Boy

by James Stryker

  “I hated Tom,” Jackie had thrown up her hands after another unsuccessful search. “I still hate him. I purposefully tried to forget that man existed.”

  Ginger had stayed silent. It’d be risky to reveal that once again, he’d interfered. He felt he’d done the right thing and acted how Jay would’ve wanted, but he couldn’t be sure how Beau and Jackie would view it. It wasn’t fair that Jay had been there for he and Beau to pose questions to. Neither his mother-in-law nor his wife seemed inclined to provide Luke with answers, and he knew it wasn’t only due to the boy’s asinine behavior.

  They don’t know the answers. The realization had come to Ginger as he’d climbed the stairs at Jackie’s command to ensure Luke took only his belongings and that he left the house in ten minutes. You didn’t like to talk about yourself, Dad. So aside from what they may have asked, they don’t know. And if Luke has questions, there’s only one person who can answer them.

  He’d stopped at the top of the staircase, knowing he was playing with fire.

  Is that what you want? Give me a sign, Dad. Please.

  Ginger expected to hear the voice that didn’t sound like Jay but felt like him. The voice that sparked into his mind the night before Jay’s funeral and told him he did not want to be saved. This was an important situation, and the voice would tell him what to do.

  But the voice hadn’t come. He’d watched Luke pack and tried to convey some comforting words, hoping his kindness would prompt the voice to make its desires known. There’d been only silence, and he’d run out of time. He’d made his own decision.

  Luke had descended the staircase with the business card in hand. Still Ginger waited. Perhaps a feeling would validate if he’d done the right thing since it was over. If it was positive, great. He’d know Jay’s wishes had been honored. If it was dark, he could tackle the boy and take back the card. But he’d felt nothing and had been left with only his own conviction.

  Ginger had been terrified to tell Beau and Jackie that Luke was probably safe with Tom. Even if Jackie hated Tom, from Ginger’s short but sympathetic conversation with the man, he hadn’t sounded like the sort of person who’d turn Luke away. And they hadn’t heard from Luke in two weeks. If he were dead in a gutter, someone would’ve noticed by now. Luke was likely holed up with Tom, being a dick and refusing to call. Or he might be in New York with the roommate, who could’ve lied.

  Dad, I should’ve kept your phone instead of throwing it away. I could’ve called Tom myself and checked to make sure the boy was safe.

  When he’d finally broken the secrecy, it was due to Beau. Ginger had woken to find her gone. She hadn’t answered her phone. He’d driven to her parents’ house, but she hadn’t been there, so he’d sped to the funeral home, not knowing where else to search.

  Her car had been outside, and he’d found her frantically rummaging through paperwork on the floor in the storage room. For a second, he’d scanned the shelf of white boxes—a hole was still present from the recent withdrawal. But her desperation had been about Luke.

  “He said Tom knew about the baby. Dad must’ve kept in regular contact with him.” Beau had pulled away from Ginger. She’d wiped her hand under her nose and tears had run down her cheeks as she’d frantically sorted a bank box of documents. “There’s got to be some type of contact information here. I’ll take anything!” She’d stopped and brought her hands to her face. “I’ll snail mail that motherfucker! I need to know my brother is okay!”

  That moment had been the last time he’d held his wife. He remembered how she felt in his arms—she’d shivered and clung to him, her fingers digging into his shirt. He could smell her hair as he dipped his head to kiss her brow, to whisper to her that it’d be okay. It was okay. Probably.

  “You don’t know that.” Beau’s words had stumbled out. “He could be anywhere. He could be dead. I know I was a bitch, but I didn’t want him to leave forever. I didn’t mean that. You don’t know that he’s okay.”

  “Not for certain. But I’m relatively sure.”

  And Ginger had then told her what he’d done. Immediately, she’d shoved him away.

  “You did what? You did what!” Unshed tears hung in her eyes, and her mouth had been partially open. “You said you had no contact information for Tom DuBelle!”

  “I didn’t. Dad gave me his number on the business card, and I called him on Dad’s phone, not mine. We threw his phone away, and I didn’t have the business card when you asked me. I told you, ‘I no longer have it.’ I didn’t. I don’t.”

