Sister Mine

by Tawni O'Dell

  Kozlowski comes out of his self-induced trance of denial and smiles pleasantly, trying to make the best of a bad situation.

  “Electric Avenue? What a quaint name for a street. Is that where all the excitement is? The nightlife? Restaurants and clubs?”

  Choker watches him suspiciously then spits a brown stream of tobacco juice beside him on the sidewalk.

  “It’s where the electric company is,” he explains.

  I step between the two of them and clap one hand on Choker’s shoulder and the other on Kozlowski’s.

  “Choker’s an ex-con,” I tell him, my smile widening. “And you’re a lawyer. How perfect is that? You’ll have two hours alone together in the cab of a pickup truck to discuss the inner workings of our fine American judicial system.”

  Choker narrows his eyes first at me then Kozlowski then back at me.

  “You didn’t say nothing about him being a lawyer.”

  “Professionalism, Choker. Remember we talked about that? The customer is always right. Plus he’s going to pay you a shitload of money.”

  Choker appears appeased. He goes to grab up Kozlowski’s bag. Kozlowski moves to stop him then changes his mind.

  “This is going to be fun for you, Gerald,” I whisper to him before I depart. “You get to sit on the side with no ear.”

  I GET A CALL for a job back in Jolly Mount. On my way there I have to pass Dusty’s restaurant. I’m hoping he’s not here today. I hope Jimmy was able to convince him to go home and try again with Brandi but even from a distance I can see his black Range Rover parked beside the big purple block. Next to it is another car, a white Honda Civic with a Marine Corps bumper sticker.

  My instinct makes me stop even though I’m not immediately sure what’s going on. At first all I can think about is my encounter with the Marine in the backseat of my cab. Now he’s hanging out with my son’s best friend.

  I can’t get past the personal element to see the professional one.

  I park and walk inside the restaurant.

  Dusty and the Marine are sitting at one of the booths. The tabletop between them is covered with pamphlets and papers bearing American flags and saluting soldiers.

  Dusty looks a little better than he did yesterday. He must have shaved at Jimmy’s as well as showered. He doesn’t smell like a brewery anymore either, but his eyes are bleary and red, and rimmed with dark circles.

  The Marine is immaculate in his uniform. The bright blue, pristine white, and regal red and gold is impossible to look away from and seems to have absorbed all the remaining light and color left in the dingy, forsaken room, leaving it entirely in shades of gray like a grainy black-and-white photograph.

  Both men are surprised to see me, to put it mildly.

  They both stand up at the same time.

  “Hey, Miss Penrose,” Dusty fumbles.

  “Hi, Dusty,” I say. “Hello,” I begin to say to the Marine then realize I never got his name. “Sergeant,” I finish.

  He clears his throat.

  “Ma’am,” he greets me.

  We all look at each other awkwardly.

  “Could I talk to you for a moment in private?” I ask the Marine.

  We continue to look at each other awkwardly.

  The Marine doesn’t make a move to do anything but Dusty starts for the door.

  “I’ll go get some air,” he says.

  “How are you?” I ask the soldier once Dusty’s out of earshot.

  “Good,” he says and smiles. “Small world.”

  “Small town,” I reply. “Do you mind if I ask who sent you here?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Someone obviously told you about Dusty specifically. If this had been his idea, he would have gone to the recruiting office, and I highly doubt you found him in front of the high school. Maybe the mall. Is that what happened? Did you pounce on him in the mall parking lot and came back here to talk further?”

  His face turns to stone. He takes a step away from me and stands very stiffly with his hands clasped behind his back.

  “I don’t pounce.”

  “I’m sorry. Bad choice of words. I’m just concerned. I’ve known him his whole life. I’m just looking out for him.”

  “Which means keeping him out of the Marines?”

  “For him? Yes. Yes, it does.”

  “It might be the best thing that ever happened to him.”

  “Look, I don’t want to argue about the pros and cons of military life or even about what’s best for Dusty. I’m not trying to steal a recruit from you. This is about something completely unrelated. This is about someone being a colossal jerk. As a favor to me, please, can you just tell me how you ended up here with him?”

  He considers my question. I hope our time in the backseat of my cab was memorable enough to merit a favor.

  “I received a call from a man who said he knew of a young man who used to work for him who was in need of employment. He said he could vouch for his character and his work ethic and thought he’d make a fine soldier. He gave me his cell phone number. I called him and we set up an appointment to meet here. No one twisted his arm.”

  “That son of a bitch,” I say under my breath. “He was supposed to give him a job with J&P.”

  “Pardon me.”

  “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

  “Is something wrong? Is there something I should know about?”

  “There’s something wrong, but it doesn’t concern you. Excuse me for a minute.”

  I find Dusty standing at the edge of the parking lot whipping gravel sidearm across the road like he’s skipping stones on an invisible pond.

  I walk over to him and grab him gently by his arm.

  “Dusty, what are you doing talking to this guy? Have you given any real thought to this? Have you talked to Brandi about it?”

  “I haven’t talked to Brandi in days. Besides, she’d be happy about it.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “We need the money. It’s good pay.”

