The Reckless Oath We Made

by Bryn Greenwood

  Gentry got up and started clearing the dishes. By the time he came back with a rag to wipe off the table, Marcus had mostly calmed down, and I helped him blow his nose on a napkin.

  “My lady, I am sorry if I caused him pain,” Gentry said.

  “It’s okay. He needed to hear it. I don’t know.” I didn’t even know what I didn’t know. “I need to go to work. Could you take us back to my mom’s house, so I can get my car?”

  “I shall take thee wheresoever thou wishest. ’Tis my honor.”

  “I just need to get my car so I can go to work,” I said.

  “Is it safe, my lady?”

  I laughed, because LaReigne had been kidnapped by a couple of Wikkkans, and Gentry was asking if it was safe for me to go to work.

  “Why doesn’t Marcus stay here for the day?” Charlene said. She was standing in the doorway wearing a professional, concerned smile. I hadn’t asked what she did for a living, but she had to be a social worker or something. I wondered whether Gentry had told her my mother was a hoarder. “Unless you’d rather he stayed with your mother.”

  “Are you sure? I don’t want to be any trouble.” It was comfortable to fall back into that. To let someone else make decisions.

  “I’m sure Elana would like the company. She has schoolwork this morning, but then we’ll probably do a craft project.”

  “I don’t want you to go,” Marcus said.

  “I’m sorry, buddy, but I need to take care of some things, and I don’t want you to have to wait around.” I wanted to talk him into agreeing with me, but I’d already made up my mind. Leaving him at Mom’s house was almost as reckless as taking him to Colorado. “Besides, Gentry is going with me, so I’ll be safe, and you’ll be safe here. I’ll come back this afternoon, and if you need to check on me, Mrs. Frank can help you call me, okay?”

  I worried he was going to cry again, but he nodded and said, “Okay.”

  At least the reporters were gone when Gentry dropped me off at Mom’s. They’d left a bunch of trash. Drink cups, burger wrappers, and cigarette butts right out in front of the house. Assholes.

  I wished I could get in my car and leave, but I knew I had to go inside and see Mom. She was in her chair, watching TV, and the only way I could tell she’d gotten up at all was that her dinner trash was piled next to her chair. A loaf of cheesy garlic bread and a frozen lasagna with a two-liter of Diet Coke. She used to make that when I was younger, but for the three of us to share. Before things got so bad for her.

  “Where’s Marcus?” she said. “Did you end up staying with Emma?”

  “No. We stayed with Gentry’s parents. That’s where Marcus is.”

  “You left him with strangers? You should have brought him with you.” Mom planted her hands on the arms of her chair, like she was going to get up, but she didn’t.

  “They’re not strangers,” I said, which was basically a lie. “They’re good people. Besides, I have to go to work.”

  “At a time like this?” Like there were days I didn’t have to work.

  “I can’t afford to sit around and wait for something to happen.”

  “That’s what you think I’m doing, isn’t it? Just sitting around, like some pathetic lump.”

  Mom pushed against the armrests of her chair, so I went over and got my arms around her. I had to put my foot up on the edge of the chair to get enough leverage to help her stand. My lower back and hip gave off this twangy shudder that I knew I was going to feel for my whole shift. Maybe for the whole week.

  “Oh, I’m fine, Zhorzha!” she snapped. “You know, I do manage to get up without your help when you’re not here.”

  Sure, she managed to get up by herself, but there was a dank, sour smell on her that told me she wasn’t always making it up in time to get to the bathroom.

  “Mom, please, can we not fight?”

  “You should have brought Marcus here. I could have watched him while you were at work.”

  “I’m sorry, but Gentry has a little sister about Marcus’ age, and I thought it would be less stressful for him there. Because of all those reporters yesterday. All you’re doing is watching the news, and he can’t keep seeing that.”

  “They found your sister’s car,” Mom said.

  “I heard.”

  I gathered up her dinner trash, carried it to the kitchen, and added it to a plastic bag of what I hoped was trash.

  While she was in the bathroom, I sat down in her recliner, but the news hadn’t cycled back to anything about the prison-break story yet. I decided to leave before Mom could quiz me about the bag of trash, or accuse me of sneaking around and throwing out valuable things.

  “I’m gonna go to work,” I yelled. “I love you.”

  “I love you,” she called.

  Outside, I took a big breath of fresh air, and carried the plastic bag over to the trash cart. Gentry had pulled his truck around and parked it in front of my car. He was standing there, sort of at attention, watching me, except like always, when I got close to him, he lowered his head and didn’t look at me.

  “You really don’t need to—” I remembered what Charlene had said, about how important helping me was to him, and I felt shitty for trying to get rid of him. “Thank you, Gentry. I really appreciate you looking out for Marcus and me yesterday, and bringing me to get my car. Thanks.”

  “’Tis my honor.”

  “But aren’t you tired?” I said. “You should go home and sleep. I’m just gonna go to work.”

  “Be full of care, my lady. And if thou needest aught, call for me.”

