Twisted Reunion

by Tullius, Mark

  A cab turned the corner. Tom had his first break of the day, flagging it down with a wave of his finger. It wasn’t until he slid into the passenger side of the back seat and the driver asked him where he was headed, that Tom realized he had no idea where he could find Gina.

  The bald cabbie looked into his rearview. “You doing okay, brother?”

  “My girl. I need to find her, make sure she’s alright.”

  “Not a problem. Where’s she live?”

  Tom motioned toward the apartment building he’d just come out of. “With me. At least she did until this morning. Her stuff’s gone.”

  “Damn. Tough break.” The cabbie turned his attention back to the street. “So where you want to go?”

  “I … don’t know. Someone stole my Porsche.”

  After a brief hesitation, the cabbie asked, “You got any money, because I ain’t running a charity carriage.”

  “Yeah,” Tom said, having no idea if he did or didn’t. With everything that had happened, he was scared to look in his wallet. Then he remembered the guy and the baby. Sure enough, two hundred bucks and some change.

  “So where to?”

  Tom looked back at the street, at the apartment building. It did look different than he remembered.

  The cabbie said, “Any idea where she might be? I kinda gotta get moving.”

  Sirens sounded in the distance. “Go ahead and drive up the street a bit.”

  “You got an address? I need to radio it in.”

  “Her sister lives in Santa Clarita, pretty close to Six Flags. Gina might be with her.”

  “That’s an hour away.”

  “I got the money.” All that mattered was Gina.

  Tom took the cash and waved it in the air for the cabbie to see. Raising his voice so he could be heard above the approaching sirens, Tom said, “This is more than enough. Here’s a twenty in case you think I’m gonna stiff you. I just need to stop at a phone booth first to get her sister’s address.”

  The cabbie told him to keep it as he started the meter, pulled away from the curb, and headed north.

  When Tom put the bills back into the wallet, he noticed the back of his hand was speckled with bright red drops.

  By the time the cabbie found a phone booth with a directory inside it, Tom had wiped the drops off his hands, did the best he could with the spots on the front of his denim jacket. It didn’t take him long to find Gina’s sister in the book, but there was a surprise. Her address was listed as Pasadena, not Santa Clarita. Gina had never mentioned her sister was considering moving.

  Tom ripped the page from the directory and got back into the cab. “Good news. She’s not far from here.”

  “Sure it’s the right person? Want to try calling her?”

  “It’s her. I’d rather just show up.”

  Ten minutes later, the cab stopped in front of an unfamiliar house. The cabbie motioned toward the red Porsche 911 in the driveway and chuckled. “Is that your car?”

  “No. Why?”

  “You said yours was stolen. I thought maybe your girl took it.”

  “My car’s in the shop. I hate blue.”

  “Yeah, all right.” The cabbie checked the meter. “That’ll be sixty dollars.” The cabbie studied Tom to see if he was aware that he was ripping him off.

  Tom tossed him a hundred and got out of the cab. “Do me a favor and keep it running. I might need a ride back.” He headed for the porch before the cabbie could say no.

  The front door opened. Joanne, whose hair was now streaked with gray, was on her cell phone. Her jaw dropped midsentence when she recognized Tom.

  “Surprise,” Tom said. “I didn’t know you guys moved. You shoulda told me.”

  She sounded like a robot when she said, “I’ve got to go.” She hung up and started dialing someone new, probably the cops.

  Tom ripped the cell from her hand, tossed it on the grass. He was about to ask about Gina when he noticed the silver necklace around Joanne’s neck. “That’s Gina’s.”

  “No, it’s mine.”

  “I gave it to her for our anniversary.”

  Joanne slowly shook her head. “You shouldn’t be here. I can’t believe they let you out.”

  Not knowing who “they” were or from where they had supposedly let him out, Tom focused on the necklace. There was no denying the G-inscribed heart pendant belonged to Gina. Tom took a step into the doorway. “Where is she?”

  Joanne shrieked and tried to slam the door on Tom. Not about to let some nutty chick get the best of him, Tom lowered his shoulder and drove forward, knocking Joanne back into her house. He shut the door and pinned Joanne against the wall before she could scream.

