Saying Good-bye to London

by Julie Burtinshaw

  “Sawyer, what am I supposed to tell my parents?” He buried his face in his hands.

  “So that’s what’s bugging you?” Her face reddened, and she swiped her nose with her sleeve. “But since you asked, you could try the truth.”

  The truth. The truth was, he didn’t want a baby. The truth was, it was too late now. He couldn’t wish it away. The truth was, he was terrified to talk to his parents. “Okay. But on one condition. Let me help you and your mom and Jack find the right home. For her.”

  Sawyer regarded him steadily. There didn’t seem a whole lot more to say, so she simply nodded. Francis bit his top lip and waited for her to speak first. Finally, she broke the silence. “How is Kevin’s dad?”

  “Mr. Croyden? He’s in a coma. He’s dying.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, meaning it. “Francis, I want my baby to have good parents. A father that sticks around for a while.”

  “Kevin’s dad isn’t exactly choosing to cut out,” Francis said.

  “Sorry.” Sawyer said quietly. “Point taken.”

  Francis nodded. “I know what you’re saying. A dad who isn’t abusive, like Jack’s.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Kevin had to get out of the house. He grabbed his jacket, scribbled a short, evasive note to his mom saying he’d be back in a few hours, then hopped an east-bound bus. He doubted his mother would read it or even see it. She hadn’t left his dad’s side since he’d fallen into the coma. Kevin had to leave. He couldn’t bear another second of watching his father fade away. Francis had texted him that he’d be at Sawyer’s and that Kevin could follow him there if he needed to get away. He remembered where she lived, more or less, and if he couldn’t find her house, so be it. At least he’d be distracted for a few hours.

  He got off the bus near 13th and Main and wandered aimlessly for almost an hour. Secondhand shops battled cafés and funky clothing stores for sidewalk space. In a different mood and on a drier day, he would have liked to do some exploring.

  He was thinking about returning home when he spotted Jack. The gay kid. He’d seen him talking to Francis at school the other day. Emo looking guy. Street smart. Nice, though.

  “Hey,” he called out. “Jack!”

  Jack looked up, startled. “Kevin?”

  “I’m looking for Francis.”

  Jack eyed him. The guy didn’t look well. Dark circles surrounded his eyes. He was even skinnier than before. “Francis is with Sawyer. They need some alone time. I don’t think they’d be thrilled to see you.”

  Jack had lied when he told Sawyer and Francis he had to work. When Kevin ran into him, he’d just planted himself under a daffodil-colored awning and lit up a smoke, wondering where he could hang for the next hour. He drew deeply on the cigarette now and considered the situation. The acrid smoke filled his lungs, and he relaxed as the nicotine cruised through his bloodstream. He’d have to quit soon. At eleven bucks a pack, he didn’t have much choice, but he hated to give up this one indulgence.

  The brooding sky matched Jack’s mood. Damn rain! He pulled up his jacket collar and butted out his cigarette. “You can hang out with me if you want.”

  “Sure,” Kevin agreed, desperate. “Anything but home.”

  Main Street, normally choked with traffic, was deserted. It was a good day to be at home. As grateful as Jack was for Sawyer’s couch and her mother’s generosity, he knew he couldn’t crash there forever. Eventually he’d have to find a place of his own. That meant he’d need more money, so more shifts at work. He sighed, thinking that his schoolwork would suffer.

  The boys cruised along the street in silence, each preoccupied with his own problems. Kevin tried to remember his dad before the cancer. Life isn’t fair. Secretly, he hoped for a miracle. He’d read about lots of sick people who got better and not even the doctors could explain it. He wasn’t terribly religious, but he prayed all the time. I know you don’t know me, God, but if you exist, here’s your chance to prove it.

  While Kevin implored a god for an intervention, Jack thought about Francis’s life. He had it all. A big fancy house, a posh private school, devoted parents, and sweet brothers, according to Sawyer. He wouldn’t have minded being adopted into that family.

  On top of everything else, Francis had a father who loved him. Life isn’t exactly fair.

