“Who the fuck could blame her? Have you seen your fucking reflection lately?” I tighten my grip on his throat to make sure I don’t get a response. Releasing him, he remains where he stands, neck marred, which brings me little satisfaction.
“I’m going to make this easy since you seem like a pretty simple man. The money I’m about to give Zach to replace the shoes and backpack you stole and anything extra belongs to him. For needs you can’t meet because you’re a worthless, selfish fucking drunk. Anything else I decide to gift your son better fucking remain in his possession.”
Not so playfully tapping his jaw, I walk over to where Zach stands, his own profile ghastly white, and hand him one of my burner phones after programming my cell in. A now-shaking Tim keeps himself busy restocking the endcap I destroyed.
“Memorize this number and call me. Every goddamn day. If he touches you when I leave, call me—if you have to, come to the garage. Do you know where it is?”
Zach nods, eyes soaked in fear as I pull out a wad of bills and place them in his shaking palm, rage seeping into me at the fear that’s been instilled in him.
“This isn’t how it’s supposed to be,” I relay as twin tears he’s been fighting finally spill over his cheeks.
At the sight of them, it takes every ounce of my strength to speak instead of act. “Zach, look at me.”
He does, and I fight within myself to keep what’s threatening to unleash locked down. “This is not your fault. It’s his fucking failure.” Zach swallows. “Do you hear me?” I stare into the eyes of a terrified boy who’s been living impoverished and seemingly punished for merely existing in a drunk’s selfish world—no doubt feeling like an unwanted burden, an obligation. A boy I’ve watched grow up over the years and was forced to abandon when I went to Boston. A boy who’s habitually abused by the adult he’s been forced to call his father. “It was his decision to become who he is, and it’s going to be your choice not to be anything like him. One you’ll make every day. Understand?”
Zach gives me another nod, his tears flowing freely. Tears that tell me he’s suffered horribly, which pushes me to my limit. I snatch my drink from the counter and know I have to bail when a sob escapes him.
“Get me a wrap, okay?” I slap a twenty on the counter. It’s when I see the bruised fingerprints on the back of Zach’s neck that I step back over to Tim, who refuses to meet my eyes. Forcing my way into his personal space, they fearfully snap up. “If you abuse him again in any way, I will fucking kill you.”
Tim gapes at me as Zach turns and pauses, gauging his father’s expression when I stalk back over to grab the papers.
“Thanks,” I collect them and see my hand is visibly shaking, “be good.”
“I will.” Zach nods, and I can tell he wants to say more but doesn’t. Knowing that fear will have him in a chokehold until he believes any part of what I told him.
He’s eleven, so it won’t be too much longer until the resentment kicks in and the anger follows. What scares me is who he’ll become when he gets angry about the venomous hand he’s been dealt in a world that’s fucked him. Dressed in rags, surrounded by bigots who continually shame him for doing nothing but breathing in and out and trying to survive another fucking day with a growling stomach.
Will he start to retaliate against it? Will there be a fucking soul there to hold him back? A person aware of the war that will rage between his heart and mind to help him understand the way my brother—who’s still trying to reel in my resentment for Delphine—helps me?
Exiting the station with worry for the future of the replica of a younger me on the other side of the glass, I’m stopped short when I see Cecelia hemmed up at my hood, being harassed by one of the regulars at the machines.
“No, the car isn’t mine,” she replies politely, “excuse me.”
When he blocks her path, I feel the anger I just tempered flare again as the asshole speaks up, stalling her with small talk, his posture predatory, “I used to race back in the day. Just wanted to—”
Wrapping my fingers around his neck, I use the leverage to swat him out of the way. Cecelia’s eyes widen when he smacks into the side of the building before landing on his ass. She gapes at me as I snatch the bathroom key from her grip with my order—my patience thinned out. “Get in the car.” Lifting my gaze back to the store, I meet Tim’s eyes through the window before making my way back inside. Tim makes himself busy as I hand Zach the keys, elevating my voice. “See you both soon.”
Delphine’s pill box and trash can in hand, I stop outside of Tobias’s old bedroom door and twist the lock from inside in case Cecelia uses the bathroom and gets curious—which is likely since she bulldozed her way inside the house after I ordered her not to. Satisfied when the knob doesn’t give, I return to the living room where Delphine sits in her recliner, Cecelia hovering uncomfortably nearby as I set the pill box on her table and the trashcan within reach.
“All separated. Take them, Tatie, or you’ll get sicker,” I order, spotting the French translation Bible forever resting in her lap. “Too late for you, witch.”
We share a chuckle before she speaks up. “If there’s a back door into heaven, maybe I’ll find it for you too.”
“Maybe I don’t agree with His politics,” I add, unwilling to get into another spiritual debate.
“Maybe He disagrees with yours, doesn’t mean He can’t be an ally. And you forget I know you. And stop separating my pills. I’m not an invalid.”
Taking in her frail appearance, I can’t help my reply. “You’re doing a good job getting there. Don’t drink tonight. I’m not searching the house, but if you do, you know what will happen.”
“Yeah, yeah, go,” she dismisses me as I swipe the remote and begin clicking through channels.
The mood intensity shifts behind me before Cecelia speaks up, her question for Delphine. “Should we stay?”
“Not my first time. Go, the night is young, and so are you, don’t waste it,” Delphine gives in a typical reply, though her weak tone betrays the strength of the declaration.
Fighting the urge to snap out my rebuttal, I mutter it instead. “You are too.”
To say that whatever feelings I have for my aunt are complex would be a gross understatement. In the last handful of years, we’ve come to an understanding of sorts. In no way do I view her as a parent, but a parent is what she’s tried to resemble as of late—more recently in the months she’s convinced herself her death is imminent. Only escalating her illness with the way she treats her body, Delphine’s been trying to pass down what nuggets of wisdom she feels are fitting for me. To her credit, I’ve been listening.
For the most part, our efforts have proven worth it. We’ve salvaged what relationship we’re capable of—unless, during our conversations, I’m reminded of her cruelty early on.
Admittedly, seeing her so weak and terrified has beaten a lot of the resentment out of me. Even though a raging alcoholic, she was once a force to be reckoned with. A force that, at one point, Tobias and I found impossible to manage. Amidst her drunken ramblings over the years, some of her logic as Tobias, Sean, Tyler, and I strategized, was brilliant. We put it to use—especially her insight on fighting the machine we all loathe. In that, she’s inadvertently been a part of rearing the soldiers we’ve become, even if she lost the war of having her own role in our movement.