Page 72 of For The Record

My hand, empty without his, remains in my lap, though my fingers ache to touch his again. I want to reach out to him. I want to say something more, something better than the thoughts running through my mind, but I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to make him feel better, and I don’t even know if I should be the one to help him through this.

But I have to try. Don’t I? Anything else is just selfish.

Then he pulls me toward him, his arm wrapping around my shoulders, and my mind empties of every worry, every concern, only registering that I am present in this chapel, with him. Words drift through my mind without leaving my lips; questions form and dissolve. We sit on the pew, side by side, wrapped in silent peace. Not pleasant, not numbing, not fake cheer, but—serenity.

For now.

Chapter 34: Leo Perez

The drive home from the funeral home is silent. Raina fiddles with her phone, opening and closing various apps before flinging it into the cupholder and staring out the window. A heavy tension settles over the Audi, palm trees and sunshine whizzing by in the middle of December. The holidays or any kind of joy is the last thing on my mind, and I power off the radio when Last Christmas starts blaring.

When we get out of the car and into the house, Raina doesn’t speak a word to me, preferring to head up the stairs to the guest room. Or, I guess what will become her permanent room. I moved out so early that I’ve never really gotten to know if Raina has any annoying habits like taking too long to shower. Which would not a problem here, since there are three and a half baths. Or, she might leave her clothes everywhere—possibly an issue, since her leather jacket and white Converse are already strewn around the living room.

The doorbell rings and I pause in shucking off my shoes, frowning. Wejustgot back from the funeral. Who could it be? Tia Flores had to go home to her husband, and no other relatives would be crowding the house without at least a text.

I look through the peephole and my stomach drops. Opening the door a crack, I greet the visitor. “This is hardly the time to send more invitations to your wedding with the fourth woman you’ve managed to dupe into marrying you.”

Antonio Perez stands on my doorstep, his greying hair dishevelled and charcoal suit rumpled. He looks like he’s been crying, and he carries a bouquet of white lilies with a card attached. “Can… Can we talk?”

“There’s nothing to say.” Grief and anger mix inside of me, and I hang onto the doorknob to keep from punching him in the face the way I did Naoya.

“Leo, mi hijo, por favor?” he says.Mi hijo.My son. He’s never called me that before. We’ve never spoken Spanish to one another. He hasn’t acknowledged my existence since I was twelve.

Why does he seem to bookend my life in this way? Only showing up when a new chapter is starting and the old one has closed? Only making a dramatic appearance when he knows it will hurt the most? Always trying to drag me back into the past, into bitter remnants of pain that I can’t bear to abandon?

Somehow, his words soften me and I give in. “You can come in, but only for a while.” I hear the shower turn on. “Raina is here, too, and I don’t want her to see you.”

“I’m sorry to hear about your mom,” he says, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Helena was a wonderful woman.”

“Is that why you abandoned her when you found out she was pregnant with me?” I snap. “Is that why you never bothered to stick around and raise me?”

“Leo, it was complicated,” he says with a sigh.

“I don’t think so,” I snarl. “I think if you wanted to, you would have stuck around or at least sent a check or two—”

“I did.” He grits his teeth. “Your mother didn’t want them. She said it was charity.”

My mother had me when she was nineteen. She spent her twenties waitressing, putting herself through night school, and raising me. She met Ricardo when she was twenty-eight and he stopped by the cafe she worked at. Love at first sight, she tells—told me.

“And why are you here now?” I say. “If it’s to pay your condolences, you’re too late. The funeral’s over.”

So you can take your ugly flowers and throw them into the ocean for all I care.

“Leo, please,” he says again. “I know I haven’t been around much, but I’m your father.”

“No, you aren’t,” I say, about to shove him out the door again. “Ricardo is my father. Fathers stick around. They care about their children. They support them. They do more than try to send a check and then show up when they’re not wanted.”

Better late than never,Skye’s words echo in my mind. I don’t know if this is what she meant.

“Your mother never wanted you to have this,” he says, tucking the flowers under one arm. He pulls something from the pocket of his blazer. “She said she wanted you to grow up like a normal kid. Grounded. Down to earth. I guess that worked out well for you, huh?”

A trace of his Venezuelan accent flickers through his voice, curling the ends of his words. “I don’t want it.”

“You don’t even know what it is yet.” To my surprise, what he pulls out is small. Unremarkable. A silver key with a number engraved on it. “Take that to Ultra Vault. Box 207. Tell them I sent you. It’s not much, but… You’re my only son, Leo. I know I’m not your only father, but you do mean something to me.”

I take the key and shove it deep into my pocket, a scoff slipping from my lips. “I don’t mean much, apparently.”

Antonio’s eyes almost look sad. Lonely. But he chose his path, and I’m choosing mine. He sets the flowers on the porch railing and turns to go. “Adios, Leo.”

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