by Neal, Xavier
I use my thumb to brush away a tear and nod. “Money.”
“You know what that's like? To know your own son cares more about what's gonna line his pockets than what he's raisin' in his house?” Pa shakes his head. “Love is a dangerous thing, Rascal. Don't forget that either. Turns good men bad and worse men into something great. Look at your brothers.”
“They aren't--”
“Not them.” He shakes his head. “At Grim. At Glove. Both of those bare the mark of men with burdens changed into something great. You wanna tell me love wasn't responsible for that?” Unsure how to argue his valid point, I merely continue to listen. “If you wanna know what that piece of paper says, then do it, but that should be your choice. No one else's. And no matter if it says you share my DNA or an alien's, you are my grandson Jody Eugene Lord. You are the essence of generations of good men that will live on in a world that needs it. Understand?”
“Understood Pa.” I nod and sniffle away more tears.
“Now.” A rough cough comes out of him. “Promise me somethin'?”
“Anything.”
“No matter what happens to me...you'll keep livin' on Rascal.”
My eyebrows furrow. “Pa--”
“Promise me Rascal.”
“Pa--”
“Rascal.”
“Fine.” I huff flopping my back against my chair. “I promise. Now can you stop this argument and just...breathe?”
He coughs a laugh and then starts rubbing at his chest again. “Love you Rascal.”
“I love you too Pa,” the words are whispered as the machines around him begin to screech and his body twitches like the life inside of it is desperate to leave. Shrieking, I jump to my feet. “Nurse!” Pa waves a hand at me stubbornly trying to tell me he's fine, but I know he's not. He's not. He's...really...not.
A nurse rushes in before popping her head out insisting she needs assistance. Slowly, I back out of the room, making space for people to resurrect my redemption for running away. The world somehow manages to drag down to a pace where movement damn near ceases to exist as my back hits the hospital wall across from the outside of his room. Feeling my chest constrict, shattering my lungs, vaporizing away every breath I'm struggling to clutch onto, I sink to the ground, eyes shutting. Around me there's humming, buzzing of machines and voices that sound so distant I'm not sure we're in the same building. It continues for what feels like decades before everything goes silent. The flood of tears rushing down the back of my throat feels as surreal as this moment. This moment where years of secrets kept from me, regrets for repressing my heritage, and unspoken gratitude, died.
**
I'm not sure how I ended up in Pa's old recliner. I'm not sure who dragged me away from the hospital. I'm not even sure how I told Ma that I was the last to see him alive. A lump grows in my lungs as the loss of him rushes back at me like a freight train.
“He was awfully photogenic,” a voice pierces through the pain.
My eyes wander over to see Jazz sitting with Ma, a scrapbook open in her lap.
“That old man could never say no to having his picture taken. It was a surprise we didn't end up in more scandals.” Ma giggles.
“Ma,” I shakily call. “You...You doin' okay?”
“I'm fine, Rascal,” she answers not looking up, but turning the page.
For a woman whose husband just died, her calmness is beyond unsettling. Clearing my throat, I request, “Jazz, can you give us a minute alone?”
“Sure.” She rises to her feet, her presence barely registering to me. “Ma, I'll put this back in your room for you.”
“Thank you sugar,” Ma coos at her.
My eyes don't follow Jazz out of the room. They stayed plastered on what should be a woman wallowing in her husband's death. A woman who should be fragile and in pieces. A woman who should be feeling as fractured and devastated as I am, yet by the look on her face, you'd think Pa was coming home from hunting any minute.
Carefully I ask, “How you doin' Ma?”
“I'm makin' it,” she replies. “I really need to get those leftovers heated up and--”
“Are you kidding?” My interruption clearly startles her. “You're worried about heating up leftovers?”
“Someone has to feed you folks.” She glares back. “You damn sure aren't gonna do it.”
“Your husband just died and you're worried about fucking cooking!”
“Don't you raise your tone at me Jody Eugene Lord.” She rises to her feet. I open my mouth and she snaps, “You're damn right I just lost my husband, so you show some goddamn respect and mind that southern tongue of yours before you lose it.” The first real threat she's ever made to me since I was a teen has me clenching my teeth. “Now you listen hear boy. We all grieve differently. Just because you don't find it right, don't make it wrong. I'll grieve for your Pa the way I see fit and you do the same for you. Right now...I'm going to heat up leftovers, so wash your mouth out with soap as well as your hands.”
Without another word she disappears from the room leaving me alone and feeling even emptier than before. Leaning forward I cup my face to take several long, deep breaths. None of this can possibly be real. It just can't. This isn't fucking happening to me. No fucking way. I drag my body out of his chair and up to my room to wash up. One thing at a time. One action. If I don't think any further, I can just...I can keep on until...until...until...
Opening the door, I'm so surprised at the sight of Jazz it rocks me back. She's shutting the bathroom door dressed in a look I haven't seen in over a month. Black heels. A tight black pencil skirt. A button up maroon shirt and her hair wound tightly at the top of her head. The Jazz I first met, the one who's notorious for lying and keeping shit from us is in front of me. Back to business. On the day of my grandfather's death, she's back to business.
