I Love You Like That

by Heather Cumiskey

  “No, no!” Hannah shook her head furiously.

  He placed a hand on her shoulder. “Calm down . . . let’s think. If it’s true, why would he do this?”

  “He hated his life so much . . . he didn’t want to stay . . .”

  “Then those prank calls started and never stopped.”

  “Why bother . . . he wanted us to believe he was dead, Toby!”

  “Savior of coin, Xavier of coin . . .”

  He grabbed the same newspaper from the nearby table, this time leafing through all of the sections.

  “God, I’m stupid. I knew I read something. ‘Xavier Coyne’ . . . is that it?”

  Hannah shrugged, looking away.

  “Says here, Xavier Coyne, a young kingpin in Miami . . . has managed to elude authorities . . . described as charismatic and street smart . . . few have seen him . . . over the last six months there’s been a slew of arrests connected to multi-kilo cocaine shipments coming in from Colombia.”

  “So?”

  “You don’t think that’s strange? How many Xavier Coynes could there be? Who does he sound like, Hannah? And why would this guy call you?” He paused and his auburn eyebrows knitted themselves together in the middle of his freckled forehead.

  She bit her upper lip and let his words swim around her head. Why would a drug dealer from Miami call me and hang up?

  Deacon’s face flashed before her. I just called to hear your voice.

  “Oh, my, God.” The hairs on the back of her neck stood up straight. “Wait, wait do you have a pen?”

  She scribbled “Xavier Coyne” above the headline. Then she began scrambling the letters: “Vixen . . . convex . . . coaxer . . .”

  “Try using all of the letters,” Toby suggested.

  “Wait, coaxer veiny?”

  Toby snorted. “Is that what happens when you give blood?”

  “Very funny . . . how about . . . anorexy vice?”

  “Skinny police?” He snickered exposing his deep dimples.

  “Cervix ya one?”

  “Yeah . . . I’m not going to touch that one.”

  Hannah smiled despite how mad and confused she felt. She knew he was trying to make her feel better.

  “This guy’s got a lame name, whoever he is,” she said dropping her shoulders and leaning back against the booth.

  “Now that rhymes.”

  “Funny.” She pressed her lips together. “I’ve got nothing here.”

  “It’s not code for anything?”

  “No, just a stupid name.”

  His leg ceased moving under the table. “He didn’t exactly call me . . . he called you.”

  “If it’s even him.”

  “Wouldn’t you want to know?”

  “Hell yeah.” Hannah spread her hands on the table and began smoothing out a tablecloth that wasn’t there. She stopped when she realized she was mimicking her father.

  “Could you help me find out . . . if it really is him?”

  Toby tipped his chin up, then deadpanned, “It’s the least I can do after shooting him.”

  Hannah guffawed, her hand flying over her mouth. “I don’t mean to . . . it just sounds funny when you say it like that. But it’s sooo not.”

  They walked outside, both of them still in a daze, and stopped by a bench under a tree. The late-morning July sun felt good at first coming out of the mall’s air conditioning. After several minutes, sweat began traveling down Hannah’s back. She lifted her hair off her neck and leaned her forearms on her knees. It was already too hot in the shade.

  “I’m not sure what I feel right now. Relief, I guess? Hope that it’s true? I want to believe what she said.” She turned to Toby. “Are you sure you heard her right?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure. Jade’s a crack-smoking junkie, it doesn’t take much to break her.”

  “You scared me with that menacing voice of yours. Where did that come from?”

  “Babette. She’s not exactly warm and fuzzy mother material.”

  “No, definitely not.” Hannah grimaced.

  “My mom and I may not have had much, but I know she loved me. Deacon didn’t even have that.”

  “I don’t get it. Why aren’t you still living with your mom? Why stay at the Girouxs’ when they treat you like crap?”

  “It’s part of the deal.”

  “What deal?” Her head swung back to him. “Wait . . . no fricking way, his parents made a deal with you?”

  He shook his head, making his sweat fly. “I wouldn’t have to do any time for accidentally shooting Deacon. And in exchange, I’d move in with them.”

