“Sorry about that. Twenty-five dollars, please.”
I pause, reaching for my wallet. “What?”
“He won’t take a cent more.” She shrugs.
I look over, but he’s not at his station anymore. Most likely in an attempt to not have me argue with him too. Rolling my eyes, I grab inside my back pocket. Handing her my card, she slides it through the machine, but it doesn’t escape me the glances she sends me through her lashes.
When the tell-tale ding comes from the tablet that the payment is successful, she hands my card back. Over the top of the receipt is a card from the shop as she slides it over under her bright cherry fingernail. Her pink cheeks alight again, but she pops her gum to distract me from it.
I’m no stranger to this move, even done it a few times myself, and I know her number’s printed on the back of the card.
She’s gorgeous, there’s no denying that, but nothing rises in me at the temptation of her. Before, she would have been my type, brave enough to make the first move, a bombshell in tight leather leggings, red heels, and lips to match. Yet, she is the farthest from what I want. I stuff both the card and receipt into my pocket.
“Come back soon” Her mouth smiles seductively.
“Will do.” Just not for you.
I realize what I need to do now. If I do this, I have no other option than to commit, truly commit. Pulling my cell from my back pocket, I make the first call of many I need to make.
“Brian, I need a favor.”
The feeling of no return shivers up my spine, and this time I don’t know if it will be a pleasant ending.
When I get back to Mia’s, I’m relieved to find all the lights turned off. I skirt the edges of her property to avoid the sensor lights, until I get to her back fence and jump it. Smiling to myself, it's still set up like in the last picture she sent me. A hammock rests on her porch with a pillow and a thin blanket. It’s her reading place, but I have another purpose for it tonight.
Dropping my bag below it, I wrestle with the hammock for a good grip. Gritting my teeth at the squeal it makes as I lean in with my body weight. My eyes turn to the sliding door. After a minute, I breathe out and try again. This time, it groans as I adjust my weight on it, and I cuss as I find my way to the middle. After I’m settled, I’m quiet until the crickets start up again, and I hear nothing coming from inside the house.
My body starts to relax into the gentle swing of the hammock, and I pull the blanket up to my chin. She’s going to be pissed if she finds me out here, but I hope to make her understand I couldn’t leave.
I’m not sure when I relax enough to sleep, but it’s too soon that I jolt, forgetting where I am. The hammock rocks, my world shifts before I can find my balance. The concrete greets me, and I groan before I can cover my ears from the deafening sound I can’t yet pinpoint. With hands over my ears, I look around to find my sister blowing on her coffee, a single eyebrow arched, and her phone raised in her other hand.
“What is that?” I shout.
She waves her phone, “House alarm.” She takes a sip of her coffee.
Getting to my feet, I try to grab the phone from her. She twists away, I shout back, “Turn it off!”
“In your dreams. Have to make sure the cops know which house to drag you to jail from!”
“Stop being a brat and turn the damn alarm off!”
I stretch across her body to try and grab the phone. I’m so close, my fingers grazing the case. I hiss and jump back as scolding coffee soaks me through my clothes. Growling, I rip off my shirt and lunge for her body that’s shaking with laughter. Though as she sees me coming, she shrieks over the alarm and bolts toward the door. Diving for her, I grip her ankle, and she hits the floor. The cup smashes on impact, the coffee splashes onto the sliding door. She’s twisting to kick me with her other foot, but I grab it and start pulling her down towards me and to the phone still gripped in her hand. She shoves her free hand in my face, my nose smashed but still able to smell the coffee I’m wearing. Jerking my face away, I try and take a bite out of her hand, but now she’s smacking me with every failed attempt.
“Get off me!”
“Then, turn off the damn alarm, Mia!”
My legs embolize her thrashing ones, and I grab hold of her hand, but not before I see spots from my right eye. Her fists might leave a bruise that time. Shaking my head, I try and focus, and my fingers graze the phone again.
It’s only a second before I have it that I notice the extra set of feet that weren’t there a moment ago. My mom bends down and snatches the phone out of both of our hands. Her mouth a firm line as she taps a few buttons on Mia’s phone.
For the first time since I’ve woken, there is relief and sweet, sweet silence, but it’s short-lived. My mother is glaring down at the two of us, and her hands firm on her waist. “What the hell are you two doing? You’ve woken the whole neighborhood! Get inside.” The last words spoken in a low threat that any kid would recognize as meaning you were in deep shit. She turns and walks back inside the house.
As soon as she’s out of sight, Mia smacks me on the head. “Get off me.” She hisses.
Releasing her, she scrambles up and stomps into the house, mumbling under her breath about her favorite cup. It makes me glance towards it, and I get up and walk towards it. Crouching, I start to pick it up, and my features tighten as recognition hits.
“Damn it.” It’s the cup I got her for our twentieth birthday. It was before our life went sideways. It held happy memories, and now it's broken. If it’s still her favorite, there might be more hope for me than I thought.
Walking into the house, I set the pieces on the counter, not ready to throw them out. If I find some super glue, I'll try to fix it. Wish they’d make glue strong enough to fix us as easily.
“I’m serious, Mia. When they get here, you’re going to tell them that it was by mistake.”
