by Alexa Davis
I was their only child. A son to follow in my father's footsteps, but he was never terribly interested in me or my activities. My mother told me it was because he was a man with a lot on his mind, but I knew better. It was because he saw me as weak. I didn't play sports as well as he did nor did I develop a large circle of friends, preferring instead to immerse myself in a book or spend hours walking the streets of New York City observing the people and making up stories about who they were and where they were coming from or headed to. My mother loved my stories and she'd often seek me out after dinner to have me recount the observations I'd made during the day. It got to be a ritual for the two of us; so much so that I began to carry a notebook in my pocket and outline the story I'd tell her as the day passed.
My father was not interested in my stories. He was a man of numbers and results, and my tales of the city did not contain either of those. The dinner table was the place where I'd report exam scores, paper grades and be drilled on spelling words or mathematical formulas for the next day's tests. I endured it only because I knew that once I'd passed my father's grilling, I'd be able to curl up on the couch next to my mother and weave colorful stories about the places I'd visited and the people I'd seen. It was my reward for performing well.
When I was nine, my mother had been taken to the hospital after she'd fainted on the bathroom floor and cut her head open. I remember the blood that pooled under the edge of the cabinet where she'd fallen. And I remembered mopping it up with a paper towel wondering if my mother was still alive. I'd asked my father when he returned from the hospital, and he'd given me a funny look before assuring me that my mother was fine and that she'd be home in the morning.
"I don't know where you get all of your wild ideas," he said shaking his head. "But you need to learn to keep those thoughts to yourself, Ryan. Decent people don't want to hear your crazy theories or made-up stories."
"Yes, sir," I said looking down at the carpet.
"Chin up, son," he ordered. "No man in this house lowers his eyes to the floor. Chin up, back straight and eyes straight ahead."
"Yes, sir!" I said as I adopted an at-attention pose the best I could. I waited until he left the room before I went to my bedroom, crawled into the back corner of my closet and pulled the door shut behind me. There I let my frightened tears flow and thought about how much I wanted my mother to come home.
Two days later, my father took me to see her in the hospital. She looked small and very pale laying in the hospital bed, but she flashed me a brilliant smile as I ran across the room and threw my arms around her.
"Careful, honey," she winced as she loosened my hold on around her waist. I pulled back and looked up at her.
"What's wrong, Mom?" I asked.
"Come sit here next to me and tell me a story about what you saw today," she said patting the bed. I climbed up and rested my head on her shoulder gingerly laying my arm across her stomach. She wrapped her arm around me and smoothed my hair as I told her about the guy I'd seen in Union Square and how his dog looked just like him.
"You know how much I love your stories, don't you, Ryan?" she asked after I'd finished telling her everything I'd recorded in my little notebook.
"Uh huh, why?" I asked.
"Ryan, I'm very sick," she began. She tightened her arm around me as she spoke, trying to squeeze out the pain she knew I was going to feel. "I think I've been very sick for a long time and didn't know it, but now I do."
"Then the doctors are going to have to fix you," I said matter-of-factly.
"This isn't something they can fix, sweetheart," she said as she bent and kissed the top of my head.
"Then what's going to happen?" I asked.
"Ryan, I want you to listen to me," she said as she gripped my arm. "Your father loves you. I know he doesn't wear his heart on his sleeve, but he tries as best he can, and you have to believe that."
"Dad doesn't like me," I grumbled. "I know he doesn't."
"Yes, he does," she smiled as she smoothed my hair. "He just didn't get a lot of love himself when he was growing up, so he doesn't know how to show people he cares other than to make sure they have a roof over their heads and lots of food on the table. He loves you so much more than you know, Ryan."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"I'm going to tell you a secret," she said as she reached down and tipped my chin up so that I was looking at her. "Can you keep a secret?"
"Of course, I'm the best secret keeper on the planet!" I said.
