Forgive Us Our Trespasses

by M. L. Steinbrunn

  I look straight ahead and focus on steadying my breathing. My stomach is doing flip-flops. I don’t know how I ever found the courage to be here, doing this, but here I am. That’s not true; I know exactly where this bravery is coming from: Brooks. My love for him is driving me to confront my past so that I can move forward with my future. If I want him, and I sincerely do, then I have to do this.

  My mouth opens to speak several times, but I find no words; my lips are met with silence. I don’t want this conversation to end before it even begins, or be escorted off the bus for some sort of public disturbance, so I have to choose my tactic carefully. I had everything mapped out in my mind, the conversation playing over and over in my head while I waited in the car. But now, I’m at a loss.

  Giving myself more time, I twist off my scarf and pull off my gloves, tucking them all into my giant purse. My hands are shaking, and I try to hide the display of nerves by wringing my hands together in my lap. When I feel large warm hands cover mine, I startle, almost jumping completely out of my bus seat.

  “Hello, Vivian. I have to say, I’m surprised to see you, especially here of all places. I’ll assume that this is not a coincidence, considering you followed me from the distribution center.” I gasp, and he responds by patting my hands and then returning them back to his jacket pockets.

  “You don’t make it around the block as many times as I have and not know when someone is tailing you,” he chuckles. “So what do I owe the honor? Did Brooks not tell you that I swore to stay away from the two of you, and that I was bowing out?”

  “I didn’t give him the chance to tell me,” I say, tilting my head down in embarrassment.

  “Well, sounds to me like you’re following the wrong person, little lady.”

  “No,” I say adamantly, raising my eyes to meet his. “I’m exactly where I need to be. Brooks and I don’t have a future–no matter where you fit into the equation–if I don’t have this conversation with you first.”

  “Okay, then, my ride is plenty long to get whatever you need to off your chest. I’m all ears.” Raymond takes his hands out of his pockets and crosses his arms across his chest, leaning back in his seat like he’s getting comfortable to hear a massive ear-chewing.

  “No, Raymond, I’m here to hear you talk. I want to know what happened that night with my father. I want to know what happened when Brooks went to visit you ten years ago. And you’re right; you have over an hour to tell me, which is plenty of time.”

  He immediately sits up straighter, surprised at my demands. “There’s nothing I can’t tell you that you can’t read in the police and trial records,” he says, looking away from me out the window.

  “That’s bullshit and you know it. Brooks and I both read the records ten years ago, and there were plenty of holes. It’s time you filled in the gaps for me.”

  The way he shifts in his seat, I can tell this trek down memory lane is extremely uncomfortable for him. Shit, it’s uncomfortable for me too, but how I see it is that he owes me at least this.

  He remains silent, and I quickly realize that I need to do or say something to save this conversation because it’s going nowhere fast. “Look,” I sigh, “I know enough to realize that my father was no saint. I understand that he was into something that got him into a situation that more than likely got him killed. But I don’t know the details. I’m just looking for someone to fill in the gaps, and the only person who can do that is you.”

  Raymond finally looks at me, torment written all over his face, and then stares down at his hands he has begun to slowly rub together. “I’m not sure what you what to hear, Vivian. One of the reasons I took the plea bargain, the same reason your mother agreed to the plea bargain, was so you would never find out the negative things about your father. He was a good man that got wrapped up in the bullshit that I was always finding myself waist-deep in, but this time, we both got in way too deep.”

  I lean back in my seat, mimicking his earlier attitude. “Why don’t you start at the beginning,” I say, crossing my arms in front of my chest.

  Raymond brings his hands to his face, rubbing his palms over his eyes. I can’t tell if he’s expecting me and this situation to disappear when he opens his eyes again or if he’s trying to force the memories of his past to the surface. Either way, I feel no pity for this man, only disdain for his actions. Finally, he lowers his hands, looking straight ahead, and begins the story I’ve waited the last twenty years to hear.

