Perpetuate

by K. C. Ale

  The specifics… that’s where it gets muddy.

  He died in jail. That was all I was told. That’s the only detail I remember. I was utterly devastated. Inconsolable.

  He was sixteen. Did they jail sixteen-year-olds?

  “God!” I drop my suddenly pounding head in my hands.

  Why was he in jail?

  He was starting to act out and rebel, getting into trouble and staying out until all hours of the night with his unruly friends. More than once I saw him slithering into his house with his knuckles and face torn up. For months before he died, I watched, helpless and confused, as he carelessly slipped from me, forgetting about the girl he grew up with next door.

  He must’ve been thrown in for doing something he shouldn’t have. And lost his life for it.

  My dad was the one who had to break the news to me.

  “Lee is gone, Gemma. I’m so sorry. He… he was killed while he was in jail.”

  *****

  “I don’t know what I’m doing, Craig,” I confess, lost in uncertainty. “I just know I need to see him. To see for myself that he’s okay.”

  A loud, dramatic sigh that easily crosses state lines. “Gemma, this can’t be healthy for you or for him.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You can’t help him,” Craig insists adamantly. “You shouldn’t help him. He needs to want to do it for himself. The more you cling to him, bail him out of trouble, the more he doesn’t need to do anything for himself.”

  Sitting in my car with the engine off, I stare at the cheerful turquoise door. It’s early yet, but the bright glare of the sun is already threatening to brutalize. The door is about to open to visitors in another few minutes. After a restless night, I didn’t waste any time but quickly got ready and hopped in my car for the short drive.

  While waiting, I figured I’d call Craig to let him know I’d stopped by the apartment yesterday. Apparently, I’m getting a lecture in exchange.

  Craig told me this before, but for some reason, this time it hurts more. It might be because I’m feeling more alone than I have in years and need a friend’s empathetic ear.

  “I’m not clinging to him or anyone,” I reason. “I’m just checking on him.”

  “Maybe that’s not what he needs.”

  “He’s my father. I know what he needs.” If I sound a tad defensive, that’s too bad, because I’m feeling defensive.

  “Do you, Gemma? Do you really know what he needs? Or is it what you need?”

  “You’re starting to piss me off.”

  “Well, I’m sorry about that, buttercup, but I have to say, it’s mutual.”

  “How’s that?”

  “How’s that?” he echoes incredulously. “For real? I love you, Gem, but you have no clue what your father needs. For that matter, I’m not sure you know what you need. You had a man – a good one – taking care of you and was clearly more than happy to do so, yet here you are, hundreds of miles away without so much as a goodbye to him.”

  I knew I shouldn’t have told him about my mad dash out of the state. “This has nothing to do with Brad Hawkes.”

  “No? Funny, yet you didn’t hesitate to use his money to skip town.”

  Dismayed, air chokes and dies in my throat. Craig didn’t speak to me this way. Ever. Neither one of my roommates did. “I didn’t ask Brad to put my dad here,” I dispute bitterly. “It’s only fair I use a few dollars from his charitable donation to deal with it.”

  “He did it for you, Gemma. Can’t you see that? Mr. Hawkes knew you wouldn’t quit enabling your father until your last breath.”

  “That’s a load of crap. He might’ve wanted to get laid, but arranging for my dad to be in some fancy rehab? That wasn’t for me. He didn’t even know me.”

  A humorless laugh. “You know, you might be right. A successful, good looking guy going to this extreme to get laid, that sounds about right.”

  He’s not starting to piss me off. He’s already there. “Whatevs. I have to go. They’re opening up.”

  “Gemma—”

  I don’t wait to hear what other harsh criticisms my dear roommate has for me but disconnect. Forget him. Forget Brad Hawkes. It’s been me and my dad for years. That’s not going to change regardless of what anyone says.

  It takes a good forty minutes just to check in. I’m asked to take a seat and wait while they search for a form and print a guest badge. The form itself isn’t long, but then they can’t find a clipboard. After that it’s another wait for an available staff member to take me to the visitors’ area. For an upscale place, it can work on its efficiency.

