“I know,” I say. “But she made that plan when we were apart. She was, well…”
“It’s in the genes,” he says. “Dottie was postpartum, too.” He rolls his eyes and if only he could get pregnant and crawl on all fours and bleed and shit and give birth. Maybe then he wouldn’t be so cavalier about what it means to have a baby and that’s not what I meant but I nod. “Ray, you’re right. She made the contract. She wanted me gone. I know this will sound stupid… but she didn’t block me on Instagram.”
“Speak English.”
“She made all these Instagram stories, right? And when you make stories…”
“Movies?”
“Pictures. Videos.”
“Who wrote the scripts?”
I AM GONNA LOSE MY MIND. “They’re like home movies. You put them online and you decide who can see them. And it’s very easy to block people, Ray. But Love wanted me to watch our son growing up. And I think she’d want me to step in and watch out for him.”
“She shot you in the head.”
I have no fucking comeback for that and I never should have brought her stories into this mess.
“I’m a reasonable man, Joe…” He just tried to kill me too. “And Dottie and I aren’t getting any younger.”
“You look great, though.”
I count his liver spots and he smiles. “Thanks, son. Now you’re up in… Mercer Island, is it?”
“Bainbridge,” I say. “And it really is a great place to raise a family. The house is terrific, thank you for that. And I have a guesthouse. We could do this together. Forty could live with me. And you and Dottie, well you’d be welcome anytime, all the time.”
He reaches for his phone and is this really happening? I can see it now, Mary Kay, you and me and my son and your Meerkat and things really do work out for the best—Sorry, Love, but maybe you knew Forty needs me now, right now—and Ray is old school, a tad violent, but he knows right from wrong and he knows that what Love did was wrong. He’s a father and I’m a father.
He tosses his phone onto my lap. “Here’s a story that I watched recently.”
It’s like another bullet hit my head, only this time, I don’t black out. I’m in the video. I’m lugging RIP Melanda into the hole in Fort Ward and that “movie” is only telling half the story. I did not kill her. I did not do it. Oliver was supposed to be my friend. He gave me his word. This is not fucking fair and Ray just smiles. “We’re the same in that way, Joe. I too call ’em like I see ’em. And I see you.”
“Ray, that’s not what it looks like. And you can’t trust Oliver…” And I did trust Oliver. “He must have doctored that footage. I didn’t kill Melanda. She committed suicide in my house.”
“And I suppose you didn’t kill the rock star either… the one whose wife you’re schtupping up there?”
I’m not schtupping you and I tell the fucking truth. “No, Ray. I didn’t kill Phil DiMarco. He had substance abuse issues and he took some bad pills.”
His liver spots darken. “You’re poison, Joe. This Melanda person… this Phil you mention… Do I need to remind you that both of my children are also dead because of you?”
It’s not my fault that his kids are fucked up and a lot of rich kids don’t outlive their parents and my heart is pounding and did Ashley poison me with adrenaline?
“Now you listen here,” he says. “I am a father. You are nothing. You are a sperm donor.”
I am a father. “Ray, please.”
“I provide for the child. I make the money so I say what goes. And right now, I say you won’t get within a hundred feet of my grandson for the rest of his life. My daughter wasn’t a good shot… but if you try and get near my grandson… Well, Joe, my men don’t miss.
He slams a contract on my tray table and then he drops a pen. “All right, Professor. Sign.”
This is it. This is a moment of my life. This is my second chance, the second time a Quinn bullied me with a contract. “Ray, you’re making a bad decision. You have the wrong idea about me and Forty will want to meet his father one day.”
“Over my dead body,” he says. “No. Scratch that. Over yours.”
The sun is bright today, showcasing Ray’s liver spots. He sees them in the mirror every morning, ominous blotches that remind him that he won’t last forever, no matter how well he does with his investments and his tax evasion. I will outlive this American Oligarch and that’s why he hates me, not because of what he thinks I did to his children. He knows that I know that he failed as a father. This is not a do-over. This is new territory.
He has the money. He has the power. He has guns. This is why it takes time to smash the patriarchy. People like Ray Quinn don’t just have the support of the Injustice System. They own it. If I want to live to meet my son, I only have one option: I sign the contract.
I have faith in my son—Hare Forty, Hallelujah—and Hare Ray’s liver spots, too. Cancer is coming for that bastard and who knows? Maybe it’s already here.
43
The doctor and the nurse wouldn’t let me leave, Mary Kay. They held me hostage—If you don’t have your health, you don’t have anything—and on my third day of recovery, Howie had a seizure in the library. I read about it on the Bainbridge Facebook page.
I texted you—I know you’re mad, but how’s Howie? I’m worried about him—and I meant it. I was worried about the Mothball. But you ignored me.
I wasted sixteen days of our life in that hospital bed because sure, health is fun, but what good is health without love? I called you, Mary Kay. I texted you. You ignored me and then you ignored me some more. I ordered Bene pizza for you and the Meerkat on Postmates and the delivery was incomplete. Just like us. I missed Nomi’s graduation—unforgivable, like missing the birth of my son—and I can’t see you on Instagram—you blocked me—and the Meerkat has gone quiet on her own profile.
“Now, there’s no refill on this prescription, but these should get you through the worst of it,” the outtake nurse says.
I grab the fucking pills and my plastic bag of papers and I bang on the elevator buttons—come on—and I hightail it to Burbank Airport but my flight is delayed and I sit there watching planes come and go, listening to Stephen Bishop songs blur into Steely Dan songs and finally it’s time to board.
We land at SeaTac and now that I’m really here, really close, it’s starting to hit me.
You might not ever forgive me. After all, Love never forgave me.
I call a Lyft and I get into the Lyft and I board the ferry and the I AM BROKEN clock is still broken and I disappeared on you. I broke my promise to you.
We reach Bainbridge and the parking lot is buzzing with tourists and bicycles and it’s not summer just yet, but the men are in sandals and the mommies are in light little jackets and time has passed. Is it too much time?
I walk all the way home and I turn onto my street and you were right, Mary Kay. This isn’t Cedar Cove. If it were, you would be watering our flowers and making a visor with your hand and waving at me. Joe! You’re here!