I slam the door closed behind me, the vision of her so cold and cruel, the unsettled emotions lingering from Pa's death and my family secret, twisting something dark inside of me.
“Why?” I growl out.
Jazz's chest tries to remain steady, in an attempt to help her voice. “Why what?”
Sharply I bite, “Why the fuck did you lie to me?”
“Is this actually about me? Or is this about why did your family lie to you?”
“This is about you!” I shout. “Why did you fucking lie to me! You promised! You fucking looked me in the face and promised!” Jazz remains still. Silent. I'm not even sure she's still breathing. “Say something!”
“When you're done yelling,” her voice snips.
“I get to yell! You fucking lied to me Jazz! The woman I fucking love lied to me! Why! I wanna know why! Why does everyone feel they have to fucking lie to me!”
“Because we have your best intentions at heart.”
“That's bullshit!” I scream knocking Ma's glass vases onto the ground with a hard swat. “That's bullshit!”
“God, what is with you three?” She says in an irked voice. “Just because the world makes you mad doesn't mean you have to destroy something. I swear when you're upset, you're all like toddlers who didn't get a nap.”
“Explain!” Unable to control my breath, my chest heaves harder and harder, pain starting to set in. “Why didn't you let us go home? Why did you make me fucking stay here?”
“Because it's what you needed,” she calmly answers. “I always do what's best for you three. I don't always give you what you want, but I always provide you what you need.”
“I didn't need to be here.”
“You did.” She curtly nods. “You needed a chance to see the man your grandfather wanted you to be. The man you kept hidden and almost lost. You needed to be able to say goodbye.”
“Goodbye?” the word chokes a realization inside of me. “Did you...did you know he was gonna die? Was he sick? Did you fucking know he was sick?”
With her chin tilted up to stay strong she replies, “I did.”
“Are you fucking with me Jazz? You knew! You knew
and you didn't fucking tell me! How! How did you know?”
“I told you. I'm accurate.”
“You--”
“Did my research. Through and through. I'm thorough. I'm accurate. I'm--”
“A heartless bitch,” the sentence falls from my lips and for the first time a flash of sadness is in her gorgeous green eyes. “That's what you are. You knew he was dying and didn't say a goddamn thing...”
She swallows, but says nothing.
“Those fucking files are filled with everything aren't they? You already knew everything about me huh? Learning about me was, what, a pathetic attempt at entertaining yourself?”
“Lordy I--”
“No!” I shout at her taking a violent step forward. “You don't get to call me that! That's what my family gets to call me! People who love me--”
“I do love you! I'm--”
“No! You're lying again! I'm nothing more than another soldier to you! A fucking work horse to make sure you get a check plus on your fucking exam! You don't get to call me Lordy. You...You may call me jacket, ma'am.”
Her entire body tenses as her lips tremble. “You're--”
“That means you know.” I ignore whatever was about to come out of her mouth. “That means you fucking know! You know if my DNA matches theirs. You know if I'm really a Lord don't you?” Jazz glances away. “Fucking answer me!”
“Of course I fucking know!” The cool collected act falls to shit. “I've always fucking known! It's in your fucking file Jody! Your files, all of you, every little dark secret, every little cobweb in the corner you think no one notices, is documented! You all have shit in your past that directs where your fucking future is headed every single goddamn day and it is my job, it is my fucking responsibility to be able to see the 50 million different paths you may take when you wake up in the morning, because if any of those paths threaten your ability to serve this country I have to know! So yes, I know whether or not your blood matches those dickheads you've shared family meals with!”
Calmly I fold my arms. “Does it?”
“I'm not answering that.”
“Answer me.”
“No.”
“No it doesn't?”
“No, I won't answer you.”
“Answer me!”
“No!” She screams back. “I'm not gonna give you one more excuse to make some poor decision. Your grandfather set up that will, those contracts, everything that way for a fucking reason. And if you wanna go about self-discovery all on your own, fucking fine. But I will, I repeat, I will not tarnish his legacy or yours by answering a question that doesn't change the fact you were his grandson.”
“You don't get to decide that!”
“Apparently I do,” she smarts back.
“It's not your family to make those calls on!”
“And yet here I am.” Jazz waves a hand in the air. “Now, you know why I lied to you about finishing my reports. But I didn't lie. When you asked, my reports were done, but...something wasn't sitting right with me, so I reopened them and started again.”
Anger still coursing my veins I sneer, “We could've been fucking home. We should've been. You kept me here! I didn't wanna stay! I stayed because I thought I was fucking obligated! I should've been given the freedom to make my own fucking choices! I should've been able to choose if I wanted my DNA tested! I should've been able to choose if I wanted to spend my grandfather's last days with him! I should've been given the right to fucking choose Jazz!”
“I did...” her voice gets caught on a sob. “I did what I always do for you boys. What was best. And this was it. You know why it worries Shepard so much with you three as my team? Because I do shit like this. Because it is more important to me that the three of you die with a clear conscious. With no regrets. With a smidgen of happiness! Because instead of treating you like employees, I treat you like family. I aim to protect you and to heal you instead of purely train you! Why? Sometimes I think it's penance for my own existence. Other times, I know after crunching the numbers a solider with something to fight for in his heart will always fight harder and smarter than one with nothing.”