  Lost in thought, Jack realized they’d ended up at the foot of the narrow cul-de-sac, outside the dumpy bungalow he had called home for the last five years. He stepped back into the shadow of the trees. I should get out of here. He’d been only thirteen when his dad moved them into the dank basement suite. Granted, it was a big improvement over the hotel room they’d lived in before, or the one before that. In this place, he’d been able to stand up straight, for a few years, anyway. However, by fifteen, he had to either duck or risk whacking his head on the exposed pipes that snaked over the low, water-stained ceiling.

  “Where are we?” Kevin asked nervously, sensing Jack’s anxiety.

  On the spot, Jack made up his mind. “Kevin, you’re about to see how bad it can get when you’re not born into a nice family.”

  Jack spotted his dad’s only pride and joy, a battered Chevy truck, rusting in the driveway and waiting for a windfall that would never come to pay for insurance. Its cracked windshield and flaking paint spoke of better days when his dad had worked steadily—days long gone. Welfare covered beer, smokes, rent, the sports channel, and food, in that order. Jack conjured up an image of his dad crashed on the couch doing what he did best—chugging a beer and watching a football game. Jack lit another cigarette to keep his anger in check, offering one to Kevin, who shook his head. “Nah. I’ve seen up close.”

  When he’d smoked it down to the filter, Jack crunched the cigarette beneath the heel of his boot, his mind made up. “Follow me, and keep quiet.”

  Kevin hesitated briefly, then, crouching low like Jack, he moved stealthily around the side of the neglected old truck and over the uneven path that snaked around the side of the house. Staying close on Jack’s heels, he took care not to catch his school jacket on the jagged stucco wall. They stopped beside a dirty window. Jack held his fingers to his lips and pointed. Kevin peeked through the grimy pane, where he saw a heavy, unshaven man sprawled on a grease-stained couch, like a beached whale.

  “My dad,” Jack hissed. “He was so proud of that stupid sofa when he scored it out of a back alley. Filthy piece of crap.”

  “That’s your father?” whispered Kevin. “Are you sure you want to go in there?”

  Jack nodded. In spite of everything, he resented his kicked-out status. “You wouldn’t understand. You stay here. I’ll call you if I need you.” He was tired of depending on the kindness of other people for his survival. His fingers went unconsciously to the pocket in his jeans where he had kept the house key ever since his father had told him to take his “sorry pansy ass” elsewhere.

  Jack slunk away. Kevin kept his eyes on the body on the couch. If it weren’t for the can of beer moving up and down rhythmically to his mouth, he would have thought him dead. The floor beside him was strewn with empties and a half-empty bag of potato chips.

  While Kevin waited nervously, Jack made his way to the backyard and down three mossy concrete steps to the rotting door. He wiggled the key into the rusty lock and crept silently into the tiny hall, confident his dad wouldn’t hear him over the sound of the massive 52-inch TV that dwarfed everything else in the cramped room.

  “To hell with it,” he muttered to himself, taking a step into the living room. He forgot to duck and banged his head hard on an exposed pipe. “Shit!” he exploded, followed by a more contrite, “Hi, Dad.”

  His father didn’t seem at all surprised to see him. “How many goddamned times do I have to tell you about that pipe until you get it through your thick skull?” He spoke with contempt, never dragging his eyes from the TV screen. “What the fuck do you want?�
�� He burped.

  Jack’s resolve disappeared, along with any hope of moving back in. “I thought I’d drop in. See what’s up.”

  “Football. It’s always football in the afternoons. You know that.” He took a swig of beer.

  “Who’s winning?”

  “Like you even know who’s playing, you dumb shit.”

  Jack stood rooted to the ground. This had been a monumental mistake, but his father hadn’t finished insulting him yet. “Football isn’t a fag’s game, Jacky.”

  “I have plenty of friends who like football.”

  “You mean footsie, don’t you?” His father laughed at his own joke, spraying beer over his chest.

  “I want to come back home,” Jack blurted. That’s not what he had meant to say. The words spewed out all on their own, like vomit. What he’d meant to say was ‘‘Go to hell.”

