by Rose Hudson
It’s been so long since I drove, that using the convertible tonight to have dinner with Aston and Liz was daunting, to say the least. My grip on the steering wheel doesn’t loosen until I pull through their community gate.
Their house is lit almost blindingly, making the evening sky surrounding it appear darker than it is. I laugh to myself as I pull into their driveway, remembering that Aston had the flood and motion lights installed around the entire perimeter of the house because Madison used to sneak out all the time.
Laying my head back on the headrest, I take a moment for myself, going over everything I’m about to say, chastising myself that there was ever a question in my mind to begin with. I send Dad a quick text and exit the car, the cold wind hitting my face, inspiring me to run to the front door instead of walk. Thankfully Margaret is quick on her feet and I don’t wait more than a second before the door opens.
“Lydia!” She pulls me inside, hugging me tightly before the door even closes behind us. “I didn’t believe it when Aston informed me you were coming.” She holds my shoulders, looking me over. “If it’s possible, you’re more gorgeous than the last time I saw you.”
“I’m ashamed that I haven’t been by sooner.” We walk into the main room, arm in arm, understanding in her eyes as she smiles over at me. “How have you been? Things okay around here?”
“I’m doing just fine, and things here have been—” She glances to the ground. “Well, things are better than they were.” She pats my arm. With Liz’s epilepsy, and the depression that’s taken over much of her days since the attack, I knew Margaret would have her work cut out for her. Although she is a paid employee, she’s become family during the ten years she’s been their live-in housekeeper.
“That I believe,” I say, taking my coat off and laying it over the arm of the couch.
“Here, I’ll take that. Aston and Liz are in the back. Why don’t you go ahead and I’ll get dinner plated up.”
I smile and nod.
“Thanks, Margaret.”
I smell Aston’s cigar before I enter the family room. Paired with the sounds of Wheel of Fortune coming from the T.V., I can almost pretend that Madi will be sitting on the couch next to Liz like she would in the past. The one rule Liz did enforce with Madi and Kason growing up, was family time before eating dinner together. But rounding the corner, I’m all too aware that she isn’t here like she should be.
“Well, I made it without wrecking Dad’s precious car,” I say, getting their attention as I enter the room, attempting to start the evening out on somewhat of a relaxed note.
“Thank God,” Aston says, looking up from his newspaper and moving to stand. “I’m not sure which he loves more, so either way we’d never hear the end of it.” He smiles, leaning in and hugging me to him. Not in the way he would before, but a hug all the same.
“Don’t you look pretty. Blue is definitely your color.” Liz pats the seat beside her on the couch, the knowledge of that being Madi’s spot isn’t lost on me. “How was your day?”
I sit and she pats my leg, and whether it’s what I choose to see, or what’s really there, pain reflects in her eyes and I see how much she’s missed being able to do this with her own daughter.
“Good. No clients today, so mostly transcribing documents.”
“So, the fun stuff?” she kids.
“Pretty much. You know, putting my law degree to good use.”
She squeezes my hand.
“Ah, you’ve got plenty of time to find your niche, and when you do, you’ll be glad you eased into it.”
I smile and nod, her comfort a nice reprieve from my father’s constant questions about taking on clients of my own instead of being his assistant.
“Stellan would give me hell for saying this, but I have to agree with Liz. The time I took before we started the firm was something I’ve never regretted.” A knowing look passes between us. I’ve always wondered if my father wishes he’d done the same.
“I’ve got dinner ready in the dining room. Come before it gets cold,” Margaret says from the doorway.
When we take our seats at the table, my stomach growls, reminding me that I haven’t eaten anything other than a protein bar and a ridiculous amount of coffee today.
“This looks amazing,” I say, looking up at Margaret.
“And I’ve made chocolate molten cake topped with strawberries for dessert. So, leave some room.” She winks, patting my shoulder as she leaves the three of us alone.
“I heard you and Kason enjoyed the concert. I’m glad the two of you got to visit while he was in town,” Liz says. I nod, swallowing my first bite.
“We did. I told him he needs to come home more often. Didn’t realize it’s been so long.”
“Seems he’s bouncing between a small music label in Los Angeles and some music streaming company. I doubt his visits will increase any time soon,” Aston says. I’m impressed to hear a tinge of usually absent approval when speaking of Kason. He’s always made it known that he didn’t consider the music business an obtainable, or reliable, career path for him. But maybe he’s coming around now that he’s finally recognizing how good Kason is at what he does.
“He was telling me about that. I’ve no doubt great things are in store for him. He’s got your drive.” Aston sips his drink, shrugging subtly.
We eat and small talk for the rest of dinner, skirting around what we all know I’m here to discuss. But when Margaret brings dessert and the room falls silent, I know there’s no need to delay any longer. Talking about Madison in any capacity is something that’s nearly been off limits when Liz is present, but given the fact that they’ve invited me with this discussion in mind, I’m comforted knowing she’s had time to prepare.
