Losing Enough

by Helen Boswell

  My feelings toward Cruz aren’t much different. His actions had been deliberate. Laura’s admission doesn’t mean that Cruz is without fault or that I wasn’t a bad boyfriend. But I think I might be able to finally walk away from this now.

  “Thank you, Laura. For telling me the truth, and I’m sorry that I was so self-absorbed back then.” I smile at her, my face feeling stiff. But it’s because of the ride and the stress, not because I don’t feel what I’m saying. “Take really good care of yourself. And that husband and those babies.”

  She lifts her gaze and meets mine, relief flooding her expression. “I will. Have a good life, Connor.”

  That’s the plan. To have a good life.

  Laura slips back into her house, and I shake my head as I walk back to the bike. Holy hell.

  I take off to head back to the city. It’s getting late, and I have to keep moving.

  It’s been a long time since I’ve been back, but as I pull into the city, the streets feel as familiar to me as they ever have. I distinctly remember the long bus rides I took out of my neighborhood to get to the YMCA, working on my school assignments along the way. I’d take the bus out there after school almost every day for nearly a year until I bought the Honda off my uncle. Did lots of homework on that bus line.

  I drive that same bus route right now but in reverse to get to my second stop of the night. Before I head to the place that’s my ultimate destination, I need to do one more thing.

  I get to my old neighborhood, and it’s as run down as I remember. Old beater cars and bikes with engine parts littering some of the dirt yards, teenagers glaring at me with way too much suspicion as I drive by. It’s past ten at night, but grandparents are yelling at little kids from some of the porches of the houses that sit in bad repair. I’d never known my grandparents because they’d died before I was born, but I remember that being common here, to have multiple generations and sometimes other extended family crammed in the same crowded living space. The corner store has the same types of kids that it always did, loitering against a wall framed in graffiti claiming whatever gang’s turf it belongs to this month.

  All this time I thought Cruz was solely about control, but he really lost his control when he succumbed to the power of this place. We were both surrounded by it, but I refused to let any of it drag me down.

  Having to live with my father’s abuse was ultimately what made Cruz turn to the street gang and what made me hell-bent on getting the fuck out of this place. It’s what tore Cruz and me apart when we really should have turned to each other. When it really comes down to it, that’s why I can never forgive my father for his decisions, because he scared away my mother, because he drove an irreparable wedge between me and my own brother when we could have stood together as a family.

  He cheated us of everything we deserved, and I don’t want him to ever forget that.

  The one thing I hadn’t checked on prior to coming here was whether or not the old man still lives in the same place. But the second I turn onto my street, I see the same old beat-up blue Ford pickup truck parked in front, and I know he’s home.

  I pull up in front of the small two-bedroom house and kill the engine. It’s a lot like it was when I’d left, but now the brown stucco is chipped and even more badly stained. The porch looks like it’s falling apart, the roof missing tiles, the front lawn nothing but dirt and rock. I don’t know how often Cruz comes here, but I get my answer as soon as I take off my helmet. A kid in the street points to me, shouts Cruz’s name. I hear either his father or older brother correct him and say my old name.

  Connor Marino. Connor’s come home.

  Except that’s not who I am anymore, and this will never be home to me. I ignore the buzz, the steadily increasing volume of murmurs and sounds of doors slamming shut as more people come out to witness the show.

  I have no idea what state my father will be in when I see him. He was already pretty much gone ten years ago, and I don’t even know if he realized what a fucked-up childhood he gave me and Cruz. The lung cancer Cruz claims he’s dying from may be karma in action, but if it releases him from his misery, that’s a lot more than he deserves.

  I’m still sitting on the bike, waiting for it, waiting for the hatred to fill my heart and give me the impetus to do this.

  But the hatred doesn’t come. I stare up at the single lit window coming from the front room of my father’s house, and while there’s a pit in my stomach, I can’t feel anything but the dull edge of resentment.

  The porch light turns on and the front door cracks open as I’m looking at it. He steps out onto the porch a few seconds later.