  “I want to come home,” his dad simpered. “Are you still a queer, ’cause if you are, no queers allowed under my roof.” He snorted at his own words. “Did you take an anti-queer course, like I told you to?”

  “Dad,” Jack said helplessly. “I told you. It’s not like that. I don’t have a choice.”

  “Fuck you. You don’t have a choice.” For a big man, he moved like lightning. The beer can hit Jack square above his right eye. He fell to his knees, temporarily blinded by the blood pouring down his face.

  Shit! Kevin thought, too scared to move or to be heard. He could see and hear everything through the cracked windowpane.

  “You asshole!” Jack screamed.

  His dad’s lip curled. “It’s just a tiny cut. Stop whimpering and stand on your feet like a man,” he sneered. “Although I guess you like being on your knees.” He laughed again, louder and meaner this time, enjoying himself.

  Jack scrambled to his feet and ran to the bathroom, not wanting his father or Kevin to see him cry. He splashed cold water on his face and pressed a wad of toilet paper against the cut to stop the bleeding. The cut would leave a nice little scar over his right eye to match the nice little scar on his left brow; he’d be reminded of his dad every time he looked in a mirror. He kicked the wall. He didn’t know who he hated more, his father for being such a bully or his mother for leaving him in his care. Sawyer had options. Surely his mom had had options too. Why did she leave him behind? She could have found a nice family for him…Why had she left him with a mean drunk who hated him?

  Even their coloring differed. It comforted Jack to know that he took after his mother. Like her, he was tall with an angular face and had enormous blue eyes that turned heads. He must have inherited her long fingers—the fingers of a piano player—because his dad’s hands were stubby. He loved the idea of his mother, but he’d never understand why she’d chosen this brute of a man, with his mean piggy eyes the color of mud and his round, jowly face. Even from this far away, Jack’s nose crinkled at the stink of beer, sweat, and misery.

  Jack booted open the bathroom door. On his way out, he punched a hole in the drywall. His dad sat up, following Jack’s every move. “I’m done,” Jack hollered. “If you ever touch me again, or come near me again, I’ll kill you.”

  Jack expected he’d have to defend himself, but his dad sank down onto the couch, his mouth gaping. “You sound just like your mother did before she took off.”

  “Who could blame her? I just wish she’d taken me.”

  “Ha. She would have, but I put my foot down. It killed her to leave you, but she figured I’d kill her if she took you.”

  Jack calmly straightened his jacket and stepped on each empty beer can, crushing them beneath the heel of his boot. Not once did he take his eyes off his father’s face. When he’d annihilated them all, his upper lip curled into a snarl. “You’ve just given me the only thing I ever needed from you, and for that one and only thing, I thank you. My mom didn’t leave me because she wanted to. She did it because you gave her no choice. Fuck you!” he said, walking out the door for the last time.

  Jack rounded the corner, almost tripping over Kevin. “Get up,” he ordered. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Kevin scrambled to his feet. “That prick,” he said. “I didn’t know if I should call the cops.” He looked at Jack with admiration. “You were awesome!”

  In the driveway, Jack smashed the side mirror on the truck. He wrenched the windshield wipers off and chucked them into the bushes. Kevin watched, but he didn’t try to stop him. When he’d done all the damage his rage allowed for, Kevin took Jack’s arm and led him away. They headed back to Main Street.

  “Feeling better?” Kevin asked after a while.

  Jack smiled. “Oh yeah!”

  “You’re not planning on going back there again, are you?”

  “Nope.” He seemed strangely happy. “I’ve got a plan. I’m going to try to get more shifts at work, maybe ask for a raise.”

  Kevin had never met anyone quite like Jack. “Does your boss like you?”

  “Yeah. I’m good at my job.”

  “You seem good at a lot of things. So you deserve it. Go for it.”

  “Thanks, Kevin.” Jack stopped. “I mean it. Thanks for having my back.”

  “I didn’t do anything.”

  Jack smiled. “I know. But you would have. And I’m sorry about your dad. I really am. Francis says he is one of the good guys. Not like my old man.”

