Unlikely Friends

by Sahar Abdulaziz

  “Listen, Darren. I don’t mean to blow you off.” She distinctly heard Darren humph. “Okay, maybe I do, but I get that you had it hard inside. I even understand that it must be difficult to get acclimated to life outside prison, but me and Harper, we’re not your welcoming committee or safety net. Shit, trust and believe, I’m barely our own safety net no less anyone else’s, and I don’t need you dragging us further down.”

  “But…” Darren looked ready to interrupt.

  “No, don’t interrupt me. You listen for once. I’ve got a lot on my plate right now,” continued Olivia, her hands wigwagging wildly. She tended to use her hands to talk. Gesticulating, snapping her fingers, the occasional clap. When the two had first begun hanging out, Darren had once compared her way of expressing herself to that of a plastered music composer. She’d also clearly remembered him stinking of alcohol and sweat, eyes bugged out and desolate, threatening to break her finger the next time she dared point it in his face.

  “I can’t babysit you,” she said emphatically. “You’re going to have to figure your life out on your own. Or better yet, find somebody else to save you, but I’m not the same person you left for dead six years ago.”

  Just leave us alone.

  Darren reached for Olivia’s arm. “Liv, stop walking. Just for a minute.”

  Olivia’s chin jutted. She hated how casually he used his pet name for her. Liv. As if no time or disaster had jimmied between them. “Make it quick. I’m not getting fired over you.”

  “Okay, fine. Quick you want—quick it is.” He positioned himself in front of her, blocking her from continuing to walk. “For the record, I know I haven’t been around, but I have a job now, and it pays well. I could help. That’s if you let me.” Darren stared into Olivia’s eyes, much in the same way he did when he would try to persuade her to score for him. It worked then, not so much now.

  Olivia checked her watch and looped her hand in the air, gesturing for Darren to hurry and wrap his pitch up.

  “I won’t bullshit you.”

  That’ll be a first.

  “Bottom line, I need to find a place to live. My parole officer has a stick up his ass and has made it clear that my time at the halfway house is coming to a swift close. If you let me stay with you, I could—”

  “I knew it,” groaned Olivia.

  “No. Stop. I mean, please wait. Just hear me out.”

  “You must be joking.”

  “Liv, come on, I’m not asking for you to take care of me. I’m not even asking for a handout. I can contribute to the rent, help pay the bills, buy the food. Whatever you want.”

  Olivia pinched the bridge of her nose, weighing her almost non-existent options. She thought about the court letter tucked in her bag, about the back rent owed, the pending eviction if the court didn’t decide in her favor.

  “I can’t,” she mumbled.

  “I’ll sleep on the couch,” Darren interjected, apparently reading her face. “I swear, you won’t even know I’m there.”

  She sneered. “Right.”

  “No, I mean it. And if I do anything to piss you off, I’ll leave, no questions asked.”

  How many times had she heard that one before?

  The temptation to take Darren up on his offer pulled at Olivia’s heartstrings, not for him, but for what staying at the house would mean to Harper. Darren offered a way out or, at least, a temporary reprieve. On the other hand, she knew full well her daughter would lose her mind if Darren came back home to stay with them, despite whatever monetary contributions he could offer.

  Darren shifted his stance and took a step back, giving Olivia room to move. “You know what? Just think about what I said. That’s all I ask.” He dug in his pocket and handed her a small folded paper. “Take this,” he said, pointing, with nails trimmed and clean. Another surprise. At the height of their drug-induced escapades, dirt-encrusted nails were a commonality. Living in filth, the norm. How many dirty beds had she woken up in, slept in, sold her body for a hit in?

  “These are my two phone numbers. My job’s the first one, and where I’m staying is the other. You can reach me at either one.” Without affording Olivia a chance to respond, Darren gave a slight nod and took off in the opposite direction. “Call me,” he shouted, his hand cupped to his ear like a phone.

  Olivia stood frozen in place. She clutched the slip of paper like a lifeline as she watched Darren cross the road and disappear down a side street.