  My father. Every instinct in my body urges me to run, but it’s like muscle memory acting up from being trained to do a task over and over again. The fear is old, a ghost from my past, and it has no place in me anymore. I feel nothing for him as he shuffles forward, as he holds his hand up to his forehead and squints down at me.

  He’s not the same man I remember. He must be in his late fifties by now, but he looks like he could be twenty years older than that. His dark hair is graying and thin, his skin sallow with cheeks sunken in, his frame that I’d always remembered as being solid now emaciated. His shoulders hunch over as a cough wracks out of him, and he goes for a good minute before he can stop.

  “That you, Cruz?” he calls out, but it sounds weak compared to the angry, bitter voice that he always used with us.

  I get off the bike and set the helmet down on the seat, the screams from the kids on the streets dying down as I walk up to the house, as everyone watches. I don’t care about these people. There might be one or two faces I recognize from here, but I wouldn’t exactly call this place a community.

  “No,” I say in a flat tone. “Not Cruz.”

  He stops squinting, his eyes widening to almost comical proportions.

  “Connor,” he rasps. He stumbles off the porch and down the steps, almost falling in his haste. “Son. You came home.”

  I think of all the things that have been running through my head during the last leg of the drive. That this isn’t my home. How this man was never my father because of the abuse he doled out, and how he has no right to call me his son. How I wouldn’t care if I came here and found him dead.

  He starts to cough again, and I stiffen and watch as his body shakes uncontrollably, as he wipes spit and blood from his lips when he’s done. I don’t move, just stand on the walk in front of the house that acted as both my home and prison for sixteen years of my life.

  I might not like it, and God knows that I fought for the majority of my life to escape it, but this is where I came from. From this man, this place, this house. These are my roots, and while none of that defines who I am, there’s some value in remembering it because of how far I’ve come.

  “Son,” he repeats, like he’s trying to convince himself that’s who I am. “I’m dying. Did Cruz tell you? They claim there’s nothing more they can do for me, but those fucking doctors…” He shakes his head.

  I could have guessed it even if he hadn’t told me. He looks like he’s already gone but obviously not at the point where he’s accepted it. If I do feel the slightest bit of sadness for him, it’s because I’m sorry he pushed us all away. He spent his entire life making sure he lost everyone who could have helped him through this.

  Even now, the expression in his eyes isn’t totally lucid, like the only comfort left in his life comes from painkillers and whatever other drugs he’s on. Or maybe he finally pushed himself past the edge of sanity.

  “Then I came to say goodbye.” I keep my voice steady. “I won’t be back after this, not even for your funeral.”

  There’s a gleam in his eye that might be tears or maybe a flash of anger, but he was always so messed up in the head that his emotions remain a mystery to me, and I can’t tell which.

  I could go on and say a lot more, but I leave it at that. My father made it so no one will mourn for him when it’s all over for him. And yes, I can’t change t
he fact that I’m his son, but I won’t think about him after he’s gone. There’s nothing even remotely good about him that I want to remember.

  His hand has a tremor in it as he reaches for me, but I turn around and walk away.

  30

  Alex

  Things are going to be okay. They have to be. Good things are already in motion, and I have to believe that the universe will continue working in positive ways.

  Except I haven’t heard from Connor since that one short phone call. I go over my conversation with him again and again, thinking about everything he said to me. All I succeed in doing is driving myself crazy. Connor said he would be gone for a couple of days, and at the time I hadn’t argued the point or asked him what he meant by that. A couple of days could mean two if he meant it literally, or it could mean longer.

  Dammit. Even two feels like too long, especially if he’s not going to call and check in. But Neil had echoed the need for no communication until we hear from Connor first. Figures.

  We’re all sitting in Maya’s suite right now – Maya, Dad, Neil, and I. Elle had to leave a couple of hours ago for rehearsal with her cover band, and I’m feeling restless and starting to wish I went with her. Neil and I are on one side of the room watching a movie on low volume so we don’t disturb Dad and Maya.

