I hated that book with every fiber of my being. Then Mom left, and I read and reread it until I half had it memorized. Can still quote whole passages verbatim. I fully intended to quote those passages to her. She’d come back because she forgot something, and I’d be ready with my quotes and she’d be so impressed that this time she’d take me with her.
Except she didn’t come back.
Then, later, I found her.
“Not okay, Dad.” I flatten my palm over the digibook’s smooth screen, rub out the smudges. “Not okay.”
“I was careful, I promise.” He grins, hand to his chest. “Heart swear.”
I pause. Dad only heart swears when he’s happy, and he’s only happy when he’s had a drink.
I softly lay the digibook down and lift the juice glass from the couch side table. It smells stringent, earthy, acidic. “Dad.”
“What?”
I cross to the kitchen and pour his latest down the sink.
He rises with that fluid grace that means he’s had at least one, but not three.
“Wait—lord, Kit, don’t you know how much that stuff costs?”
I slam the glass down and grip the sink’s edge. Breathe past the hole in my gut. “Get a shower. You’re leaving.”
“Kit—”
“No, Dad. Just you being here could get me kicked out. It was only supposed to be one night and you’ve had two.”
Not to mention Dee knows he’s here.
“Kit—” Whiny and forlorn.
“You know what,” I say, “forget the shower. Just go.”
He steps forward, smile gone. “Kit, please—”
“Out.” I point at the door.
He sags, body and soul. Like I’ve slit his tendons and he’s forgotten to fall. His eyes glaze bright, shine and swim.
It’s the alcohol; it’s just the alcohol. He is not going to cry.
“I’ve nowhere to go,” he says.
“You’ll find something.” Or, more likely, someone.
“No, Kit, you don’t get it.” He sinks to the floor, right there in the middle of the carpet, head in his hands. “He took everything. You see? He took it all. My money, even my clothes, and he still says it’s not enough.” He flings his arms out and almost topples over. “You see this? This is everything I have in the universe, right here. This is it. This, and you.”
A chill threads claws down my spine. “What are you talking about? He? He who?”
Dad’s hands fall to his lap, eyes drawn over pallid cheeks. “I’ve nowhere to go and no money to get there.”
“Dad, who?”
He sinks into himself. “Decker.”
“Wait, East 5th Decker?”
The lord of the pawn dealers. Money, drugs, antiques—if it’s illegal, Decker’s got a hand in it. He can get anyone anything they want, assuming they don’t mind offering their soul in exchange. Decker always collects.
I’d gone to him for help with Yonni’s pills when Greg and Dee fell through. He’d laughed and said I was a pretty little thing, but those were worth more than I could pay.
Dad collapses into the carpet and cries silent, fat tears. It hurts to look at him. It hurts not to. Everything hurts.
“Don’t kick me out, Kit,” he says, very soft. “Please.”
Begging. He’s actually begging.
If he’s in trouble with Decker, he’d have to.
“No, shit, Dad, get up. Just get up.” I lock my hands behind my neck to run them over my head, except my hat’s there. I almost knock it off.
He can’t stay. He won’t keep quiet, especially if Dee shows again.
Dad gulps air and pulls himself upright, stumbling as if he’s had five glasses instead of two.
“How much do you owe?” I ask.
“Fifteen hundred reds,” he whispers.
Three months’ salary.
Hell.
“Kit—”
“No.” I hold both my hands up as if I could push back the words, this truth, his voice. “Shut up and let me think.”
Three months’ salary. Even if Mr. Remmings hires me back—if—there’s energy to cover and food, so it’s more like six months. Decker won’t wait six months. And the thing about Decker? He’ll make you pay up, one way or another. Often in blood.
That’s why Greg stole Missa’s pain meds. He owed Decker, too.
That’s why, when I tracked Greg down to retrieve them, I let him keep half. So that when I next saw my cousin, he wasn’t missing a limb or a spleen.
Yonni would have skinned me. She never knew. By the time I returned with the pain meds I had, Missa was dead.
But Greg still has all his internal organs, and so far, so does Dad.
Yonni’s gone, and Mom. There’s not many of us left.
I close my eyes. “If I cleared the debt, could you manage a room somewhere? Like a boarding tower or something?”
Not stellar living, but clean and cheap.
I’ve flipped the light switch of Dad, he brightens to near blinding. “You’d do that? Square me with Decker?”
Apparently, I am really this stupid.
“You have to be quiet.” I come round the counter and get right in his face. “Don’t open the door, don’t answer the intercom, don’t do anything. I’m going to tell everyone you left last night and weren’t here the night before. Do not make me a liar.”
“Oh, Kit, you’ve no idea—”
“I mean it, Dad. You are not here.”
He wraps me up, big hands balling in my shirt, breath more juice than alcohol. “I know, baby. I know.”