“I know what you’re thinking.” He put down the rest of the sandwich and picked out a slice of tomato.
“Oh yeah?”
I didn’t want to hear it because there was no light in our lives. It was all gloom and shadows, some we could peek through, while others were pitch-black and impenetrable.
“You think we’ll never climb out of this hole, but I’m positive we’ll find a way. And when I’m better, you can return to college.”
“That’d be nice.” I tried to smile, but it probably came out as a grimace. How I wished that was a possibility. If we owned the apartment, we could get a second mortgage or sell it. Anything to get Dad better. Once again, I cursed my father for ruining Dad’s life and Sebastian for having no compassion for us.
“There is one way.” I braced myself for my dad’s reaction.
“No!” There was more strength in his voice since he last shouted at his favorite soap opera character.
“But Dad?—”
“I said no.” Despite his forceful tone, his lower lip trembled and his eyes filled with unshed tears. “And as I’m the one who needs the money, you cannot go behind my back and ask him. Promise me, Heston.”
“Okay.” I grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. “Your program is just about to start.”
I took his plate and boiled the water for tea, but the weight of our problems had me sinking to the floor, a hand over my mouth to muffle the sobbing. If I didn’t come up with the money, I’d lose Dad. The person who’d put me first for over twenty years, who had never disparaged my father in front of me, though there were many nights I heard him crying through the thin walls.
I’d be alone in the world if Dad died, and while I was young and fit enough to get work and put a roof over my head, there would be not one person on earth who loved me. I didn’t want to imagine what that felt like, but the prospect terrified me.
A promise. I’d promised I wouldn’t contact Sebastian—or Sebby, as Father had called him.
Ewww, the name roiled my belly, and I stuck my head between my knees, telling my stomach to keep whatever was in there. It was only then I remembered I hadn’t eaten today. A sandwich would have to do, but I’d walk to the grocery store and buy fresh vegetables for Dad’s dinner. There was a little leftover chicken, and we had rice. He loved fried rice.
The kettle boiled, and I took peppermint tea in to my dad, along with his pills. He was almost asleep, and I hated to wake him, but his meds were important. They were keeping him alive until the operation.
After tucking Dad in and turning off the TV, I left a note by his bed saying I’d gone to the grocery store. I ate my sandwich as I strolled along the sidewalk and people-watched. Everyone was listening to music, wrangling their kids, jogging or walking arm in arm. Where were all the sad, lonely people?
Stop it, Heston, I told myself. Why would I want to project misery onto others? So it might chip away at my loneliness? No, that wasn’t it. Seeing someone in a similar situation would assure me I wasn’t alone. No way did I expect people to be sad for my benefit.
There was no need for a grocery store cart—I wouldn’t be buying much—so I grabbed a basket. Gods, the fresh produce was expensive. I bought frozen peas, carrots, and eggs. We hadgarlic, soy sauce, and fish sauce at home. Dad always insisted a dash of fish sauce in fried rice produced a unique flavor.
I’d hoped getting out of the apartment would get me out of my funk, but I sank further into depression when I saw what I could afford. As I left the store, someone called my name, and I froze. I didn’t want to pretend I was fine and life was hunky dory, and no acquaintance was in the mood to hear my tale of woe.
Turning on my heel, I slapped a smile on my face and waved at a college friend getting off his motorbike.
“Where’d you go? One day you were in class and the next you were gone. No goodbye, no nothing. Did you drop out?” He studied the cloth shopping bag I was holding.
I shrugged. “Death in the family.” That usually had people apologizing and offering condolences and not pushing me regarding where I was working.
“I’m so sorry. That’s rough. Hope things turn around and you finish your degree.”
“Thank you. Me too.” I waved and walked off. Jeff and I had never been close, but if he wanted to get a beer or grab a bite to eat, I couldn’t afford it, and my conversation lately revolved around taking pills and doctor’s appointments. I wasn’t much fun to be with.
As I turned a corner toward our building, a car roared past, and I dropped the shopping bag. It was a sports car, low to the ground, with two doors. The signature bright yellow made it instantly recognizable, but the grinding of the gears was familiar. Sebastian never could drive a stick shift.
One of the few times I’d seen him and Father argue was when Father bought that car for him. On seeing the car, Sebastian had jumped into Father’s arms, before sitting on the hood and kissing it, wiggling his ass over the paint job and stroking the car’s curves.
But when Sebastian got in the driver’s seat, and Father leaned over and showed him the gearshift, he freaked, yelling he had to exchange the vehicle for an automatic. But Father explained it was more fun to drive, and he’d have more control. They forgot about me, and Sebastian stormed into the house with Father running behind, promising he’d take Sebby somewhere nice for the weekend to make it up to him.
But Father never took the car back to the dealer, and I celebrated each time Sebastian crunched those damned gears.
What in the hell was he doing in our neighborhood? I shaded my eyes from the sun, thinking he might intend to visit Dad, but he roared past our building. That tweaked a memory. Not long after the divorce, when he and father were first married, Sebastian used to drive slowly past our building. I guess he hoped we’d see him and it’d destroy Dad.
I never brought it up to my dad, not wanting to cause him additional pain. Perhaps he was aware of it and didn’t mention it to me for the same reason.
