by Vicki Essex
His stomach revolted at the thought of drinking any more liquid. There was enough buoying the boat-plane he was riding. “I don’t need any more to drink tonight.”
“Drink it.” Her directive could not be ignored. Daniel gulped the water down, popped a few saltines under her watchful eye then finished the water. His stomach churned, but the fog in his head wasn’t quite as thick as before. And the boat didn’t rock quite so much.
“What are you doing in town?” she asked.
“Reunion. I’m staying over at Isaac’s.”
“And he’s...where?”
Daniel thought hard. “I don’t know. He was talking to some girls at a table.” He concentrated, but couldn’t remember what had happened after his seventh shot of tequila. Or was it ninth? All he did remember for certain was the boat and the stoop and beautiful, angelic Selena glaring at him.
“Look, you got his number or something? I don’t want him worrying about you.”
Daniel fumbled for his cell phone. She snatched it out of his hand, scrolled through his contacts and dialed. She left the room as she started talking.
He wasn’t sure why, but he was getting this strange sinking feeling that he was in trouble, like the days when he’d come home from school after a fight, trying to hide the fact from his parents. They always yelled at him, as if getting picked on was his fault. If he did what he was supposed to and kept his nose clean, he wouldn’t be a target. Why couldn’t he be more like his sister? She never got in trouble or got picked on the way he did. Obviously he was doing something to make the kids not like him.
“I’m not,” he said out loud. Why was the boat spinning? Oh, no, it must have gotten sucked into one of those whatchamacallits...whirlpools. He was going to get sucked in if he didn’t do something.
Maybe if he lay down and braced the boat, it wouldn’t slide into that blackness....
But it was no use. He went under, drowning in darkness.
Sweet, deep, blissful abyss...
* * *
DANIEL WOKE SUDDENLY. A faint bluish light that might as well have been the brightness of a billion suns pierced through the swollen, heavy weights blanketing his eyes. His limbs were like lead, and the contents of his stomach floated freely inside his chest cavity like blobs of oil in a lava lamp.
He pushed a scratchy wool blanket off his chest and tried to settle his mind. Flashes of memory and nonsense assaulted him. His head felt as if it’d been stuffed with birdseed and a thousand chickens were pecking and scratching at his brain.
Crackers. A slice of lemon and salt. Isaac trying out his god-awful Mandarin on the ladies in that corner booth. And a whole lot of tequila.
At that moment, his bladder and stomach both indicated they needed emptying, followed by the equally clear voice in his head warning him there’d be dire consequences if he did it here. He hurtled toward the bathroom.
His messy business complete, he took note of his surroundings, the fact he’d known where the washroom was, and that particular way all those pill bottles were lined up on the shelf above the sink.
The sick feeling came oozing back and his head pounded. What had he been thinking? Why hadn’t Isaac stopped him? How had he made it all the way here?
No, wait, the pub hadn’t been far from Selena’s. He’d known the moment the cab had entered the neighborhood and dropped them off. He’d looked down the block and noted exactly how close they were. And he’d thought about calling, visiting, talking....
And he had. Drunk.
Daniel cradled his throbbing head.
It was barely six in the morning. He peeked out of the bathroom. Selena’s bedroom door was closed, and he could hear her snoring. She sounded like a jet engine when she was really out. He thought it was adorable.
He had no right to think that about her anymore. Especially not after this. She deserved someone more like Isaac, who lived in the city and had ambitions and a great job that comped fancy cars....
Daniel found his cell phone on the coffee table. She’d thoughtfully removed his shoes and put them by the door. As quietly as he could, he left the apartment, slipped on his shoes in the hallway and walked down the stairs. He wished he’d thought to take a couple of Tylenol, but he’d imposed on her too much already.
The street was quiet, though a few cabs patrolled the roads, stalking disheveled denizens doing the walk of shame. The faint odor of urine and something spicy made him gag, and he stood bent over a sewer grate for a few minutes until the feeling passed. He hadn’t missed the myriad smells the city offered, that was for sure.