  Finally I’m being led to a beautifully landscaped patio. Taking a seat at a curved wooden bench beneath a tree, I glimpse around.

  Everyone looks so average. No one is in functional medical scrubs, though the staff have a badge clipped to their clothing. The patients, if that’s even what they call them here, are in their own outfits. Though there aren’t yet many visitors, there’s cheerful laughter mixed in with the more hushed, somber conversations.

  Brad must’ve spent a pretty penny for this place.

  A glimpse at my phone reveals it’s been a while since I’ve been out here. Vaguely, I wonder if my dad was asleep when they informed him of a visitor. He was never an early riser.

  Then I spot him. Dressed in olive cargo shorts, a white t-shirt, and tan flipflops, he looks like he’s put on a few healthy pounds since I last saw him. My heart dips at the sight of him when his searching gaze lands on me. His smile is genuine and zealous, and I can’t help but return it.

  “Dad!” I’m in his arms in a blink, soaking him in. “God. It’s so good to see you.”

  “Let me take a look at you.” He eases me back, his eyes dancing over me. His brows furrow in concern. “You look tired, sweetheart. You’re not working too hard, are you?”

  I shake my head. “Just finals, that’s all. But I’m done now. Yesterday was the last of my classes.”

  “I’m happy you’re done with the semester.” He doesn’t appear appeased by my simple explanation. “Is Brad Hawkes being good to you?”

  There’s no point in reminding him I’ll be graduating soon and not just done with a semester. He wouldn’t remember anyway.

  The eyerolling is purely automatic. Why do people keep bringing him up? “Forget Brad Hawkes. Let’s talk about you.” I gesture at the bench. “How are you, dad?”

  “Oh, Gemma, the people are so wonderful here,” he enthuses as he lowers onto the seat. “I mean, it hasn’t been easy, especially in the beginning. I’ve been here for three weeks now, and each day is truly a blessing.”

  He’s not exactly glowing, but his cheeks are rosy, his motions steady, and his smile is easy. It’s like he’s a different man from the one who implored me for every dime I had to satisfy his never-ending addiction.

  “I’m glad.” I cover his hand with mine. “How’s the food?” I ask, laughing softly.

  “Pretty good, actually. Not as good as your eggs, but still pretty good.” His joy falters. “Sweetheart.” His gaze drops but not before I catch a glimpse of grief. “I’m sorry about what happened. That man.” He doesn’t have to expound on who he’s referring to. “I don’t know what I was thinking, inviting him to crash at the house. He was just someone down on his luck. I… I guess I wasn’t thinking.”

  The last thing I want is to think about that. “That’s not important.” My fingers squeeze his. “The important thing is you’re better now. I can’t wait until you’re home.”

  “Oh! I’ve got news.” Hazel eyes positively light up. “I got a job. When I’m done with the program, of course.”

  Perplexed, I stare at him. “A job? But you’ve been here. How did that happen?”

  “That’s the thing. The job is here.” He beams proudly. “At Hope Sanctuary.”

  My lips part, but nothing makes it out.

  “Nothing crazy,” he confesses when I can’t seem to respond. “Just helping out with the property. A
groundskeeper, really, but that’s okay, because I really like it here. The pay isn’t much, certainly not like what I was used to at HC, but it includes a room and meals. I think it’s a good move, good for me to be in this surrounding, don’t you think?”

  “But what about…” Me. “Home?”

  “Gemma.” His free palm slides over the top of my tremulous hand. “This is my home now.”

  I jerk my hand back and push to my feet, frantically trying to pace away the panic. “Okay. Okay.” I say to myself. “I guess I can move to Sedona.” Never mind that I suddenly hate this place. “It’s not a big deal. I’ll find a job here too.”

  My dad gazes at me, forlorn but determined. “Your home isn’t with me.” The words were gentle. And crushing. “Sedona isn’t for you. I think you know that.”