  Kevin nodded. “I’m lucky. It’s hard to lose him, but I’m damn lucky. Thanks for making me see that.”

  “You are lucky,” Jack agreed. “I would give anything to have a dad who loved me. Don’t forget it.” He patted Kevin on the back.

  Kevin looked at his watch. “I have to go. I’ve got a soccer game in a couple of hours.”

  “Hope you win.”

  “Thanks.” Kevin grinned. “And you might want to remove the toilet paper from your forehead.”

  “Yup. Good idea. I’ll see you around.” Jack felt immensely better. Now he knew his mother had wanted to take him with her when she fled. He decided to drop into the café right away, while his spirits were high. When his boss saw him, she said in alarm, “What happened to you?”

  “It’s a long story.” When he finished talking, an hour had passed.

  She couldn’t hide her admiration for him or her anger. “You need to press charges against him.”

  “No. The best revenge is living well, and that’s my plan. I’m not going to simply survive. I’m going to continue to ace school, I’m going to work hard, and I’m not looking back.”

  “At least let me clean up your eye.” After she finished, she offered him a three-dollar hourly raise, with a promise of another dollar an hour in the summer, as well as a promotion to assistant manager. “I’m so glad you trusted me,” she told him. “That took a lot of courage.” She paused, then, making up her mind, added, “Jack, the guy upstairs is leaving in four months. I know it seems like a long time, but if you can wait, I’d be happy to rent that little studio apartment to you for a really reasonable price. You’re underage, so we’d have to get a social worker involved, and it might be a hassle, but…?”

  Jack blinked. “Yes. Yes!” To his boss’s surprise, he threw his arms around her. “Thank you.”

  • • •

  By the time he arrived at Sawyer’s, Francis had left. “How’d it go?” he asked her.

  Sawyer stared at him. “You look like shit. What happened to you?”

  “My dad happened, for the last time. But it’s okay. It’s good. I don’t want to talk about me. Not now. How did it go between you and Francis?”

  She wouldn’t get anywhere questioning him in his current mood. “It was okay.” Sawyer bit into her second blueberry muffin. “We agreed on a few things—like maybe we are not in love, and I’m going to let him help us find the baby a home.” She knitted her brows. “He hasn’t told his parents about the baby yet.”

 
Jack smiled, then he winced because it hurt to move his face. “Francis needs to grow up. It’s not an easy thing to do, but trust me, if he stops acting like a little kid, they’ll stop treating him like one.”

  Sawyer cocked her head. “You seem different, Jack. I don’t know why, but you do.”

  Jack grinned despite the discomfort.

  Chapter Twelve

  As soon as Francis left Sawyer’s apartment, he sent a text to Jack: Thx 4 keeping me in the loop. I’ll do the same. Sawyer and I r officially broken up—all good. I’ll help find parents 4 baby. Got some other stuff to do first.

  While he waited for the bus, Francis thought about Sawyer’s parting words to him: As cliché as it sounds, I want to be your friend, so hurry up and tell your parents about the baby. That’s all you have to do to prove to me you’re in this with me. So, it was to be a group effort—Jack, Sawyer, her mom, and Francis. It seemed weird, but Sawyer always did things her way. It was one of the things Francis liked best about her.

  Francis went straight from Sawyer’s place to his soccer game. En route, he called Kevin. When his friend answered, he dove into the events of the afternoon. “Sawyer is having the baby. It’s confirmed. I’m the dad. It’s all fucked up, and I don’t know what to do.”

  Kevin reacted just as Francis knew he would. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”

  If only.

  “So, she’s decided to keep the kid?”

  “It’s too late for her to have an abortion.”

  Kevin’s voice lowered. “That’s good.”

  Francis was surprised. “Are you kidding? That would have solved everything. She’s not exactly old enough to be a mother.”

  After that, the line went kind of quiet. Francis defended himself. “If she’d had an abortion, I wouldn’t have to face my parents with this.”

  Kevin sighed. “Does it always have to be about you?”