  “Sure it’s good pay. And all you have to do to earn it is leave your wife and children and risk getting killed.”

  He shakes loose from my grip.

  “Don’t start on me about how dangerous it is. I already had a job where I could get killed any day and I almost did.”

  “That’s true. You could have been killed, but you never had to kill anybody else.”

  He tries to walk away from me, but I grab him again.

  “Do you think you can do that?” I ask him. “Do you think you can kill people? People who haven’t done anything to you?”

  “Lib did it,” he shouts at me.

  “Lib didn’t have a choice.”

  “And I have a choice?” he continues shouting.

  He throws his hands out to his sides, and his eyes fill with tears.

  “Tell me, please, what are my choices?”

  “Okay, Dusty. It’s okay.”

  He looks like he’s going to collapse. I reach out and give him a hug. He resists at first, then crumples against me and starts shaking.

  “I don’t know what’s happening to me,” he cries into my shoulder.

  “It’s okay,” I tell him rubbing his back and rocking him against me. “You need help. We’re going to get you some help.”

  I wait for him to calm down then I pull back and hold him at arms’ length, waiting for him to look up from the ground and meet my eyes, the way I used to do with Clay when he was at that in-between age where he was embarrassed to cry in front of his mom but still needed to do it from time to time.

  “There’s nothing wrong with being a soldier,” I tell him, “but it’s not right for you. You were supposed to be a rock sailor.”

  He shakes his head.

  “But I can’t be one anymore.”

  “Do you know how many astronauts never actually make it into space, and those who do usually only get to go once or maybe twice if they’re lucky?”

  “Yeah, I guess I know that.
What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying you had your mission. And it was a spectacular one that had the entire world on the edge of their seats. You survived. You made it back home. Now maybe you could do something on the ground. Not above it and not below it.”

  “I already tried that.”

  “You tried to do something on the ground that had nothing to do with being a rock sailor. You tried to run a restaurant. That’s not you either. You’re a hero, Dusty. You have so much respect within your industry.”

  “My industry?” he sniffs, looking a little more interested in what I have to say.

  “Yes, your industry. The mining industry. You’re a part of it. A valuable, knowledgeable part of it. You still are even if you’re not a miner anymore. There are still things you can do.”

  “Like be part of mission control?”

  “Yeah.” I smile at him. “Something like that.”

  I notice the Marine out of the corner of my eye standing in front of the dirty windows. He’s a flash of brilliant color inside the drab room like a cardinal flitting through a barren winter forest.

  “Is it okay if I tell this guy to split for now?” I ask Dusty.

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  I go back inside the restaurant. I know the Marine watched the whole scene.

  “He’s not emotionally able to make this decision right now,” I tell him bluntly. “He’s having a lot of personal problems. He’s desperate. You’d be signing up a man who’s at the end of his rope. I’d hate to think you guys would take advantage of something like that.”

  He doesn’t say anything, but he begins to clean up his papers and pamphlets.

  I start to help him.

  “No, thanks,” he tells me.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  He finishes packing up and pauses to catch sight of his reflection in the window. He repositions his hat and turns to me.

  “At least be honest with me and tell me what yesterday was all about.”

  “Some harmless fun.”

  He brushes past me but pauses at the door.

  “You really think you can change things?” he asks me. “You really think keeping me away from the high school for one afternoon is going to have any effect on the big picture?”

  “No,” I tell him truthfully. “I don’t.”

  He walks outside and stops to exchange a few words with Dusty. They shake hands and separate. The Marine gets in his car and drives away; Dusty goes back to throwing rocks, but he has a little more zip now as he stoops to refill his cupped palm.

  I stopped thinking about the big picture a long time ago. I only think about the individual drops of paint and how to maintain the integrity of each color before it hits the canvas.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  I CONVINCE DUSTY TO COME HOME with me and hang out for awhile and then stay for dinner.

  When we pull off the road into my driveway, my heart starts to race as I glimpse Dmitri’s blue rental car parked next to my front porch.

  He’s leaning against it, smoking a cigarette, and feeding Gimp potato chips out of a blue foil bag. He’s wearing his black T-shirt beneath the black leather jacket he had stashed in his car, and his slick black leather boots, made for dancing in clubs not working in mines. I don’t see any sign of Shannon or the baby but I assume they’re inside, maybe taking a nap.

  Dusty and I get out of my car.

  “Darling,” Dmitri calls out to me immediately and smiles wickedly beneath his coal-black mustache. “Where you been? I missed you.”

  Dusty looks back and forth between the two of us.

  “Who’s this guy?” he asks me.

  “It’s a long story,” I explain. “But don’t worry. I’m not his darling.”

  “How quickly she tosses the men aside,” Dmitri observes, peering through a plume of white smoke.

  “How about you?” he asks Dusty. “You one of her conquests, too?”

  “This is my son’s best friend,” I tell him abruptly. “He is not a conquest and neither are you.

  “Why don’t you go in the house, Dusty. Have a beer. Relax. I’ll be there in a minute.”

