by Brinda Berry
“Ready, Aid-en,” Ryder says and lifts a leg like he’s going to leap into the tub.
Aiden scoots in close to me and picks Ryder up underneath his arms. “Water temp good?”
“Yeah, it’s good,” I answer.
Aiden sets him carefully into the tub. “There you go”
I step back so we’re not shoulder to shoulder. I’ve never wished for bigger spaces. But there’s not enough room for two people beside the tub, and Ryder’s gleeful face is enough to tell me who he wants closest to him.
Leaning against the vanity, I give myself permission to relax. Aiden points to the shampoo bottles. “Two shampoos. I guess one is his?”
“The yellow one.”
“Grrr…” Ryder says and shakes the troll doll at Aiden.
“Let’s get you clean first, big man.”
“No,” Ryder answers.
“Oh yeah. I believe we clean first and play later in the tub or the shower.” He winks at me.
He’s got this.
Makenna, age 10
Bile burns in my throat. “I’m going to be sick, Daddy. Undo this,” I say, jerking my arm. The strike of unyielding metal against my small bones hurts more than when I slipped from the parallel bars in gym last year.
Tears slip down my cheeks.
Daddy grabs my opposite wrist and bends so his face is close to mine. “Quit acting like I’m hurting you. This is only so we can stay together.”
I look into his eyes. His pupils are so dark, so big, so scary. “Daddy,” I choke out. “I want this off.”
“No.” He stands to his full height, so tall I have to lift my face to look at him. “Be a big girl. Daddy’s girl. We have things to do before Dee gets home.”
“I don’t understand.” My voice is small, oh so small. I have to pee and I can’t breathe and my legs are shaky.
“The surprise.”
I glance at the wooden box that lies unopened on the dresser. “I changed my mind. I don’t want a surprise. Please, Daddy. Please.”
I tug at the handcuff, and he grabs my forearm above the metal cuff. The chain clinks against my side of the cuff. The cuff slides to my elbow.
He releases my free hand and opens the lid of the box. I’m afraid to look, but there’s no way I can avoid it.
A black gun. Hot fear stabs me in the heart.
“I’m tired. Macky Mak,” he says with what sounds like his last bit of energy. “Don’t you know how bad this makes me feel? But it has to be done. This world is a bad place with bad people. Dee…she’s one of them. She has you fooled, but I’m older. Smarter.”
I cry harder and my breaths come in gasps. I can’t help it. “Daddy, you’re scaring me.”
“You stop those tears right now. You’re Daddy’s big girl. You’re too old to cry. What are you even crying about?”
“I’m scared,” I blubber through my tears. “Are you…are you…” I try to finish and give up.
“I’m going to a better place today and I can’t leave you behind. No one would be here to protect you.”
He’s going to kill me. My daddy hates me. What did I do? Why doesn’t he love me? I said I wouldn’t tell on him. I promised.
But maybe I did wrong. Maybe I should’ve told Mama from the beginning. This is all my fault.
He puts his free arm around me and holds me as I sob. “Oh darling. Stop now. It’s not going to hurt.”
“It will. I’m not stupid. I don’t want to die. I don’t want you to die either. Please, Daddy. Please. Please.” My pleading sobs become muffled in the front of his T-shirt.
“Oh God, what have you done?” Mama’s voice breaks through my sobs.
I lift my head. Daddy doesn’t move.
Like a fierce savior angel, Mama stands in the doorway, her eyes wide. “No,” she says. Her calmness soothes me. She’ll make everything OK.
Daddy picks up the gun in a flash, like some cartoon cowboy ready to draw his pistol. “She’s mine. My daughter. You think I don’t realize you’ll brainwash her against me?”
Mama nods in agreement. “Jon. Of course she’s yours. Put the gun down. Let me make you some dinner. We’ll all sit down and—”
She takes a small step.
Daddy waves the gun at her, lookie-here style, a sort of attention grabber. “Dinner. Go make dinner. Makenna and I’ll wait here.”