  “You didn’t have it because you gave it to Luke! I told you to forget anything else you promised Dad about Tom DuBelle!” Beau had pointed her finger at him.

  “Your dad didn’t ask me to give Luke the information. I did that.”

  Ginger had kicked himself as soon as it left his lips. He should’ve blamed it on Jay and fallen back on his unquestionable fidelity to her father. By declaring the choice had nothing to do with Jay’s wishes, and it was only his interpretation of what he imagined Jay would want—

  “You had no right to do that! None!” Beau had gotten to her feet, her face red.

  “But, sweetheart I—”

  “Don’t ‘sweetheart’ me! I’m not your sweetheart, Jacob! I am so fucking pissed at you!”

  Ginger had felt a sense of relief. This was the same conversation they’d had at Jay’s viewing when she’d learned he’d called Tom. She used his full first name. She’d been furious. She threatened to break his arm if he touched her. But he’d explained himself and been forgiven. So it would be okay.

  “Let me explain, Beau.” He stood as well.

  “I’ve heard your explanation! You took matters into your own hands and made a judgment call that wasn’t yours to make!”

  “I think it’s what Dad would’ve wanted. I—”

  “You think so? You think he’d have wanted his son to fly cross-country into the waiting arms of a pretender? Of someone he never wanted us to know existed?” Beau’s fists had been shaking. “He didn’t want Luke to know anything!”

  “But why?”

  “You think you know him, you fucking tell me! Go ahead! Tell me!”

  Ginger had nothing to say. He didn’t know why Luke had been excluded. Jackie said the knowledge had been shared on a need to know basis, but she’d been assuming Jay hadn’t told Beau. Had it been his immaturity? Had he judged that Luke couldn’t handle it? Maybe he’d intended to but hadn’t had the chance?

  “That’s right! You have no idea! I know you think you knew him, but he was not your father! He was mine! And he told me before anyone else! I’m the one most fit to make any decision as to what he’d have wanted!”

  Having it spat in his face that Jay wasn’t his father had hurt. However, her words had made him question which part of the situation offended her. She’d been saying things straight from Luke’s self-absorbed playbook.

  “Are you just upset you didn’t get to call the shots?”

  “It’s completely inappropriate that you made that choice. How dare you! Without consulting me! Or my mom!”

  “I thought I was doing the right thing.” Ginger hadn’t sounded as strong as he would’ve liked. But in the face of her rage, it’d been difficult to be confident.

  “Oh, that’s right!” Beau slapped her leg and gave an exaggerated look. “I forgot the mind meld between you and my dad. How could I forget that you know better than I would. You know better than my mom would. You know how he’d want everything.”

  “It wasn’t my intention to—”

  “Is it possible that, in all your great wisdom, you don’t know what they say about intentions? It doesn’t matter what you intended!”

  Beau had turned her back after she’d finished shouting.

  Yes, this is exactly how it happened before. She gets fired up, calms down, and we talk it through. She’s also forgetting the main thing.

  “But, Beau, you know Luke is probably safe. That’s what’s important, right?”

>   She turned around.

  “Probably safe. Probably. For all your saving the day, the bottom line remains that we still don’t know where he is, or if he’s safe. But I’ll tell you what I do know, Jacob.” Beau clenched her jaw, and the tears returned. “You did not do the right thing. If you’d left it alone, Luke would never have found Tom DuBelle. He might’ve tried, but he’d have failed. He may have returned to New York, but eventually he would’ve come home and settled things with us. But if he is safe, because of you…because of you…”

  She’d pointed at him again. “He’s with that other man! You took Dad’s only son away from him!” Beau had lowered her voice and narrowed her eyes at him. “You betrayed my father. And wherever he is, he’ll never forgive you. And I’ll never forgive you. I can’t stand to be in the same fucking room with you.”

  She left before Ginger could stop her.

  No, you could have. You could’ve run after her, wrapped your arms around her, and held her. You could have knelt at her feet, burying your face in her skirt, and begged for forgiveness. Openly declared yourself a poor excuse for a human being and you were wrong, even if you don’t think so. You should’ve lied. Lied, and lied again. And held her. And never let her go.