  What the hell just happened?

  ***

  “Olivia? When you have a minute,” suggested Olivia’s manager, Ralph Findley, his lips concealed by a bushy white beard and lopsided mustache. Built low to the ground and stocky, his usual attire consisted mainly of over-sized, plaid flannel shirts. Long sleeve, short sleeve, didn’t matter. As long as they were large enough to conceal his paunch belly adequately. Olivia knew he married his childhood sweetheart. She often envisioned the pair holed up in some mushroom-shaped cottage at the edge of a forest instead of living in the small coop he owned next to the food mart. However, despite Ralph’s dreary disposition and gnome-like appearance, he’d always treated Olivia fairly.

  “Sure thing.” Olivia finished ringing up the next customer. She positioned her CLOSED stand after the last of items. Since her shift was almost over, Olivia removed her cash tray and brought it upfront before tracking down Ralph.

  “Thanks, Olivia,” said Harriet, accepting the tray. “You done for the day?”

  “Sure am.” Olivia winked. “Do you know where Ralph went off to?”

  “I think he’s in his office. If not, you might want to check the meat department. I think a delivery pulled in a short while ago.”

  “Great, thanks.” Olivia checked the office. No Ralph. She then followed Harriet’s suggestion and headed towards the meat department, bumping into him halfway.

  “Ah, Olivia. Good. I was just coming to get you,” said Ralph. “Follow me.” He kept walking in the direction of his office.

  Despite her swollen ankle, Olivia did her best to keep up. She followed Ralph to his office.

  “Take a seat,” he said as he closed the door.

  “Is there a problem?” asked Olivia, worried. She’d only been to Ralph’s office a handful of times over the years.

  Ralph sat on the edge of his desk cupping his one knee with his hands while the other leg remained on the floor. “I was about to ask you the same thing.”

  “Really?” Olivia squinted. “Why’s that?”

  “For starters, you’ve been calling out more than usual. Secondly, you look distracted, not your usual friendly self. And most noticeably, you’re limping. Why are you limping?”

  Olivia couldn’t afford to lose her job. She tried to stay as calm as possible, but it was hard, especially knowing she’d already lost the house.

  “Olivia?”

  “I stubbed my toe the other night,” she blurted out. “Right on the corner of the coffee table. Stupidest thing.” Her gazed lowered. “It’s still swollen.”

  Ralph made a noncommittal nod. “If you’re having any problems at home, anything you want to talk about, you know you can talk to me,” he offered.

  “Everything’s fine,” she assured him, speaking louder and with more oomph than called for. “Really. Everything’s great.” She shrugged. “Minus my stupid toe.” Olivia plastered the biggest cheesy smile across her face, or at least, her lips did.

  Ralph stared a moment before replying. “All right. I’ll let it go for now, but consider yourself warned. You’ve used up all your call-out time for the month. I suggest you soak that toe over the weekend and heal up.” Ralph rose and walked to the back of his desk to take a seat. “I’ll see you Monday morning,” he said, no longer looking Olivia in the eye.

  Shit. He knows I’m lyin’ and he’s mad.

  “You got it, boss,” said Olivia as she headed for the door. “Monday, bright and early.” Her heartbeat raced as she hastily left the office.

  “Have a good weekend
, Olivia,” called Harriet from behind the cash register. “Give my best to Harper.”

  “Will do.” Olivia fake-smiled while returning the wave, careful to conceal her gimp. She didn’t look forward to the hike home. She dreaded, even more, telling Harper about the eviction notice. Most of all, she despised herself for contemplating Darren’s self-serving offer. Then again, desperate times called for drastic measures, and if she wasn’t desperate, then damn it, who was?

  ***

  Olivia limped up the steps and immediately noticed something—a piece of paper wedged between the front door and the doorknob. White. An envelope most likely. What now? Olivia snatched the envelope, half expecting another official notice of something terrible, but instead, she saw her name scribbled across the front in a lovely, measured script.

