Pitchfork in the Road

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Pitchfork in the Road Page 12

by M. J. Schiller


  “Long enough for me to know you’re beating around the bush.”

  She stared at her lap. I took her hands. “Zoe, whatever it is, you can tell me.”

  At least that got a ghost of a smile. “So, we grew up together. Side by side. And I love you as much as my brothers. I really do.”

  “That’s nice to know,” I said slowly.

  She withdrew her hands and I got a sick feeling. “Nick, last night was wrong. It shouldn’t have happened.”

  I sat dumbfounded, my mouth gaping like a cave.

  Might as well hit me with a lead pipe, Zoe.

  I found my voice. “Don’t say that.”

  She got to her feet, and I followed. “I can’t give you what you need. I’m…messed up inside.”

  “I can help you through that.”

  She shook her head, then lowered it. “I don’t think so, Nick.” Her voice was small and broken. “I know I should have moved forward by now. Maybe it’s so hard because we didn’t have the kind of closure I needed. It didn’t feel right. Or true. And this—” she rolled her hands in a circle in the direction of her room “—this doesn’t feel right.”

  I didn’t know what to say, so I grabbed her arms and jerked her against my body. This close, my heart raced. Images from the night before came rapid fire. My gaze traveled between her eyes. “Feelings are messy, Zoe.” I grabbed the hair at the nape of her neck to steer her. “The only thing you should be feeling right now,” my body became hard with desire “is me inside you.” I crushed her lips with mine, working the kiss with everything I had. No one would tell me last night was the only time I could have this beautiful woman.

  She didn’t respond at first, but I felt the moment she gave in. Her lips became soft and pliant, then, eager. I didn’t hesitate. I swept her off her feet, and took her to bed. I would make her mine one way or another.

  Zack

  A month had passed since Ben’s call. Every weekend I had commitments I couldn’t get out of. It pained me to know Nick was with her that whole time. Feeding her some line of shit. And I didn’t want to know what else they were doing.

  But, I was the cross-country coach, in need of like three assistant coaches, but I had one, and his wife just gave birth to their first baby. The kids worked too hard for me to abandon them. I considered calling Zoe, but I knew this needed to be done in person. I needed to be clear. Leave no room for confusion.

  The day finally came. A weekend with no tournaments or competitions, and the assistant said he could handle one practice. I figured, if I needed a break, surely the kids needed a break, so the other practices were called off.

  Gassed and ready to go, I slung my overnight bag into the back seat of my car. But I had a few stops to make before leaving town. I headed first to a bodega not far from the school, Cabal’s, the store owned by Ernesto’s dad. It sat back off one of the main thoroughfares between an office building and a sub shop. It was so tiny and tucked away, even though I’d passed by it a million times on my way to work, I’d never noticed it and had to look up the address to find it.

  I wasn’t even in the store long enough for my eyes to adjust to the dim lighting before Ernesto’s voice arrested me. “Mr. Issaacs? What are you doing here?”

  “Hey there, Ernesto. I’m going out of town and have a long drive in front of me. I need some munchies to get me through and keep me awake.”

  He smiled. “Well we’ve got those. You want sweet? We have a bakery to the left. Salty? Aisle Five.”

  “I believe I need both. And some soda.” I picked up a basket. “Thanks for the info.”

  “No problem. Let me know if you have any questions.”

  “Say,” I said, trying to sound casual. “Is your dad here today? I’d like to meet him.”

  “Pops? He’s always here.” He searched around. “You get your stuff, and I’ll go find him.”

  When I came back up to the front with my overflowing basket, Ernesto stood beside a shorter man with jet black hair and a moustache. He wore jeans and a white T-shirt with the store’s logo on it. He leaned on a broom, one of those old-fashioned straw ones.

  “Mr. Issaacs, this is my pops.”

  I extended my hand. “Hello, Mr. Cabal. Nice to meet you.”

  He smiled and nodded as he shook it. “Ernesto says nice things about your class.”

