No Apologies

by Sybil Bartel

  Turning to me, her smile amped up. “Hi,” she said brightly.

  I forced myself not to smile back, telling myself it’d make later easier to deal with. “Carly, this is my brother, Gunnar. Gunnar, Carly.” I made the introductions, hoping she wouldn’t ask questions.

  “Hi.” Gunnar shoved both hands in his pockets. I did the same.

  Carly looked from Gunnar to me, twice. “Wow, that’s—that’s so great!” Quick, with all her usual cheerfulness, she stepped forward and hugged a shocked Gunnar. Seeming not to notice his flinch, she turned to me and did the same.

  Both of us with our hands still in our pockets, neither of us had returned her hug. We both just stared at her, two Allen brothers taken by Carly. The irony wasn’t lost on me.

  “So...” Grinning like she knew the power she had over us, Carly put her hands on her hips. “Favor?”

  I cleared my throat. “Yeah, can you and Gunnar watch the shop for an hour while I run an errand?” I carefully phrased it so it didn’t come across as the babysitting job it really was.

  Carly didn’t hesitate. “Sure. Gunnar, can you help me change the oil on my bike?”

  It didn’t need it and I didn’t correct her.

  Gunnar nodded.

  “I’ll be back in about an hour.” I pulled my keys out and waited a moment to see if Gunnar was okay. I shouldn’t have worried. Carly was already chatting with the easy way she had and pulling out a pan and some oil.

  I jogged to the Barracuda and drove to the hospital. The next hour was a sea of red tape and paperwork but I was able to donate her body to medical research after learning she’d died from the lung cancer. I thought I’d feel something but I didn’t.

  I stopped by the hotel next and collected her things. I was shocked to find a familiar car key. She still had the 1969 Mustang fastback my father and I had restored for her. I found the car in the lot and hated her a little more. The car had been beaten to hell and back. I tucked the key on the rear tire and called a friend with a tow truck. I told him to take it to the shop and have Carly pull it into a bay.

  Then I drove to the deserted club parking lot and went through everything. I dumped the clothes in the club’s Dumpster and took her suitcase and purse into the club. Besides a bunch of prescription pill bottles, there were a few medical records, some jewelry and shit women kept in their purses. I flushed all the pills and kept one bottle because it listed a doctor in Pensacola. I sifted through the jewelry and pocketed her engagement ring and wedding band. In her wallet, I found and kept her license and the one piece of plastic she had, an ATM card. Hidden in an inner pocket, I found Gunnar’s birth certificate, the car’s title and a folded up, beat-down postcard looking thing. Carefully unfolding the creased mess, I swore out loud.

  “Fuck.”

  It was the first advertisement Myles had printed for the band. Long before we owned the club, long before we had a decent following, Myles had paid out-of-pocket for the stupid things. A picture of the band was on the front and a list of dates for some of our first gigs was on the back. I’d forgotten all about these. I hadn’t even kept one. Myles had carried them around for a month, handing them out wherever we went. Jesus. What the fuck was I supposed to do with this? For a split second I thought about giving it to Myles, but realized he’d probably kept some. I was pissed my mother had this. She didn’t deserve to know about my life and worse? She must’ve been somewhere close but she’d never bothered to let us know about Gunnar. I threw it in the trash.

  Unfolding the birth certificate, I read it twice. Under Father, my mother had declared unknown. I hoped that’d work to my advantage. Taking the twenty-three bucks she had, I put everything else into the suitcase and tossed it. I thought I’d feel something watching the suitcase sail over the edge of the Dumpster. Relief, remorse, fuck, even a sense of accomplishment for tying up loose ends, but all I could think about was how fucking pathetic it was to die alone in a dive hotel, gasping for breath because cancer ate your lungs. I wanted to care—I didn’t want to go out like that, no one should have to—but all I kept seeing in my head was the moment she picked up that glass and threw it at Gunnar. She brought two kids into this world and that was how she was gonna go out? That was the last memory she was going to give her eleven-year-old? Goddamn it.

