Page 142 of Invisible String
“Call me Hector.”
“Hector, either you’re in denial or you were too drunk, but you know what I think? It’s both.”
Hector goes to sit in an old rocker.
“Max lived from foster home to foster home. He was mistreated, starved, abused, and scarred by others, not just yours. I’m sure there are other things that happened in those homes I don’t know about.”
The rocker stops moving. He’s gone still.
I continue. “Even after everything you put him through, he still shows up to help your drunk ass. The only person who has a fault in all of this is you,” I bellow, my throat going dry. I point at him. “It was not his fault his mother passed. Max was an innocent child. He wanted to go to practice, and that didn’t make it his fault. He needed you. Max was grieving, also, but youdidn’t give him the chance to. No, you beat him, punished him for something out of his control.”
Angerly wiping my tears, I reach for the twenty-four-pack of beer he has lying in the living room. He lifts his hand out as if I was going to hand it to him. Can by can, I drain it. Hector stays silent.
“You were supposed to keep him safe,” I yell, throwing the empty cans in the trash. Then I grab the picture of Max with his mother. I shove it in his face. “What would your wife think of you now? What would she say? You didn’t keep her precious child safe and loved.”
“Get the fuck out!” Hector’s voice roars like thunder.
I’m hitting where it hurts. “Fuck you.” God, I’m being disrespectful to Max’s father, but fuck him. “I’m not leaving. What would your wife think of you? Tell me? She would hate you for what you’ve done. You sent her baby away without fighting to get him back.” My voice breaks. I shake my head at him.
“I thought a nice family adopted him.” Hector’s voice drops to a low mumble.
“What would make you think that? You never asked him.”
“A year later, after they took him, I went to speak with his caseworker, and they said he was in a good home. That he would be better off than with me. I believed it. I caused him pain. His mom was gone, I figured he could have a better life.”
“He didn’t. Max hadn’t been adopted. When he turned eighteen, he was out of the system. He’s been through a lot. He was homeless for some time, although Carlos has been there for him. Max is not one to take handouts.”
Hector runs his hands through his hair, his hands shaking. “Carlos didn’t adopt him? I’ve seen him on TV with him. I thought it was him.” He reaches for a bottle of tequila and then takes a shot.
Beneath the surface is a man suffering profoundly from the loss of his wife who also clearly regrets losing his son and the way he mistreated him. He masks these feelings with anger as a way to manage his sorrow. Perhaps he initially blamed Max, but I suspect that feeling vanished when Max was sent away from him, as he attempted to bring him back. It seemed easier for him to remain angry rather than admit his mistakes.
“No, he was never adopted,” I repeat. I’m glad Andrew’s parents never did. Max is too good for them. I know I’m close to breaking this man into admitting the truth. “Your wife, she’s beautiful,” I say, pointing at the photo.
“She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. I can’t breathe without her. I don’t know how.” His voice cracks.
“I understand, not completely, but I understand the feeling of loving that much. I’ve tried living without him, and my life was turned upside down.” I dust a crumb off a chair and sit. “You had a son to live for, to grieve with who you and your wife created. He has his mother’s eyes and her smile.”
“He has her laugh,” he adds.
“I bet she’s rolling over in her grave, Hector. She trusted you with her son.”
His chin trembles.
“Tell me, what would she say?”
My heart splinters into a thousand pieces as this man crumbles before me. His body shakes with the force of his sobs. Tears well up in my eyes, threatening to overflow. He unleashes a torrent of anguish, years upon years of suppressed grief and guilt pouring out in a relentless flood.
My feet move slowly toward him. He’s dropped to the floor on his knees, crying. I’m unsure if I should comfort him with a hug. Although he might not deserve it, he’s not a bad man. Hector made horrible mistakes that traumatized the love of my life, but Max must have already forgiven him since he helps hisfather. I kneel next to him and pat him on the back. He doesn’t push me away, only continues to sob.
“She would hate me,” he whispers. “She’s angry with me.” He bawls, and I continue to rub his back. “I love them,” Hector adds minutes later.
I nod, even though he can’t see it. My chest feels heavy with emotions. “Hector, would you consider getting help?” He doesn’t answer me, so I stay silent, giving him time. “I hope to have kids someday. Max wants kids, too.” He lifts his head up, so I continue. “He wants to marry me, and I can’t wait. We were fourteen when we met at a school in Carson City. I asked him to kiss me.” I giggle at the memory. “Then the next day, he was gone. I didn’t see him again for seven years. We had a summer fling, but he left because he didn’t think he was good enough for me and broke my heart. Then we found each other four years later.”
“He spoke of you years ago. He was helping me to bed and must have thought I was drunk—passed out, but I remember. It reminded me of how I see Marabel. You want kids?”
I retrieve a tissue from my purse, then hand it to him. “I do. I would love to have a little Max running around.”
“Marabel always wanted us to have more kids. She would have loved to be a grandmother.”
