And then I know he’s not. “Jesus Christ, Morgan, get out of the fucking car.”
I drop the phone and open the glove box, grabbing the white bags before climbing over the seats and falling onto the floor. I open my violin case, stuffing them inside before snapping it shut again. When I peek out the window, I can see that the same couple has returned, still deep in conversation, but this time heading in the other direction. They pass the car, their backs to me. I ease open the door on the opposite side, slipping out, crouching beside the car, clutching my violin. I shut the door, but not completely, trying to be quiet so they don’t hear me. Their backs are still toward me, so I carefully stand up and walk away. At first my pace is slow, measured. I don’t want to be noticed. It’s taking all of my self-control not to break into a run, and it feels like an eternity until I reach the corner of Bay Street and start to head down the hill. As I turn, I casually glance behind me. The street’s empty. Completely empty. The couple has disappeared. I can’t see anyone inside the black sedan. And Derrick hasn’t come out of the house.
I quicken my pace, embracing the violin case in both arms, not daring to look behind or to the side, keeping my eyes down. I’ve walked one block. Two blocks. I won’t run. I won’t look behind me. There is only one more block before I turn onto busy Algoma Street and join with other people heading to restaurants or window-shopping. I reach the intersection and press the button to change the light, waiting.
“Hey!” The shout comes from behind me, a man’s voice.
I fear the worst and drop the violin to one hand, dangling it at my side. I turn, slowly.
“Hey, you’re Miss Livingstone’s granddaughter! How are you?”
If he hadn’t said the old woman’s name, I never would have recognized him. Mr. Androsky’s son is smiling at me, holding a cup of coffee in one hand. “Becca was asking about you on Wednesday. We didn’t see you there.” He’s reaching out a hand to me. “I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten your name.”
My heart is pounding inside my chest and echoing in my ears. I shift the violin from one shaking hand to the other, then reach out and take the man’s hand. “It’s Morgan.”
*
Derrick shows up at my place around midnight to pick up the drugs. I sneak out of my bedroom and sit in his car, smoking a cigarette, not even bothering to open the window. I can’t bring myself to say anything. This whole thing scares the shit out of me. It was hours before he called and said to meet him outside. Hours of not knowing if someone was going to come knocking on my door. Hours of not knowing if he was okay.
“Hey, I owe you one,” he says as he takes the packages from me and puts them back in the glove box. “They got nothing on me. Searched my car.” He laughs. “Shit! That was a close one.” He’s very casual about it all. Everything always works out for him. He always gets what he wants.
It’s not something I’m familiar with.
He reaches out to put an arm around me. I’m still shaking. I’m not ready to go back to normal. This isn’t writing. This isn’t a little bag of weed passed to some high school kids in the McDonald’s parking lot. I’m angry, I’m scared, I’m hurt. Fuck, I don’t know what I am. But I’m not ready to pretend like it’s all okay. I flinch and back away, and this pisses him off.
“Aw, come on, Morgan. Nothing happened.”
I smoke my cigarette.
“You’re okay. I’m okay. Nobody got arrested, and we haven’t lost anything. It’s a win-win all around.” He’s using the voice that he uses with his clients. The one where he sounds all calm and matter-of-fact, but his eyes are rolling. It makes me feel cheap. I thought I meant more than that to him.
I think of the drugs, sitting in my violin case, tucked up against the only things I have left from my past, the only pieces of my family that I can touch. It feels like someone shit on them. I think of my dragonfly, borrowed and altered but still the same dragonfly, the purple spray paint against the peeling wooden fence. It all sickens me. I feel like I am losing something, like I’m giving away a piece of me that wasn’t mine to give. Something I didn’t even know I had. Something beautiful and wonderful and precious and me.
I turn and look at him. He’s scrolling through the playlist on his iPod. Like he doesn’t give a shit.
“I don’t need this crap.” I finally find my voice. “I don’t need to sit in some fucking car on some fucking street wondering if you’re going to come out of a fucking dealer’s house alive and wondering whether the cops are going to come knocking on the door to haul my ass off to jail.” My shaking hand brings the cigarette to my lips. “God, you’re such a hypocrite! You think you’re above it. You think you’re better than everyone else. Just because you don’t use the stuff doesn’t mean it isn’t controlling you.”
He just sits there, fiddling with his iPod.
I snub the cigarette on the dash. I know I’m crossing a line, but it gets his attention. “I didn’t sign on for this, Derrick.”
“What the hell has gotten into you lately?” He finally looks at me. “You think you’re above it all, Morgan? If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have shit. You think you’d have that iPod and cell phone? Where do you think that came from?” He reaches over and grabs me by the back of the neck, pulling me toward him. I’ve never seen him angry before. I’m a little frightened. “You think you’d be asked to go along to the rail yards? You’re nothing without me. This is who I am, so get used to it. You, you’re a fucking nobody.”
I slap him. It is a stupid thing to do, but I can’t stop myself.
He lets go of me and sits back in his seat. “I don’t recall signing you on for anything. You want out, get out.”
“I never wanted in, Derrick.” I just wanted him, but I don’t say that. I don’t know how.
“Out of my car.” Derrick’s eyes flash. I can’t believe he’s serious, but he reaches across me and opens my door. “I can have that seat filled again before the night’s over.”
He starts the engine. I grab my stuff and get out.
“Prick.”
I sit on the curb, watching the red taillights of the Honda disappear down the street.
19
Elizabeth