  An image of the paper airplane with Boring! written on it made me smile. “I appreciate that.” If I was going to talk to the dad, I needed to get rid of Ernesto somehow. I tilted my head. “Could you do me a big favor?” He nodded. I held out a bag from my basket. “I got regular Doritos, but I wanted Cool Ranch. Would you mind exchanging them for me?”

  “Sure thing, Mr. Issaacs.” He tore off, leaving me with his dad.

  “Mr. Cabal. I understand Ernesto is quite a help for you around the store.”

  “Si, he is.”

  I didn’t have much time, so I needed to get down to business. “Well, I talked to the art teacher about this art camp and—”

  His hand cut the air impatiently. “Si, si. The art camp. Ernesto cannot go.” He spun around and started walking off, but I followed him.

  “But what if I knew someone who could work for him while he was away at camp?”

  He stopped and whirled around.

  “I believe you know the Martiness family?”

  “Si. I know Sonya Martiness. She has a beauty salon down the street.”

  “Yes, that’s them. Well, their oldest boy, George, needs a job. He’s only fifteen, but he will get a work permit.” Mr. Cabal opened his mouth to argue, so I rushed to finish. “He’s willing to work for free during the time Ernesto is gone, so he can gain experience. With that, he may be able to get a paying job.”

  He rubbed his chin. “I don’t know….”

  “You’d be helping Mrs. Martiness out. Her mother is living with the family and the medical bills have piled up. George needs work experience to get a job and take some of the pressure off.”

  His eyes widened. “I did not know this. Sonya hasn’t been in lately.” He mulled it over. “Nah. I do not have the money to send Ernesto.”

  “That’s not a problem. A…scholarship has become available.” He squinted at me as if he had trouble understanding me. “It would not cost any money.”

  “Ayy. I don’t know. What good is this art to Ernesto?”

  I waved my hand to a mural covering the wall above the shelves on one side of the store. I spotted it earlier. Ernesto’s signature graced one corner. “It does this.”

  He stared at me, then at the mural. Stepping forward he studied the painting for himself. In it, a couple danced in a kitchen while three children looked on. The movement Ernesto captured made the picture come alive. His dad’s eyes shone, and he took a deep breath.

  “You and Mrs. Cabal?”

  “Si.” He nodded, twisting to face me. “Yes, it is us.” He spun back, pointing. “And Ernesto, Santiago, and Nicholas.” It was clear he took pride in the artwork.

  Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Ernesto approaching. I waved him off. He stared at me with a frown at first, then peered at his father, and followed his line of sight to the mural. He looked at me again. His father turned, and he ducked behind a display.

  “Respectfully, one cannot eat artwork, Mr. Issaacs.”

  A lady pushed a cart up to the checkout line and unloaded her groceries. He nodded to me, then stepped behind the cash register to help her. But I wasn’t giving up. I could sense a chink in his armor. I stood behind the woman in line and talked over her.

  “You’re right, Mr. Cabal. Art may not physically feed us, but it feeds the soul.”

  The woman quit removing stuff from her basket, glanced at me, then peered up at the mural behind Mr. Cabal. She sighed. “He’s right. Half the reason I come to this store is because of that painting. It makes me feel…happy. It’s like my own Momma and Poppa.”

  Mr. Cabal was reaching for a cantaloupe when she made her statement. He froze, glancin
g up at her with his eyebrows raised. He turned to examine at the picture again, then continued to scan items in. “Maybe,” he said without looking up. He was a proud man. He would not give in to me, but come to his own decision. Ernesto peeked around the corner. I waved him over. He watched me eagerly, perhaps having figured out why I came. I shrugged, but smiled.

  The store owner finished his transaction with the woman, handed her the change and wished her a good day. I set my basket on the line. He began to scan my items slowly. “Ernesto.”

  Ernesto’s lips trembled. “Yes, Papa.”

  He stopped and raised his eyes. “How would you like to go to art camp?”

  Ernesto clapped his hands together. “Really? But I thought you said—”

  Mr. Cabal waved his hand and started scanning my groceries again. “I say lots of silly things.”

  “Thank you, Papa,” he gushed.

  “Ehh…go on and shelf that cereal, hijo.”

  “Yes, sir.” His face glowed.

  I turned sideways to not so subtly knuckle Ernesto as he passed.

