Transcontinental

by Brad Cook

  In the corner of the empty waiting room, he shivered for another reason: his sweat-soaked shirt clung like a wetsuit, chilling him in the wintry hospital.

  Across the room, the receptionist peeked at him before twitching away and returning to her phone conversation. What did she think was going to happen? Did she expect him to steal the cooler, or a chair?

  As he sipped from the conical paper cup, he saw a man in scrubs with a hair net and clipboard engage the receptionist. She put the call on hold and turned to him, away from Leroy. This was his opportunity. He didn’t know what for, since as far as he knew there was no rule prohibiting him from being there, but he snuck into the hallway regardless.

  On the walls were pictures of chiefs of staff and other high-ranking employees. Leroy noted that each of them up until the late eighties was an old white male, and even then the females were white. Figured.

  He entered the bathroom and was hit by a thick floral scent, not unpleasant but a bit overwhelming. He gawked at the paint on the walls, a lighter shade of cream dappled with a darker mocha brown by what must’ve been a sponge. It was a simple technique, but it produced such a fascinating effect. That same sense of creativity, a desperate impulse to compose, burbled up in him like acid reflux.

  And yet it saddened Leroy. This was probably the finest room he’d ever been in, and it was a public bathroom. The bathroom he’d shared with only his mother had never been near this clean, and this one probably saw dozens of people a day. He grew ashamed of himself, of how he’d allowed himself to live.

  Crowded bouquets of flowers framed the spotless mirror on each side. He rubbed one of the petals between his fingers. They were real. This place had fresh flowers daily, and he couldn’t even bother to clean off the toilet seat. Sure, there were employees paid to take care of these things for the hospital, but it didn’t change the fact that Leroy had found it difficult to accomplish a simple menial task.

  Leroy left the bathroom feeling no more cheerful, but a little lighter. He’d been in the hospital for a good ten minutes. Better get back outside.

  Ambling through the hall, he cast an offhand glance into an occupied room, and stopped in his tracks. He knew it was impossible, but he could swear the man curled up on the hospital bed was Ant. Leroy stepped into the room.

  He lay on his side, facing away from Leroy. Darkened from exposure to the sun, the man’s olive skin contrasted with the white gown he was shrouded in. His hair, salt and pepper and only stubble, matched Ant’s exactly. Even the shape of his head was similar.

  He knew there was no way it was Ant on the bed, but he was compelled to make sure. Stepping around the bedside, he glimpsed the man’s face.

  In an instant, the knot in Leroy’s gut unraveled. Of course it wasn’t Ant; the man’s nose was too small, his lips too big, and his eyes set too close together. Leroy breathed deeply as a figure moved into the doorway.

  “Who are you?” the nurse said, glancing at her clipboard. “There’s no family listed here. If you aren’t family, you gotta go.”

  “I’m sorry. Thought I recognized him, is all. I’ll go.”

  Leroy squeezed around the nurse, who refused to move from the doorway for a moment, even to let him out, despite her request. On his way through the waiting room, he filled another cup with ice cold water and carried it through the front door, the receptionist glaring at him the entire time. He hated to leave the cool lobby, but he had to.

  Outside, it took a moment for the ringing to register with him, but when he realized it was the pay phone he dashed off, spilling his water on the concrete. It was only a dozen yards away. He didn’t know how long it had been ringing, but he felt he could make it if he just ran fast enough.

  By the time he picked up, though, he knew it was too late. As he put the receiver to his ear, an infuriating dial tone confirmed it. Why couldn’t Ant have waited just a little longer, just another damn ring or two? He slammed the phone down on the hook. He could blame Ant all he wanted, but deep down Leroy knew the only one to blame was himself.

  * * *

  Ant clasped his hands under his chin at the first in the row of phone booths, unintentionally eavesdropping on the only other visitor in the room. He’d waited fifteen minutes already. How could it take so long to get a prisoner to the visitor’s center? Roy was not exactly indisposed.