  My feet freeze in place. “I want to be here. I want to be here with you.” Emotions tear through my chest to my throat. “Don’t you want me here?”

  “Sweetheart, this isn’t for you. It’s just…” A long exhale. “You belong in LA, away from a burdensome father. You need to live your life, Gemma, the way you were meant to live it.”

  “What does that even mean?” Heads turn at my near hysteria, but I don’t care. “I live my life just fine.”

  “You deserve more than just fine.” Then he’s up, looking down at me with so much earnest anguish it’s cracking my heart in half. “Brad was right. You’re smart. Hardworking. You deserve the world. He can help you get that, Gemma. Let him help you.”

  I want to scream all my frustrations and fear out at the top of my lungs. “Brad Hawkes,” I allow instead, betrayal stabbing into me like dull knives. “Brad Hawkes is behind this.”

  He’s shaking his head. “No. This is all me. I want this for you.” A hand reaches out only to drop uselessly. “I want this for me.”

  “So that’s it? You’re going to stay here and pretend I don’t exist?” Like mom. Like Lee before he died.

  “Gemma, that’s not—”

  I throw out a dismissive hand and whirl away. I don’t bother with goodbyes. I didn’t with Brad Hawkes. With Craig. And now with my father.

  There’s nothing good about byes. There’s no point in pretense.

  “Gemma!”

  I’m done. I’m so done.

  Probing gazes trail me but I don’t pay them any attention. I’ll never see them again anyway. Clearing through the patio doors and into the main quarters, I don’t acknowledge anyone, my fuzzy focus on the exit just past the front office.

  Shoving out the horrid turquoise door, I stomp through the ridiculous Zen garden. Butterflies flutter by, but I bat them away with an irritated hand. I hate the desert and everything it represents. There’s a reason why it’s hot as hell. It is hell.

  Ugly, prickly cactus. Oppressive air. Pigment-baffled rocks.

  Brad Hawkes.

  For the second time my feet halt. He’s leaning back against the side of a long sedan, fists jammed in the pockets of his magnificent slacks. The sleeves of the blue shirt are rolled up to his elbows, the top button left undone. He looks like he got detoured on the way to his office.

  It’s too early for mirages, isn’t it?

  Astounded and speechless, I gape at him, not capable of moving a muscle, both fearing and hoping he is a desert figment. Maybe if I blink, I would wake up from this madness.

  His unreadable gaze stays on me as he pushes away from the car. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

  This man.

  He probably threw his money around again to get these people to keep my dad.

  He’s the one behind this.

  “You!” I don’t think about it. I just charge. Using both my hands and all my strength, I shove him back as hard as I can.

  Thirty

  Brad

  Carlson jets out of the driver side so fast the car might be on fire. I throw out a staying hand.

  Gemma is shrieking and doing her best to squash me like a pesky bug. I let her even if her sad little attempts are like gnats landing on me.

  “You leave me and my dad alone!” Thump. “We don’t need you!” Shove.

  Seeing there’s no possible danger to me or damage to the car, Carlson slinks back behind the wheel, shaking his big head in bemusement.

  Maybe I was wrong about Gemma’s proclivity for violence, but then again, this pitiful demonstration is more like a tantrum.

  “Gemma.” I snatch her wrists when she tries to come at me again. “Stop acting like a spoiled kid.” I can let her have at me all day, but we’re starting to attract attention from passersby. “I need you to get in the car right now.”

  She only struggles harder. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

  “Ma’am?” An older man walking a tiny white dog hollers from down the street, face pulled in with concern and suspicion. “You need assistance over there?”

  I’m positive the only reason he hasn’t already called the cops is that I’m not forcing Gemma but merely holding on to her. Carlson can take care of this meddlesome poop-scooper in a heartbeat, but we don’t need this shit. “My girl is mad at me for a guys’ night out,” I call back, jerking a staggered Gemma to me and pressing her outraged face against my shoulder so she can’t say anything stupid. I feign exasperation while subtly clamping her to me. “Had a few too much to drink. Came home late. Now she’s ready to rip me a new one.”

