Page 46 of Desert Loyalties
My voice cracks on the last word, but I keep going.
“They offered financial aid, too. Said they’d cover everything. Full ride. Only problem? Technically, I didn’t qualify.”
I glance at him, and his brow furrows.
“Because my father—” I pause to swallow the bile in my throat, “—he was rich. His name’s on my birth certificate. Even though I hadn’t seen him in years, even though he abandoned me, his income still counted. They said if I could prove he gave up custody, they’d make an exception.”
“So, I went back to the trailer.”
I stop pacing. Just stand there, trying to breathe through the memory.
“I don’t know if you’ve ever been in a single-bedroom trailer,” I ask. He shakes his head silently. “Ours was like a rusty RV that’d been nailed to the dirt. At the very end was the bedroom. Bathroom next to it, just across the hallway. No dryer, just a washer shoved into a corner. I used to sleep on top of it. My grandfather built a bench over it with an old mattress. That was my bed.”
Drake doesn’t speak. I know he’s listening because he’s gripping the edge of the bed.
“As soon as you walk in, there’s this small bench by the door. Barely wide enough to sit on. My grandparents used it for storage. Paperwork and stuff. It was always locked.”
My hands are shaking now, the memory rising like smoke.
“But I didn’t have anything left to lose. So, I jimmied it open with a screwdriver. I was desperate, just hoping to find something, anything, I could use. What I found was… worse.”
My voice gets smaller.
“There was this document. An agreement. I couldn’t understand all of it, there was a lot of legal jargon, but I got the point. My dad had signed over custody in exchange for paying my grandparents $20,000 a month in child support.”
Drake exhales sharply. I feel it like a gust in my chest.
“That money was meant for me. For food. For clothes. For a chance. And I…” I laugh, bitter and broken. “I thought we were poor. I skipped meals. Wore the same shoes for years. Gave up on being a kid.”
I pace again, faster now.
“I used to think their friends bought the booze, but no. They were just delivery boys. My grandparents were the ones spending my child support. They were out for days, ‘looking for work,’ but they weren’t. They were drinking away my future.”
I stop. Close my eyes. See it all again.
“There was a lighter. One of the ones they used to light the bong with. I was so fuckin’ angry. I lit that document on fire and threw it onto the pile of paperwork in the bench. I didn’t even check for anything else. I just… wanted it all to burn.”
Drake’s jaw is tight. His fists clenched now. I start to tremble.
“By the time I saw the smoke in my rearview, it was too late. I told myself it was justice. That they had it coming. But then…”
I choke on the words.
“Then I got the call.”
My knees give out and I hit the floor. Cold, hard, real. I curl forward, voice barely more than a whisper.
“They were asleep. In the back bedroom. I didn’t check. I didn’t think they were home. They were never home in the afternoon. Never.”
Tears flood my cheeks, and I wrap my arms around myself like that might hold me together.
“I didn’t know.”
I feel him move but I can’t look at him. Can’t face what’s in his eyes. Not after this.
Because this isn’t some small secret.
This is the truth.
