by Mia Ford
“Good to have friends,” he said as he tucked away the kerchief and adjusted his hat low over his eyes. “Especially friends that look like that.”
“True.”
He smiled again and slapped me on the back. “Okay, well, reckon I’ll see you in the morning.”
I watched him go with mixed emotions. I liked Uncle Seth as much as I’d ever liked anyone. I couldn’t say that I loved him because I really didn’t know him anymore. He was my mother’s brother and I hadn’t seen him in years. He was a good guy and he was helping me out and being well-compensated for his trouble. I’d leave it at that.
Besides, love was not an emotion I kept ready in my repertoire.
I hadn’t felt anything even close to love in a very long time.
Until Annabel appeared at my door…
Juju showed up at the house about half an hour after Uncle Seth left, wearing a big smile and a short skirt and a tight blouse that left very little to the imagination. Her boobs were like big melons packed into a tight bra, weighing heavy on her chest. The blouse was open at the neck, offering a fine view of her round cleavage and the freckles that dotted the top of her chest. I had completely forgotten that she was coming by. When I answered the door, I wasn’t wearing a shirt and my skin was sweaty from working in the backyard.
“Well, you didn’t have to get dressed up for me,” she said, opening the storm door and coming inside with her perfectly-manicured eyebrows raised. She ran the tip of her finger down my chest and giggled as it came away covered in sweat.
“Uh, yeah, I was working out back,” I said. I was suddenly as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rockers. I peered through the storm door at the street, praying that Annabel was nowhere in sight. I closed the door and turned to find Juju standing in the living room with a long fingernail tapping her chin.
“Wow, it’s kind of…”
“Old and worn out?” I asked, coming to stand next to her as she looked around the room.
“That’s a good way to put it,” she said. “Are you planning on fixing it up or selling it as is?”
I took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “I’m getting a new roof put on tomorrow. Fresh coat of paint inside and out. Figured I’d replace the worn-out carpet in here and in the bedrooms. Maybe update the kitchen a little.”
She nodded as I reeled off the list, then gave me a thoughtful frown and slowly shook her head. “I wouldn’t spend a lot.”
“No?”
“Honestly, and I hate to tell you this, sweetie, but houses this size in this neighborhood don’t fetch a very high price even after they’ve been updated.” She walked into the kitchen with me at her heels. She stood in the center of the room with her arms folded over her chest and her nose wrinkled, like the place had a bad spell, which I guessed it did. “This is what we call a low-end starter home. Even the lots aren’t worth much anymore. Sell it as is and you might get thirty-thousand. Fixed up you might get close to sixty.”
I shrugged. “It’s paid for, so that’s fine,” I said. “I was gonna sink eight or nine-grand into it and call it a day.”
“Oh, well then you’ll be fine,” she said, relieved with the smile returning. “Most folks have an attachment to the home they grew up in. They think it should sell for way more than it’s worth.”
“I have no attachment to this place,” I said. “I just want to get it sold and be done with it.”
“Well, I can certainly help you do that,” she said. The leather satchel she’d brought in was on the table. She opened it up and took out a notebook. “Why don’t you show me around and tell me what’s being fixed and what’s not, then I can look at comps in the area and give you a better idea of what you can expect.”
“Okay, uh, you wanna start outside?”
“No,” she said, walking slowly to the door that led to the hallway. She glanced back at me and made a face I recognized from some time in the past. “Let’s start in the bedroom.”
17
Annabel
The morning flew by. After getting to the office, I quickly put on a fresh set of scrubs and went downstairs to start my day. I had a full schedule and things got so busy I completely lost track of time. Before I knew it, it was lunch time. My next appointment wasn’t until one o’clock.
“Wendy, I’m going out to lunch,” I said, stopping at the desk with my keys in hand. “I’ll be back by one.”
“Are you going to lunch with that hot guy with the tattoos and little white dog?” she asked. “He’s such a hunk.”
“Don’t be so nosy,” I said. I tried to frown at her, but it came out as a dopey smile. “It’s none of your business who I have lunch with.”
“You’re right,” she said, holding up her hands. “But he is a hunk.”
I leaned in and wiggled my eyebrows at her. “I know. Now hush up and get back to work. I’ll see you in an hour.”
I saw the black Acura SUV parked in front of Shane’s house when I pulled into the drive, but didn’t really pay it much mind until I was walking across the yard with the basket of tomatoes swinging happily in my hand. The magnet on the driver’s door caught my eye. I recognized the ReMax logo and the photograph of the agent. Juju Wheeler. Smiling. Eyes sparkling. Promising to sell your home in thirty days or less. I froze in my tracks for a moment, then stepped across the porch and pulled open the storm door. I probably should have knocked, but something told me that I would be interrupting something if I did. I put my hand on the knob and gave it a twist. The knob turned. The door opened. I took a deep breath and stepped inside.
