They’d taken the picture a year before Mattie passed. I felt for Rafael. How it all went down had to be traumatizing, and Rafael was there when it happened. I wanted to be his friend.
On the wedding day, I could smell the liquor on him, but I still didn’t want to say anything. I thought if I even mentioned it, Mom might collapse.
Her first marriage was an elopement with my Dad at the courthouse downtown. They were both nineteen when they found out Mom was pregnant, and marrying that fucker was the worst decision she ever made. Her parents disowned her, and my Dad turned out to be a scumbag. Everything in her life after that elopement was a chaotic firestorm of secrets and pain.
Dad hid an alcohol problem for years and gambled away our entire life. My mother’s face the day the bank loaded everything we owned onto a truck, leaving us homeless, will forever be seared in my memory. Dad ran off like a coward. I don’t know where he is—don’t care either—and Mom and I moved into affordable housing.
Mom took it hard.Really hard.
I’m pretty sure she had a nervous breakdown because she didn’t get out of bed for two whole weeks. I was six and tried to make her eat the ridiculous breakfasts a six-year-old would make: toast with chocolate syrup, Fruity Pebbles with heaping spoonfuls of sugar added, the good stuff for a kid who could barely reach the freezer door. I took the reins and became the parent for close to two months, while my poor Mom ambled about the tiny apartment in a stupor. The school kept calling home because I smelled. I hadn’t bathed in weeks because nobody made me wash, and six-year-old me didn’t like taking baths anyway. Eventually, I stopped going because I was so worried about Mom. I later had to repeat first grade because of my truancy. The school finally called our emergency contact, Aunt Sue, who arrived at the apartment to find my Mom slumped in her bed with a Camel Light dangling between her lips and me making grilled cheese with a clothing iron because the fire on the stove scared me.
Aunt Sue packed us up that night and took us to her place, and we lived in her basement for four years. I don’t know what we would have done without her. We would have stayed longer, but a pipe burst one winter, flooding ourhome. After that, we’d bounced around from one crappy place to another for six whole years until Mom met Hank. Six years of never knowing what tomorrow might bring. Six years of clenching my body in anticipation of the inevitable dropping of the shoe.And it always managed to drop.
After the breakdown, my Mom just couldn’t handle any amount of stress. If the slightest thing happened, she shut down. She fell apart on every holiday and birthday—anything could trigger her. It broke my heart, but I eventually grew accustomed to it. I got good at sensing the impending collapse and swooped in when my spidey sense warned me that shit was about to hit the fan.
I could teach a whole class on crisis avoidance.Then the wedding happened.The look on Mom’s face when Rafael went on his rampage mirrored the expression she had the day they took our whole life away on a truck. Her eyes became glassy, and her body trembled. My mother was already a pale person, but her breakdowns drained her face of the usual rosy undertones, transforming her into a walking ghost. Multiple people tried to stop Rafael. Even the priest attempted to grab that little prick and slap his hand over his mouth. Rafael wriggled away and ran like a maniac around the church, his screaming echoing off the walls. He finally started bolting down the aisle, running straight for my mother and Hank, when I stuck out my arm and clotheslined him. I’ll be honest: I never felt more satisfied than when his lower body swung like a bell in the air, lining up parallel to the floor and clattering to the ground.
For a moment, he just lay there, and I could sense the entire congregation fearing I killed the motherfucker. I didn’t.Unfortunately.
Now he was moving in.
Mom approached and rested a hand on my shoulder, snapping me out of my thoughts. “I know you’re still angry about the wedding—”
“Understatement,” I interjected.
“—but there’s nothing we can do about this,” she added.
I threw my hands up in the air in exasperation. “That’s bullshit! Of course, there’s something we can do. We can say ‘no.’ Tell Rita to deal with him, or she can kick him out and let him fend for himself!”
Mom held up her hand, signaling that I needed to cool it, then added, “Rita has dealt with him for the last four years. Alone. Hank hasn’t been present in Rafael’s life since he moved out, and that’s probably one reason Rafael acts out like he does,” Mom explained.
Of course, Mom was empathizing with that little fucker. She was always the sweetest.
I, on the other hand, was not feeling quite so empathetic. My feet couldn’t stay still. I would have slammed a fist into the marble countertop if I hadn’t moved. I took deep breaths as I spoke. “He’s not acting out. That’s what you say about a twelve-year-old who steals a kid’s lunch money. He’s committing crimes! He drove drunk and wrecked his car. He doesn’t need a father figure; he’s eighteen! He needs an ass-kicking! Or to go to jail or something.”
“Please!”A raspy desperation laced Mom’s words. She closed her eyes and took a breath. I could see her counting in her head.I need to shut up. She opened her eyes again and begged, “Please, try. That’s all I’m asking for, Cody. I’m sorry this is happening, but I’m asking that you try. If it’s a complete disaster, we’ll figure something out.”
I hated this. I hatedhim.If I never saw Rafael again, it’d be too soon, but I also wasn’t about to put Mom through more pain.
I hugged her and whispered, “Okay. I’ll try.”I’ll try not to kill him.
Chapter 3
Rafael
All my bluster evaporated like a puddle on hot pavement the minute Hank arrived to pick me up. I wanted to be made of stone when he walked through the front door. I wanted to see the look on his face when I didn’t react to his presence. He iced me out of his life? Well, fuck him. Two can play that game,Dad.
But seeing him physically standing in our foyer hit me like a ton of bricks. Hank hadn’t set foot in our house in nearly four years, and his presence ignited a firestorm of hurt and confusion. A deluge of memories flooded my mind, ripping my heart in half as the echoes of accusations and tears churned in my brain. The entire funeral came rushing back to me. I could smell the clove-like scent of the carnations surrounding Mattie’s casket.
The longer it took me to gather my things, the more it dawned on me that, in the four years since Mattie died, Mom and I existed in a state of suspension. Nothing had changed since the day Hank left. We lived in a purgatory of mourning. The stabbing wound from Mattie’s death evolved into an ever-present dull pang. It was justthere.
The same couldn’t be said for Hank. The man looked immeasurably altered. I’m not talking about physically. Sure, the gray around his temples was new, and there were a few more creases in his forehead, but the most stunning change was the lack of tension in his face. He exuded a sense of calm. He never looked like that when he lived with us. Even before Mattie died, Hank had a troubled expression permanently etched on his face, as if he were always holding in gas or smelling something awful. But as he stood in the home he’d fled from years ago, I realized that Hank radiated something different. There was a calmness to his presence. His expression looked… healthy.
I hated it.
How dare he? So, things were that peachy with his new family, huh? He didn’t deserve to be healthy. He deserved to be broken—broken like me. What right did he have, looking like the past didn’t haunt his dreams? Who the fuck did he think he was looking like the dark waters weren’t ripping his heart from his chest and dragging it to the seafloor? I bet he could even catch his breath when the thunder struck and lightning cracked, too. I wanted to rip his contented face right off and grind it into the floor.
As I gathered the last of my things, I glanced at Mom, hoping I could convince her to reconsider. The fury in her eyes had subsided, and what remained was exhaustion. She looked so damn tired, and it was all because of me.