“Why don’t you two get that I’m allowed to be pissed.”
I come around the corner and see them in a stare-off. All our heads turn towards the front door as someone knocks with authority.
“Mia Marone, this is the police. We received a call from your home security providers. Are you in danger?”
“Ye...” Mom pinches her arm. “Owh-aha!” She waves mom’s hand away as she takes a step towards the door.
“Ms. Marone? If you don’t open the door, we will find other means to open it.”
“I’m coming,” she says while shooting me a glare. She unlocks the door and opens it wide to show the inside of the house. How can she be so flippant?
“Robertt?” I question.
“Pretty sure I said I didn’t want to see you again.”
“Not quite. You said you’d hope you never would. It’s your lucky day.”
He rolls his eyes looking tired, before glancing over again at Mia. “Knowing the circumstances, how would you like to proceed?”
Glowering over at me for a second, I bite the urge to snap at her for this charade. It’s gone on long enough. I know she’s pissed, but this is family business, not the justice systems. I’m about to say that, against my better judgment, though, as she moves her eyes to mom, her shoulders drop, and she sighs.
“It’s a misunderstanding. I thought my idiot brother was a burglar. He was in my backyard and scared me.”
“Couldn’t leave them here alone,” I explain to Robertt.
Mia scoffs. “Could have fooled me. One day back, and you’re all about family now, right?”
“I did what I thought was right, and now I know I was doing the wrong thing for the right reason. Are you going to continue shoving it in my face?”
“Yes,” she spits, her arms folded across her chest.
“You’re being petty! What? Is everyone perfect in your world or something, no one allowed to make any mistakes?”
She twists like a tilt-a-world, arms sprung from her sides, fingers spread wide, and her cheeks fire red, “Like I know what perfect looks like! Since dad died, all you’ve been doing
is making mistakes. You think that after one night you can make up for six years? Well, this may be breaking news to you, but I don’t have an on-and-off-switch. I can’t forgive you for all that’s happened, and that’s without including what's happened in the last few days.” Her hands go down to her sides and ball up.
“How can no one grasp the torture it had thought you were dead?! For years, I’ve been trying to detach from you, knowing I couldn’t rely on you, but I could never have imagined you’d leave me hanging like that. Suddenly, faced with all the feelings I’d been trying to repress, I felt your loss for the first time since you left me here alone. This time I thought it was permanent, and I... '' She jabs her thumb into her chest, the first tears coming from her eyes.
“...was the one that felt guilty for asking you to come, as if I’d caused it. But now that you’re fine, showing up here, I should just forget it ever happened? Like one time coming through for us is going to erase all those mistakes and abandonment?” She wipes at her tears furiously, but her shoulders are shaking, the tears running like a river down her cheeks. “Fuck you, Liam. Just, fuck you.” Her hands cover up her face as she starts to cry harder, her shoulders curling in due to the weight.
I’ve never felt the weight of my own mistakes more than I do right now. I'd pushed her away and made her feel abandoned. A quick glance at my mom shows me that she feels the same. Her eyes are sad as they take in my sister. The way she's hugging herself as if she's keeping herself together. Fuck, this is not how I imagined them experiencing my absence. All this time, I thought I was causing them less pain by staying away, avoiding the chance to fail again, and now I’m faced with the reality of it. I’d done something much worse.
In four quick strides, I embrace Mia. Ignoring her angry shoves and words, I hold her tighter and whisper into her hair of my idiocy and apologize for it. There is nothing more I can do except do better from this point on. I have a lot of repair work to do to make us whole again. When Mia finally lets go and slumps into me, crying harder, I look over at my mom and hold out an arm for her. She encircles us both.
I hear both their pain reverberate inside my chest as I tug them closer. Yes, I have a lot to make up for.
Catching movement at the corner of my eye, it's Robertt closing the door. His blank expression and the shake of his head conveying the uncomfortable position we put him in. It would have been funny under normal circumstances, and I find myself repressing a laugh.
I’m not sure how long we stand like this, but it’s not until everyone has quieted with steady breathing that I release us. Mia takes steps back as soon as she’s released, wiping her face. I watch her retreating and not only to go upstairs.
A gentle hand rests on my arm, and my eyes meet my mother’s. “She needs some more time.”
“Time seems to be always against me.”
“The death of your father forced me to look at time differently.”
“Mom?” I could feel my brows creasing.
“That moment, the moment he was taken from me, time no longer felt like a line. It stopped for me that day. My clock didn't start ticking again for a long time. Instead, I trapped myself in a continuous loop of his last moments. My life divided into the time before and the time after. Then, I realized that it's not an objective thing. It moves differently for each of us. She needs time to find out when she can move on from that moment and move onto the next.”
“I’m sorry that I let it happen, mom. I should’ve … I could have done something to change it if I’d only been more careful. It’s all my fault.”
“You should have called her.”
I shake my head. “I know, but I was talking about dad.”
“Liam...what makes you believe that?” She seems shocked.
“You said as much.”
“I most certainly did not.” Her hands come to rest on her hips.
“Yes, you did. Those were the words you said to me after six months of being catatonic.”