  “Hmm?” Olivia flipped the sealed envelope over. The handwriting looked strangely familiar. She unlocked the door, stepped inside, and bolted it shut before taking a deep breath in preparation for the next wave of disappointment.

  Dearest Olivia,

  Sorry to have missed you.

  Excuse my popping over uninvited, but I wanted to see if you were up to having tea. There’s a nice little tea shop that opened in town, and I’ve been dying to try it. Perhaps next time.

  I look forward to seeing you and Harper tomorrow for dinner at Irwin’s. Dress comfy and bring your appetites.

  Hugs, Cornelia

  Olivia smiled, relieved. She liked Cornelia a lot. Irwin also. In a short period of time, the two had brought such joy into her and Harper’s life. If only she could reciprocate.

  Olivia took a magnet out of the drawer and used it to stick the note on the fridge. She’d have to remember to let Harper know not to worry about dressing up. Then again, it might be nice to see Harper out of her usual drab attire and into something more agreeable.

  Olivia limped into the kitchen. The bananas sat on the counter, ripening. Tomorrow she’d get up early to bake the bread.

  ***

  Harper

  Harper had a difficult time concentrating in class. Every once in a while, she’d notice how her classmates kidded around, their only concerns centered around their studies and social life, oblivious to the kind of real-world problems she seemed to attract.

  Being an introvert, she hadn’t made a lot of close friends, but she hadn’t made any enemies, either. The thought of having to leave her school and change school districts, flaws and all, saddened her. With one year left before graduation, Harper didn’t feel much like traversing her way through a new set of school politics and social expectations.

  More than that, the realization that she could lose her home scared her. Moreover, although she trusted Cornelia, Harper didn’t know what could be done to stop an eviction, short of a wad of cash falling from the sky into their laps, and even then, what was to prevent the same thing from happening again?

  Harper considered the scholarship paperwork, languishing in her drawer. The guidance counselor had made it her life mission to harass Harper on a daily basis about getting it filled out and handed in early to increase her chance of getting financial aid. Harper had wanted to go over it with her mother over the weekend to discuss college options. However, now, with everything else going on…

  Harper sighed.

  Why bother?

  The change of class bell echoed throughout the building. The rest of the other students ran for the door, laughing, joking around, pushing their way through, and partnering on the way out. Without making eye contact with anybody else, Harper lingered, taking her time to stuff her textbook and notes into her bag.

  She needed to speak to someone. Somebody she could trust and who would never reveal her secrets. Somebody who wouldn’t judge her. Harper swung her bag over her shoulder and bolted for the door. She knew just where to go.

  ***

  Darren

  His time at the halfway house was running out, and as much as Darren disliked going back on his word, he found himself headed straight in Olivia’s direction to see if she’d made up her mind yet. He had little choice. And if not, well, at least he’d know where he stood.

  Before knocking, Darren peeked through the front window of the kitchen. Through the flimsy curtain, he could make out Olivia sitting at the round kitchen table. She had her head bowed on the surface, enclosed by her arms. On closer inspection, he noticed her shoulders bob up and down. Olivia was crying. Scattered across the table in front of her were a bunch of papers. Darren wondered what they could contain to make her so upset.

  Darren inched slightly away from the window, careful not to let Olivia catch him snooping.

  He returned to the front door, contemplating whether to leave. He lifted his fist to knock but stopped. Darren thought back to the last time he saw Olivia crying like that. He’d done something to hurt her. He couldn’t recall about what now. That list seemed endless. How many nights had he left her sobbing to feed his habit, while she remained home not knowing where their next meal would come from or how they’d pay for another month’s rent? Darren didn’t leave only Olivia, though. His neglect extended to Harper as well. The baby he never wanted or cared for. The infant he never washed or fed or protected. The vulnerable, beautiful child his actions exposed to the underbelly of life, including the danger strangers brought with them, flitting in and out of their lives, taking whatever they wanted, including…

  Darren practically choked on his shame. He should have killed that guy when he had the chance. He should have beaten the shit out of him as soon as he walked in and found him standing over Harper’s crib as she slept, his fingers lingering over her skin, touching his baby girl, and he too blasted out of mind to stop it. Head stuck in a fog and more concerned about finding his next high.