  At the other end of the row, a woman stared longingly at a bald, tattooed man through the glass as she recounted a child’s birthday. How could this guy, locked up in this hell hole, not be satisfied with somebody—anybody—who cared about him? For a moment Ant wished he could trade places with the man and have a woman long for him like that, instead of dealing with a son of a bitch who was likely as disinterested in conversation as the bald man seemed.

  This, however, was about Leroy, not him. Ant couldn’t go back and change the way he’d lived, but he could better the way Leroy lived. He would.

  Then, on the other side of the glass, a guard opened the door. In stepped an inmate, portly over what must’ve once been an impressive physique, and lighter skinned than Leroy, that Ant could only assume was Roy. Even after seemingly letting himself go, he was intimidating. He sauntered into the room without looking at Ant, throwing a suspicious glance at the bald man on the phone, who did the same. As he sat, he seemed to look everywhere and nowhere at once.

  Roy gripped the phone and put it to his ear, lazily licking his teeth under his lips, as he finally glanced at Ant, who grabbed the other phone. Some time passed before he realized Roy wasn’t going to speak. Unsure of where to start, he said “Do you not wonder why an ostensibly random man has come to visit you out of the blue?”

  “Don’t much care,” Roy replied in a deep, gruff voice.

  “My name is Antoine Bevilacqua. I have a few questions for you.”

  “Told y’all before, ain’t doin’ no interview.”

  “Although I have the utmost respect for journalists, I am not one.”

  “Oh yeah, great people.” Roy sucked his teeth and looked off.

  “Well, real journalists.”

  Roy grunted.

  “What are you in here for, Mr. Smiley?”

  “You the one visited me. You don’t know?”

  Ant shook his head.

  “Just pick a random inmate, or what?” Roy said.

  Ant looked back at him silently.

  Drawing each word out, Roy said “I killed my boy.”

  He looked at Roy cock-eyed. “I was just with Leroy.”

  “Not him, fool. My first-born. Baron.” Roy looked away.

  The response rocked Ant. His thoughts clouded over. Tinnitus grew louder inside his head, forcing everything else out. Poor Leroy. Ant couldn’t imagine the psychological effects of a lie of that caliber. A wave of profound sadness for the boy pulled him under.

  A smirk tilted Roy’s lips.

  “Are you aware that Leroy is under the impression Baron was an imaginary friend?” Ant asked, a faint ringing left in his ears.

  “Do it look like I have much say in the boy’s life?”

  Ant rubbed his closed eyes, still in disbelief.

  “Wouldn’t put it past that mother of his, though.”

  Ant looked up. “You do realize that she passed recently, right?”

  That tilted smirk came back. “I heard.”

  “Did the prison prohibit you from attending the funeral?”

  “Nah, they asked me if I wanted to go. Told ‘em fuck no I didn’t. ‘Less she got mauled by a bear and it was open casket or somethin’,” he chuckled. “Bitch killed herself. Like she had it so bad. Look at me.”

  The man’s insensitivity astounded Ant. “And what about Leroy?”

  Roy grunted. “What about him?”

  “It seemed as though your absence upset him.”

  “Boy ain’t visited me once the ten years I been here. Don’t owe him shit.”

  “Right,” Ant snapped. “You only created him, murdered his brother, then abandoned him at a young a
ge. What could you possibly owe him?”

  “Talkin’ like you know me,” Roy sneered. “I don’t even know if he’s mine. The men Adalynne was with ‘sides me, I can’t count ‘em on two hands.”

  Ant did not doubt that. He wasn’t sure whether or not it would be good for Leroy to know this. If Roy was his father, his father was a murderer. But if Roy wasn’t his father, things could get complicated quickly for Leroy. He didn’t want to shake the boy’s foundation, even if it was an unhealthy one. The revelation about his brother was enough to deal with. “Regardless of his parentage, you should feel lucky to have a child like him.”

  “Funny. Always seemed a bit soft to me.”

  “Well if I recall correctly, the last time you saw him he was about five years old. Which is perhaps not the best representation of the man he will, and has, become.” Ant said, feeling flustered. “Leroy is a fine boy.”