  “Fuck you, Georgia Marie Allen!” I kicked the Dumpster as hard as I could.

  Hands shaking, I drove the Barracuda home. I grabbed a copy of my birth certificate and social security card and went to the Florida Department of Children and Family Services office. A half hour later, I had copies of the paperwork I’d need to become Gunnar’s legal guardian. I wanted to be prepared tonight when my dad showed up. I had no idea how he would react and I wanted Gunnar to know I wanted him.

  I was back at the shop two hours later. The bay was still open and the Mustang was parked out front. Seeing the hunk of metal that’d once been a beautiful piece of machinery kicked me in the gut. Jesus, what a fucking waste. I walked toward my office. The smell of pizza greeted me before the laughter did. I found Gunnar and Carly eating pizza and watching the small TV I had. Carly was laughing at a cartoon, a slice in her hand and Gunnar had a smile on his face a second before he shoved half a piece of pizza in his mouth.

  I glanced at my watch. “Early lunch?” It was ten forty-five.

  Carly scoffed. “This is just a snack.” She elbowed Gunnar. “We’re going for cheeseburgers later, right?”

  Looking surprised, Gunnar nodded.

  Christ. I grabbed a slice and bit into it before I said something I’d regret. I’d known Carly would get along with Gunnar, she got along with everyone, but I wasn’t expecting this. I didn’t want Gunnar thinking she was a fixture.

  I’d been debating this since I’d walked into that hotel room and laid eyes on Gunnar. I knew I had a choice to make. If I was going to take Gunnar in, it was all or nothing. My partying—women, drinking, traveling with the band—it was all over. Not that there’d been any women in the past couple of weeks but Carly was a woman and I knew I had to let her go. Drinking until I was out of my head fucked up was no longer an option and touring with the band was going to take on a whole new meaning. Gunnar would have to become the priority, he deserved nothing less. It was what my dad had done for me and I knew it was the right thing to do. I had the rest of my life but Gunnar only had seven more years to live a childhood he’d never had.

  I choked down the pizza as Gunnar and Carly laughed at a yellow cartoon character. It was the first time I’d heard him laugh. It was quiet and reserved like he was, but it was a laugh. And Carly had been the one who’d coaxed it out of him. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

  “I’m going to work on the Camaro,” I said to no one in particular and rushed from the office.

  Slamming tools around, a half hour later I was under the hood of the Camaro getting dirty but not getting anything done.

  “So, you are a blond.”

  Startled, I stood up and whacked my head on the inside of the hood.

  “Fuck,” I threw my wrench on the cart and grabbed a rag.

  “Sorry!” Carly moved toward me, her hand outstretched. “Let me see.”

  I stepped back and she froze.

  “Graham?”

  “Where’s Gunnar?” I bit out.

  Carly’s face fell. “In the office watching TV.”

  I glanced over her head and saw through the window that she was right. “Thanks for coming today.” I picked the wrench up and turned back to the Camaro.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing, working,” I lied, hating myself.

  She didn’t respond. She just stood there. I fucked with the Camaro, trying to pinpoint the leak I’d been looking for all morning, hoping Carly left before I had to say anything else.

  “Where’s his mother?” she asked quietly.

  Fuck. “Dead.” I didn’t look up.

  “And his father?”

  “He doesn’t have one.” Not yet anyway.

 
“Oh.” She exhaled. “What can I do to help?”

  I tossed the wrench and stood up. I didn’t have a choice, but fuck, I didn’t want to hurt her. I’d been hurting her since I’d met her. She didn’t deserve it any more than Gunnar deserved the shit life he’d been dealt. “Today was help enough. I had to take care of his mother’s arrangements. Thanks for coming.” It was a shit dismissal and I knew it.

  “His mother or your mother?”

  I didn’t answer.

  Deliberate and slow, Carly nodded. “I see.”

  I hated the look on her face. “Do you?” I challenged, my hands going to my hips.

  Her voice gentle with concern, she looked at me with nothing but sympathy. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Don’t be sorry for me,” I snapped, pissed I was losing my temper, pissed I couldn’t touch her and pissed at the fucking woman who’d brought me into this world.