Her brows pinch, her eyebrows heavy over her eyes. Her fingers come up, pressing on her temples, and she slowly shakes her head from side to side. My body grows tense. Is she about to have an episode? Does she still have those? I’ve been gone so long. Mia used to call every so often with tales of them, but that hasn’t happened in a few years. Reaching out, I set a hand on her shoulder, and she drops her hands from her temples.
“Mom? It’s alright I ...”
She stands a little straighter, the lines in her face smoothing out. “I remember, that’s the last time I saw you. Everything is hazy afterward, after they sedated me, and when I woke up, I couldn’t remember why you left. It’s falling into place.” Her mouth sags further into a frown as she takes my features in. “Oh...honey!” She places a hand on my cheek. “I wasn’t talking to you.”
“But mom, I was the only one there with you.” Shit, is she having a psychotic break? How did the doctors miss this? Should I worry that she has a team of imaginary people locked away in her somewhere?
This better not be a ‘that was Patricia’ type thing, or I will burn the hospital down with legal fees for not keeping my family apprised of her condition and care.
“I meant myself.”
That brings me out of my thoughts and back to her. “What?”
“I never blamed you. I’d been convinced it was my own fault. I was yelling at myself, punishing myself for what happened to your father.”
What….?
“What? Why?” They both spill from my mouth in a rush, equally needing answering.
“Not unlike what you still seem to be wondering. What if I could go back and change one action that led up to that moment? What if I hadn’t been so kind to Ger? What if I had confronted him before this? What if I had dressed differently to keep from his attention? Changing one thing, maybe I would still have your father here with me.” Her hands shake as she tucks that stray hair behind her ear. Those spring eyes look far away, blank, and I want to take it all away from her. None of it is her fault.
“You couldn’t have known, mom.”
She nods, and when I blink, her eyes are clear again. “I know that now. It took a long time to escape the compulsion to ask and live out all those what if’s in my head. Years of therapy and medication helped me cope with the realization I needed to come to terms with.”
“What’s that?”
“I had to let go of the illusion that it could have been any other way.”
A strange feeling of vertigo comes over me as I hear her say those words. An illusion. The illusion that I could do anything to change it, and I realize she's right. Pain slices up my sternum, a crowbar wrenching me exposed. I'd been living out all the impossible possibilities for no resolution. Swaying on my feet, my mother’s hands come up and grasp my arms, steadying me.
Her eyes bore into me as she continues. “No amount of blame or torture you put yourself through will ever change that. All that's left is to find a way to restart your clock. You can’t delay it any longer, or you’ll lose the rest of what time you have left.”
Those words force Emma’s face into my mind and all the feelings that associate with her. It’s clear that no matter where my life's headed, it’ll always end with her.
Isn't that what my father would have wanted? Wouldn't he want me happy? To find the kind of love he found in my mom? I know he'd want me to find happiness, and he would be disappointed that I've spent so much time doing so little with my life. What I’ve been doing isn’t living; surviving is more like it. I have been a fool.
"Hey, hand me the three-eighths over there on the bench," Dad says as his arm disappears farther into the maze of the car’s inner workings.
The wrench makes a satisfying slap before his fingers curl around it.
"Thanks."
"Yep, what can I do to help?"
"You are helping just by being out here."
"I mean it, dad."
He glances back at me, where I sit on the old worn swivel chair. "If your mom comes out here,
you'll be my buffer." He winks and looks back where his hands disappeared.
"What did you do now?"
His shoulders rise then fall. "Couldn't tell you. All I know is when she came downstairs, she gave me ‘the look’."
"The look?" I could hear the speculation in my tone.
He peers again over his shoulder. "My arm’s too big. You’re going to have to do this part." Pulling his arm out, he hands the wrench over, all while explaining what I need to do. He waits till my arm’s down there, feeling for the bolt when he answers my question.
"The one where she looks constipated." He wipes the grease off with a rag before leaning on the side of the car.
"Oh, yeah, you did something pretty bad then."
"I know. She'll either tell me what I've done or make me pay for it later." Then he smiles. It's such a weird time to smile. Knowing you're in trouble, but not when or what the punishment will be.
"I'm never getting hitched." I shake my head. It makes you crazy. I get the wrench over the bolt and start loosening it.
His smile disappears, and his body straightens. "Why do you say that?"
"You're smiling knowing you're in trouble and in for punishment. Marriage turns you into a masochist. I rest my case."
He bursts out in laughter, which only confirms my suspicion. When he stops, he says, "I'm not a masochist, and neither is your mom. Loving someone isn't always easy, but it's always worth it. She might be angry with me right now, might even pay for it, but that's not going to stop her from forgiving me. She loves me despite it, all the things I’ve done and all I’ll do. I don’t know about you, but I’d be a poor man if I didn’t know this kind of love. I’d be even poorer not to have the privilege of calling her mine.
Now that I can see it, I'm lighter, more at ease that I have direction and purpose. Now, I have to prove I’m worthy.
“Liam?” My mother brings me out of my thoughts. “Where were you just now?"
In a little hotel, where I found my life.
"Figuring out where to start. Do you have a computer?”
“I don't, but your sister does.”
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