  “See, that gets me wonderin’ what you doin’ with a young boy anyway.”

  “Nothing like what you are implying, I assure you. Leroy ran away from foster care. I am simply helping him get where he is going.”

  “Then remind me why we chattin’, again.”

  “There is a woman in your past.”

  “They’s a bunch’a women in my past.”

  Ant shut his eyes. “She is not one of them. I hope.”

  “Who, then? Quit dancin’ ‘round it.”

  “That is what I came to find out.”

  “You ‘bout to lose your chance, you don’t get down to it.”

  “Right. I am sure you have better things to do.”

  “Hey, just keep pushin’ it.” Roy dangled the phone beside him.

  But Ant didn’t believe Roy had any intention of abandoning the conversation. His body language certainly didn’t show it. He leaned forward, his gaze now fixed intensely on Ant. For all his bravado and threats to leave, he seemed almost happy to have a visitor.

  Ant gave Roy a stern look, and he put the phone back to his ear.

  “You do not get many visitors, do you, Roy?”

  “I get more’n enough. They all fake, but I get ‘em.”

  “‘Fake’ people?”

  “Reporters, cops, crazies. Nobody real. One white boy came in here askin’ should he kill his brat like I did mine. What’s the best way, and all.”

  “That is reprehensible. What did you say?”

  “Told him to get outta my face ‘fore I bust the glass to get to his.”

  “So, who do you want to see?”

  Roy motioned to the woman in the room. “Someone like her.”

  “You and me both.” The two men, dissimilar as could be, sat there a moment in agreement. “The woman Leroy is interested in apparently used to babysit him. He claims she was a friend of the family.”

  “Ah. Yeah, they was always close, those two.”

  Ant’s face lit up. “So you remember her?”

  “Course. She and Ada was always together. Night and day, them two.”

  “Was she as lovely as Leroy made her sound?” The question escaped Ant’s lips before thought about it. How embarrassing. He could have asked her name, but his first question was for a confirmation of her loveliness—a loveliness his own mind had manufactured. Leroy had never called her that.

  “She was a sweet young thing. Never did like me much.”

  “I have a hard time believing that,” Ant sassed.

  “Rehema.”

  “Pardon?” Ant asked, wondering if he had just been insulted.

  “Rehema Shepherd,” Roy replied, his arms crossed and his eyes facing upward, as if he’d had to dig for the name. “Don’t ask me to spell it. Can’t.”

  “Do you know where she went? Leroy said she moved.”

  “Ain’t really in the loop, now, am I?”

  “I have to say, this has gone much better than I had imagined. I figured you would have no interest in helping. All I must do now is remember that name. Rehema Shepherd, Rehema Shepherd,” Ant repeated.

  “Got no reason not to help. I ain’t a bad guy, Antoine,” Roy said, throwing his hands up as if caught by the police. “Just got a hell of a temper.”

  Ant smiled. “I believe it.” And he did. He considered himself a decent judge of character, and there were no red flags going off, besides that he had murdered his other son. An uncomfortable feeling resonated through him at the thought of explaining that to Leroy. All things considered, though, Roy seemed a victim of his own flaws more than anything. Ant knew what that was like.

  “Roy, is there anything else you would like to talk about before I go?”

  “Nah, I’m talked out. Don’t even talk to my cell mate this much.”

  So they did have cell mates. Ant smiled.

  * * *

  Leroy’s knee bounced vigorously as he grasped the bench, leaning forward. Why hadn’t Ant called back yet? Isn’t that what most people did when nobody answered the first time? If he could make the call at all, he could call again. But he hadn’t, which made Leroy anxious.

  The whole situation felt sketchy, the more he thought about it. If Ant was coming back, there would be no reason for him to call Leroy on a pay phone to explain what he’d learned from Roy. He could just do it when he got back. And what was with that promise Ant had asked of him before leaving? That didn’t strike him as something a person would normally do if there wasn’t a crucial reason. He should’ve pressed Ant harder when he had the chance.