  “Okay.” She held a hand up and stepped back. “I’ll call you later.”

  I dropped my bomb. “No, you won’t.”

  The look on her face made me want to destroy something but I already had. I’d destroyed any chance I’d ever have with her. I told myself I would’ve pushed her away eventually, that I was doing the right thing, but nothing about this felt right.

  “We’re not a couple, Graham, you can’t break up with me.” Hurt in her voice, anger in her words, she deserved better.

  I said nothing.

  Her hands fisted at her sides. “Goddamn it, say something.”

  “Goodbye,” I said with steely resolve.

  “You said we were friends. Friends don’t do this, Graham. They don’t throw each other away, they just don’t.” She pivoted and ran to her Rebel.

  I picked up the wrench and stared at the Camaro as the motorcycle roared out of the shop.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Priorities

  Gunnar came out of the office after Carly left. Sensing my mood or just being himself, he didn’t say anything. He stood by me as I worked. A half hour later, I’d pulled it together just enough to tell him, step by step, what I was doing. After a few minutes, he was handing me tools almost before I asked for them.

  By midafternoon, I’d fixed the leak in the Camaro and told Gunnar we were calling it a day so we could hit a grocery store before dinner. Gunnar waited till we were in the Barracuda before he finally spoke.

  “Did you break up with your girlfriend because of me?”

  My head snapped to Gunnar and I got a dose of reality. If I hadn’t been so fucking upset all afternoon, I would’ve noticed the anxiety all over his face. “First of all, she isn’t my girlfriend, she never was. Second, you are in no way a burden to me. I’m glad I found you and I want you here.” I couldn’t tell him he didn’t have anything to do with what happened between me and Carly because he’d know I was lying. I only wanted him to know he was my priority and I was glad to have it that way.

  “Why isn’t she your girlfriend?”

  I ran my hand over my head. He’d find out about me sooner or later, why hold out? Because he was eleven I told my stupid self. “She just isn’t.”

  “You don’t like her?”

  “Yeah, I like her, but it isn’t like that.”

  “She likes you.” His voice quiet, he sounded guilty.

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “How would you know?” Heat flamed his cheeks. I almost wanted to laugh but the rush of adrenaline from wondering if she had said something to him had me on edge. “She said something to you?”

  He hesitated. “Sorta.”

  “Spit it out.”

  “I asked if she was your girlfriend. She said she was working on it, that you were shy.” His words came out in a rush.

  A bark of laughter more cynical than humorous erupted from my chest. “I’m not shy, Gunnar.”

  “But you didn’t hug her back, I saw it,” he accused.

  “There’s more than one reason why a man doesn’t hug a woman.”

  “Like what? You said you like her.”

  Christ. I was going to have this conversation? Now? “Look, just because two people like each other, doesn’t always mean they should be together. I didn’t hug her back because I didn’t want to lead her on. She deserves a nice guy who will treat her right and be her boyfriend. I’m not that guy.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m not ready to be married.” It wasn’t a complete lie. I’d never wanted to get married. Hell I couldn’t even fathom more than one night with a women until I met Carly. Then I began to understand why you’d want one woman to yourself, if only because the thought of her with someone else was enough to make you go postal. I shook away the thought of Carly with another man.

  “Oh.” Pause. “You don’t want to get married?”

  The reason I swore to myself twelve years ago that I would never get married, because women were shit, wasn’t something I needed to dump on an eleven-year-old. Abused or not, he was just a kid. “Never thought about it,” I lied. “What’s with the inquisition? You planning on getting married anytime soon?”

  He shrugged. “Carly’s kinda nice.”

  This time the laugh was real and Gunnar joined me. “That’s it, killer, aim high. I like your style.” Can’t fault a man for dreaming.

  A half hour later we were in the grocery store and I was about to get steaks when it occurred to me I should probably ask Gunnar what he wanted. “What do you want for dinner?”

  Gunnar shuffled his feet. “What does he like to eat?”