“I want you to know that I’ve given this a lot of thought. For the last month, it’s pretty much consumed my every thought. But today I realized something.”
Aston reaches over, taking Liz’s hand in his, both of their eyes now focused on me.
“The question has never been would I take care of this baby, but rather could I. I would do anything for Madi, but the thought of filling her shoes, whether it be temporary or permanent, is not only unbearable, but has caused me to question my ability to do this and do it well.” I look to each of them. “But being fortunate enough to be raised by such wonderful parents, and near equally by the two of you, I realized that I’ve had the best examples of what loving and caring for another person requires.” The inevitable tears that have lingered all day spill silently down my cheek. Not because of the gravity of this discussion, or the fact that it’s Liz and Aston I’m having it with, but because the acceptance of being a parent for this baby feels like an admission that Madison is never coming back. And it kills me to know that it feels that way to them, too.
“After the initial shock and grief waned, and we recognized the probability of saying goodbye to our little girl was higher than that of bringing her home, those feelings were replaced by anger and the inability to see clearly when considering this child. Loving Madison as you do, I’m sure you’ve formed some resentment toward us for that,” Aston says, Liz unable to speak and wiping away tears at his side.
“Resenting either of you would be impossible, but I will admit to not understanding your position initially. Now I understand. My bad days have outnumbered the good throughout this, and at one time I forced myself to consider how you must be feeling. And I get it. Truly I do. But above all, I know the two of you, and I know in time, regardless of the outcome, you will find your own way to accept this child and forgive yourselves.”
They look to one another, years of love and adoration visible through the cloud of grief surrounding them.
“You love your kids no matter what, and eventually, even if only by default, your grandchildren. Know that we love this child. We love them enough to know that until we fully grieve and accept what is or will be, this is what’s best. At our age, and with my increasing health issues, we fear it would be an unfair decision
and one not in the best interest of this baby.” A sob breaks free from Liz, tears spilling rapidly. “And if she doesn’t wake up—” she struggles, causing my tears to come harder and faster. “If she doesn’t come back to us, I think it would bring her great peace to know you were raising her child.”
I all but leap from my chair and go to them, hugging them and crying for us all, the pain more real than it’s ever been before.
No matter what, I believe with my whole heart that she will wake up. I believe that she will wake up, that she will recover, and that she will one day be the mother that she’s always wanted to be. But now, I also believe that we all can and will do this together. This child will never want for love and that alone is a gift.
PULLING UP IN FRONT OF my gym, watching two guys with hard hats apply yellow Caution tape across each entrance and the front of the building, is not what I expected to find. What in the actual fuck?
I spot Evan across the street talking on his cell and open my door to step out. He sees me and my hands go up in the air asking the unspoken question as I make my way to him.
“City building officials. Say they’re yellow tagging the building due to complaints of uninhabitable structure. That’s all they’ll say.”
“We’ll fucking see about that.” I jog across the street and up to one of them. “Someone needs to tell me what the hell is going on.”
He turns sharply in my direction.
“Are you the owner?” I nod. “Here is the formal notice and the phone number you need to call is listed at the bottom.”
“And who is it I’ll be calling?”
“Our orders get handed down through the city building inspector and City Hall, sometimes the mayor’s office. It could be any one of those.”
I look over the paperwork and down at the number written in black marker. Why does that number look familiar? I jog back to my truck, seeking a place to get out of the wind when it dawns on me. That bastard.
He’s proving his point and proving it fast. First my job, and slowly my credibility as a contractor in this city, and now the only other thing I have, but something worth more than his or anyone else’s determined face value.
This gym was here when I was growing up and first started fighting. It was here when I was a teenager and Thorn got into fighting. And when Rush started in JV Wrestling and Mr. Jenkins said he was shutting it down because it needed too much work that he was too old to do, I offered to buy it so that it would be here for Rush, too. There is very little in this life that ever holds meaning, but the little that does means the world, and you gotta hold on to it for all it’s worth to you.
Sliding my phone from the pocket of my hoodie, I dial the number and it only rings once before he answers.
“Good morning, Hammer. How are things down in the West Loop?” He’d clearly been expecting my call.
“If you were going to get city officials involved to prove your point, why didn’t you save everyone’s time and stop me in your driveway that day?”
“When dealing with people of your educated social class, sometimes it’s best to break it down into terms you’ll understand. I figured painting a picture would be the best form of awakening.” He hesitates and what sounds like a heavy patio door sliding through a track echoes in his background. “As for Mr. Ivanoff, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.”
I don’t know if it’s that I’ve dealt with so many people just like him, or if it’s because I’ve yet to pinpoint a motive for the motherfucker that sets off alarms, but I know he won’t give up until he gets what he wants.
“I don’t need you to ask questions. I need you to show up on the day and time I specify and do what you’re good at. Or I will do everything I’ve already given you a taste of and then some.”
“You’ll do good to leave the rest of my family out of this.”
“So, I assume we have a deal?”
