His eyes flash.
“So, there is someone,” he says, seizing on that like a dog with a bone. “He looked like money, mi amor. Looks like he’s a dealer. You really leveled up, huh?”
Anger rushes past the panic in my body.
“We aren’t talking about them. We’re talking about you, standing here where you don’t belong. Trespassing.”
He laughs under his breath. A little rasping sound that makes my body tighten from traumatic memories of late-night fights, late bills, and too-late apologies.
“You sound like a cop. You’ve been hanging around them too much at the hospital, huh? Getting advice on how to handle your husband? Or is it the rich drug dealer teaching you how to talk down to people now?”
I take another step, closing the space so I’m on the top step, and he’s still on the sidewalk, forcing him to look up at me just a little.
“It’s my job that taught me how to talk like this. Twelve hours a shift with people yelling, crying, begging, dying, and me still having to tell them the truth. So, here’s another truth for you. I don’t want you here. I’m not giving you anything. Not tonight, not tomorrow, not ever again. You stole too many good years from me. Stole everything I had and cheated in our bed. You did this. You made me this way. You turned me into something I never wanted to be. An ex-wife with a loser ex-husband. So, go. Leave like you did before and never come back.”
Brazen in my words, soft in their delivery.
“You don’t even know what I’m asking for.”
His nostrils flare like he’s trying to sniff out a lie.
“Yes, I do. You only ever show up when you want something.”
Somewhere down the block, a car door slams. A baby cries briefly in a nearby apartment before somebody shushes them. It’s the first signs of movement around us and makes me feel better. I’m not completely alone if I need help. We stand frozen in a tiny bit of silence until he breaks it.
“It’s not a big deal,” he says, voice dropping into that cajoling tone I used to fold for every time. “Just a little help. Five hundred, maybe. To get me through. You know how it is.”
Five hundred.
Half my rent or groceries, utilities, Paco’s heartworm meds, or a chunk of what I send Mami each month so she doesn’t have to water down her soup or choose between medicine and lights.
“No. I don’t have that kind of money. You know what I make.”
His face hardens, always hating when I stand up to him.
“Don’t lie to me. You got it. I saw that car, that new lock, the guy. If you don’t have it, you can get it.” His mouth curls around the word with disgust. “You expect me to believe you’re still living paycheck to paycheck when you got that?”
“You think a man coming into my life and fixing the damage you did means I have extra money to throw at you?” My laugh is hollow and humorless. He should know best how much things cost when a man destroys them. “Or that I’m suddenly some sugar baby rolling in cash? That’s not how this works.”
“Oh, so he bought it.” His eyes gleam with a dangerous glitter, and I shift back. Wondering if I could outrun him if necessary. “The lock I couldn’t pick, and the new kick plate at the bottom. What else is he buying? Food? Maybe your mama’s medicine. Maybe he’s paying off all the debt you cried about for years, huh?”
My stomach flips at the way he digs his fingers into old wounds.
“You left me with that debt. You torched my credit. You pawned my jewelry. You disappeared with that chick and left me to clean everything up. So no, I’m not giving you anything. I’m rebuilding my life. I’m not letting you burn it down again. Go harass that girl? What’s her name? Sandy, Sally, Sarah?”
I know her name.
It’s burned into my brain forever. He takes a step forward, close enough now that his breath hits my face, sour and stale.
“You really think you can get away with this? You kicked me out. You left me with no money. I let you have that divorce, but you’re still mine. I’m not letting you go. Even if you think you can have that rich prick try to rough me up. I’ve got people too. Got eyes on you and him, everywhere you go. You think you can just walk to and from the train. But you don’t know who is out there, waiting for you. Just one word from me and . . .”
His words flicker out.
The threat is clear as day.
My gaze slides over the cracked steps, the peeling paint on the railing, the old bricks stained with years of exhaust and struggle to the dark streets, wondering where his friends are lurking.
“Yeah, now you get it. You’re safe because I say you are. And that guy with his fancy car is coming into the wrong neighborhood, trying to throw his weight around. That shit doesn’t work in my block.”