  Christ, this kid had a heart. Despite everything the monster had done to him, he still had a heart. “His name is Jepson, Jep for short, and he eats anything you put in front of him. What’s your favorite food?”

  Gunnar didn’t hesitate. “Mashed potatoes, the homemade kind.”

  “Mashed potatoes it is. What do you want to go with them?”

  More feet shuffling.

  I waited.

  “Turkey and stuffing. And pie.”

  It took everything I had not to react. It was the one meal his mother knew how to cook. She made it every Thanksgiving and it was usually one of the two days a year she was happy, that and her birthday. Two days a year I’d had a reprieve and actually saw something human about the monster, a smile, a decent meal, something. And before it all went to shit again, that one stupid childish moment of hope where I wondered if it was going to stick. Had Gunnar ever had that? Had he ever had a good day with her? He hadn’t even had Jep around as a buffer. I didn’t know whether to cry or yell in rage.

  I forced myself to focus and glanced at my watch. “I don’t have enough time to cook a turkey but I can do chicken, will that work?”

  He looked excited. “Okay.”

  Fuck, this kid was crushing me. He looked like I did twelve years ago on Thanksgiving. “All right, go pick out a pie from the freezer section that we can bake at home, I’ll grab the other stuff and meet you back in front in a few minutes.” I’d make him Thanksgiving every damn night if I thought it’d erase his past.

  “Okay.” Gunnar hustled off.

  I picked out two chickens, two boxes of stuffing mix and a bag of potatoes. Confirming everything I already knew about fate, I could cook a Thanksgiving meal because my mother had taught me. Fate’s fucked up like that.

  I walked to the front of the store and found Gunnar already waiting. A pumpkin pie, a tub of Cool Whip and two cans of that jelled shit they call cranberry sauce in his hands, he looked happy.

  We went home and I got the chickens in the oven. Gunnar asked if he could help and I pulled out a potato peeler and told him he could start on the potatoes. I was surprised when he took a knife and began peeling the potatoes like an apple.

  “You’re pretty good with a knife.”

  He just shrugged.

  I smiled. “Don’t need the potato peeler?” I picked it up to put it away.

  He stopped and glanced at my hand. “That’s what that is?”

  So she hadn’t taught him ho
w to cook. I wondered if she’d ever made him Thanksgiving. Jesus. I didn’t dare ask. I’d had her without the added stress of cancer. He hadn’t. It put a whole new light on those Thanksgiving days and the food she’d cooked. I doubted a cancer patient spent much time cooking. “Yeah, but your way works better.” I tossed the peeler back in the drawer and changed the subject. “So, when was the last time you were in school?” The sooner I got him back, the better. I’d missed a lot at his age and it was hard catching up.

  He paused at my question, then started peeling again. “Before she got sick.”

  “When was that?” I made my voice casual.

  “Last year?” He said it like a question.

  “You haven’t been in school for a year?” Shit.

  “Not in school. I was home schooled.”

  Like Myles’s parents had done before they died? “She taught you?” I doubted it. I couldn’t imagine Georgia cracking a book.

  Gunnar rolled his eyes. “No, I was registered in Florida Virtual School.”

  What the fuck was that? “Virtual school?”

  “Yeah, on the computer. You take classes, do the reading, then take quizzes. You have to do five hours of schoolwork a day and have a parent record them online.”

  Sounded fucked up and antisocial and I wished they’d had it available when I was his age. “So you did this for a year?” At least he’d had access to a computer. He hadn’t touched mine or asked to use it so I’d mistakenly thought he didn’t know anything about them.

  “Until she made me stop,” he muttered.

  “She made you stop? Why?” This ought to be good.

  Gunnar only nodded.

  “What happened?” I hoped it was something benign like the computer breaking.

  He stopped peeling, picked the skins out of the sink and tossed them. “She said I was cheating.” He put the potatoes in the pot.

  What the fuck? I knew enough about Gunnar to know he wasn’t that kid. I pushed down my anger and forced my voice to remain neutral. “Why’d she think that?”

  “I finished seventh-grade math halfway through the semester...I’m in sixth grade.”