  Dmitri watches him walk past, and the mirth that was just shining in his ebony eyes shifts to glints of suspicion and combativeness. I’m reminded of how we first met and that even though he may have his charming moments, he’s also capable of smashing a woman in the face with her own boot.

  He studies the silver glitter words on my shirt as I walk toward him.

  “Who is this ‘him’ you’re dumping?” he asks me.

  “It’s just an expression.”

  “No. ‘Slow down and stop to pick roses’ is expression.”

  “It’s stop and smell the roses,” I correct him.

  “‘Dump him’ is command. Not expression.”

  “It doesn’t mean anything.”

  “Sure, it does. Means you don’t like men.”

  “That is such bullshit.”

  “Tell me”—he pauses to pop one of the chips in his own mouth before giving another one to Gimp—“do you have boyfriend?”

  “No. I mean, yes. Well, sort of.”

  He laughs.

  “He must be some boyfriend if you don’t even know he’s boyfriend.”

  He clenches his empty hand into a fist and bends his arm up into a body builder’s pose.

  “I’m bigger, I bet. And stronger, too.”

  “You’re definitely balder,” I tell him.

  “I can grow hair,” he scoffs. “What do I need with hair?”

  “You have it all over your lip.”

  He strokes his mustache and smiles.

  “This is sexy. Hair on head is nuisance.”

  “Dmitri,” I begin. “It is Dmitri, right?”

  He nods.

  “Where’s Shannon and the baby?”

  “Gone. I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean what I say. I lost her.”

  “You lost her?”

  “She is very crafty. Like wolf.”

  “You mean like fox.”

  “No. Fox is small and frightened.”

  “But they’re crafty.”

  “No, they are small and frightened.”

  My frustration gets the better of me. I want to reach out and grab him and physically shake the answers out of him, but I settle for shouting instead.

  “What do you mean? Do you mean she’s not here with you now?”

  “She’s not here with me now.”

  “But how could you lose her? She has a one-day-old infant with her. She just gave birth in my guest room. She can’t be in very good shape for traveling.”

  “It’s not important how. I just did.”

  “And you have no idea where she’s going?”

  “No. “

  “Or who she’s selling the baby to?”

  He takes a long drag off his cigarette and eyes me skeptically.

  “What do you know about me and baby?”

  “I know you’re the father.”

  He smiles and nods again.

  “This baby is very good looking. She has my eyes.”

  “Shannon told me so many lies. I don’t know what to believe. Did she come here because she was running away from you?”

  The smile disappears instantly, replaced with a sneer of anger.

  “No. Did she tell you this?”

  “I’m guessing.”

  “No. She had no reason to run from me. That’s why I followed her. If she had reason to run from me, I let her run. But she had no reason so I come after her.”

  “Okay. I’ll pretend to understand that.”

  “I knew baby was mine,” he continues, the roughness in his voice gradually fading. “We were in relationship. I’m having personal problem and think I’ll have to leave New York and New Jersey—whole East Coast—maybe whole country for awhile. I know this is why she gets pregnant with me. She thinks I’m goi
ng to be out of picture like all her other fathers. But this don’t happen. I stay. She is pregnant. I…how do you say…I do the math. I figure out. I confront. She denies. I tell her I’ll ask for test when baby is born to prove he’s mine. So she admits. Then I tell her I’ll stop adoption if she doesn’t let me pick the family.”

  “You didn’t want the baby?”

  “I have no time for babies. I’m only thinking what’s best for baby. I would make great father someday. Not now. I’m too…”

  “Vain? Self-absorbed? Egotistical? Violent?” I provide for him.

  “I keep odd hours.”

  “So you wanted your cut of the money?”

  He grows angry again.

  “I don’t care shit about money.”

  “What a lie.”

  “I’m not lying. I don’t want money for selling child. This is disgusting. I wouldn’t touch the money. Even if I am starving. I would get job washing cars first. I only want to make sure baby goes to good home with good parents. Not like the people I work for.”

  “I thought the man you work for is your friend.”

  “He is my friend. What makes a man good friend doesn’t always make him good father.”

  Gimp finally decides he’s had enough chips and it’s time to acknowledge my presence. He walks over to me and nudges his head beneath my dangling hand.

  “Shannon agrees I can help her pick family,” Dmitri goes on with his story. “She tells me about the family Kozlowski wants for her. She tells me about this other woman she finds by herself. She tells me the family is paying her expenses, the woman is paying her expenses, so she is stealing their money. I don’t approve but I like she’s planning to rip off Kozlowski.

  “But she was not supposed to run from me. This was our deal. My opinion about the family is as important as her opinion. But she does run. And I don’t know where she is. Not before Kozlowski comes to Mickey and they tell me where to look.”

  “What did you decide? Who’s getting the baby?”

  “It’s not important.”

  “How can you say that? You just finished telling me how important it is to you to know where the baby is going and now you’re going to tell me it isn’t?”

  “It’s important for me. It means nothing to you.”

  “That baby is my niece.”

  “You have lots of nieces and nephews you will never know.”