“Get my fucking job up and running and the tape off my fucking gym, and then we’ll have some terms to discuss.” I end the call.
Sure, he could laugh in my face and not do a damn thing I asked, but he doesn’t care about this shit. This is all a means to an end for him.
Instead of ripping the tape from the doors and going against the word of a city official like I want to, I turn and head back to my truck, heading to Celia’s instead to make sure she’s okay.
I can count the number of times I’ve carried this feeling in the pit of my stomach on one hand. That feeling where loyalty and burden come together and the difference between the two blur until all that’s left is a knot of self-loathing.
When I make my mind up about something, I don’t change it. When I swore I wouldn’t fight again, I meant it. I had used my fists for the entertainment and financial gain of others for the last time. At least that’s what I told myself last week when I stormed out of Joseph Cameron’s house after telling him to basically go fuck himself.
But I underestimated his pull and just how far he was willing to take this.
I could spend my time and money digging and wasting time trying to figure out what his motive behind forcing me into this fight to save my brother is, or I can just swallow my pride and do what he wants. I don’t need to see him or know who he is to know my own ability and the fact that in the end, he’ll be the one regretting this decision.
I know that Cameron is going to make life hard. Putting off accepting this fight is probably going to cost me a couple thousand in revenue in the end, but I’ve got to ensure that his end game is, in fact, his end game. I can’t get sucked back into this life, continually owing a fight here and there for whatever reason he deems necessary. I said I was done a year ago, and here I am now, fighting to get Rush out of trouble. What will it be next? Thorn?
God knows that dude gets his ass into shit every time I turn around, owing dealers, getting into shit by the sanction for fighting in public and drawing attention to himself and the underground. Now that I know Cameron is involved, and he knows I know, who’s to say he won’t come back in six months holding something else over my head?
I’m done.
I’m getting too old for this bullshit, and have worked too hard to build up this company to piss it all away for some senator with a sweet tooth ripe with decay.
But I’ve never been one to do something half-ass, and this fight is no exception. I wouldn’t even know what being at the top of my game was if it weren’t for Casper Jenkins. It’s been a couple of months since he stopped by the gym since he sold it to me, and since Evan, his grandson, works the front desk, I’m usually up to date on his health.
The wooden steps to his front door creak from my weight and I’m startled to hear Casper’s quick reply.
“Who’s on my property?” His voice comes from the lifted window beside the front door.
“Stone Keeling, Mr. Jenkins. Mind if I come in?”
Instead of a reply, I hear the collapse of his recliner and the alternating shuffle of his feet and thump of his cane against the floor of the old house in Humboldt.
“Get in here, boy. What the hell you doing running around? Don’t you have work to do?” He spits his questions at me like alcohol to a flame, his demeanor not changed since the last time we spoke.
I chuckle. “Yeah, about like you keeping your damn window open when it’s twenty degrees outside.” I step through the door as he scoots to the side giving me room. “You forget how to get to the gym or you just don’t have any use for us no more?”
“Drove to that gym every day for thirty years. Doubt I’ll ever forget how to get there.” Closing the door behind him, he shuffles around me to get back to his seat. The inside of the house looks like it’s been dipped in a vat of browns, most of the items in their original state and likely their original place. Since Mrs. Jenkins passed a year ago, I doubt he’s moved anything. “Sit down, tell me why you’re here because I know it ain’t to shoot the shit.”
“Not really, but I was interested to know if you were still breathin
g.” I sit down on the old brown couch. “How are you, Casper, really? Evan keeps me informed, but I want to hear it from you.”
“I’m old. What more do you need to hear?”
I shake my head.
“We’re all dying, I don’t understand why people constantly want a damn update, like they want to mark down your death on the fucking calendar.”
“Or maybe they just want to make sure you’re taking care of yourself?” I say.
He throws his arm in my direction, putting the questions to a stop. “Get to the meat of it, boy. I could use some good gym gossip.”
“This isn’t really gossip as much as it is getting your ass back to the gym.”
“Is that right? You decide to stop being a pussy and get back in the circle?”
“It’s been decided for me. Got a few weeks before the fight.”
“And you think I need to be at the gym for what?”
“Because you’ve been there to help me train for every fight I’ve ever had. Didn’t figure this one was any different.”
He reaches for his pipe and lights the tobacco, that familiar smell hitting my nose.
“Then I guess we’ve got work to do.”
Pride spreads in my chest.
“I’ll have Evan bring me in the mornings. You started running yet?”
He knows me well enough to know that once I stopped fighting that I would quit running. I fucking hate running, but it’s necessary when training for a fight or else I’d never take the first stride.
“Yes, sir.”
He nods subtly, inhaling that damn pipe. I think we’ve all bitched at him about quitting over the years, except Thorn, who picked up the habit from him, I’m sure. The old house grumbles in the quiet around us, and I’m thankful his daughter lives next door. There’s some real punks in this neighborhood and it wouldn’t take someone long to take advantage of the fact that he lives alone.