  “What the hell’s your problem? I’m looking for Gina to make sure she was okay. She wasn’t at home.”

  Joanne tried to slap him, but he knocked her hand away.

  “Stop it,” he said. “I’m trying to protect her. Where is she?”

  Joanne tore at his face with her free hand. Tom grabbed each of her wrists and crushed them against the wall. “Tell me where she is!”

  “You sick fuck!” Joanne kneed Tom’s groin, folded him over. He lost his grip on Joanne and she dashed to the phone in the kitchen, picked it up, and punched three buttons.

  Tom ignored the pain, fought the urge to vomit. “Hang up the phone, Joanne.”

  Joanne backed up to the wall, her eyes looking around her, probably searching for a weapon. She took a deep breath and said she needed help. She said Tom’s name.

  Tom stepped toward her. “Tell them you called by mistake and that everything’s okay.”

  “He’s a convicted murderer. He killed my sister twelve years —”

  Tom yelled, “Hang it up. And give me Gina’s necklace!” He kept screaming, trying to block out Joanne’s words repeating in his head. Killed my sister …

  Joanne begged the dispatcher to hurry. Tom didn’t ask any more questions. She obviously wasn’t ready to tell him where Gina was. He tore the landline off the wall, wrapped his hands around Joanne’s throat. It was so soft. Just like Gina’s.

  Tom closed the front door behind him, then got back into the cab. The driver eyed him and asked if everything was okay.

  “No, but she was here.” He held up the necklace and said, “She left this by accident. Her sister asked if I could return it to her.”

  “So … where to?”

  Tom stuffed the necklace into his pocket, noticing he hadn’t gotten all that sticky red paint off. “Her mom and dad live nearby.”

  Mommy’s Big Boy

  Stacy held her one-year-old on her lap, cooing and trying to get her boy to say the name of her latest man. “Say it for Mommy. Come on, Brendan. Say, ‘Harry.’”

  Brendan tilted his head to the side and gazed into his mother’s eyes. Babies always look like little drunks, Stacy thought. Brendan’s eyes were glossy and trying to focus.

  “Look, he’s about to say it,” Stacy said.

  Harry didn’t take his eyes off the baseball game, even when he took a sip of his Bud Light. “Cool.”

  “Come on, Brendan. You know how to talk,” she said. “One time. Say, ‘Harry.’”

  Brendan’s blue eyes sparkled and a grin spread across his face. “Airy.”

  “He did it! He said it!” Stacy cheered, bouncing Brendan into the air to celebrate.

  Harry turned up the television, gulped the rest of his beer.

  Stacy saw she’d been annoying again, apologized for being too loud. “I’m going to put him to bed. It’s early, but maybe we could have some alone time.”

  Harry actually glanced over at her. “That don’t sound too bad.” Harry used the remote control to scratch the side of his neck.

  “All right, I won’t be long.” Stacy stood with Brendan. “Who’s Mommy’s big boy?” Stacy gently tossed her little guy in her hands. “You ready for bed?”

  Brendan shook his head and used sign language to say that he was hungry. Stacy had taught him how to do i
t after watching a rerun of Oprah. Brendan had taken to it quickly. It gave him a voice, and Stacy liked that. Just now wasn’t the time.

  “You don’t need to eat. It’s time to go to bed. I’ll feed you in the morning.”

  Brendan squirmed and squealed, trying to wiggle out of her hands. Stacy had to sit back down to catch him. Before she could control him, he turned sideways and positioned himself under her breast.

  Stacy laughed as Brendan tried to lift her shirt. “Quit it, Brendan.”

  Brendan screamed when she held down her top. His scream grew louder.

  “What the hell’s he crying about?” Harry asked.

  “He wants me to feed him.”

  “Get him a bottle if it will shut him up.”

  “No, look at him. He wants me to feed him.”

  Harry waited for the commercial before turning around. “That’s disgusting. I don’t want to see that.”

  “It’s perfectly natural.”

  “I don’t care. I can’t handle the thought of some kid sucking on your tits.”

  “It’s not like that. It’s no big deal.”