  “He gave me a job when no one else would. I had been in and out of trouble most of my life, but your dad took a chance on me and gave me a job. I was so thankful, so when he told me about his goal of wanting to open a second store, I thought I owed it to him to help.”

  “The police records said it was a burglary. This whole best friend picture you’re painting doesn’t make much sense,” I say, my irritation in the direction of his story evident in my tone.

  “The road to hell is paved with good intentions, little lady.” His crystal blue glare pins me through the corner of his eye.

  I nod and wave him on to continue.

  “So like a said, I wanted to help. I knew some people from my younger days, suppliers that were making big money in the dope rings, and were venturing out into other arenas–guns, prostitution–the regular scores. I knew that by getting back into dealing I could make a huge chunk of change that could go to the new store. The way we worked it out, it was very palatable to your old man.”

  “How was everything supposed to operate?” I ask, shocked that my dad, the guy that promised cartoon Saturdays and fort-building sleepovers, would have anything to do with illegal drug and gun dealings.

  “Your dad’s store profit would be the bank roll. I would use the funds to buy from the suppliers and then hike up prices, deal it out to old contacts, pay off the suppliers, and then your dad would get his money back and then some. The plan was pretty perfect, and worked like a charm; your dad had his new store in half the time we thought it would take.”

  “Hold on,” I say, scooting to the edge of my seat, facing him. “You want me to believe that you went back to the underbelly of society out of the goodness of your heart, just to help out my dad for giving you a job. That is the biggest joke I’ve ever heard. No one does crap like that.”

  “Believe whatever you want; I’m telling you how it was. Take it or leave it. Now, was I helping just out of the goodness of my heart? No. I was a different person back then. I saw an opportunity to help us both, and I took it. With the dough rolling in, I took a cut of the profit, and it was supporting some of my side businesses.”

  “So what went wrong?”

  “I started using again. I was snorting and smoking more than I was selling, and I started getting behind paying back the suppliers. I always made sure that your dad had his money; he was my money source after all. But then when he was about to open the new store, he wanted out. The suppliers had given me a deadline and if I didn’t have the money that I owed them, they were coming after me. These weren’t the type of guys that would have stopped there, either; they would have gone after my family. They would have found out about you guys, and hurt you all to get their money back. Whatever it took; they didn’t care.”

  “Come after us?”

  “That’s how it works, baby girl. Whatever it takes to get the message across.”

  “So what was the plan, get the last payment from my dad, pay off the people you owed, and just disappear?”

  “Pretty much. I thought it would be better than people ending up hurt or dead.”

  “Except someone did die,” I whisper, causing him to lower his head in shame. Silence ensues as he rubs his hand across his face, hiding his eyes from me.

  “I never meant to hurt Greg; he was my friend,” his voice cracks and stutters over my father’s name. I try to keep my emotions in check, but the old wound is slowly ripping apart. “Vivian, you have to understand; I just got so scared, and I was high out of my mind. When he refused to give me any mor
e money, I panicked.”

  “So what happened next?” I ask, already knowing the answer. I lived the answer. I know what the end result would be. I know that the final conclusion was that my father would not return home that night, but I needed to hear the words from him.

  He sighs, stalling with the last piece of the story. The lump in my throat has become unbearable. My salty tears sting my cheeks, but I quickly wipe them away, refusing to let him see my hurt. He notices and reaches for my hands once again, but I pull away. “Finish the story, Raymond. I’m not here for your comfort; I’m here for the truth.”

  He hastily retreats and nods in understanding. When he begins his story once again, we both are looking forward, unable to look at each other. “We began to argue, and then it got physical. It escalated so fast; I couldn’t control it. I just snapped. One minute we were wrestling on the ground, and then next I was squeezing his neck. When he stopped fighting, stopped moving, I knew I killed him.”

  “So you just left him there?” I ask as a sob breaks free.