  Wasn’t there a number he could dial to call back the last caller, sort of a reverse redial? His mom had used it when that creepy guy started calling her in the middle of the night. She’d woken the neighbors up when she finally got a hold of that man. He’d never even heard half of the words she used that night. It was one of the few times he could remember being proud of her.

  What if Ant didn’t come back? He hadn’t considered it until then, and the prospect of making the rest of the journey alone dismayed him.

  No. He had to stop thinking like that if he was going to make it to her, and come what may, he would. With or without Ant. He could do this.

  Leroy shot to his feet. He couldn’t sit down, sit still anymore. Pacing back and forth under the awning, he glanced at the receptionist inside, who had her sights firmly locked on him. It was just a matter of time before they asked him to leave, or worse, called the cops, he convinced himself. They wouldn’t even have to drive far with the prison right there. It’d be at most ten minutes, roundtrip.

  Still, he couldn’t risk leaving in case Ant called back. He’d left the first time, and look what happened. Leroy could do this without him, but for the moment, Ant was his way forward. Without the name from his father, Leroy was stymied.

  So either Ant came back and they went on their way, or Leroy had some serious planning to do. Either situation required waiting, so he supposed he could kill two birds with one stone and do both. That’s the adult way to handle it, Leroy thought, proud of himself.

  He sat back down on the bench, his knee bouncing vigorously.

  * * *

  Ant circled the waiting room, almost frantic. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing — or, what he wasn’t. There wasn’t a public phone in sight.

  He approached the woman at a desk in the corner. She had a phone. It wouldn’t provide much privacy, but it was better than nothing.

  “Hello. Is there any chance I may use your telephone?”

  She gave him a sympathetic look and said “I do apologize, sir, but this phone is for administrative personnel only.”

  “I have a call that I must make,” Ant insisted.

  “That’s just fine, sir. We have public phones available in the main building. After you check out, go down the hall, and it’ll be your second left.”

  “That is precisely the problem. I can not check out until I make the call.”

  “Oh sure you can,” she replied with a friendly wave of her hand.

  “You do not understand, when I check out I will be—”

  �
�It’s a quick process, takes but a minute,” she said cheerfully.

  “Of course.” Ant forced a smile. “Thank you for your assistance.”

  “My pleasure!”

  He took a seat in an uncomfortable chair and rubbed his eyes. So much for helping Leroy. He’d probably never see the boy again after he got hauled off to his cell. Then he’d have to deal with a lawyer, a judge, all that good stuff. He was thinking he’d waive his right to a lawyer and just plead guilty. No need to bother with the formalities.

  Then Ant realized something, his hands falling from his face. Every inmate gets one phone call. He could use his to inform Leroy about Rehema.

  It was time to check out.

  Ant headed over to the door and stepped into the long hallway of old white men. The same humorless guard that had escorted him across earlier followed him silently to the door. Through it, the tall woman who had checked him in welcomed him back.

  “How was your visit? Did he give you hell?”

  “I think you exaggerate the extent to which he is a son of a bitch.”

  The woman smiled at Ant, and that was all it took to buoy him momentarily above the surface of the negativity he’d been trapped beneath.

  “I doubt it, honey. But when you got a body like this,” she struck a pose in her baggy outfit, “everybody’s a son of a bitch.”

  “Well, can you blame them?” Ant grinned as he said it, hoping to soften the blow. He could not be a smart ass, or not succumb to his weakness for women, but he couldn’t not do both at one time. That was simply too much to ask.

  The look she gave him was cold, but in it Ant saw a glimmer of warmth. Wishful thinking or not, it didn’t matter. For his final conversation with a woman for the foreseeable future, he supposed it was good enough.

  He inhaled, looking her in the eye. “I suppose I am ready to go, now.” He held out his wrists. This was it—the beginning of the next phase in his life.

  But it was all for the experience. That’s how he had always lived his life, and he wasn’t about to change just because it put him in a tight spot. He’d been in plenty of tight spots before. It was out of his control, and that was what bothered him most.

  The woman snipped the paper bracelet hanging from Ant’s wrist.