"Good, then I need you keep this secret," she said as she bent her head and dropped her voice to a whisper. "I have to go on a very secret mission, and I'm going to be gone a long time. It's not going to be easy for you and your father to adjust, but I need you to help him. He doesn't know where anything is, and he needs to be reminded to take his vitamins every morning. Can you do that for me, Ryan? Can you take care of your dad just like I would?"
"I can do it," I nodded solemnly. "I don't know if he will let me, though."
"He'll let you," she smiled. "He'll have to let you. He needs you."
"How long before you'll be back, Mom?" I asked.
"Ryan, I'm not coming back from this mission," she whispered. "I'm going to be gone forever."
I stared at her for a long time memorizing the look on her face, the way her hand felt as she smoothed my hair, the way her smile tipped the corners of her mouth upward and made her whole face look warm and welcoming. I thought about how she made everything warm and safe, and I wondered if I'd ever feel that way once she was gone.
"You're gonna die, aren't you?" I said quietly.
"Yes, Ryan. I'm going to die," she nodded as she squeezed my arm tightly and kissed my head.
"It's not fair," I said as the tears began to well up in my eyes. "Why couldn't it be him?"
"Ryan! You must never ever say such a thing ever again!" she cried as she gripped me tightly and shook me. "Your father loves you, and he would be heartbroken to hear you say such an awful thing."
"I'm sorry," I said. "I just don't want you to go away."
"I don't want to go, either," she said. "But I don't have a choice."
"I'm going to miss you so much!" I cried forgetting how much pain she was in and throwing my arms around her. I heard her cry out in pain and quickly pulled back. She covered her mouth with her hand to try and hold back the pain, but I saw it in her eyes. "I'm sorry, Mom! I'm sorry!"
"It's...it's...okay," she gasped as she reached out and grabbed the button on her other side and pressed it. She closed her eyes and lay back on the pillows. It took a few moments for the pain medications to kick in, but once they did, she opened her eyes and smiled at me. "I'm going to miss you, too, Ryan. You're my special boy, and I love you so very much."
"Mom, don't go!" I wailed as she hugged me weakly.
"Don't stop watching and recording, Ryan," she whispered. "You know things that no one else does because you observe. And you speak the truth, my beautiful boy. I love you."
She faded off into a drugged sleep, and I stayed with her until my father came to tell me visiting hours were over. Reluctantly, I untangled myself from my mother's arms and followed my father to the car. He didn't say anything, but I could tell he wanted to and I remembered my promise to my mother.
"She's going on a long trip and she doesn't know when she'll be back,” I said pulling myself up straight and looking out over the dashboard. "So we're going to have to take care of each other while she's gone."
Aside from the day we buried my mother, that was the only other time I ever saw my father cry.
It all came flooding back as I knocked on the door to the apartment. I heard movement inside, and then the door swung open to reveal my stepmother, dressed in a thin robe and obviously drunk.
"Oh, it's you," she slurred as she stumbled back to the sofa and grabbed the bottle she'd set on the floor.
"Yeah, it's me," I replied. "I told you I was coming back to take care of my father's business."
"I can't believe he's dead," she said as she took a long drink from the bottle and then collapsed into a sobbing heap. "He said he'd never leave me alone! He promised!"
"Eva, get ahold of yourself," I said as I put my duffle bag down and looked around. The place looked dim, as if it hadn't been cleaned in a while. "I'm sorry you're so sad, but he is gone, and we have to deal with it."
"God, you're cold," she spat at me. "I always knew you'd celebrate the day your father died. Heartless bastard."
"Money grubbing, bitch," I muttered under my breath.
"What did you say?" she slurred. "Did you say something?"
"I said, I'm an orphan and you're a widow," I said. "We need to figure out how to get through the next couple of days and then we never have to see each other again. Can we do that?"
"I suppose," she grudgingly admitted. "But I'm going to need clothes for the funeral and a car to drive me."
"Didn't my father make all of that available?" I asked wondering why she was telling me about things that didn't concern me.