Mama forms her lips into a friendly smile. “Come with me. We can do it together. Put the gun away and—”
“Why did you stop loving me?” Daddy asks. His voice is broken, not as sure as he was before Mama got here.
My tears start again. Through hiccups, I say, “Mama loves you. She does. I promise.”
Daddy sits on the floor, dragging me with him. “I’m tired,” he whispers. “So tired of the fight. Of trying to keep us all safe. Of trying to be a man for my family.”
“Jon,” Mama says. “Can I come in?” She gets on her hands and knees so she’s level with us.
The handcuff loosens and slides to my wrist and off, but Daddy doesn’t seem to notice. I inch away.
Mama’s gaze flicks to the gap between me and Daddy. Recognition passes over her face. “Jon? Can I…” She wavers, her voice breaking for the first time since she arrived. “Is it OK if I come a little closer? Let me. You never stopped being a good man. It’s hard. Life is hard.”
The room is charged in this moment with an electrical force—a buzzing quality. Daddy leans forward. “I want to trust you. But I also want to go away and rest. I just want it to be over. All of it.”
She crawls to us and nudges me aside. “Let me sit with you.”
Daddy wipes an arm over one cheek. “I’m so very tired.”
Mama sits on the side of his handcuffed wrist. She looks at me and then the door.
I’m paralyzed. Crawl away? Stay?
“Go fix Daddy a drink,” she says. “Something cool.”
I crawl a few steps, then stand on my trembling legs. “OK.”
One step. Two steps.
“Macky Mac?” Daddy asks.
My feet stop. “Yes?” I say without turning.
“Want to leave with me or stay with Mama?”
I swallow. My head shakes, my lips shake, my voice shakes. “I love you, Daddy. But I want to stay with Mama.”
Taking slow steps, I turn the corner. Another step. And another. Then comes the earth-shattering Boooooom.
I fall to my knees.
Chapter Seventeen
Ties That Bind Us
March
Aiden
“Nonna’s having emergency surgery this morning.” I pull around to the front of the hospital and dart into a parking spot. Adrenaline pounds through my veins, still egging my heart on to pump blood quicker, move me faster. I kill the engine and glance at the dashboard clock. Six-thirty AM.
I hop out and click the door locks. Jogging to the front doors, I return to my call. “Makenna?”
“Yeah. I’m still here,” she says in that husky, dream-heavy voice.
“I only called because I thought I might not get a chance later. Sorry if I woke you.”
“Don’t be sorry. I’m glad you called. I thought Nonna was doing well. What happened?”
“She called an ambulance because I wasn’t picking up her call. She had chest pains. I was too busy to take her fucking call.”
“It’s not your fault.”
The automatic doors whip open and I smile tightly at the night desk receptionist. “It is. I should’ve been staying with her until she’s stronger, healthier. But I’m getting in to see her before surgery. I have to go. But I wanted you to know what’s going on.”
“It’s going to be all right.” Her soft, sure voice comforts.
“Yeah. Of course it is.” I race toward the closing doors of the elevator. A guy in scrubs steps forward and holds it open so I make it. “I have to go. I’ll update you later.”
Inside the elevator, I press END and turn off the ringer before pocketing my cell.
&
nbsp; The guy in scrubs smiles. “Which floor?”
“Surgery center.”
He presses the button. “I’m headed that way myself.”
We exit together, but he passes me to go through double doors marked ‘Authorized medical personnel only.’
I linger at the desk and wish I could follow the guy to the back and find Nonna.
The receptionist looks up from her computer and greets me with a ‘Good Morning,’ which pisses me off. It’s not a good morning.
“Can I see my grandmother? She’s in surgery. Her name is Allegra Alesini.”
She examines a list, her pointer finger running down the paper at a slow rate. Is she kidding me? I’m tempted to grab the paper myself.
“Your grandmother is being prepped now. She’ll be in surgery within the hour. Here’s a pager. It will light up when she’s out. You can get an update then.” This is a spiel she’s given hundreds of times, her words so automatic.