He headed north for Central Park, seeking fresher air. He needed quiet and solitude before heading back to Isaac’s. His friend probably wasn’t in any better shape than he was. Or maybe he had hooked up with one of those girls....
The bench he claimed was along a path frequented by early-morning joggers who paid him no heed. Just another loser, he imagined them thinking. Exhausted, he leaned his head against the back of the bench and closed his eyes. The sunlight pierced his eyelids, sending blades of pain through his skull, but he was too weary to move from the warm spot. A breeze ruffled his hair, carrying with it the smells of a nearby bakery and a trickle of nostalgia.
Kung-kung used to walk through Central Park every Saturday morning. His grandfather would catch the bus, get a paper and sit and read on a bench like this one. Sometimes he’d take Poh-poh and his grandchildren along, and they’d go to the Museum of Natural History to look at the dinosaurs. Afterward, they’d get ice cream from a truck. His grandfather always got butterscotch dip.
Daniel had just turned eight when he’d tried to go to the museum by himself. He’d always hated how long it took his grandparents to walk around, and they never got to see everything. When his parents had finally found him, they’d dragged him back to the apartment and screamed at him until they were hoarse. But Daniel had stubbornly refused to admit he’d done anything wrong. Going to the museum by himself meant he’d saved everyone the hassle—why didn’t anyone else get that?
They’d spanked him with the bamboo handle of a feather duster until Tiffany had screamed in distress. His parents had stormed out of the room, telling him they didn’t want a naughty boy like him anymore. Daniel had gone crying to Kung-kung for solace.
“Your parents love you very much,” he’d said to his angry, tearful grandson. “They were worried about you. You scared them and you disobeyed them.”
“They said I was moh gwai young. They like to hit me and yell at me. I hate them!”
“Don’t say that. It’s not true. They only punished you because you were being naughty. You stole money from them and tried to run away. Your father had to leave work to find you, and you know how stressful his job is.” Kung-kung had gripped his shoulder. “Daniel, you have to be good and listen to your parents. If you don’t, bad things will happen.”
His grandfather had taken his parents’ side. He’d been abandoned. Kung-kung went out for his walk after that and left his grandson alone at home with his wicked family. The betrayal stung almost as much as his backside.
Well, if no one wanted him, fine. He would go and live in the park like he’d seen bums do, sleeping in cardboard boxes eating junk food. He would live like a king.
But then the police came. How had they known he was going to run away? He ran and hid in his grandparents’ closet. He didn’t want to go to jail. He’d apologize to everyone. He didn’t want to leave, really.
A wail pierced his ears. At first he thought it was Tiffany crying. But then there were more raised voices. Another scream—his mother’s. Daniel stumbled out of the closet. The police must be hurting his family because they couldn’t find him. Bad people on TV did that.
He steeled himself and marched down the hall, ready to give himself up to the authorities. In the living room, his grandmother and mother huddled together, sobbing, while his father held a whimpering Tiffany. Two uniformed officers stood with their caps off, faces sad. They looked up as he walked in,
and their eyes somehow told him everything.
Kung-kung was dead. He’d been stabbed by a mugger in Central Park.
Daniel opened his heavy eyes now, surfacing from the dark dream. He wiped at his wet cheeks. It had been a long time since he’d thought about his grandfather, about the night that changed everything.
They’d move out of the city a few months later. His parents were convinced it was too dangerous to raise their kids there. The apartment was small and crowded, the air foul and dirty. His dad had hated his job, and his mom was miserable, too. They left in the middle of the school year, left all of Daniel’s friends behind. Tiffany had taken the move especially hard. For weeks, all she wanted was to go home to be with Kung-kung, and her whining had grated on their parents’ nerves. They were all trying to adjust to their new lives and the strain of running a diner in a small town. The long hours started to take their toll, and then the arguments started.