"He cut up my credit cards," she said in a morose voice. "He said I spent too much on frivolous things and that there needed to be more to life than lunching with friends, shopping and getting my hair and nails done. He told me to go a month without any of and find something meaningful to do."
"Interesting," I said. "That doesn’t sound like him. When was this?"
"Earlier this week," she said. "I told him I'd do it next month, but he insisted that it be now, and he closed my accounts."
"And then he just dropped dead?" I asked.
"I didn't kill him!" she shouted. "I know everyone thinks I married him only for his money, but I loved Alan! I really loved him! I'm not a black widow!"
"Uh huh," I nodded not entirely convinced.
"You don't believe me either," she grumbled. "I should have known. You never liked me."
"It's not a matter of like or dislike, Eva," I said. "You and I have had our differences, but now is the time to come together and make sure this gets taken care of properly."
"What am I supposed to do?" she asked. "I'm nothing but the widow. I knew nothing about his business."
"You need to get yourself together," I said. "Don't you wonder how a healthy sixty-six year old man just drops dead of a heart attack in his car on his way to work? Sounds a little fishy to me, but then I'm just his son."
"I resent that," she shot back as she lifted the bottle again. I grabbed it and set it on the table behind me before she could take another swig. She protested, "Hey! That's mine!"
"Stop it, Eva," I scolded. "You need to get yourself sobered up and act like the widow of the man you claim to have loved. Wallowing in the sadness and alcohol will not do you any good. Chin up and eyes forward."
"God, you are his son, aren't you?" she said shaking her head. "If I had a nickel for every time he said that to me. Yes, I do think it's fishy. He just had a check up last month and everything had come back totally normal. "
"Eva, are you going to sober up and help out or are you going to disappear into that bottle?" I asked nodding toward it. I was angry with her, but I was angrier with my father for dying and leaving her behind. "We need to make some calls and find out what happened. Do you know where his body is?"
"It's still at the morgue," she grumbled. "I'll get showered and make some calls."
She pushed herself up off of the sofa and stumbled down the hallway to the master suite where, a few moments later, I heard the shower water running and my stepmother drunkenly singing "My Way."
If he'd been in his grave, my father would have rolled over.
CHAPTER FOUR
Echo
Once I finally peeled myself off of the bathroom floor and gathered my things, I found it easier to hail a cab and have it take me directly to my apartment. I didn't want to risk the chance that I'd burst into tears on the subway and be the recipient of sympathetically annoyed looks from strangers. I didn't trust myself to keep it together long enough to reach my station.
The cab driver was kind and after asking if I was okay, left me in peace with my grief. The whole ride home I thought about who I could tell that wouldn't break the code of silence. Mr. Baines had asked me to keep a secret, and I wasn't going to violate that trust. When the cab pulled up in front of my apartment, I handed the driver a twenty-dollar bill and told him to keep the change. He looked at me like I was crazy.
"Life's too short," I said as I wiped the tears from my cheeks.
"Well, then God bless you," he shrugged. "I hope you find peace."
I got out and fished my keys out of my bag before I pushed the door open and climbed the four flights to my apartment. I was too exhausted to cook dinner, so I called down to Nemo's.
"'Sup chica?" Armando asked when he heard my voice. "Long time, no see!"
"I know, sorry about that," I said. "Work's been...difficult."
"I'm sorry to hear that, chica," he replied. "You should come down and do karaoke with us, it'll help release the stress. I got some new tunes last week!"
"That's great, Mando," I said trying hard not to let his kindness break down my resolve to stay strong. I knew that if I started crying and he asked why, I'd tell him. "I'll have to come check it out this weekend."
"You okay, chica?" he asked.
"Yeah, fine," I said swallowing hard. "Just a rough day and I'm starving!"
"Then lay it on me! Whadda you want to eat tonight?" he challenged.
"Will you just decide for me?" I asked. "I'm too tired to even choose. You know what I like, just pick, okay?"