  “Why in the world would they do that?”

  “I think Kingsley thought he owed it to my mom after all these years. She sort of had a breakdown after their relationship ended.”

  “Your mom too? Pills?”

  “More like refusing to eat.”

  “Geez.”

  “Anyway, she’s in treatment, sort of . . . and I’m trying to not add to her stress.”

  “That’s screwed up.”

  Toby stared pensively at the pavement between his feet. He pulled his shirt from his chest airing it out. Then he stretched out his legs and placed his hands behind his head. Sweat marks circled his armpits. He didn’t seem to care.

  “My parents are screwed up too.” Hannah said softly. “My mom’s addicted to pills and booze, and my dad has been in denial for a while. She overdosed back in December— along with my little sister, who downed my mom’s prescription with a bottle of Yoohoo.”

  “Geez.”

  “Wait, it gets worse. They both spent a month and a half in rehab. After they came back my mom relapsed, and she hasn’t been able to stop. We sort of had a ‘come to Jesus’ meeting about it the other day where I said a few things . . . and she cried. My dad was pissed at me at first. But now she’s attending an outpatient treatment center and is trying again . . . trying to stay off of it.” Hannah’s face stilled, hearing herself confessing all these personal things. To Toby, of all people.

  “That’s rough. Your sister, too? Yikes.” Toby shook his head.

  “Yeah, it’s kinda f-ed up.”

  “My story’s not much better. In addition to my mom’s problems, my girlfriend got pregnant last fall. She demanded that I pay for the abortion, then I found out it wasn’t even mine.”

  “I . . . heard about that.” Hannah ducked her head. “I’m sorry, Taylor’s a bitch.”

  “They all are.”

  A car drove toward them through the parking lot. Hannah swiftly turned and shielded her face in case it was Howie —the last person she wanted to see. She pressed her lips together and brought her fingertips to her mouth. I have to know.

  “Tell me why you covered for Gillian. How come you never told the cops that she put you up to bringing a gun to the park that night?”

  Toby wheeled around to face her. “Her name was never brought up. Kingsley handled the cops.”

  “Wasn’t he pissed that you’d taken his gun?”

  He pulled a face. “Huh? I didn’t take it.”

  “But the newspaper said—”

  “He gave it to me on my birthday . . . promised we’d go to the shooting range, learn to handle a gun properly.”

  “Weren’t you underage? That’s illegal.”

  “Kingsley’s from the South, the deep South; they teach their boys early, or so he says. Never happened, though; we never went. He says things and doesn’t follow through. None of it matters now. I’m never touching a gun again.”

  “Me neither.”

  “You know, Deacon could be cruel—a dick, usually—but they were the ones who screwed him up. Did you know that our father didn’t have a clue that he was sending me to the same prep school that Deacon’s grandfather had sent him to?”

  She heard Deacon’s words in her head: I once told my parents I made the high school swim team. And needed to go to practice at school, early in the morning . . . I know . . . the school doesn’t have a pool. Now you know
how involved my parents are.

  “How did you figure it out . . . you know, that you were brothers?”

  “Not until the kids at boarding school talked about Deacon leaving with his mother and moving back home. I never knew his last name before that. When I found out, I kept badgering my mom to take me out of there and let me go to the public school near her house. Eventually she did, my senior year.”

  “What was that like, being the new kid and in the same grade as your half brother, who was also the most well-known and probably feared kid in school?”

  “Deacon blew me off most of the time. I knew I bugged him. I let the whole thing get under my skin. He was pretty screwed up, too, I think. Now that I see the Girouxs for who they are, I’m sure they didn’t pay him much attention. They’re consumed by their own lives . . . with wealth, their appearance and status . . . nothing else matters. I see that now. There’s no family living in that house . . . at least, not the one I wanted.”

  “I think we loved each other, once,” Hannah said wistfully, pulling strands of hair across her lips. “I’m probably romanticizing the short time we had together, you know, only remembering the good stuff. But I know I loved him.”