  “Yeah it is. It’s gross. Don’t ever do that around me. Don’t even talk about it.” He turned back to the TV. “And get him to shut up. Little fucker’s giving me a goddamn headache.”

  “I’m sorry,” Stacy said to both Brendan and Harry. She got out of the chair and walked Brendan to the bedroom. “I’ll put him to bed. Be back in a minute.”

  Stacy laid Brendan in his crib, but in no time he was up on his feet, rattling the top railing. He continued to scream. She gave his cheek a gentle squeeze and smoothed his fine blonde hair. “I’m so sorry, Brendan. Mommy’s sorry. Just do this for me. I wish you could understand. Harry’s not a bad guy and I want to keep him around for a bit, but he won’t stick if you keep on crying like that. He’ll like you. I swear it. Oh, baby, please. Stop crying, will you? I need you to go to bed, sweetheart. Please.”

  Brendan unleashed an ear-piercing shriek.

  “I’m sorry, honey.” Stacy forced herself away from the crib. “You need to go to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Before she changed her mind and picked up her screaming baby from the crib, Stacy walked from the room, leaving the door open an inch so she could peek in later without waking him. When she returned to the living room, she heard Brendan wailing over the baby monitor positioned next to the television.

  Harry glared at her and then the monitor. “Come on, Stace. I gotta listen to this? Are you serious?”

  Stacy grabbed the monitor and lowered the volume. “I’m sorry. I forgot about it.”

  Harry turned up the television. “I can still hear him.”

  “I need to leave it on. This is so I can hear him.”

  “I don’t buy that. What about all the babies before those stupid things came out? They all came out fine. My mom didn’t have one of those things.”

  “It makes me feel better.” She sat on the couch, lowered the monitor so she could barely hear Brendan’s cries over the baseball game.

  “Does that little bastard always scream like that?”

  Stacy winced. “The funny thing is he never used to. Even right after his dad died. It wasn’t until last week that he started throwing these tantrums.” Brendan’s dad had passed eight months earlier. He and Stacy had already planned on splitting, but it still tore her up to think about his death.

  Harry shrugged his shoulders and returned his attention to the game. “Probably does it because you baby him too much. Treat him like a man, or he’ll grow up to be a damn sissy.”

  “He’s only one.”

  “Put him on a schedule and don’t treat him like he’s helpless. He’ll stop crying, trust me.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  “I am.” He clicked off the game, which ended with the Tigers winning by three. “So now that he’s in bed, how about showing me some attention?”

  “I’d love to.” She hurried over and sat on his lap.

  Harry looked down and noticed the monitor in her hands. “What about that alone time you were talking about?”

  She had left the door cracked and promised herself she’d keep one ear listening for Brendan. “There, it’s off.” She kissed him on the cheek and set the monitor on the coffee table. “How’s that?”

  “That’s a start.” Harry pushed Stacy off his lap so he could dig into his jeans pocket. He held up a plastic baggie. “I brought us a little snack.”

  A pile of shriveled brown objects sat at the bottom of the bag. “What are those?”

  “Mushrooms. Ever tried them?”

  “Mushrooms? No way.”

  “Never? You have no idea what you’re missing out on.”

  Stacy’s cousin had tried to get her to take them in high school, but one taste had nearly made her puke, and she’d spit it out. She tried pulling Harry to his feet. “We don’t need that to have a good time. Come on, I’ll show you.”

  Harry pulled away from her grasp, but kept eye contact. “Just try one. It’ll bring us closer. You’ve got to try it.”

  “But what about Brendan?”

  “He’s asleep.” Harry slid his arm up Stacy’s forearm, gave her goosebumps.

  “But what if he wakes and needs me? And what about nursing him? Can it mess up my milk?”

  Harry yanked his hand away. “Goddamn it, Stacy! What’d I say about that crap? He’s a boy, not a damn glass figurine.”

  “I don’t want to do anything that can hurt him.”

  Harry opened the bag and placed two of the shrunken mushrooms on his palm. “It’s fine.” He placed one in his mouth and held the other one out to her. “They’ve done all kinds of tests on it.”

  “You mean studies?”

  “That’s what I said.” He surprised her and stuck the other mushroom in her mouth. “Just take it.”