  A car alarm blared further down the block, giving Darren a jolt. He bent over and picked a weather-worn leather bracelet off the grass, assuming it belonged to his daughter. It seemed like something she’d wear. He played with it, flipping it over a few times. He noticed how small and worn the leather was: soft and supple. He’d personally return it to her later if she decided to talk to him again.

  Darren thought about Harper’s vulnerability, her pent-up anger, her distrust. He often wondered if she had any memory of that night. She couldn’t have been older than two at the time. A baby, so vulnerable. How many times did he want to write and ask her over the years, see how much she recalled? But each time he tore the pages up, too terrified to learn the truth.

  God, what if she does remember? What if she blames me for what happened?

  Darren couldn’t blame Harper if she did. He’d been a coward.

  Darren’s overriding guilt never prevented those images from haunting his sleep.

  That’s probably why she hates me so much.

  Behind bars, Darren tried to make amends, in his own dysfunctional way. Instead of writing more letters to Olivia, he redirected his rage on others, especially anyone suspected of child molestation. It became a quest of sorts. A recompense. Darren made it his business to taunt his prey, creep up behind them when they least expected it, and then whisper a few threats for them to take back to their cell. Something to mull over behind bars, in the dark. He’d lay it on heavy, in full technicolor sordid detail outlining for these bastards all the unthinkable things he planned to inflict upon them if he ever caught them alone. Most were empty threats. A measured way to pass the time as quickly as possible, but not always.

  One afternoon, Darren caught a known pervert alone in the showers. Refusing to let this window of opportunity disappear, Darren dove in blaring, fists first, beating the bastard within an inch of his miserable life. Minutes later, sirens deafened the air while teams of correctional officers swarmed the unit. The guards threw Darren into solitary confinement. The inmate, too scared to talk, remained silent on the matter, and eventually, the prison dropped the charges and released Darren back into general population with a stern warning. From that point moving forward, Darren had made a name for himself
on the tier, nicknamed Crusher for the way he smashed his victim’s face in, crushing bone. The title served him well.

  Darren glanced over towards Olivia’s house, ashamed. The old house’s dilapidated exterior stood as a clear testament to his long list of shortcomings. Instead of being a real man and fixing the issue, his ex and daughter lived in squalor, by the looks of things. But here he stood, ready to maneuver himself back into their already struggling lives—as if he had the right to do so.

  His shoulders sank under the weightiness of understanding. Darren knew he had no business coming back into their lives, making demands no less. He could see that now. It was only his absolute selfishness that kept him expecting fixes from everyone else for the problems he alone created. Shame turned the tips of his ears a burnished red, and his culpability made him sick.

  The old neighborhood began to stir awake. Slowly, doors opened and lives resumed. A couple of cars passed by, but nobody bothered to glance in his direction.

  Absentmindedly, Darren reached out to hold the railing and, “Shit!” He grumbled behind gritted teeth when he almost took a spill as a piece of the railing gave way.

  Hands a bit unsteady, Darren struggled to light a cigarette. He puffed as he walked farther and farther away, never once turning to look back. He had come searching for answers, and now he had them. Just not the ones he had hoped for.

  CHAPTER 17

  Irwin

  Friday. Time to visit Gilly. In the days since the memorial service for Dakota, Irwin had felt less anxious about his self-imposed timetable. Although he left the library at the same time, he had begun arriving when he did instead of the tense push of the recent past. At first, Irwin thought his laid-back attitude was because he didn’t need to stop at the hospital to sit with Dakota, but after some contemplation, Irwin decided it had more to do with an overriding peacefulness. Today, almost as an afterthought, he added a stop after the florist to pick up a bag of candy. A variety of sweets to keep in his pocket.