I stood inside the door for a moment, listening. I could hear voices. Juju giggling, Biscuit barking. Shane was saying something I couldn’t make out. He sounded… excited. I stepped quietly through the living room and peered around the kitchen door. That’s when I saw them. That’s when the déjà vu hit. Shane was pushed back against the sink with his hands clutching Juju’s arms. Juju was pressed against him, tugging open his belt, her mouth on his, her red lipstick smeared on his chin. Biscuit was on her hind legs, dancing, turning circles, barking, demanding her share of her master’s attention.
I didn’t realize that I dropped the basket of tomatoes until I heard them hit the floor.
Biscuit spun around and barked.
Shane’s head jerked my way. He roughly pushed her back and spat out the words. “Shit! Annabel!”
Juju gave me a dreamy look and smiled. “Well, hey there, Doc. What are you doing here?”
“I…” My eyes filled with tears. My mouth was suddenly dry. I tried to speak but no words came out.
“Annabel, wait,” Shane said, taking a step toward me. “It’s not what you think.”
I put up my hands to stop him. My head shook from side to side. I gritted my teeth and glared at him through my tears. “Don’t. Don’t touch me. Don’t even talk to me.”
“But…”
“I’m leaving,” I said, taking a step back, crushing a tomato beneath my shoe. “This time it’s really over, Shane. I don’t ever want to see you again.”
I turned and ran from the house. I heard Shane yell something behind me, but I kept going. I had been a fool to think that I could rewrite the past. I was a fool to trust Shane Mavic. He was no different from every other man on the planet. He thought with his cock instead of his head or his heart.
Fool me once, shame on you.
Fool me twice, shame on me.
I was done giving Shane Mavic chances.
I had no intention of ever seeing him again.
18
Shane
I stood in the front doorway watching Annabel drive away. I could feel Juju standing behind me. I could hear her breathing. She wanted to say something, but knew there was nothing she could say. I wanted to turn around and strangle her, but again, this was not her fault, at least not entirely.
She had no idea I had feelings for Annabel or that Annabel had feelings for me.
I should have said something right off th
e bat, but I didn’t have the chance.
Juju wasn’t the problem.
I was the problem.
Me and no one else.
I was the one who left people hurt and lives destroyed.
I was like a Texas tornado, plowing through lives and leaving nothing but destruction in my wake.
The best thing I could do for Annabel was to get the fuck out of town before I hurt her anymore. That’s what I did. I hurt those I loved the most and then ran away.
That’s what I’d done to Annabel.
And that’s what I’d done to my little brother, Kenny.
Saturday, August 23, 2006. I was eighteen-years-old. Angry. Alone. Lost. Drowning in self-pity and wallowing in sorrow. I had just graduated from high school (barely) and was looking to find work on an oil rig because I wasn’t smart or rich enough to go to college. In the meantime, I was working as a busboy at the Red Lobster just to earn gas money.
Annabel had not talked to me in months.
The violence from my old man had gotten worse. It seemed now that I was a couple of inches taller than him and had some meat on my bones he thought he had to hit me harder and more often to prove that he was still in charge. Sometimes I thought about defending myself, I was certainly capable of it now, but I was afraid that once he realized he couldn’t bully me anymore he would turn his wrath on Kenny. I couldn’t let that happen. Kenny was a defenseless little kid. He was the only reason I was staying in Gulf Breeze. I had to protect him.
Kenny was twelve, about to start sixth grade. He needed school supplies for the semester that would start that Monday. Naturally, my mother, who rarely had a thought my old man didn’t put in her head, had forgotten all about the supplies. She didn’t have money and told Kenny he’d have to borrow supplies from his friends.
Kenny was upset.
I was pissed off.
I grabbed the keys to her old Chrysler and told Kenny to come on. I would drive him to Wal-Mart and buy his supplies out of my tip money. My old man was out drinking somewhere and mom was locked in her room. We didn’t bother to tell her we were leaving because I figured she wouldn’t care.
I’ll never forget the big smile on Kenny’s face as we drove away from the house. He was so grateful he had a big brother to look out for him. He looked up to me. I was his hero. I was the one constant that he could rely on.
An hour later Kenny was dead.
And I knew my old man would be out for blood.
We went to Wal-Mart and got Kenny’s school supplies. He was so happy because they had a Star Wars notebook he wanted. I spent almost my entire take-home pay for the week. I didn’t mind. His smile was worth every penny. I would give my last cent now to see his smile just one more time.
It had started to rain as we pulled out onto the highway.
The old Chrysler’s windshield wipers were old.
They barely cleaned the rain off the windshield.
I slowed down because it was hard to see.
It was Saturday evening and the traffic was heavy.
I turned off the highway onto Main, then onto Dilbeck Street.
We were a block away from home.
I stopped at the four-way stop and looked both ways.
I pressed the gas pedal and drove slowly into the intersection.
I never saw the drunk guy in the pickup truck that T-boned us on Kenny’s side.
It happened so fast. That’s what people say after they survive a car crash or an attack of some kind that just came out of the blue. It happened so fast. I didn’t have time to react. I never saw it coming…
I always wondered how that could be. How could something happen so fast that you couldn’t see it coming? How could your world change in the blink of an eye?