  Stacy was about to spit it out, but then Harry said, “You were the one who said you wanted to keep me around a bit. That I wasn’t so bad.”

  Stacy was going to deny it, but he pulled her into his chest. He stroked her cheek, forced her mouth closed. “There you go. That’s good. Just chew it up and relax. You deserve this. Lie down on the floor. Here, let me put this down.” Harry spread a blanket over the worn carpet and flipped on the radio. “We’ll just relax and watch some music for a while. That’s right, just come down here and get comfortable.”

  Stacy stopped chewing the nasty stem, lay on her back and stared up at the ceiling. Nothing happened for a while, but then everything began to spin.

  Harry just kept stroking her arm, telling her to relax. He crawled on top of her, slid his jeans past his knees. She woke a few minutes later — or was it hours – to the sound of a salesman announcing the best deals at Pete’s Pontiac. Still half-asleep, she blocked out the radio ad, rolled onto her side and spooned Harry’s sleeping body. She saw movement in her peripheral vision. Through blurry eyes, Stacy saw Brendan standing next to Harry’s head. Brendan was struggling to hold a potted plant. He lifted the pot into the air and took a step closer to Harry’s head.

  Stacy cried out for Brendan to set the pot down. He turned his head so fast that he lost his balance and he fell onto his side, the pot breaking on the floor. Brendan got to his feet and shoved his finger against his tiny lips. “Not a word, bitch,” he said and ran toward his room, his little legs struggling to balance his chubby body. Stacy told herself she was hallucinating. She closed her eyes and drifted off again.

  Brendan’s high-pitched screams and an eyeful of warm sunshine woke Stacy from her deep sleep. The clock told her it was already past seven o’clock. Brendan always ate by five-thirty, six at the latest. No wonder he was screaming bloody murder.

  Although her head was pounding and her lower back was killing her, Stacy picked herself off the floor. She hurried to Brendan’s room, afraid the baby’s cries would wake Harry, who was still sprawled naked on the floor.

  Brendan stopped crying and smiled at her. As s
he went to pick him up, Stacy bumped into the tiny chair someone had placed next to the crib. Using the bottom of her shirt, she wiped the tears from his eyes and the snot from his lip. “Hush, big boy. Mommy’s here. I’m sorry, Brendan. You must be starving.”

  Brendan smiled and gestured in sign language that he wanted to eat. She sat on the rocking chair and pulled up her shirt so he could feed. She was thinking back to her crazy dream of Brendan holding the potted plant, when Brendan bit down on her nipple.

  “Ow! What’re you doing?” Stacy pulled him away from her and stood him on her lap. “Don’t bite. That hurt Mommy.”

  Brendan shook his oversized head and stared disapprovingly at her and clearly said, “How about you wash your tits after letting that scumbag slobber all over them? If I wanted to taste shitty beer and stale cigarettes, I’d ask you to kiss me.”

  Stacy held him at arm’s length. It took her a few seconds to find any words, but when she did, she screamed for Harry. Brendan smiled as Harry crashed about the living room, yelled for her to calm down. Harry appeared in the doorway, looking worse than Stacy felt.

  “What the hell is it?”

  Stacy kept Brendan at arm’s length. “It’s him. He talked.”

  “You woke me up because of that?”

  “No, no,” she cried. “You don’t understand. He talked like an adult. He had a man’s voice and was so mean. This isn’t my son.”

  Harry looked at the smiling baby and back at Stacy. “You’re out of your damn mind. It’s just the shrooms.”

  “No. I was feeding him and he bit me. He said …”

  “What did I say about that? I told you not to mention that crap.”

  “I’m sorry, but …” Before Harry could interrupt her, she said, “He bit me and said my boob tasted like beer and cigarettes.”

  Harry laughed and slapped his thigh. “Jesus, Stacy, you’re still tripping. Put the kid in the crib. You need to get your head straight.”

  “You think it’s the mushrooms? I’m still high?”

  “What do you think, brainiac? Come on. Put him down and fix me some breakfast. It’ll make you feel better.” Harry left the room and said, “Wake me when it’s ready. I want eggs.”