  But the next time Ginger had talked to her had also been the last time, when he’d parked outside their house, and she’d been waiting on the porch, a small suitcase at her feet.

  “I want you to leave.”

  “Leave?”

  “Oh, you can listen now? Yes, leave.” Beau had kicked the suitcase down the steps.

  “But—”

  “I don’t care to hear it. Just go. And don’t go crawling to my mother. I’ve already told her what you did, and I wouldn’t get within a mile of her if I were you.”

  “When can I come home?” Ginger picked up the suitcase.

  “I’m shocked anything makes you think you would be coming back.”

  “But the baby?”

  “You’ve done your part, haven’t you?” She’d sneered at him.

  Ginger had stared at her in disbelief. He loved her. Consummately. She was the mother of his child. How could this happen?

  “What am I supposed to do?” He’d managed to stammer.

  “I don’t know.” Beau had put her pointer finger to her cheek. “Let’s see, what would my father do, Jacob? Why don’t you psychically connect with him and ask? Not that you need to. You’re so good at intuiting what he’d want.”

  She’d walked into their house and slammed the door.

  ✩✩✩

  Lying on the roof of the van a month later, Ginger stared at the sky, and the stars became fuzzy although the sun had only just set. He wasn’t sure anything or anyone could fix things between him and Beau. Jackie couldn’t. Not that he knew if she’d tried, but he assumed she had. The baby couldn’t fix things either. Beau wasn’t intimidated at the prospect of raising it alone. And he couldn’t fix things since she wouldn’t talk to him. His calls had been unanswered, his voicemails unreturned. And the latch stayed fast whenever he’d gone to the house.

  His thoughts went to Jay as they often did. His body was a yard away. Beneath hundreds of pounds of dirt, inside a concrete vault, and locked in the casket. What was left of him was so close. Rotting and coming apart but still close.

  She’d listen to you. You’d tell her to give me a chance, and she would. You always fixed everything.

  But now Ginger had no one. He was alone and waiting for a process server to hand him divorce papers.

  He won’t find me here. I can pretend I’m in my driveway, and any minute there’ll be broom bristles in my face.

  Ginger folded his left arm under his head. Yes, he’d dream that none of this awful—

  The cell phone rang.

  Ugh…

  He shoved his hand into his pocket. Death found him wherever he was at whatever hour. It didn’t respect his personal devastation. Beau having asked him to leave didn’t stop people from dying.

  Ginger put the phone to his ear. He didn’t check if it was Beau anymore. It never was or would be again. He adopted the soothing voice that comforted the bereaved and answered. An automated recording gave the business name, and he only had to say his name.

  “Good evening, this is Jake.”

  “Ging, it’s Luke.”

  He pulled the phone away. Yes, it was Luke’s number. They’d given up calling weeks ago; it always went to voicemail.

  “Luke, where are you? Are you okay?”

  Ginger clambered down the van’s ladder. He remembered Jackie’s prediction that if a call happened, it’d come in on Ginger’s phone only. He had to keep Luke on the line until he could get to the house so Jackie could speak with him.

  “I’m fine. I’m with Tom,” Luke said. “How’s Mom? How’s Beau?”

  He shook his head to keep back an emotion-choked voice and started the car. “Really worried about you. They’ve been calling every day. Several times a day. Didn’t you get the calls?”

  “I’ve had my phone off.”

  Fucking typical. You shut your phone off to play head games with two people who love you and have been beside themselves with worry. You’re a self-centered douche bag.

  “How are you?” Luke asked.

  “I’m fine.”

  “I’ve been worried about you.”

  Ginger became suspicious. It was already odd that Luke would ask after his mother and sister. But to ask after his welfare and express concern over him? Without sarcasm? And hadn’t he called him “Ging”? It’d been years since Luke had referred to him as anything but “Jake.” What did he want?

  “Why would you be worried about me?”

  “Without Dad as a buffer, you have to handle their insanity solo. And one is pregnant to boot.” Luke laughed. “I’ve been thinking of you being my whipping boy and imagining they’ve torn the flesh from your bones by now.”