And it was all Daniel’s fault. If he hadn’t delayed his grandfather with his sniveling, Kung-kung might not have encountered that mugger. If Daniel had simply been the good boy he was expected to be...
He blinked up at the sky, wondering if Kung-kung were looking down on him now and shaking his head. He’d thought he’d done everything he could to keep his parents happy, keep the family together. So, why did he feel like he was still being punished?
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
TIFFANY USUALLY DIDN’T TUTOR on a Sunday, but she needed an excuse to get away from her parents. They’d been snapping at each other like feuding teenagers passing in the halls between classes since Daniel had left for his reunion. She was so anxious, her gut burned whenever they were within sight of each other. Seeking sanctuary, she’d called Chris and asked if she could come by to play with the kittens. “Of course,” he’d said, though his tone was unsure.
As she drove away from the diner, butterflies replaced the lead sitting in her stomach. Her flirting techniques hadn’t been terribly subtle, but she was certain Chris had gotten the message. All she needed now was the right moment to make her indecent proposal.
She drove up to the house and decided to check in with Simon first to see if he needed any help with homework. As she got out of the car, the front door flung open and Simon rushed out. “Tiffany, I need help.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Grandpa fell. He’s awake but he’s breathing really hard and he won’t let me help him up or call Dad.”
She hurried to the house. “In the kitchen,” Simon said tensely.
William was lying on his right side on the cold tile, half-curled and shaking. His face was pale and dotted with sweat. He clutched his stomach, hugging himself. “I told you not to call your father,” he rasped, pain making his voice tight.
Tiffany knelt and reached for him. “It’s me, Mr. Jamieson. Let me help you up.”
“Don’t touch me,” he snarled, and she withdrew her hands as if he might try to bite her. “I don’t need you.”
Patiently, she asked, “Do you want me to call an ambulance?”
“I’m fine. Just mind your own business.” He shrank away, tucking his chin as he bore down, making a strangled gurgling noise. Okay, now she was really worried. Did heart attacks happen like this? Or maybe it was his appendix or something. He was sweating profusely, and his face had gone green-gray. “Bucket,” he mumbled. She didn’t understand. He snapped his fingers at the mop and bucket standing in one corner. She brought it to him just in time. He vomited into it.
This wasn’t good. Getting an ambulance out here would only waste time. “Simon, get your father.”
“No.” William struggled to a sitting position. “I’m fine, goddammit. It was just something I ate. If you call him in here, I swear I will expire on the spot to spite the lot of you. I will not let him see me like this. I am not some invalid old man.”
He might as well have been throwing a full-on tantrum, pounding his fists on the floor, but the vigor in his protest was a good sign. Ornery was better than quiet. Making a decision, she ushered Simon to the doorway. “Call Dr. van Vierzen here right away. Tell him what’s happened, but do it where your grandfather can’t hear you.”
“Is he okay?”
She couldn’t say for sure, but she’d done enough first-aid classes to know she couldn’t take any chances. “He seems to be better after throwing up. But let’s get the doc here, just in case.”
Simon nodded and dialed for the doctor on his cell phone. He walked a little away from the house as he spoke.
Tiffany returned to the old man’s side. Will sat there, massaging the center of his chest, breathing deeply in and out. “Well, we’re not calling the ambulance, and we’re not calling Chris. Now, are you going to let me help you up or do you want to keep sitting on the cold hard floor?”
He gave her a mutinous look. She took his silence as a yes.
She slid a chair next to him then grabbed him under the arms and hauled him bodily into the seat. Then she brought him a glass of water and nudged the bucket over. “Here. Rinse your mouth.”
He glared. “Gimme a whiskey.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“It helps with the digestion. That’s all this is. A bad turn. Probably that deli meat from the grocery store.” He clutched his stomach and closed his eyes as another wave of pain burned through him.