  My loss of control garners the attention of the passenger in front of us. The older gentleman, at least in his seventies, turns around, analyzing the situation. He glares at Raymond before turning compassionate eyes toward me. “Ma’am, is everything all right here? Is this man bothering you?”

  I attempt a half-hearted smile and wave him off. “No sir,” I say, slightly tilting my head in appreciation for his concern. “Thank you for asking, but we are fine.” He looks back and forth between Raymond and me for a few more seconds before turning around and returning his attention to the newspaper that he had been reading. When I see that it’s safe to continue, I nod to Raymond to go on.

  He shifts in his seat, wiping his palms on his pant legs, and then begins the rest of his story. “I grabbed the money to pay the suppliers and left. As soon as the debt was paid, I skipped town. I knew all roads would lead to me, and it was only a matter of time before they figured out it was me so I ran. I didn’t get far. With the drug habit I had, and the lack of connections, it was only three days before I got picked up, and well, you know the rest.”

  I take a few cleansing breaths to pull myself together. “So tell me about Brooks; where does he fit into all of this?” I ask when I can finally speak clearly, without the high-pitch squeal that usually takes over my voice when crying is involved.

  “I wasn’t a father, never wanted to be a father. The life I led wasn’t cut out for a family. His mother and I had a brief fling, and when I found out she was pregnant, I took off, plain and simple. I heard through some people I knew that she met someone and got married and that he adopted Brooks and had more kids. So I left it alone.”

  “What, so he just never knew about you, or that you were in jail?”

  “He eventually learned that his stepfather wasn’t his real dad. When he was in middle school, I tried to contact him, you know, to get to know him. His mother, though, didn’t want me anywhere near him, so she wrote to me and told me to stay away. Since I never heard from him, I assumed that she never gave him any of my letters.”

  “But he went to see you in prison? How did that come about?”

  “Don’t you think this is something that he should be telling you?” he asks his disapproving tone obvious. I’m stabbed with guilt, because I absolutely realize that this is something that I should have been brave enough to ask Brooks myself. I should have given him the opportunity to explain the situation the first time he pleaded with me, but instead, I turned my back and walked away.

  I narrow my gaze at him, deflecting from the guilt that was seeping from my pores. “This from the man that kept his identity from his own son, I think I’ll stay away from the dear-old-dad pep talk, but thanks, Ray.”

  “Touché,” he chuckles, shooting me a slimy grin. “All right, fine. After he turned eighteen, I found out where he was going to college and was able to get an address for him in the dorms. I started to write to him, knowing that his mother couldn’t keep me away anymore. I was shocked as shit when he wrote back, and we continued corresponding for a few months. I never told him why I was in jail; he asked but I avoided the question. Eventually, I asked if he would visit. He avoided that question as well. Until…”

  “…until he went with me to research the case,” I say, finishing his sentence.

  “You got it. When he found out everything, he agreed to see me. It was not the father/son get-together I had envisioned. He was upset and angry with me, which I understood. More than anything, he didn’t care about him and me; he was upset about you. He didn’t know what to do, if he should tell you what he found out, or keep it a secret. I gave him the only fatherly advice I had, which wasn’t saying much.”

  “You told him to run, like you had.”

  Raymond turns his attention to me, taking offense to my statement. “I told him that if you found out the truth, it would only hurt you,” he snaps. “I told him that if he really loved you, he needed to let you go.”

  I look past Raymond, out the bus window. I stare at the wintery scenery that has changed from open fields to city lights as we approach Greeley. I let his words sink in; not only about the night my dad died, but about the advice he gave Brooks.

  After several more minutes, Raymond’s voice breaks through my thoughts. “Vivian, we are almost there, is there anything else you would like to ask me?”

  I blink and shake my head, attempting to bring myself back to the present. “I’m sorry, what did you say?” I murmur.

  “I asked if there was anything I could help you with?” he asks once more.

