Who We Are

by T. J. Klune

  Careful, Bear, it whispered. Even if it’s true, you don’t know what the cost will be.

  “What do you want from me?” I asked harshly, not sure I was still in control. I’m the strong one. I have to be the strong one.

  She shook her head. “Nothing. I don’t want anything from you.”

  “Then that’s it? This… you just give up? I don’t fucking buy it. What do you get out of this?”

  “Nothing,” she breathed. “I get nothing. I lose almost everything I love.

  I lose my sons. I lose you.”

  “You lost us years ago. You lost us when you walked away. And now you have a daughter. A family. You have something that you had already given up. But you know what? So do we. We have a family. We have people that love us, that would die for us. We may be broken, we may be hurting, but you will never destroy us.” My eyes started to burn and my voice was like gravel, but I didn’t care. I knew, in my heart, that this would be the last time I would see my mother. That if what she’d given me was correct, that if she had signed over custody, then I would watch her walk away, and that would be it. It would be the end. And I still had questions.

  “I know that,” she said, tears in her eyes. And wonder of all wonders, she looked like she meant it.

  “If this is real, if you’re giving me Tyson, then you know you can never have contact with him again. If you do this, I will not allow you to see him again.” It almost sounded like I was giving her a way out, and while part of me was screaming for me to shut my mouth (why did I never shut my mouth?), the other, more feral part was gauging her sincerity, to make sure what she told me was truth.

  She closed her eyes. “I know that too.”

  “How?” I asked before I could stop myself. “How did you know about me and Otter? How did you know about San Diego? How did you know we were here?

  “Bear, just let it go.” She was resigned, because she knew I wouldn’t.

  “Tell me!”

  “What would it change?”

  The anger came flooding back. “Tell. Me.”

  She glanced down the hallway as if gauging how far she’d make it toward the doors before I tackled her. She wouldn’t make if far. I’d tear her apart piece by piece. Even though she said she was giving Ty to me, I didn’t trust her at all. I wouldn’t believe it to be true until I knew that no one could take the Kid away from me again. But then she said the one name I didn’t expect to hear, the one name I would never have guessed in a million years, and when I heard it, it became so furiously obvious that at first I thought it a joke.

  She wasn’t joking. “Jonah Echols,” she said.

  Jonah fucking Echols.

  Ooooh, twist! it laughed. Didn’t see that coming, did you? Jesus, Bear, it’s so fucking obvious, and you’re just now figuring it out? Sometimes I wonder how you have such a narrow view of things. Christ, what else have you missed?

  “Jonah?” I said incredulously. “Otter’s ex?”

  A tremulous “Yes.”

  “Bullshit.”

  A firm “No.” A sigh. “He had a detective friend of his track me down.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “He found Frank first. He spoke with Frank and told him he would pay for our help. That he was pissed and wanted Oliver back and that he would pay if we could help him. He saw you, you know. One time. He said he came up here to speak with Otter, not long after Oliver left. He came to the Thompsons’ house and saw you two. Saw Tyson with you. Saw the way Oliver looked at you. He said he knew. He said he knew that the only way he could ever hope to get him back is if you two ended things.”

  I was seething. “Bullshit,” I snarled. “Nobody’s that fucked up.

  Nobody’s that fucking melodramatic to think that they could pay someone off to break people up. That’s ridiculous. Tell me the truth.”

  Her eyes flashed, almost in anger. “Frank thought it would be a good way to get some money,” she snapped at me. “The hospital bills from Isabelle were expensive, because there were complications from the birth.

  We were in debt, and Frank saw it as a way out. He said it was a good idea.

  And when Frank says to do something, I do it.”

  I was shocked. “You’re being serious, aren’t you. You’re completely serious?”

  She nodded, almost looking relieved that I seemed to get it.

  “How much?”

  My mother flinched again. “Bear, that doesn’t—”

  “How much?”

  She looked away. “Twenty-five thousand dollars.”