Tiff looked around for clues as to what else he might have eaten. The Jamieson men seemed to live off a steady diet of white bread and red meat, and from the smell of the place, a lot of deep fried meals.
“How’d you fall?” She glanced around. “Where are your crutches?”
“I told you, it’s none of your damn business.”
“Did you hurt yourself?” He could’ve bruised something, might even have broken a rib. Something told her he wouldn’t admit it if he had, though.
“I said I’m fine. Get me my crutches. I’m going out to talk to my son.”
She had to make him stay put until the doctor arrived. “I thought you didn’t want him to see you like this.”
William eyed her suspiciously and tried to sit a little straighter. “It’s passed now. It’s normal. I need to get to Chris before he does something stupid. He’s out rounding up the pigs right now without me. I can only imagine the fool things he’ll do.”
“I’m sure he’ll be fine.”
“What do you know? You weren’t here when he started tearing apart everything I’ve built. He’s turned the place upside down for his hippie dippy experiments.”
“You mean going organic? I thought organic methods of farming were closer to what your father would have—”
“Shut up,” he shouted, and she flinched. Color returned to his cheeks with a vengeance. “You don’t know anything about my father. You don’t know my family.”
“All I meant was—”
“Why are you just standing there? I need my crutches. Simon!” he shouted. “Where’s that useless boy?”
Something inside her cracked, and angry heat boiled through the fissures in her careful facade. “Simon is not useless. Don’t you dare call him names and put him down.”
He looked like she’d struck him. His milky blue eyes narrowed. “You don’t have the right to tell me what to do or what to think. You think I don’t see what you’re trying to do? I know green-card-seeking, gold-digging hussies like you.”
She tried to reconstruct her careful composure. Reacting would achieve nothing. She imagined an iceberg standing between them, that impenetrable wall of ice being hammered away at by his words.
“You want to get in here and strip this place bare. You don’t care about farming or family. All you people do is come here and take over like locusts.”
“Grandpa.” Simon’s low rasp made them both turn.
He stood in the doorway, fists at his sides. His eyes burned beneath his bangs as he inserted himself in front of Tiffany. “What the hell is wrong with you? Tiffany’s done nothing but be nice to you and help me
with school, and you’re acting like some ignorant redneck.” The words tumbled out of him louder and louder like the approach of a train, his tirade gathering steam.
The last thing Tiffany had wanted was for Simon to get in between her and his grandfather’s hate. “Simon...” She placed a hand on his shoulder, tried to draw him back, but he pulled away.
William struggled to stand but Simon advanced, making him stumble backward. “Don’t you—”
“You’re such a hypocrite. You keep telling me to treat people with respect. To treat you with respect. But I don’t see respect from you. Not for Tiffany, not for Dad and not for me.
“You treat me like I’m some kind of stupid kid. I’m not five anymore. You and Dad don’t get to live my life for me, so stop acting like whatever I do has to be for you two. I’m sick of it. I never want to be a farmer. Not if I turn into a bitter, racist asshole like you.”
Tiffany gasped.
William gaped, sputtering. “You’re out of line. And if you knew anything—”
“I know a lot, including how to treat people with respect, and that’s because of Dad, not you. Don’t dump your bullshit on Tiffany or her family or anyone else just because you lost your leg.” He stormed out, slamming the door behind him.
The tension in the kitchen could have sliced a ripe tomato. William turned pale once more. His hands flexed and clenched in his lap. Tiffany felt a brief pang of pity for him.
“I’m American,” she finally said quietly.
He glanced up blearily. “What?”
“I don’t need a green card. I was born in New York City, and both my parents and my grandmother are naturalized citizens.”
He blinked slowly, and his face drooped. “Yes. I know.”
Of course he did. You didn’t make your home in Everville and not know about the history and lives of every single resident. “So why did you say it?”
“I don’t know.” His voice was rough like sandpaper. “I guess I was mad. It wasn’t personal.”