I didn’t remember the sound of metal crunching or glass breaking or tires squealing or Kenny making a sound as the pickup slammed into us at fifty miles an hour, throwing me hard against the driver’s door and impacting Kenny’s body with enough force to snap his neck and kill him instantly.
When I came to I was sitting on the back bumper of an ambulance with an oxygen mask over my nose and a blanket around my shoulders. The EMT was telling me how lucky I was. A few scratches and bruises. Nothing broken. Pupils were fine. No concussion. Lucky. He kept calling me lucky. I didn’t feel lucky.
“My brother?” I asked. I looked past him at the carnage in the intersection. The pickup had literally impaled the old Chrysler, crushing the passenger side. The driver of the pickup had crashed through the windshield and was lying under a sheet twenty-yards down the street. The driver’s side door of the old Chrysler was hanging open. The EMT said they’d used the jaws of life to pry open the door and get me out. A wrecker was hooking to the back of the pickup truck to free it from the side of the Chrysler. There were three other EMT’s and six firemen standing back, waiting so they could pry the dead body of my little brother out of the mangled wreck.
“My brother,” I said again.
“They’re gonna get him,” the EMT said, putting a hand on my shoulder, giving it a pat. “We need to get you to the hospital for some x-rays, make sure you have no internal injuries.”
“I can’t leave him,” I said, trying to stand up. My legs failed me. My head went swimmy. I blacked out.
The x-rays showed no internal damage. The left side of my body was scraped and bruised from hitting the door. I had minor cuts from flying glass. Somehow, I had come away with fewer injuries than I’d normally sustain from one of my old man’s beatings.
I was just fine.
I could get dressed and leave.
Your shirt was bloody, the nurse said. Here’s a scrub shirt you can wear home.
Your parents are waiting outside.
My brother...
How is my brother…
Goddammit, tell me about my brother…
Your parents are outside.
They’re waiting for you.
They’ll talk to you about your brother.
They didn’t have to tell me that Kenny was dead.
I had seen his crumpled, bloody body inside the car before I passed out.
I put on my jeans and boots and the scrub shirt.
It hurt a little to walk, but I was okay.
I walked down a long sterile hallway.
My parents were in the waiting room.
My mother was sitting in a chair with a handkerchief to her nose. When I walked in she didn’t even look up. I knew what she was thinking. Why him? Why did I live and why did Kenny die? Why couldn’t I been the one? I was thinking the same thing myself.
My father saw me coming.
He got up from the chair and stood watching me with his shoulders hunched and his thick arms at his side and his hands balled into tight fists. His face was red. His eyes were red. He had been crying. I had never seen my father cry. I didn’t know he even had the ability to cry.
As I got closer, I could see his face contorting into a mask of rage and hate. He looked like a mad bull about to charge. I knew what was about to happen. I didn’t care. I put my hands in my pockets to keep them out of his way and headed straight toward him. An easy target. One he knew well.
This time I couldn’t blame him for wanting to beat the hell out of me.
I had killed his beloved son.
I hoped he would take the opportunity to do the same to me.
“You…” That’s all he said. You…
I stopped a few feet from him. I could feel the heat of his anger washing over my face like a harsh wind blowing through a bonfire. I stuck out my chin and closed my eyes. It was the first time I had ever welcomed a beating from him. I wanted him to hit me. I wanted him to beat me to a pulp. I wanted to feel the pain of his fists on my face and his boot in my ribs. I held my breath and waited.
Then… nothing.
I slowly opened my eyes and stared at him. He was still there, eyes red, nostrils flaring, fists balled, the veins at his temples throbbing.
“Well?” I aske
d.
“You…” he said again. “You killed my boy…”
I frowned at him. I glanced down at my mother, who had buried her face in the kerchief. She was rocking back and forth like an autistic child.
“Yes,” I said, my eyes locking with his. “I killed Kenny.”
“You…” His eyes overflowed with tears and he shook his head. “Goddamn you…”
“Yes, goddamn me,” I said quietly. “Now, hit me.”
His forehead cut into deep lines. He frowned at me from beneath his bushy eyebrows. His fists stayed at his side. Tears ran down his cheeks. Snot streamed from his nose and over his lip. He growled at me. “What did you say?”
“I said hit me, you son of a bitch. Hit me like you always do.”
I had never seen my father look confused before. He blinked quickly and shook his head. “You just need to go. Don’t come home. Don’t ever come home again.”
I was stunned more by his words than I had ever been by his fists. He put a hand on my mother’s shoulder. I had never seen him touch her out of affection, only out of anger and violence.
I don’t know why I didn’t just walk away. Kenny was dead. I didn’t love my parents and they didn’t love me. The only thing bonding us together was gone. It would have been so easy to just sever the tie and leave.
But I didn’t.
I wanted him to hit me.
I wanted him to beat me senseless like he had done so many times before.
His unwillingness to take his anger out on me was unacceptable.
I had gone from punching bag to nothing.
I wasn’t even worth the effort of his beatings anymore.
I was nothing more than a bad smell that he thought he could wave away.
No.
No, goddamit, he was not going to get the satisfaction of sending me away, not without something to remember me by.