  That’s a lot, I thought randomly at first. I tried to think if I’d ever seen that much money anywhere before and came up empty. But this was a defense mechanism that my brain tried to play, and when it hit me, when I realized what exactly she was paid for, what she was paid to do, the amount seemed inconsequential. It seemed like nothing. It was nothing.

  “Let me get this straight,” I said. “You were paid twenty-five grand to come back to Seafare and attempt to break Otter and me up? And this money was paid to you by Jonah Echols?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you agreed to this?”

  “Bear, I had a daughter to think about. I didn’t ask for her, but I wasn’t going to let her suffer just because I made mistakes.”

  I snorted derisively. “That’s you, Mom of the Year.” I wondered if it would be considered premeditated if I got onto a plane with the sole intention of maiming Jonah Echols.

  She looks offended. “Derrick, I know I’m not the best—”

  “Shut up,” I said tiredly. “God, for once in your life, shut your fucking mouth and let me think.”

  She did. It pained her, yes, but she didn’t speak.

  Finally, I said, “That religion thing. How you said the Bible says and God says. Think of that all on your own?”

  She shook her head slowly. “Jonah told me what I should say. You know I’ve never read the Bible. Church bores me. Who cares what a bunch of dead guys wrote millions of years ago?”

  “Who cares,” I echoed, unable to keep myself from sounding like it was the stupidest thing I’d ever heard. “And you never had any intention of taking Tyson with you?”

  She shrugged. “Frank wouldn’t have liked another kid in the house.

  He’s already having a hard-enough time with Izzie as it is. She’s a happy baby, Der. You’d like her, I think.”

  “What happens when he tells you to ditch her too? You gonna leave her somewhere by herself? Gonna walk away like she doesn’t even matter?

  Maybe a letter will let her know that you’re sorry, but it’s for the best. Is that what you’re going to do?”

  Julie McKenna said nothing in return. She looked down at her fingers and started to pick at the chipped red nail polish on her thumb.

  I was done. I held my future in my hands as I stared at my past. I took a step toward her. “You know,” I said bitterly, “you almost won. You almost destroyed me. You almost destroyed the Kid. You almost took Otter from me. But you didn’t. In the end, you didn’t win. You want to know why, Mom? You want to know why you didn’t win?”

  She said nothing.

  I crouched down before her and took her hand in mine, ignoring how she tried to pull it away. I squeezed, not hard enough to hurt, not hard enough to leave bruises, but hard enough to get her attention. “You didn’t win,” I said, “because we don’t belong to you. You didn’t win because you have no part in who we are. Our family made us. My brothers made me who I am. They may not all be blood, but it doesn’t matter. They’re mine. And you will never take them away from me.” I tightened my grip before I stood up and stepped away.

  “Don’t come back here,” I said quietly. “Maybe Ty will want to find you one day. That’s his choice. Maybe our sister will want to know us, if you tell her about us. That’s her choice. But don’t you come back here.

  You’ve done enough.” I looked at her once more, trying to remember anything good. I couldn’t find a thing.

  I t
urned and walked away. Or, at least I tried.

  “Derrick,” she called out, her voice broken.

  Against my better judgment, I stopped. I didn’t turn around.

  “I’m sorry about Oliver,” she said. She almost sounded like she meant it.

  “How did you hear about him?”

  “It… it was on the news? You didn’t know?”

  “Know what?”

  “The guy who hit him was drunk. There… his daughter was in the car.

  She died.”

  I nodded.

  “I agreed to give you Tyson,” she said, her words rushed, “because I couldn’t stop thinking about that little girl. I stared at the court papers, thinking about the girl and wondering what would have happened if it was Tyson. I didn’t know if that… if that power of attorney I gave you for your birthday would have been enough to take care of him, should he be hurt. I didn’t know how you’d survived this long. I thought this would make things easier. I thought that you’d understand, maybe even—”

  “Don’t.”

  “But—”

  I whirled around, and my eyes felt like fire, and I burned. My jaw twitched as I repeated, “Don’t.”