  “It looked to me that he felt the same way. Guess that bothered me, too, at the time.”

  Hannah punched his shoulder playfully. “I noticed.”

  “I was pretty fucked up after that night. I swear, I never meant to shoot him. I didn’t know what I was doing . . . I’m sorry I scared you. Gillian got into my head and I was caught up in all the stuff about Taylor’s pregnancy, especially since I was raised by a single mother—her wanting an abortion and all—that . . . that . . . I went crazy, I guess.”

  “People can make you do some crazy things . . . like take LSD by yourself. That’s how Deacon and I met.”

  “Now that’s fucked up.”

  Hannah punched his shoulder harder this time. “Ow!” she exclaimed, realizing she hurt her hand more than she hurt him, and laughed at herself.

  CHAPTER 42

  South beach, Miami

  CLAUDIA GRITTED HER TEETH. “YOU CAN’T DISAPPEAR LIKE that, X. What the hell were you thinking? Eastman and Kodak are trolling all over Miami—the airports, everywhere— looking for you.”

  Deacon braced himself. “Were they able to save those two little girls?”

  Claudia looked away. “They never found the Wendy’s truck.”

  “Fuck!” He brought his fist to his lips and closed his eyes, clenching his jaw.

  “I know that’s a hard one to swallow. You have to let stuff like that go. It’ll drive you crazy.”

  “Christ!” Deacon began walking around in circles, his hands on either side of his head. “I hate this!” he screamed. “I hate this life!”

  He lowered himself onto the curb and jammed the edge of his palms into his forehead. “What about Chalfont . . . Luis?”

  “They have the whole cartel combing the streets for you.” He looked up at her. “What did you tell them?”

  “The truth. I didn’t know where you were. You should have found me. I’d have gotten Eastman and Kodak to put you in witness protection.”

  “More like jail.”

  “So you think it’s only street life or jail for you?”

  “There’s no official record of me working for you guys. It’s not like I signed something. I’m only one of the DEA’s many secrets, and not its first informant. It would be easy to dispose of me.”

  “We’re not killers, Xavier.”

  “Sure feels like it. Eastman and Kodak coerced me into working for them. They cuffed and shackled me and took away my identity, then fed me to the cartel. I didn’t even graduate high school. Everyone thinks I’m dead. I’m in hell down here.”

  Claudia swung her long, wavy tresses over to one side, lowered her ample chest toward him, and stroked his face. “We’re safe, cowboy,” she said sweetly. “Our cover is secure. We’re getting so close to taking Chalfont down. We can spin this . . . convince them that you just got scared. We can figure this out and still make ‘Xavier Coyne’ work.”

  “All of Chalfont’s men are out looking for me because I didn’t do what Luis asked . . . I abandoned them. They see me as a traitor now. I’ve seen what Chalfont does to people like me.”

  “You want out from all of this?” Her sudden sharp tone sliced the air, making Deacon flinch. She straightened her spine and punched her fists into her hips. “You can’t use this slip-up to weasel out of our mission. I won’t allow it. We will see this to the end. For my little boy, and for all of the other innocents that bastard has destroyed. You’re going back to Chalfont, and you’re gong to plead for his forgiveness.” She crossed her arms and lowered her eyelids midway over her icy eyes. “And if he wants more from you . . . you’ll do that, too.”

  His mouth fell open. “You mean sleep with him?”

  “You think the Feds recruited you for your brains?”

  His face stiffened. “That was the plan this whole time? Not to just get into Chalfont’s business, but get in bed with him? You’re smoking something. No one can make me do that, especially not you.”

  The sound of fireworks caused them to turn. Deacon searched the sky and quickly realized his mistake. He dove behind Claudia’s white Ferrari as the automatic weapon fired again. He stayed low, covering his head, his heart thudding against the asphalt. In seconds, the street resumed its silence.

  His fear overpowered him, pushing him into the ground and paralyzing him to the point that he thought he might have actually been hit.

  He had to move.

