“You fight, keiki kane. You fight like hell. Your mom wants you to give Aly space. She thinks she needs time but that’s because she believes that there is so much time. That we all have this ample amount of time to do what we want when we get to it. I know better. You do. I know there is so little time left for any of us.” The grip on my neck hardened and Dad shook his head. “We’re racing toward an end that no one can stop. We’re speeding toward it with every breath that leaves our lungs. The only thing any of us can do is make the most of the time we have. So no, brah, don’t you dare wait around for Aly to figure out she wants you.”
He stepped back, but moved his hand to my shoulder. “You go get her. You fight for her. You pick her up and lock yourself alone with her if you have to. You be with her because you want her because, dammit, she wants you too. You fight. You fight for your woman today, Ransom and tomorrow and you damn well don’t stop fighting until you have her. And even after that, even when you’re old and your dick doesn’t work anymore and Aly can barely move or dance with you because she’s gone old and feeble, even then, you still fight. You fight for her because you love her. You fight and you don’t listen to a fucking soul who tells you it’s pointless. It isn’t. It isn’t ever pointless when it’s real and Ransom,” Dad touched my face, holding my head still so I couldn’t look away, “my beautiful boy, it’s real what you have with Aly. It’s so damn real.” He tapped my cheek, smiling for the first time in weeks then started to leave me behind. I had to run to catch up to him.
“Wait, Dad, where are you going?”
He stopped, grinning broader. “I got some fighting of my own to do.”
“Shit,” I shouted running after him. “Hang on a second, I’ve got to tell you something.”
He only paused long enough to hold the door open for me as he jogged down the hall, heading for his office. I followed, realizing I needed to hit the gym myself when I got a little winded trying to keep up with him. “I think Cass has something to do with all this shit.”
Dad stopped just in front of his office, whipping a glance over his shoulder as though he wasn’t sure that he’d heard me correctly.
“You wanna say that again?”
“Cass. I think he’s messed up in this stuff.”
“Why do you think that?” Dad leaned against his office door, looking cool but fucking lethal as he folded his arms over his chest.
“You gonna actually listen to me and not haul ass out of here to go find him?”
“What? You think I need an assault bid added to the supposed baby mama drama?” Dad swung open the door, waving a hand toward his office. “Come inside and tell me. Just do me a favor and remind me how I’m too old to be beating on some wannabe cowboy.”
I laughed, then, and it felt good. “Like I could.”
Kona stood there for one heartbeat, and then he laughed, too. "Point, brah," he drawled, and barreled forward. He almost looked like his old self again.
It felt damn good.
I could have loved you.
Sweet girl.
My mouth spoke lullabies Soundless now.
Silent as the grave.
I could have kept you
Still Next to my breast Songs older than my blood Older than time.
I could have held you
Beautiful boy Tender strokes in those sweet, soft curls.
Vacant now.
Blood to ash Into the earth I could have
But I can’t.
Seventeen
Never drink by yourself.
Grann told me that once, when she needed an excuse to have the small congregation of girlfriends invade her Tremé cottage on the rare occasions Papa had to work over.
“People always discover when you drink on your own, mon dous, because most folk are damn nosey,” she’d say, solemn and serious as though she wanted me to commit that bit of advice to memory. I did. I also used too much lemon juice and not enough Cognac while making the Sidecars she wanted for her parties. It wouldn’t do for grann and her friends to turn one afternoon gin rummy game into some sort of middle aged lady sleepover. Papa’s constant brooding would have been downright vicious had that happened.
The memory came to me from nowhere really. Nowhere but the poorly-disguised worry in Mack’s voice when she’d called me an hour before.
“Mama is drinking wine, Aly.” That in itself wasn’t a worry, but Makana’s voice still went shaky, a hint panicky as she spoke. “It’s not even two yet.”
“It’s Sunday, sweetie.”
“Koa said to leave her alone and let her pout, but Koa is a stupid boy and stupid boys don’t know anything. Besides, it’s cold out there, even by the fire pit.” Then, because she seemed annoyed that I hadn’t caught the gravity of the situation, the little girl exhaled, clearing away any remaining cracks in her tone before she continued. “She won’t come inside.”
The fire pit is precisely where I found Keira, huddled under a thick purple and green quilt with a wedding ring pattern woven into the squares and thread and what looked like one of Kona’s CPU hoodies. As I came closer to her, I knew it was his—it still smelled of his cologne and there were spots along the front that looked suspiciously like barbeque sauce. That man never could keep from a mess when he ate. Though, from the half empty bottle of Moscato resting against Keira’s hip, I supposed those spots could have been wine.