  She nodded. And stood. And watched me for a moment. What went through her head then, I don’t know. I don’t think I’ll ever know. I don’t think I’ll ever care. It doesn’t matter. Out of everything, it mattered the least.

  And then she walked away.

  I was back in Otter’s room before I even realized I was running. He looked the same. I took up my post next to his bed, his hand in mine, the wedding ring flashing in the light. “Enough,” I whispered harshly. “Enough.

  I don’t want to be strong anymore. I need you. Wake up, goddamn you.

  Wake up. Wake up.”

  Wake up.

  I want you to be mine, can’t you see?

  THE fifth and the sixth days were the hardest. The fifth and the sixth days were the hardest because I kept my mother to myself. I didn’t tell anyone about her visit, nor did I show anyone the custody paperwork she’d brought to me. I found the nurse and told her in a rough voice that she was to keep what she saw to herself. She nodded, her eyes wide.

  Those two days were the hardest because Otter didn’t wake up. Those two days were the hardest because Mrs. Paquinn continued to waste away, the shunt in her skull relieving the pressure but not enough to make a difference. I could see the veins, pronounced in her arms. Her skin was white. The doctors didn’t think she’d be able to breathe on her own, and they left her on the respirator. They told us that we should be prepared. They told us that we should start saying our good-byes.

  They told me privately that if it came down to it, I would need to decide to take her off life support. That decision buried me under an ocean so vast it couldn’t be real. Aftershocks built in strength, and I trembled, I quaked.

  Every day after school, the Kid would walk in with whoever had picked him up that day, knowing I couldn’t leave, that I wouldn’t leave. He watched me with quiet eyes, his anger faded, his lips in a thin line across his face. Every day he came was the same. He’d find me in Otter or Mrs.

  Paquinn’s room. He’d watch me from the doorway for a few moments. He’d walk in and push my hand out of my lap and crawl up and wrap his arms around my neck. He’d take my arm and bring up my fingers and press them against his chest. I’d feel his heartbeat. It was strong. It was alive. He’d whisper soft things in my ear, reassurances that sounded real coming from him. He’d feel me start to shake, and he’d wrap his other arm around my neck and pull my head down and allow me to lose myself against his shoulder, against his neck. I didn’t grieve around anyone except for him.

  Around the others, it would seem like I was weak. Around the others, it wouldn’t seem like I was strong enough.

  But him. Around him, I could let it out.

  Doctors came and went. Nurses came and went. Friends and family came and went. Erica Sharp, to whom I quietly handed the custody paperwork, came, her eyes going wide as she flipped through it, questions unanswered as I walked away. Jordan and the bar gang showed up and stood quietly around me and Otter, not saying much. David Trent looked lost, but composed himself after he caught me watching him and told me not to worry about Tyson at school. That the faculty knew what had happened and were making allowances for the Kid. I nodded once and looked away.

  I hadn’t spoken much since my mother left. I didn’t know what else there was to say. Life had entered into a stasis, and everything stood still. I began to hate the white walls that surrounded me, the rooms that held my family. I knew the doctors and nurses by name, and their faces began to irritate me. They looked at me with such sadness, such pity, and I wanted them gone. I’d become a fixture in those two rooms. I cleaned myself in the bathroom sink. I wore the clothes that were brought to me from the Green Monstrosity. I picked at the food that was put in front of me. I was dazed.

  Lost, confused. Something had to happen.

  On the evening of the sixth day, Creed, Anna, and Isaiah appeared in Otter’s doorway, determined and seemingly united. I ignored them until it became impossible.

  “What?” I growled at them.

  “Bear, you can’t keep doing this to yourself,” Creed said, sounding upset. “You need to step away for a little bit. Get some air. You’re killing yourself being here. It’s killing you, Papa Bear.”

  I shook my head. “Can’t leave. If something happens and I’m not here, I’ll never forgive myself. And I’d never forgive anyone who made me walk away.” This last came out like the threat it was meant to be.

  Anna tried then. “Just a walk around the hospital,” she said gently, reaching out to stroke my arm. “Just for a few minutes. You can’t keep this up, Bear. Not if you want to stay in control.”