In an airy voice I deny, “You don't get to talk to me about family...” Shaking my head I pin her with a stare. “You know absolutely nothing about family.”
“I know the three of you are the true definition of brothers. And whether or not you choose to acknowledge or accept it now, I am a member of the family you three have created. You can't let what happened here destroy what you have with us.”
“You don't get to talk to me about family.”
“You can't let how they treated you here effect the man you truly are.”
“You don't get to tell me how to feel about that.” The words tighten her to a new level I've never seen before. “You think you had it bad because your family ignored you? You have no idea how bad shit really can get. You have no fucking clue what's it's like to wake up in tears as a six year old because your own fucking mother can't look you in the goddamn eyes!”
Jazz wets her lips and takes a slow step at me. “Do. Not. Tell me I don't know what that feels like.” Her face that was just heated with anger is now colder than I've ever seen it. An unfamiliar chill runs up my spine. “My parents didn't want me. I don't mean that in a melodramatic rebellious teen with money sort of way. I mean my mother tried to fucking have me aborted and it didn't work.” The confession drops more than my jaw. “I didn't have a name until the day they took me home from the hospital. They let one of the nurses name me after her favorite flower. My nursery was never painted. Room never decorated. My clothes weren't full of color or life. If it wasn't for my nannies I wouldn't have ever known fucking human contact. Babies die without that contact! The possibility of me dying wasn't even enough for them to touch me! I don't know what it's like to be a six year old who wakes up in tears because my mother won't look me in the goddamn eyes? Try being a three year old and having her tell you, you should've never been fucking born. I didn't go to boarding schools to have the best of the best, I went to boarding schools so I wasn't in their way. And the only reason I wasn't put up for adoption was because they were concerned how that would look in front of their precious social circle.” Leaning out of my face, Jazz stands up straight, the ice queen we first met ready to give an order. “I'm leaving.”
“Jazz--”
“I have to report back today,” she continues. “The chances of me being a part of this team any longer are so thin a piece of copy paper would jam it.” My eyes search hers for a glimmer of hope. Something to let me know that this isn't over. That when we get home we'll fight this out and shit will get better. That this won't die too. “Most likely, if Shepard can't have me completely removed from HORN, he will indefinitely have me relocated very far away from this team. From you. With a stipulation of course being no further contact. So before I walk out that door Jacket, I just wanna say, that I...”
When the sentence seems to drift off with no return, I step closer, a shaky hand reaching out for her. “That you what darlin'? That you what?”
Ever so briefly her green eyes flash remorse. “That I am proud to have served with you men.” The cold response has me moving back the direction I came. “I'm flying out this evening. Glove and Grim are booked on flights for tomorrow night. Given your circumstances, I could only cash in the last of my favors to get you one additional day. You will fly out the following morning. You are expected to go from the airport directly to HORN. Someone will be there to escort you. Excuse me, Jacket.”
I move aside. Jazz walks past me, grabs her shoulder bag and wheels her suitcase out of the room, stride never slowing, eyes never looking back. Another death today. The girl I've fallen in love with, the relationship we both needed, as lifeless as the man who pushed us together.
Day 30 in Georgia
“Rascal you can't hide in here forever,” Pa's voice calls out.
He's wrong. I can. I'm small enough to fit in this old chest forever. I'll sneak ou
t at night to grab food then sneak back. I have it all figured out. Except bathroom breaks. I haven't quite worked that one out yet.
“I know you're upset about what Jo said at the dinner table,” he sighs his voice approaching.
Doing my best to stay stiff, I hold my breath. Jo's always saying something not nice.
“But you can't hide when the world gets a little mean to ya. You just have to put on your big boy boots and get back on the horse, Rascal. You have a big important life to live. You can't do that hidin'.”
A splash of cold water shoots my body off the mattress. Gasping away the shock, I wiggle my head back and forth splashing water around. My eyes struggle to adjust to the light as much as the vision of Ma standing at my bedside with an empty cup and stern expression.
“What the hell, Ma?” I try to wipe away more water.
“Don't make me fill the next one with soap,” she snaps.
The sound of laughter brings my attention to Grim and Glove leaned against the bedroom door frame. Slightly annoyed I call to them, “So you think this is funny? Did you tell her to do this?”
“I'm a grown woman, Rascal. I make my own choices.”
“She decided on it. I just didn't object.” Grim surrenders his hands.
Glove laughs, “I told her to get a bigger bucket.”
“What the hell?” I repeat closing my eyes in frustration. “What was the point in this?”
“You needed a wake-up call,” Ma states.
“Since when is a shoulder shake not enough?”
“I wasn't talkin' about gettin' up this mornin', Rascal.” The sentence is followed with me flickering my eyes briefly at my brothers who have similar expression to hers, in complete agreement. Fucking seriously? All the shit they wanted to give me over the situation and now they wanna agree with her? Did I wake up in the Twilight Zone? “We will discuss it after Pa's burial.”