  Ginger had to smile. However, he wouldn’t be turned against his mother-in-law or his wife, even as part of a lighthearted joke.

  “We’ve been worried about you.” He pulled into his in-laws’ driveway and cut the engine.

  “I’m sorry. I’ve been busy.”

  “Too busy to make a quick call to Beau? To send her a text message to let her know you’re safe?”

  It was risky to criticize, as the boy never took feedback well. Luke could disconnect and never call back. But Ginger didn’t know what else to say. He just had to get the phone to Jackie. He unlocked the front door and prayed for a glimmer of light anywhere.

  There wasn’t one.

  “I know. I should’ve called.” Luke hesitated. “I was afraid.”

  “Afraid?” He started up the staircase. It was also unusual for Luke to take accountability for any mistake or admit weakness. To anyone.

  “Yes. That no one would answer.”

  Ginger stopped outside Jackie’s bedroom. He spoke lightly so it wouldn’t be taken as a reprimand. “Every time either of them picked up the phone, they were afraid of the same thing. And every time, no one answered. But they kept trying.”

  He heard Luke take a deep breath.

  “I’ve let my fear and insecurity prevent me from doing a lot of things, Ging. And it’s bad…” Luke’s voice cracked. “And it’s especially bad because what I do or don’t do has an impact—”

  The doorknob flew from Ginger’s hand. Jackie stood in her nightgown and held her hand out for the phone. He placed it in her palm before he could hear what else Luke had to say.

  His mother-in-law left the door open and walked to the chair by the nightstand.

  Ginger remained in the hall and waited for her to scream at Luke. To demand to know where he was. Possibly to order him to come home directly, or to never come home at all. To lambast Tom DuBelle. To call Luke every name in the book. To ask why he’d left. Why had he said those terrible things? Why did he go to Tom? And why, for the love of God, why hadn’t he called? Why hadn’t he had the common fucking decency to pick u
p the phone and tell them he was safe? He was busy? He was afraid? Jackie wouldn’t buy it. She was about to wipe the floor with him. She’d rip him to shreds.

  But Jackie didn’t try to talk. Ginger watched as she sunk into the chair, the phone to her ear, and her hand to her face. And she began to cry.

  After only a few more seconds, Ginger went to the kitchen. While Jackie hadn’t asked him to leave, it felt like eavesdropping, and whenever his mother-in-law finished, she’d appreciate coffee.

  He listened to the machine pop as it heated the water. He was glad Luke was safe. Wouldn’t Beau rather have him with Tom than dead? Would he come home? Ginger was now certain Luke would be welcomed back.

  And if he did return, what did that mean for Ginger? And the relationship with Beau? If Luke hadn’t changed and replaced Jay, alleviating Beau’s fear, would she forgive him?

  No, she’ll say it’s lucky that Luke is the same, but it doesn’t excuse my actions.

  He leaned back in a kitchen chair. She was too angry for it to be simple. He considered the sonogram hanging behind him on the refrigerator. For the kind of animosity fueling that type of cruelty, Luke returning unaffected after spending a month with Tom DuBelle wouldn’t cut it.

  And Ginger had a gut feeling that Luke being unchanged was too much to hope for. He sounded different. To ask how Ginger was? To be worried about him? True, both could be things the manipulative fuck was just saying, but to admit he’d been wrong? To hear a rebuke and not blow a gasket?

  What are you asking Mom for? What do you want?

  And he hated to bring it back to himself, but whatever damage Tom DuBelle had caused in a month, Ginger would be blamed for. Should he start packing his suitcase?

  If he’d just thrown that fucking business card away instead of calling Tom in the first place. It wouldn’t have brought Jay back, but every other crisis would’ve been avoided. And after he messed up once, to do it again? To pass Luke directly into Tom’s hands for corruption? What had he been thinking?

  But that’s not fair. Really, there’s no way to be sure that not calling Tom would’ve had better results. If Dad just dropped off the face of the earth, Tom may have come looking for him. So the way it played out was a somewhat controlled explosion. It could’ve been much worse. I’ll tell Beau that if she ever speaks to me again. And above all, I was doing what Dad asked of me. I never let that man down. Ever.