  The scanner beeped. “Are you sure you want these chips? Maybe you could have a bite of a sculpture or something.” He raised his gaze and winked at me.

  Mission accomplished.

  Now, to tackle Zoe’s dad.

  I pulled up to the curb in front of my old house. The road practically had Cobra-sized indentions in it, I’d parked my car there for so long. My mom sold our house and bought a condo downtown. It was one of the hardest things she ever had to do, and I was proud of her for moving on. Now she was dating Rick, who was nice, and perhaps a smidge dorky. Zoe would love him.

  And once again, all paths led to Zoe. Like the roads of Rome, created in a spoke design, no matter where I started from, my thoughts always came home to her. I must have sat in my car for fifteen minutes while memories played out for me on the lawn. Some including my dad. Most including Zoe. It was like I could still hear her laughter in the wind. Still catch a glimpse of her green bomber jacket as she disappeared inside her door. Still see the beacon light shining down from her window, calling me out.

  I looked up at her window. I missed her so much it physically made me ache all over. She was once the light at the end of my road, calling me to her. And I was the same for her. But so much time passed…would she be the same person I left? Would we still share the same things in common? How had she changed? What would she think of the changes in me?

  I was more fit now, even stronger than in my football days. When you’re alone, you have a lot of hours for the gym. But…had my face changed at all? It was hard for me to tell. Would hers be altered by time? It didn’t matter. Didn’t matter one iota. I loved her. I always had and I always would. It was as simple as that.

  I took the keys from the ignition, got out of the car, closed the door, and stuck the keys into my jeans’ pocket. The warm glow I left Cabal’s grocery with dissipated. I stared at the house, searching for any clues to danger in my path, as I crossed Zoe’s lawn. I’d run into Dani a few times, Zoe’s stepmom, and she’d always acted in the same sweet way with me, although I sensed a sadness now. It was like she understood what we’d lost, and sympathized. She’d made a few remarks to make it clear Zoe’s dad wasn’t as forgiving. He held grudges, she’d said. Especially if someone hurt one of his kids. I ground my teeth together. This wouldn’t be easy.

  I strode up the steps, knocked on the door and waited. He answered, of course. He was turned back, laughing and saying something to Dani, who sat on the couch. When he opened the door, his mouth went from a smile, to a circle of surprise, to a thin line. His hand slid up the door frame above his head as he leaned in.

  “Well, well. Look at who we have here.”

  The bitterness in his voice was even worse than I’d anticipated. Dani got up from the couch and came over.

  “Oh, Zack.” She smiled behind her husband’s back. “How good it is to see you,” she added tentatively.

  Mr. McCord twisted slightly, crossing his arms and staring down at her. “No, it’s not.”

  “Tucker!” She frowned at him, then shifted her focus to me. “Why don’t you come in?”

  “No, that’s okay. I’m sure Zack doesn’t have time to stay. In fact,” he took the door handle, “we’re just going to have a man-to-man talk out here on the porch.” He stepped through the door before she could say anything, closing it behind him, practically in Dani’s face. My gut clenched, but I stuck out my chin. We eyed each other. He crossed his arms again, leaned against the doorjamb and put one leg in front of the other.

  “I’m assuming you have some reason for coming here?”

  “Yes, sir.” I tried to gather my thoughts.

  “Well?”

  I exhaled, glancing away, then back at him. “Mr. McCord, I know you’re angry with me. And you have every right to be.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  This wasn’t going well.

  “I know I made a mistake when I broke things off with Zoe.”

  “Broke things off? Don’t you mean broke her heart? I have never seen anyone cry as much—” He stopped. I couldn’t tell if he was too choked up to talk, or if he felt he’d revealed too much of Zoe’s private moments. Maybe it was a combination of both.

  “I know you won’t understand this.” I sighed and looked away again, putting my hands on my hips and rallying myself to go on. “Hell, I don’t understand it. But the decision I made, I thought I made it to help Zoe, not hurt her.”

  “How did you think dumping her would—?”

  I interrupted him. “It was a mistake. I know that now.” I stared at my feet, tilting my head. “Did you know she’s seeing Nick Adams?”