  “Mmmmm…!” sounds from my shirt.

  I palm the back of her head to keep her in place. The man makes a disgusted face and tugs his sniffing dog across the street, shooting us wary looks.

  My eyes narrow as he fishes out his phone. Might be calling the cops after all.

  “You filthy pig!” Gemma cries as soon as I loosen my hold. “I don’t know who you thi—”

  No chance of her finishing whatever male insult she conjured up because I’m whirling her around. My mouth crashes onto hers before her back thuds on the side of the car. So she can’t break away, my palms slide up the sides of her jaw to keep her in place.

  Peeking over Gemma’s tilted head, I watch the man hesitate, then he’s returning the phone to his back pocket, his attention once again on the strutting dog.

  While my target was to get rid of the prying fool, I’m more than aware of the pliable lips beneath mine, the sweet scent penetrating my senses, the feminine curves pressed alluringly against me.

  Also, the major detail of her no longer resisting me.

  In the next second I find out why.

  I yelp and ease back when bold fingers dig and not so gently squeeze between my legs in warning. “Careful there, Gemmy. You wouldn’t want to accidentally damage your favorite body part on me.”

  “Get away from me.” She jolts me away and tries to murder me on the spot with her glare. “You make me sick.”

  “What did I do?” Is she seriously that pissed about that fucking strip club?

  “What did you do? Are you kidding me?” Her little fists clench at her sides. “You throw money around to get what you want without thought or care to anyone that might be affected. You’re selfish and clueless, and I’m sick of you manipulating my life.”

  “Two dances! That was it,” I glower back at her. I’m getting pretty sick of this myself. “I didn’t even want them, and I certainly didn’t throw money at them.”

  The expression she’s sporting clearly says she thinks I just rolled off the stupid train. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “They were strippers, Gemmy, not hookers. I didn’t touch them. Didn’t want to touch them, alright?”

  By the boiling hazel eyes bulging out of their sockets, I figure too late that she was, in fact, not giving me hell over the exotic dancers before my dumbass reminded her.

  Indignant, she sputters for several beats. My hands scoot protectively closer to the front of my pants just in case she decides to ninja my nuts.

  “You.” A blunt finger stabs within an inch of my nose. “You stay away from me and my father, Bra
d Hawkes. We don’t need you or your grubby money.”

  With a warning glower, she steps away and whips around, only to smash right into Carlson’s enormous chest. My guard’s hands lash up to steady her but immediately drop away.

  “Miss Warton, it’s best if you get in the car.” He manages to sound gentle even in the Darth voice. “It’s a long way back. Let Mr. Hawkes take you home.”

  “I am home,” she argues stubbornly, looking like she wants to stomp her foot. “I’m moving here.”

  “The hell you are.” There’s no way I’m allowing her to do that. The second-hand weed must have gotten to her brain.

  This time she doesn’t even bother to frown in my general direction. “Carlson, would you tell your boss that what I do and where I go are none of his concern?”

  “I’m right behind you, Gemmy. I can hear you just fine.”

  An embellished exhale. “Carlson, would you tell the asshole right behind me to go fuck himself?”

  Carlson’s normally stern lips twitch. “Miss Warton, as you said, he is my boss. I cannot relay that message.”

  “This is ridiculous. Just get in the car.” Incensed beyond reason, I tug Gemma back to me, intent on shepherding her to the car myself.

  “No!” She wrenches away and hurls herself at Carlson.

  The overgrown man actually staggers back a step from the unexpected force, feeble arms up to keep from touching the woman clinging to him like sticky gum.

  Because Carlson knows that would enrage me enough to rattle the baked sidewalk.

  Once again Gemma is turning to him instead of to me.

  He’s been with me for years. We looked out for each other in juvie, survived the countless risks and uncertainties of HC in its early days, talked each other out of stupid shit and backed the other when that wasn’t successful. Hell, we even shared a girl once.

  Carlson is not a guard. He’s family through and through.

  At this moment, I want to rip his arms off.