“Well thanks,” I say in a not-thankful tone. I find a seat in the corner.
Kicking my legs out in front of me, I fold my hands to rest on my head.
The surgery center waiting room is as welcoming as a prison cell. Minimalist furnishings with a couple of flat-screens hung in high corners. It’s a place you only stay for as long as you must. Don’t get too comfy.
Time drags. The magazines are old.
I study the background photo on my phone. It’s a shot snapped of Makenna and Ryder. Makenna holds Ryder on her hip and he lays a big wet kiss on her cheek. Her nose wrinkles in distaste, an over-the-top fake reaction from her.
My bad feeling—the one that’s thumped, thumped, thumped me bully-like on the back of the head since I woke to the early morning phone call—recedes to the background. Makenna’s right. Everything will be fine.
I place the pager on my thigh and lean my head back against the wall. Pulling my cap bill down over my eyes, I inhale deeply and exhale in slow motion. If I can relax, maybe this wait to hear something won’t kill me.
“Hey.”
I jerk upright at the sound of Makenna’s voice. My quick movement knocks the hospital pager to the floor. My entire body hums to life. “You didn’t have to come. I’m fine. It’s a lot of waiting. I’m not going to feel like talking.”
She purses her lips for a second before speaking. “You know, surly really doesn’t fit you.”
I rub a hand over my face, then lean down to pick up the pager. “Sorry. I’m…worried.”
“I know. It’s why I came.”
“It’s going to be a long day.” I can’t seem to lose the gruff quality to my response, my vocal chords pulled taut. “But thanks for coming.”
“You’re welcome.” She drops a huge bag in the chair beside her. “And as your ever attentive lover, I have brought things for us to do while we wait. To distract you.”
Lover, huh. As far as distractions go, she’s saying the right words. “If you pull a can of whipped cream out of that bag now, I’m going to say you have incredibly bad timing.”
“I’m saving the whipped cream for another day.”
I take her hand and kiss the knuckles. “Promises, promises.”
She lets me keep her hand in mine and leans in to caress my cheek with her free one. “You didn’t think I would come?”
I close my eyes so I can concentrate on the feel of her fingers on my skin. “You have responsibilities, too.” I take both her hands in mine and stare at her. I should’ve known she’d rush here.
“How long will she be in surgery?”
“Three or four hours for the procedure. Then she’ll be in post-op. Is Ryder with your mom?”
Makenna reaches into the mouth of her bag and produces breakfast bars and two bottles of iced coffee. “Yes. Mama said she’s needing a break anyway. Tax season is rough on her.”
“You guys are close.” I take the drink and breakfast.
She looks around us. Her gaze lingers on a man seated near the opposite wall. “She’s my rock. Always has been.”
“I guess maybe all girls are close to their mothers?” I unscrew the drink’s cap and unwrap the bar. Taking a large gulp, I relax a little more.
Makenna slips her feet out of her boots and tucks them underneath her in the chair. I smile at the way she’s making herself comfortable. She’s not going anywhere.
“I don’t think all of them get along as well as we do. I’m close to Mama because we’ve been through a lot together. Plus, I like her. She’s my best friend.” Makenna shivers, her teeth clicking together. “Why are these places always so cold?”
“Here.” I remove my coat and drape it over her. “I’m warm.”
“Are you sure?” she says in a relieved tone.
“Yeah.”
She snuggles into my down-filled coat and buries her nose into the collar. Peeking out, she grins. “Smells like you. Smells great.”
Pleasure envelopes me. Why does she flip all my switches with every word and look? “Good.”
“I brought things to do while we wait.” Makenna turns away and pulls a notebook and pen from her bag. Next, she produces a magazine, which she promptly hands to me.
I unroll it and study the cover. “Fitness mag,” I say and can’t stop the grin tickling the corners of my mouth. “What else do you have in that bag of goodies?”
“Oh, don’t you wish you knew,” she says with a tilt of her head. “Maybe if you’re nice, you’ll find out later.”
“You’re feisty this morning.”
“Keeping you entertained and positive is my goal for the day.”
