Mrs. Josephine helped carry my third suitcase up the stairs. The elevator was not working again.
Man, I had gotten used to things the easier way. How quickly I’d acclimated to my new lifestyle. It was easy to go up. It was going to be a lot harder coming down.
Mrs.Josephine had a protocol in place and a worksheet Bruce and I would have to fill out, but I knew we’d gloss over that play act if we had to. Bruce and I would come to terms after she left. I had six months before I was legally a man, but my right fist had been ready to enlist in my private war for a while.
When Bruce swung the door open, I noted his head was tilted down. He was expecting a boy. And then his gaze tracked up to my face, angling his head so he could see me.
“Shit.”
I gave him the look he gave me for so many years. The look of knowing I was more powerful. In the push and shove, in an arm wrestle of life, if it was him versus me, there would be no contest. Not anymore.
“I’m sorry? This is the right place, right? Bruce Jones? I’m sorry. I just know so many families.” She started to flip through her papers again.
“You’ve got it right. That’s him,” I offered in my deep voice.
“Oh, okay. So nice to see you…”
Mrs. Josephine had to have been in a lot of awkward positions in her life, but I was pretty sure me glowering at my father who looked scared and about twenty years older than his birthdate on our file suggested would be one of her top ten cringeworthy. She was not reuniting a child and parent. She was reuniting a vendetta with a curse.
Bless her, she tried to start the worksheet as I hefted my suitcases into my old room. It had been left the same. Same bed, same comforter. I couldn’t help myself as Mrs. Josephine asked Bruce what hobbies he planned to take up with me, I leaned over my desk and peeked at Pixie’s window. It was shut tight with black curtains and my window was open, just an inch or so, but it was open. The metal ramp was still jammed between our windows, rusted and ancient-looking like everything outside the window.
Pixie.
My heart felt like she was still there, but maybe she wasn’t. I heard Bruce giving some bullshit answers like he and I were going to play catch. He’d closed the door on the Burathons for me. Now he had forced a huge, ripped, angry teen back into his life. I’d make sure he regretted it.
I walked into the living room. “Hey, Mrs. Josephine, this is great and all, but we both know that worksheet means shit.”
Bruce spoke up, maybe from his new parenting class, “Son, we don’t speak to ladies like that.” Indigent. Like he was some fancy old Southern woman.
“This lady here? She’s ten times tougher than you’ll ever be. And don’t call me son. I just left my real dad three hours ago.”
I watched as his face and chest crumbled with my words. And I felt a pulse of victory. His new fear became something I was looking forward to. I looked at Mrs. Josephine.
“Unless that paper is going to get me back home with my real family? Then maybe just leave. It’s getting dark and this neighborhood is rough.” I walked to the door and held it open.
She had a soul, this woman. And it probably wasn’t fair to hit her that hard. She saw where I had been. The beautiful house, the loving family. And now back here to this. Maybe this would bother her when she tried to sleep, but I was tapped out. I had to face a lot tonight, and she was the last door I had to close before I gave up all hope of anything working out with my foster family, until at least I was eighteen and legally allowed.
I wasn’t going to run away. I wasn’t going to try to get in trouble and be taken away again. It was a six-month sentence, and I had to pay for it. Maybe being Bruce’s flesh and blood came with this price.
She offered me a handshake and reassured me she’d be in touch.
“You don’t have to. I’ll be fine.” As she walked out the door, Bruce tried his luck, clapping me on the shoulder.
“That a boy. We’ll be just fine.” I bent my elbow and snatched his wrist, closing the door before turning to him.
“What happens when you beat a kid his whole life? Then you insist he comes back to you and he’s a head and half taller and can punch you out every goddamn night?” I flicked my hand to get rid of the contact.
“Gaze, I’m your father.” He looked bewildered. The power dynamic in this relationship had shifted wildly.
“At least you have one thing going for you. The rest is a pile of shit. Where’s Pixie?” I headed back to my room and he followed me.
“So this is what those rich assholes taught you? To be disrespectful to me? To curse at women? Look at all this stuff. They buy you, boy?” Bruce was working himself up to a lather.
I spun on him and took him in. The details that my subconscious registered from when I was kid. His eyes were clear; his hands weren’t trembling. He didn’t smell bad. “You’re on the wagon? Maybe a year or so? Have you been past Tapps yet? When you were sad or happy or on a Friday? When you were mad at the government for taxes or angry at women for turning you down? Because the right combo of that will start you drinking again. You’ll never be sober. But here’s some fresh information—when you decide that the only thing that will cure your anger is ripping into me? You’re going to get the surprise of your fucking life. I might be more like you than you thought.” I pushed on the center of his chest and he stumbled backward. I slammed the door in his face.
This had me feeling everything and nothing. It felt like my last three years was a virtual reality headset and I just slipped it off my head and handed it to someone else. I didn’t want to unpack. I didn’t want to speak to Bruce. And despite my venomous words, I didn’t want to hit anyone.
I looked across the alley and saw movement behind the black curtains. Nothing was really defined. I waited for hours to see if the curtain would open, but nothing happened.
Chapter 36
Gaze
IT WAS THE sound of the city that woke me. It was crazy that the silence at the Burathons’ made me nervous at first, but my body adapted to the quiet at night. But now, the honking and the undercurrent of the busy urban life that I was in the center of was way too loud.
My bed was small. Damn. My feet and calves hung over the edge. I was an entirely different person than the last time I had lain in this same spot. My first thought was Pixie. I pushed myself up so I could see out my window. The sound outside was always accompanied by the lightness of her on my soul. Happiness. I walked over and pushed my window all the way up. After leaning on my forearms and sticking my head out, I saw that so little had changed. How had I walked across to Pixie’s that often? Five stories up was no fucking joke.
The thought of how Ronna would be if she was supervising Pixie and me crossed my mind. She would’ve never let the tightrope act go on. Thinking of Ronna made my heart squeeze, so I picked up my phone to see if I had any messages. Thirty-two. Thirty messages from the Burathons. Loving messages from Ronna and Mike. Hilarious ones from Austin. Rocket dressed up in a few outfits by Teddi and a few new downloads from Milt.
I dragged my fingers through my hair, making it stand up wild in my semi-transparent reflection in the window.
How did things change so quickly? Time was as transparent and unreliable as I was. I sighed before opening my door. Bruce was waiting in the kitchen, coffee cup in hand. I ignored him and went to the cabinet with the mugs. I grabbed one that said “I LOVE CVS’’ and filled it from the pot that was percolating under the machine.