  That’s one good thing that I could focus on if only I had the mind to do it – the deal that my dad and Maya made. Vegas winds up being a smaller place than I thought, and it turns out that while they hadn’t known each other before, Maya had known “of” my dad and the fact that he’s a CPA. I didn’t hear the details, but the gist of it is that Maya has a business back home that’s really messed up and that my dad is going to help her sort out her books. In exchange, Maya agreed to bail Dad out of his own mess by paying off his gambling debts with the people he’d gotten himself tangled up with. Apparently what he owes is a mere drop in the bucket for her compared to the fines, legal fees, and potential jail time Maya will face if she doesn’t get her business in order.

  I heard her say that she wants him to go with her to Texas for a week or two at the end of the summer but that they should be able to do most of the work electronically. And instead of coming back here next summer, he’ll spend it working for her – Mom is welcome to come and stay with him in Maya’s guesthouse. I heard Maya tell Dad that she’s done with gambling, and it looks like Dad will be for a while, too. At least for the rest of this summer and the next one.

  That’s pretty much all I know, and for now it’s enough. As long as my dad isn’t in trouble with these people anymore, I’m happy. And I’m also secretly glad that Dad will be on a mandated break from gambling – I think he and Mom could both use that break. I can always come out here next summer by myself to visit Elle.

  And Connor. I know I’ll be out here a lot more than just the summer to visit Connor. Assuming everything works out okay.

  I need to call or text him. Or at least try. I glance at Neil out of the corner of my eye, but he’s been watching me like a hawk every time I make a move to even look at my phone. He keeps insisting on no texts either, despite my protests.

  The movie is the latest installment of the Avengers movies, which is normally my kind of movie. But all I can think about is the double feature that I took Connor to on our first sort-of-date and how much I wish he was here.

  Neil sort of resembles Heimdall, sentry of Asgard, having stoically watched over me ever since I ran into him. He even stood watch in the waiting area earlier while I visited my mom (she loved the satin dress, which I unfortunately am still wearing) and grudgingly admitted to me that he knows one of the aides on hospital staff who’ll keep an eye on her room. It’s all because one of Neil’s guys that was supposed to be following Cruz reported losing him. I confessed all about Cruz accosting me outside Connor’s house when Neil asked, and he insisted that these extra security measures are what Connor would want him to do.

  Seriously, I feel like I’m being treated like a princess locked in an ivory tower. I’m going to go out of my mind.

  “Hey, you know what?” I say brightly. “I think I’ll go and watch Elle rehearse.”

  Neil looks at me sharply. “Not a chance, sister.”

  I cast a look of desperation over to my dad, but he’s focusing on something on the laptop screen. He doesn’t seem to be aware that Neil has me under house arrest, but he also doesn’t know what happened with me and Cruz, either.

  I make a big show of sighing. “I have to pee, too. Do you want to come and stand outside the door while I do that?” All I get is a steely glare in response, and I change my tone to be more serious. “C’mon, Neil. Elle’s boyfriend is friends with the drummer or something and will be there, too. And I’d just go over to Elle’s apartment to sleep right afterward.”

  Maya overhears me from her side of the room and calls over, “Why don’t you go with her, Neil? Then you can go home and get some rest when she goes to Elle’s.”

  Maya has been pretty cool all day. She insisted on ordering all of us room service – from two different restaurants – and even offered to order me a cot if I want to stay here when my dad goes back to the hospital to be with my mom. She occasionally banters with Neil in an almost flirtatious but completely harmless way. And with my dad, she’s been one hundred percent professional. I’ve heard her ask him a few times if he wanted to call it a day until tomorrow as it’s getting late. I can see why Connor likes working with her.

  Neil hesitates, and I know he’s considering it. I make myself withhold further commentary until he finally nods.

  “Fine,” he says. “I’ll drive you over.”

  “Okay, thanks,” I say. “Give me a minute?”

  I make that trip to the bathroom and then go over to my dad. He’s in work mode, his brow creased in concentration as he clicks and scrolls through something on Maya’s laptop. I lean down to give him a kiss on the cheek.