  “Actually, yes, there is something I want you to do,” I say, clearing my throat. “I have a proposition for you.”

  “I’m an ex-con on parole for murder, Vivian. I have absolutely no skills, no reputable connections, and I have done things to your family and mine that are unforgivable.”

  I gather as much courage as I can scrape together and look him straight in the eye. “That is exactly why you need to do what I’m going to ask of you. It’s time I forgive, and it’s time that you find redemption within yourself.”

  Squaring his shoulders to me like I was going to deliver some underworld job to him, I match his posture. “My husband died last year in an accident where the driver fell asleep,” I begin. With that information, his shoulders slouch, deflating as my words hit him. “Every man that I’ve ever loved has been taken from me because of the mistakes of others.”

  “I don’t understand, Vivian. How can I help here? I can’t change the past.”

  “No, but you can help change the future of those that are on the same path you were on. I want to start a foundation to help at-risk teens get their lives on track. Help them go to college, get training, find a support system so that they don’t end up where you and I are now.”

  “What would you need me to do?”

  “Do what you did today; share your story. I want you to be a mentor for these kids, just like you were for the guys in prison. Help steer these kids onto the right path; they need to see how hard the wrong path can be. Only you can show them that.”

  “Why are you doing this? Most people wouldn’t want anything to do with someone that’s done the things I’ve done.”

  The brakes on the bus screech, and we all lurch forward from the sudden stop. When the bus driver announces our destination, I grab my purse, dig out my business card, and stand to let Raymond get off the bus. I know that he can’t be late, so this conversation has to end.

  Raymond stands when I enter the aisle to let him pass. “My family has endured a lot because of bad choices. It’s only right that something positive be born from that misery,” I say, placing my card in his hand. He only stares down at the card lying flat on his palm, not moving any further into the aisle. “If I can prevent one family from experiencing what mine has, then this was all worth it.”

  He closes his fingers around my card and begins to pass by me, but before he can get out of reach, I grab his elbow, forcing him t
o stop. “When you’re ready to travel down the path of redemption, let me know.”

  His eyes finally reach mine, and I briefly hold his gaze until the doors of the bus begin to close. I pull down on the cord above our seats, alerting the driver that a passenger needs to get off the bus just as Raymond yells to the driver. Without looking at me again, he runs down the aisle of the bus and exits.

  I sit back down and pull out my phone to put in motion the next step of my plan. I’m going to need the help of the entire crew. After I text everyone, I lean back and settle in for the ride home. I have more than an hour before I’ll be back at my car. Hopefully, it’s enough time to come up with how to explain everything to Amanda. I’ve left her pretty much in the dark, so the much-needed conversation won’t exactly be pretty. To say I’m not looking forward to the argument headed my way is putting it lightly.

  Wednesday

  Brooks

  I about shit myself when I got the call Saturday evening from Jen, of all people. She didn’t say much just that I needed to meet with her tonight, Wednesday, at Three Kings Tavern. Just the place I want to be, reliving one of the worst fucking days of my life. She didn’t have to say what she wanted to talk about; I know what’s on her agenda, and it probably includes some kind of humiliating public torture, followed by testicle removal. Considering I might lose an appendage, I guess tonight might get bumped up to the worst night of my life. Good thing we’ll be at a bar. I’m going to need a lot of alcohol.

  I told Lakin to show up in an hour to save me from the she-devil. Of course, being my brother and wanting forgiveness for his support system fuck-up Friday night, he not only agreed, but also promised to show up sooner and hang out in the wings.

  I’m not surprised when I walk through the doors to see that the place is not all that busy. It’s a Wednesday, after all. I came straight from work, so I’m still in my pristine charcoal suit and black dress shoes. Needless to say, I don’t match the décor. I dressed up on Friday because I thought I was going to get my girl back and propose. Tonight, I just stick out like a sore thumb, and the looks that I’m getting as I pass the people enjoying their evening tells me that I’m right–I look like an out-of-place douche.