  He straightened. “No.” He took a few steps to his left, pinching his bottom lip. “As you may or may not know, Zoe doesn’t come home much. In fact, she doesn’t come home at all. Thanks to you, it’s too painful for her.” He walked toward me again and I fought the urge to lean away. “How do you know she’s seeing Nick?”

  I wasn’t ready for that. “Uhh…I’d rather not say.”

  The arms crossed again.

  I pressed my lips together and we stood in silence. Finally, I let out my breath. “Okay. Ben Oatam told me.”

  He swung his arms out to the side, palms facing me. “H-What? Ben Oatam?”

  “Yes, sir. I was as shocked as you are.” My jaw tightened. This is one thing we had in common. We both despised Ben.

  “Why would he call to tell you that?”

  I frowned, crossing my own arms. “I’m not sure exactly.” I caught a movement and glanced to my right. Dani peeked out from behind the curtains. She smiled at me. Then another face appeared. Who is—? Oh, my gosh, that’s Myles. In my mind he was still a one-year-old, as he was when I left. So much time gone. Wasted.

  Mr. McCord drew my attention back to him. “Well, have you got any guesses?” he asked with a great deal of sarcasm.

  “He wanted to warn me about Nick. He doesn’t trust him.”

  “So, Ben Oatam is deciding what’s good for Zoe? That’s ludicrous.”

  “I agree.”

  He paced off again then came back. “Why are you here, Zack?”

  “To ask you for Zoe’s address.”

  He digested that. “You could get that off the Internet. Why are you really here?”

  I shrugged, becoming nervous. “I don’t know exactly. I wanted to see if…you were okay with me getting in contact with her.”

  “I see. You wanted my permission to get another shot at breaking my daughter’s heart again.”

  A zap of anger shot through me. “No, sir!” I reined it in. “I made a mistake. I admit that. But I won’t make the same mistake a second time.”

  He studied me, pinching his bottom lip together again. He exhaled. “Well, I have no problem giving you Zoe’s address. Unlike when you left her, she’s a grown woman now. She can make her own decisions as far as you’re concerned.” He rubbed the stubble along his chin. “I don’t
trust Nick Adams. I know he’s your friend and—”

  I shook my head. “I’m starting to have my doubts about that.”

  “Huh.” That seemed to surprise him. “Well, he always seemed too slick to me. Too into himself. And I damn well don’t trust Ben Oatam.” He paused. “If you get up there and think that punk is causing problems for Zoe, I expect a phone call.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He considered me one more time. “Fine. I’ll get the damn address.” I guess he’d decided I was the best of the plethora of evils surrounding his daughter. He opened the door, barreled past Dani and Myles, and opened the drawer of a long table they had by the stairs. I looked at Dani. She stood behind Myles with her hands on his shoulders. I peered at him, trying to see the baby he was in his features. I couldn’t do it. I could see a bit of Zoe, though. Mr. McCord ripped a page off a tablet and brought it to me. He came back out on the porch, folded it in half, and held it before giving it to me. It appeared as if he had something else to say, but didn’t know how to say it.

  “I have a question to ask you, and I want you to think long and hard about it.” Did he second-guess himself? “Are you doing this for you? Or are you doing it for Zoe?”

  “I don’t have to think about that Mr. McCord, because I asked myself the same question. I’d like to think I’m doing it for the both of us. But, so many years passed….” I stared at the floor boards of the porch. My hope was tinged with sadness. I raised my gaze to look him in the eye. “You may not believe this, but what’s best for Zoe comes first for me. If I go there, and she’s happy…if things have changed and…she doesn’t want to rebuild our relationship, then I’m gone. But I have to try. I owe that to her and I owe that to me. What we had was too special for us to just let it go. I was a fool for thinking otherwise.”

  “I won’t argue that with you, son.” If I could win Zoe back, bringing her dad around would take a monumental effort.

  I held the address up. “Thank you for this.” I turned to leave, a little confused by our whole exchange. Why did I come here? One step down the porch stairs I remembered I didn’t say what I meant to say. I twisted back. “Mr. McCord?”

 

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