  He crawled on his elbows and peered around the car’s tires. A yellow Corvette with tinted windows pulled away— with Chalfont’s long, hairy arm resting outside the driver’s side window.

  Deacon popped up his head, looking for Claudia. She was no longer near him. Then he saw her—her body twitching in the middle of the street, her eyes splayed open, her legs pretzeled underneath her. Claudia’s throat emitted a gurgling sound, and then nothing.

  He scrambled across the sidewalk, staying low to the ground, and fell into a shadowed doorway, trying to contain his exploding chest. What the hell just happened? His brain stormed with twisted thoughts, including how little time he had left.

  You think the Feds recruited you for your brains?

  CHAPTER 43

  darien, Connecticut

  HANNAH HESITATED IN THE DOORWAY BEFORE LEAVING her room. She filled her lungs and followed the sound of sighs, clearing of throats, and turning newspaper pages coming from the living room. The returning chorus of her parents’ habits and mannerisms were a welcome change—as was her mother’s newfound sobriety.

  Her mom was spending more time on the main floor and less in her bedroom these days. Hannah and her father tiptoed around her to avoid stressing her out, and she still seemed to be wound tight. Seeing more of her felt like progress, at least.

  “Mom, remember I told you that I got accepted to a summer writing workshop?” She knew she hadn’t. It’s not like her mother would remember anyway.

  Her mom swallowed slowly and laid her paperback romance facedown on her lap. It was good seeing her reading again, and without a coffee cup nearby. Her eyes shot over to Hannah’s father in his recliner; his face was partially hidden by his Connecticut Post. “I do not,” she announced, still looking over at him.

  “Well, it’s next week and I thought—”

  “She got accepted into a writing workshop?” her father said, lowering his paper and glancing at her mother.

  “What’s it about?” her mother asked, still looking at him.

  “They invited me. I guess . . . I-I show promise . . . as a writer.”

  “Sounds like a scam,” her father said, burying his nose back into his pages.

  “I agree,” her mother said primly.

  “Well, it’s not. Look, here’s the letter.” She held it out to him.

  He skimmed it briefly and frowned. “Young lady, we don’t have thi
s kind of money,” he said, waving his hand like he was brushing crumbs offa table. “How are you going to pay for this?”

  “I worked all summer and saved my paychecks.”

  “Why would they invite you?” her mother said, like Hannah’s initial explanation wasn’t sufficient.

  “Gee, thanks, Mom.”

  “Donna,” her dad said, “they’ll take anybody these days as long as they cough up the cash. It’s like those Draw Winky ads in the Pennysaver. ‘Draw Winky and test your talent to win a commercial art scholarship or cash prize.’ No one ever wins. Their ‘free professional evaluation’ is merely a form letter they send out to everyone telling them that they have ‘potential’ so they fork over the dough for some shady home-study art course.” He swirled his right thumb along the tops of his fingers to illustrate his point. “They prey on people’s egos. Just another scam.”

  Hannah pulled a face. “It’s not some ad in the Pennysaver. It was through my school. My English teacher, Mrs. Myers, helped—”

  “Isn’t that teacher the one who’s . . . you know . . .” her mother said, shifting in her seat.

  “You mean gay?” Hannah sighed, rolling her eyes. “Mrs. Myers is the best teacher in the school, and she was the first person to believe in me.”

  “It’s a waste of money, anyway,” her dad huffed.

  Her mother’s head bobbed in agreement.

  “I’ll pay for the whole thing, including my bus fare. Please.”

  Her mother coughed lightly and straightened her back against the couch. “Charles, I’d like to get away, maybe somewhere up the coast, before the rat race of school starts.”

  Her father’s face softened. He studied his wife for a moment. “Where would you like to go, dear?”

  “I know money’s tight with the hospital and rehabilitation bills and now the new outpatient center—”

  “No, no, it’s fine. We should go. We’ll let them know at the center and get you some time away.”

  “So can I go then?” Hannah held her breath. She was afraid to believe it.

  “No, you should stay here while we’re gone,” her dad said firmly. “And watch the house.”