I nod to her pink journal and pencil. It’s well worn with INSPIRE OR DIE written in shiny gold letters. “You’re going to take notes?” I ask.
She taps the cover of her journal with her pencil. “I always carry it. For jotting down lyrics. You never know when inspiration might appear.”
“You open the notebook and just start writing?”
“Rarely.” She demonstrates by holding up the closed book. “But if I hold it long enough, and let my thoughts wander, or watch people, it’ll happen.”
“Oh. So, you don’t say, I’m going to write a song about love or cheaters today.”
She untucks her foot and lets it fall to the floor. Swinging it lazily, she looks around the room. Her gaze stops on the guy sitting across from us at the far wall. “I write about lives, really. It’s where the story begins. Sometimes it’s my own experience. Sometimes it’s about someone else. See that guy?”
“Um hm.” I glance to him and back. The guy watches the mounted television while nursing a cup of coffee. No one has turned the TV volume on yet. Maybe it’s too early for that. “You’re going to write about him? That doesn’t seem like a very interesting song. He’s probably here waiting on his wife who has gall stones.”
“Not married. No ring.”
“How can you see that far?” I frown and examine his massive left hand bear-clawed around the paper coffee cup. No glint of gold or silver. Guess she’s right.
“His name is Jerry. He works in construction. See the cement dried on the sides of his boots? He’s waiting for his brother to get out of heart surgery. They haven’t spoken in twenty years, ever since his brother stole his fiancée. Now, he might not get the chance. So, he’s waiting to see what happens.” She taps the mechanical pencil against her lips.
“Hm…” I raise my eyebrows. “And if the guy lives?”
“Easy. He’s going to tell his brother that for the last twenty years, he’s been building a house of hate. Now he’s ready to restore a relationship.”
“Holy shizz.”
“Song title: Restore This House.” She wrinkles her nose. “No. It’s a temporary title. It doesn’t feel right. I can do better. A House of Brotherhood.” She pauses. “No. Not that either.”
I sit with my mouth agape. No wonder she does this for a living. “And do you sell this song? How does that happen?”
“I have an agent. My agent shops it if I’m not writi
ng it for someone in particular.”
“Why not sing it yourself? Cut a record.”
She nudges my leg with her toes. “Aiden,” she says in a low censorious tone. “Even if I were good enough vocally and got a contract, recording means going on the road at some point and I don’t do that.”
“Why not?”
Her brow knits. “I have Ryder. And Mama. It’s not like I can leave them.”
And me, I want to add stupidly.
“I think you’re good enough. I’ve heard you sing, remember?” I glance over at a woman and her two daughters who take seats near us. The youngest girl, close in size to Ryder, hurls a naked Barbie doll into the chair. Her mother grabs her by the arm and smacks her bottom with the other hand.
The child screams like she’s been lashed with the cat ‘o nine tails.
“Oh, that’s going to work.” Makenna frowns at the mother and her kids. She returns her attention to me. “I’m happy where I am. I’m making decent money. Not just decent. Better than most songwriters expect. Singing would be cool, but it doesn’t fit into my life. Jared’s manager recommended me to Tupelo Mae Travis. I’m supposed to help her with songs for her next album. I…” She trails off. “Why that face? What did I say?”
Jared. I thought it was only Ryder that kept them speaking. He’s in every part of her life. Their relationship is personal and professional. I take a breath so deep it hurts.
“What?”
“Oh, that opposite of a sigh and the giant crease in the middle of your forehead,” she says.
I relax my face to get rid of the lines she’s reading. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Aiden…what’s your middle name?”
“Carlo,” I answer.
“Aiden Carlo Alesini. Don’t you lie to me. You were surly when I got here, I distracted you, you put on your happy pants, and now you’re surly again.”
I shuffle the hospital pager from one hand to the other. “I don’t want to be jealous.”
Her eyes widen. “Of Jared? No. You shouldn’t be jealous of him.”
“I…didn’t know you guys still worked together. I thought Ryder was the only thing tying you to him.”