’t hesitate, and shot Alfonso clean through the forehead. It was quick. I give him that.”

  I cover my mouth with both hands to hold in my gasp of horror. Oh God. Fernando’s dad is dead, too.

  Abram continues. “Then Don just kinda stood there, like, ‘All right. I won.’ All of a sudden, the door opened and Babbo was there in the room with Don. I didn’t even notice him leaving the surveillance room. I was too focused on what was going on with Don and Alfonso. I tried to get out, but this goddamn Sudoku puzzle popped up on the screen. My override codes wouldn’t work. And so I had to solve that dumb puzzle to get the door to open. I heard Babbo say, ‘It was supposed to be a murder-suicide, Donnie. You got it all wrong. Now you’ll be tried for Alfonso’s murder, too.’ I was trying to get through that Sudoku board, and you know how much I hate numbers.” Something between a chuckle and a sob escapes his throat.

  I squeeze him tighter, tears dripping freely down my cheeks.

  “And then Don shot him in the chest. Babbo smiled and said, ‘Thank you.’ He pressed a button on his watch, and then the floor around him disconnected from the rest and lowered into the basement. A new floor slid in place, leaving Don alone in the room. He … he … At some point he killed himself. I got out five minutes later and made my way to the basement. Babbo was still alive, but barely. He asked me to bury him with Mammina. Eli showed up right after that. Babbo had it all planned out, Aida. He outwitted everyone. Eli called 911, explained there was an incident in one of the suites. We made it seem that Clara, Teresa, and Bea were never there. After Eli explained what happened, a car took them home. If everything went smoothly, all that would happen would be a visit from the local police telling them about their husband’s deaths. They’d be in the clear. Housekeeping was sent to clean the rooms thoroughly as soon as the lower level games began in the middle of the night, and were simply told there had been a hygiene issue in the room and guests would return first thing in the morning to give us another chance. So hopefully there’s no DNA from the women in the Capulet suite. It just looks like a murder-suicide.”

  A numbing sensation spreads over my body. The knowledge that my father had planned his death to the last detail troubles me. How could I have missed the signs? How did I not know? I was too busy consorting with the enemy. I’ve made so many fucking mistakes.

  A bitter chuckle bubbles out then turns into full, body-wracking sobs. My brother sniffles, pressing his cheek against the top of my head as we cry together.

  All of this confirms what my head has been telling me. Fernando and I are not meant to be together. Our paths were never supposed to cross, because all that’s resulted is pain and heartache. We’re the very definition of star-crossed. Once Abram delivers the painful news to Fernando about his father and uncle, I’ll do what I do best.

  Disappear.

  Epilogue

  THE AFTERNOON SUN HEATS the Virginia air to sweltering temperatures. A heat shimmer dances over the roof of a sleek, black Tesla, a divorce gift from my ex-wife two and a half years ago.

  After using my phone to remote start my car, I tug the confining suit jacket off my shoulders and attach it to the hanger in the backseat. Sliding into the driver’s seat, I smile, flexing my hands over the smooth leather wheel. This car feels just as thrilling as it did the day I got it.

  Sighing in impatience, I open the messages app on my phone, checking if Jewel has sent
the text. Not yet.

  Rome and I have been working alongside one another for weeks now to get the teacher training in order. Everything has been going smoothly, save for his scatterbrained secretary who’s called off twice, and been late three times.

  Last week, I’d called Jewel for two reasons. One, to check on my baby. Yeah, whatever, she’s six, but Hero will always be my baby. And two, I told her it was time to reveal herself to Rome.

  While she’d kept him in the dark longer than I thought necessary, I respected that time and motherhood had transformed her from an impulsive girl into a far-sighted woman who put her child’s best interest before her own.

  With her Type A personality firmly in hand, Jewel had created her own mental list of what she thought needed to happen before pulling Rome into her life. Our life. And over the past few years, I’d played a role in pushing him towards accomplishing his goals. It was important to her that he focus his attention fully on his dreams, and not be sidetracked by her.

  After all, he’d tried killing himself when he thought she died. I’ll never forget how she explained it.

  She said, “He needs to learn to love himself more than he ever loves me. Because it’s only when love pours from a filled vessel that it’s everlasting.”

  I couldn’t disagree with such simple logic. While I’d hoped last week was the final push she needed to get herself to travel out here to us, she’d politely told me it wasn’t time yet, then got me talking about how everything was going with the school.

  My phone dings with a text from Jewel, giving me an address to a coffee shop in town, only a fifteen-minute drive. I type out a quick text in return.

  Name? Description? How am I supposed to know who I’m looking for?

  I toss my phone on the center console and begin driving. Rome plans on re-assigning his secretary this afternoon. Her perpetual tardiness and absent-minded nature isn’t well suited for the job description she holds. Any other boss would fire her, but Rome insists on reassignment. If she can’t get her act together after that, then she’ll luck out.