Page 40 of Trig

Nine enters the kitchen to find me and Francisco in an infuriated state. Both of us are leaning over the glass, our elbows on the table, and hands folded the same way. His scowl matches mine, and neither of us moves an inch as we stare each other down.

“Boys, is there an issue here?”

Nine looks at me for answers. I finally break character, sit up straight, and motion to him.

“The floor is yours,” I say, utterly annoyed.

“My name is Francisco!” he barks out.

“Well, not anymore. Enough is enough. You’re getting a new name,” I insist.

“I don’t want a new name! I like mine! My mom gave it to me.”

“Well, your mom was a—”

Nine throws her hands up and cuts in. “Whoa! Let’s not go there, Trig.”

I’ve been arguing all morning with the kid and my nerves are fried. Me and Nine have been walking on eggshells since he came here in an attempt to let him adjust, and it’s been hard. We’ve catered to him, pampered him, and avoided talking about his mother. I can’t do it anymore. It’s not fair to Mya who is disciplined. It’s not fair to us, and it’s certainly not doing him justice in the long run. We need to give him a new identity. I have zero records for this kid, which means I have to call an old friend for an old favor and have him make up some. I attempt to stick to the original story when speaking to him but it comes out harsh,

“Your mom… she abandoned you. I’m your dad. I make the rules now.”

Francisco looks at me and then at Nine. He squints his eyes.

“You’re a liar. I don’t trust you. You make nothing,” he says, as he runs away to his room.

I start to stand up and go after him, but Nine stops me.

“The delivery could have been better, Trig. We don’t know what he’s been through. Natasha and Carmen and that life is all he knows. It’s going to take a lot of work and a lot of patience.”

I sit down and run my hands over my face.

“He’s hard-headed, arrogant, and won’t back down.”

Nine scoffs.

“Something funny?” I inquire.

“He’s you. That boy is all you. From his looks to his mouth, right down to his actions.”

“I think I’m in over my head with him. What if he turns out to be like his mom, with a screw loose?”

Nine walks behind me and starts to massage my tense shoulders.

“Relax, baby. We’re adjusting and he has barely begun grieving the life he once had. Something we both are very educated in.”

I nod in frustration. A boy missing his mom is something I can relate to. I understand his pain. I do. But given the situation, it’s difficult to remind myself to keep empathy when he grieves for the ghost of my enemies. No matter how hard I try, he hates me. He’s resentful. He called me a liar. I suppose I am. I’m a liar for his sanity, is what I tell myself. We have to look at that boy every day for the rest of our lives and know that we killed his mother and grandfather and took satisfaction in spilling their blood. We have to stick to the lie and repeatedly tell him he was abandoned, hoping one day it sticks, and expect in the process to gain his trust. He’s too young to understand reality. To understand the depth of adult pain. To know the degree of what has happened. I know that at this stage, it’s better to comfort him with a lie, than hurt him with the truth, even if he hates me for it. Nine leans down and kisses the top of my head. I turn in my chair to face her as she moves in front of me.

“I’m sorry!” I mutter, as I place both hands on her hips.

She looks down at me, confused. “Sorry for what?”

“For all the darkness.”

She shakes her head.

“Trig, I love you, and if that means we have to walk through the darkness together to get to the light then so be it. Everything is going to be fine. Look at me,” she says, as she grabs my face.

Just as those affirming words leave her mouth, chaos strikes again. Francisco stands a good distance away with one of my guns pointed at us. We slowly raise our hands up in the air. Neither of us says a word at first. His hand is steady and his eyes are locked in. Not a tremble in sight. He has no fear, which makes me think that he’s held a gun before. One wrong move from us and his finger would surely pull that trigger.

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