  “I am in control,” I told them, even though they looked like they didn’t believe me. “I’m strong. I’m the strong one.”

  Isaiah hunkered down at my side while Creed stared down at his brother. “Bear, I’ll stay here with him. Let Creed and Anna take you out for a bit. Keep your phone on you, and if anything changes, I’ll call you right away, okay?”

  Something struck me as wrong. “Where’s the Kid?” I snapped at them.

  “The Kid was supposed to be with one of you. And who’s with Mrs.

  Paquinn? Did you just fucking leave her alone? You know she doesn’t like to be alone at night. Why isn’t anyone with her?” My chest started to heave.

  “The Kid is with my parents and Dominic at the Green Monstrosity,”

  Anna said, trying to soothe me by brushing her hands through my hair. “And Alice and Jerry are with Mrs. Paquinn.”

  “You know,” Creed said, still watching his brother, “you’re not the only one hurting here, Bear. You’re not the only one who’s breaking.” His words were quiet, his voice harsh. “You’re not the only one who stands to lose.

  Otter is my brother. Mrs. Paquinn is my friend. We all care about them, we all love them, so this isn’t just you. It’s never just you. You need to stop taking everything on. It’s what you always do. You can’t always be the strong one. You need to learn that this is about all of us.”

  His words. His words were so like his brother’s the day he’d brought me to our new house for the first time. His words, while not exactly like Otter’s, carried the same cadence, the same lilt to the syllables. I looked up at him and saw the faded gold in green as he glanced at me. I couldn’t say no to that. Not when he looked so much like his brother that I felt torn apart.

  “Five minutes,” I agreed against my better judgment.

  They all looked relieved.

  It was cold outside, a light mist falling, illuminated by the light posts in the parking lot. I pulled the hood of my sweatshirt up and over my head, the ring on my left hand scraping the shell of my ear. Anna was on my left, Creed on my right. Anna put her arm through mine, and after a moment, Creed did the same. We walked up and down the parking lot aisles, first on
e, then another, and then a third.

  Finally: “I told Creed,” Anna said.

  Fuck. I’d forgotten. With everything else, I’d forgotten. I was such an asshole. “Yeah?” was all I could think of to say.

  “Yeah,” Creed sighed. “Kind of a clusterfuck, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah,” I muttered. “Everything at once. We don’t do anything halfway, do we?”

  Anna surprised me with a short bark of laughter. “No, we sure don’t.”

  We walked on. Then, “What are you guys going to do?”

  Creed tensed next to me, but then so did Anna, so I stayed quiet.

  “Whatever we can,” Creed said. “It’s our responsibility. They’re my responsibility. I’m going to make sure that they’ll never want for anything.”

  We stopped in the furthest corner of the parking lot, away from the hospital and people, away from the cars and lights. The rain started beating steadily on my hoodie. I stepped out of their grasps and took two steps forward, raising my face toward the sky, the cold rain trickling down my cheek, my mouth. I stuck out my tongue and caught a drop and sucked it in.

  It tasted like the ocean, salty and bitter. “Is that what you want?” I asked them, still watching the night.

  “Yes,” Anna said. “It’s what we want.”

  “I’m going to take the rest of the semester off,” Creed said, from somewhere to my right. “I’ll transfer to the U of O in Eugene. It’ll be closer, and I can commute, if necessary.”

  “Have you told your parents?”

  Hesitation. Then, “No,” Anna said. “We were going to wait to see… to see what happened here. It matters more. They matter more right now.”

  Did they? I wanted to believe they did, that selfish part of me screaming of course they did, of course Otter and Mrs. Paquinn meant more. That dark voice went even deeper, whispering only Otter mattered. That if I had to choose, I would always pick him. He was the one that needed to wake up.

  He was the one I wanted.

  She’s old, it told me. She’s lived a good life. But what about Otter? He’s so young. He’s got so much more to give. You lose her, it’ll crush you and chafe like mad, but if you lose him? If you lose him, you’ll lose everything.