"You are giving me the choice?" he asked. "I get to choose dinner? Good, then I know exactly what you need! I'll have it up to you in thirty minutes."
"Great, thanks Mando," I said. "I'll have cash for the delivery."
"Aw, c'mon, you know your money's no good with me!" he laughed. There was a beat of silence and then he added, "If you need me, you know where I am."
"Thanks, Mando," I choked out before I ended the call and collapsed on the couch.
There was something about being home that made things feel a little less desperate. I loved my tiny two-story apartment with the twisty staircase leading up to my bedroom. The whole place wasn't more than five hundred square feet, but it was perfect for me. To the left of the entry way was a walk through kitchen with the bathroom positioned off to the left side. The living room was large enough to hold a pullout couch, a coffee table and a bookcase. A sliding glass door led out to a tiny balcony where I spent most of my summer weekends curled up in a papasan chair that the previous tenant had left behind. Off to one side of the living room was my favorite part of the apartment. A spiral staircase that led to my bedroom. The space was so small that I could only fit a double bed and one nightstand in it, but with the built-in bookcases, I didn't need much more than that. The whole place was cozy and warm thanks to my ability to find the perfect mix of modern design and bohemian chic at thrift stores around the city.
I climbed the stairs and dug out a pair of sweats that smelled reasonably clean and a t-shirt. I need to change out of my work clothes and shed the feeling of overwhelming grief. As I hung up my dress, I noticed my graduation day picture sitting on the shelf above my bed. I took it down and looked at it closely. I was shaking hands with the NYU President while Dr. Powell stood ramrod straight right next to him with his hand extended toward me waiting to congratulate me on my accomplishment. Just as the tears began to flow fresh and fast, there was a knock on my front door.
"Echo, dinner is served!" called a familiar voice. I ran down the stairs and opened the door. "God, I thought you'd never answer!"
"Cece! Where have you been?" I cried as I pulled the plump girl in for a hug. She looked casually glamorous as usual in a low-cut black t-shirt, a pair of tight black capri pants and open-toed sandals that showed off her impeccable red pedicure.
"Girl, you don't even want to know," she said stepping back and rolling her eyes. "Let's just say it was a long trip and I'm glad
it's over."
"I'm so glad you're back!" I said. "I missed you something fierce, and I know Mando did, too."
"My brother didn't miss me a bit," she said rolling her eyes so far back that I was afraid she'd lose them in her skull. "He doesn't know his ass from his elbow, forget about him actually knowing enough to miss me."
"Don't let him hear you say that out loud," I warned as she handed me a brown paper bag. I unfolded the top and sighed as the scent of freshly made tacos and beans with rice wafted up out of the containers.
"Oh please," she said as she reached in and began unpacking the bag for me. "Get a plate, chica. You're gonna eat good tonight!"
I laughed as I pulled out two plates knowing full well that Cece would stay and eat with me because Mando had most likely sent her up to keep an eye on me. As she dished up the food, she eyed me suspiciously.
"Something's different about you," she said as she plopped a huge spoonful of beans onto a plate then added another spoonful of steaming rice flecked with cilantro and peppers. "What's happened since I left?"
"Nothing much, just the usual," I said trying to put Dr. Powell's death out of my mind. "Work, work and more work."
"Don't bullshit me, Echo," she said as she stacked three tacos on each plate and tossed some lime wedges next to them. "I know bullshit when I see it."
"Dammit, Cece," I laughed. "Let me have some privacy, will you?"
"Never, I'm the queen of nosy," she smiled as she handed me a plate and then reached into the cross body bag she was wearing and pulled out two beers and ordered, "Open these."
"Yes, your highness," I laughed as I positioned the cap of one bottle on the edge of the kitchen counter and then quickly smacked down with the palm of my hand so that the cap flipped off on to the floor. I made quick work of the second one and before I knew it, Cece and I were sitting on my couch chowing down on the best meal I'd had in weeks.
"Now, tell me what's going on," she said before putting a forkful of rice and beans in her mouth.