It felt like the walls were closing in on me. I needed air, so I hurried out the back door and gulped down more breaths. I stayed out there for about five minutes before Carly found me.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
The attack was winding down, but my entire body still thrummed with nervous energy. Forcing a smile, I replied, “Nothing. Everything is great.”
Chuckling, she shook her head. “You really are an awful liar.
Resigned, I answered truthfully. “Matt says the apartment’s finished. I can move back home.”
Concern pinched her eyebrows together. “Are you ready to go home?”
I shrugged. “All my stuff is there and I’m paying rent on the place.”
“So am I, but I’m not going back.”
Despite the fact she’d moved in with her boyfriend, Carly refused to leave me high and dry. She’d be paying her portion of rent until I found another roommate, which I still needed to do. I hadn’t even placed the ad yet, which wasn’t really fair to her. Truth be told, just thinking about starting that process again made my stomach lurch. But I would need to go home eventually.
“I don’t have anywhere else to go,” I said.
She rubbed my arm. “Link said you can stay here as long as you want.”
“I’m pretty sure he didn’t mean forever.” Even if he did, I missed having my own space. The fire station was great, and I felt safe and secure here, but it was busy and loud. As an introvert, I enjoyed eating and reading in peace, and the large group meals were a bit much for me after peopling all day at work.
“I can’t come with you tomorrow, and I really want to be there when you go back. Can you wait until next weekend when we get home?” Wasp, Trent, and Carly were flying out first thing in the morning to visit Wasp’s family for the Fourth. She was super anxious about it, and I didn’t want to give her another reason to worry. Waiting an additional week so she could hold my hand and make sure I was okay felt like chickening out, but the idea of moving back in now, alone, didn’t appeal to me either. One more week at the fire station wouldn’t hurt anything. “Please, Jess?”
Besides, Spade had to be coming back soon, and now that I knew what had happened, I wanted to see him again. The logical part of my brain kept insisting that I was begging for heartache, but I couldn’t help myself. “Okay.” I nodded. “I’ll wait to go home until you get back.”
She hugged me, planting a kiss on my cheek. “Thank you! Maybe we can plan a movie date or something at the apartment to make it feel less…”
Like a murder scene?“Yeah.” I cut her off because those words didn’t need to be said out loud. So far, I’d done an excellent job blocking out the shooting. Today’s panic attack just reinforced that I needed to keep my walls up until I was ready to cope. “Sounds good.”
Spade
SOMEONE ONCE SAID you don’t find out who your real friends are until you need help moving. As I argued with my father on the phone Tuesday afternoon, I wondered what that person would say about people who helped family relocate.
“We can’t drive down and help, Antonio. We must work Thursday. With you being down there all this time, we are behind. I’m working my ass off to build a business for you and your brothers, and I can’t do everything.”
A business I don’t want.
The words sat on my tongue, tasting bitter. I wanted to spit them out but didn’t have that kind of relationship with my dad. If I told him how I really felt, he’d accuse me of being ungrateful and disrespectful. Then he’d probably shun me from the family until I got my shit together. I’d have to cross that bridge and piss him off eventually, but right now, I needed to swallow my ambitions and do what was best for my uncle.
“I can move most of his apartment by myself. I just need help with the furniture.”
“Why bring it?” Dad asked. “Leave it there. Since he’s moving in with us, he won’t need it. We have plenty of shit here already.”
I was turning Uncle Jaime’s life upside down and taking away his independence by moving him to Seattle to live with my parents. “I can’t leave his stuff behind.” Putting into terms that Dad would understand—money—I added, “He wants to get his apartment deposit back.”
“Then donate the shit. Or sell it. It won’t do any good cluttering up my house.”
Dad wasn’t trying to be cruel; he was a practical man. The doctors said my uncle wouldn’t see another Fourth of July. They weren’t even counting on him making it to Christmas. His official prognosis was ischemic heart disease, a condition he may or may not have developed from the Agent Orange he was exposed to while in Vietnam. His extreme fatigue, chronic dizziness, and the swelling of his legs and feet had made it difficult for him to keep track of all the prescriptions they had him on. He’d managed to fuck them all up, taking even more years off his life. My mother would have his meds under control in no time, but not even she could undo the damage that had already been done.
Uncle Jaime’s life had a rapidly approaching expiration date.
His doctor wanted to clean out his arteries and give him a pacemaker, but my uncle insisted he’d had all the surgeries he intended to have. By moving him to Seattle, I was taking his dignity. I wouldn’t take away his stuff, too.
“He’s… I… Padre, this is his life. It’s what he has left to show for years of working his ass off. For years of service to our country. I’m not leaving the memories of his life with strangers.” I usually didn’t talk back to my father, but I needed him to understand how important this was. Getting rid of Uncle Jaime’s possessions would be like admitting defeat—like accepting his impending death—and I wasn’t ready to do that. Besides, I didn’t want to give the old man any reason to give up. I needed him to keep fighting.
“He’s not gonna need his furniture ever again.”