  “Night, Dad.”

  He looks up at me, startled, and leans back and stretches. “Oh, good night, Alexis. I’m heading over to the hospital in a while, so I’ll talk to you in the morning.”

  “Okay. Give Mom my love.”

  He smiles and nods but doesn’t turn back to his work right away. “Be careful,” he says solemnly. He looks at me very seriously, and I can read concern in his eyes and also regret. I know he feels terrible about the bad decisions he made, and I wish I could do something to alleviate that. I hope working to help Maya will help him, too. I think it will.

  I need to go back across the street to my hotel room to get my stuff, and Neil tells me his vehicle is in the parking garage downstairs and that we’ll head there first. He grabs a black duffle bag from behind the bar before we leave Maya’s suite. He doesn’t say what it is, and I don’t ask as we head for the elevators. I’ve spent the better part of the day with him, and he’s about as talkative as Connor was when I first met him, meaning not very much at all. I wonder if the two of them ever get together on a social basis and if they hang out and not talk a lot.

  From what I can see, Neil seems like a good guy, and it’s obvious that Connor trusts him implicitly. I don’t think that Connor trusts very many people.

  I raise my eyebrows in surprise when we get down to the parking garage and he walks up to the Audi. It has to be Connor’s, unless Neil owns the exact same make, model, and color, in which case that would be creepy.

  “Your man and I traded vehicles for the time being,” Neil says off-handedly. That answers that question. I watch as he sets the black bag in the trunk before opening the passenger side door, not just unlocking it but holding it out for me like Connor does for me. Like a gentleman.

  I ignore the “your man” part of that, pressing him for more information. “Why did you have to trade vehicles?”

  Neil doesn’t say anything until he gets behind the wheel, and I think he must be ignoring the question. He gives me a pointed look until I put my seatbelt on. “I imagine he wanted to slip under Cruz’s radar.”
He smiles to himself as he starts the car, like he’s enjoying a private joke. “Plus, I think mine gets better gas mileage.”

  I shoot him a look. I was already guessing that Connor went somewhere kind of far if he needed a couple of days, but this seems to clinch it. “Where did he go, Neil?”

  He presses his lips together as he backs the car out of its spot, and I know I’m not going to get an answer.

  “Well, at least tell me what he traded you for,” I say lightly.

  “My Ducati, and may the good Lord help him if he doesn’t get it back to me in one piece.” He glances at me. “Racing motorcycle.”

  “I know what a Ducati is,” I say simply, and we both fall silent after that.

  Neil pulls around to the service entrance in the back of my hotel – I’m pretty sure the same one where Connor parked when he made sure I got to my room that fateful night I got roofied. Funny to think back on that night. It feels like a long time ago. Like Connor is the same person that he was that night but also a little bit not. And the same with me.

  “Why don’t you give me your key, and I’ll run up and grab your bag,” Neil says, holding out his hand. “Unless you need something else.”

  I think quickly and shake my head. “No, the bag is fine.” I’d packed for a few days, in case, and I drop my key card into Neil’s hand and tell him which tower and room. But he’s already out of the car because Connor must have told him my room number. He keeps the car keys with him and pushes the button to lock me inside as he walks to the service entrance.

  I watch Neil open the door and disappear, and it takes me about that long to decide.

  I’m not supposed to call Connor, but I want to leave him a voicemail.

  My phone only shows me one out of five bars for service – maybe because I’m in a concrete tunnel, but the Strip is notorious for that and unpredictable. I unlock the car and get out, hurrying past the service entrance to the end. There’s cigarette smoke hanging in the air like someone was just standing against the wall with one, and I think about the guy (Jordi? Jordan? I can’t remember and it doesn’t really matter) from that night after the QE2, how he’d pretended to be all nice and walk me inside at Connor’s request but then proceeded to run his hand over my ass at the first opportunity. Asshole. He’s not out here on a smoke break though. No one is.