  “Okay. I will.”

  I waited until he got in his truck and drove away, because I had a feeling he might follow me otherwise. After he was gone, I checked my phone. Another voicemail from Marcus’ other grandparents, the Gills. They’d called last night, too, but I ignored it. I’d messaged a few people about buying some weed, and I had an answer from a woman who wanted to buy half an ounce.

  We met at the mall and sat in her car to do the deal. Her little girl was buckled into a car seat in back and, for a second, I thought some really judgmental shit about that, before I reminded myself I’d taken Marcus on a drug deal, too. While the woman counted out a hundred bucks in tip money, the little girl told me all about her American Girl doll. I assumed the woman was a dancer, because I didn’t know any waitresses with acrylic nails, and, after we did our deal, I’m guessing she went to drop her kid off at school.

  I did another meet-up to make a sale, and then I went to our apartment, where the cops had taped the door shut like it was a crime scene. Seeing the police tape made me glad I’d taken Marcus to Colorado. Otherwise we would have been there when the cops came.

  Inside, the police had gone through everything. Every cupboard, every drawer, the closets, the medicine cabinet, even the damn cabinet under the bathroom sink. I felt so sick I spent a few minutes thinking I might puke up my French toast. It wasn’t that they’d left a terrible mess—they had—but knowing some fucking cop had even opened my stupid box of tampons and looked through them made me furious. Everything I owned in the world was in two Rubbermaid tubs, and the cops had stirred my clothes together with some old pastel drawings I’d kept from high school. All my clothes were smudged with chalk.

  There was no way Marcus and I could sleep there until I cleaned up. That’s what I was trying to do when the apartment manager walked in and said, “What are you doing here?”

  “Dude. I live here. You know me,” I said.

  “The owner doesn’t want the police coming around here. You can’t stay here.”

  “You can’t kick us out. My sister getting kidnapped doesn’t break the lease.” It pissed me off, because I always paid the rent on time.

  “Except you’re not on the lease,” he said.

  LaReigne was the only one on the lease, because I’d had this fantasy tha
t I would eventually move out. That never happened, because I couldn’t afford to pay rent on two places. All of a sudden, now that the police had been there, management cared about me sleeping on LaReigne’s couch.

  “So my sister got kidnapped and you’re making me and my nephew homeless?”

  “That’s not my problem,” the manager said. “You can’t be here.”

  I didn’t know anything about how the law worked with me not being on the lease, so I got a trash bag and gathered up some of our stuff: mostly clothes and a few toys for Marcus. The manager followed me around the apartment while I did it.

  “You can take your stuff,” he said, like he was doing me a favor. “But you have to give me the key.”

  I dragged the bag of stuff I’d gathered down the stairs and loaded it into my car. The manager followed me, waiting for me to give him the apartment key, mumbling about how he didn’t want to call security. I took the key off my ring, and I was about to hand it to him, when I decided I was done playing meek and mild.

  “Go fetch, asshole,” I said. I threw the key as far as I could, over the wrought-iron fence and into traffic on Rock Road.

  CHAPTER 12

  Zee

  After I left the apartment, I went to work, because that was all I knew how to do. If somebody dropped a nuclear bomb on Wichita, I’d probably still show up at work. The twinge in my hip had turned into a stabbing pain, and I was in the locker room sticking a CBD patch on my lower back when Julia walked in and gasped.

  “Oh my god, Zee! You don’t need to be here,” she said. I was standing there with my pants unzipped and my shirt untucked, but she hugged me. It wasn’t like we were close friends, but I didn’t want to be rude, so I hugged her back. That’s when the owner, Lance, walked in. He wasn’t supposed to be in there, because it was part of the ladies’ room, but that never stopped him.

  “Zhorzha, my dear,” he said. “I agree with Julia. There’s no need for you to be here. This must be a trying time for you and your family.”

  Just like we couldn’t keep him out of the locker room, we couldn’t stop him from hugging and patting and squeezing us. He was the owner. I scrambled to zip my jeans before he swooped in for a hug that was way too close.

  “I’m scheduled to work, right?” I said.

  “But we never imagined you’d come. I already asked Kristi to cover for you.”

  “Do they know anything?” Julia said. “I mean, do the police have any news for you? I heard they found her car. Is there—do you—”

  “They don’t tell us anything except what’s on the news. And I’d rather work today,” I said. I got away from Lance, but he and Julia stared at me while I pulled my hair up and put my apron on. They could hug me all they wanted, but they hadn’t offered to pay me for not working.

  “I went to Colorado earlier this week.” I usually waited for people to ask, but I wasn’t in the mood for subtle hints. “I kind of need to get rid of it. I could let you have an ounce for two hundred.”

  Normally I got seventy for a quarter ounce, but I didn’t want to carry it around any longer than I had to. It was a good call, because by the time we opened for lunch, Lance had bought half an ounce, Julia’s boyfriend came by with enough cash for an ounce, and I sold half an ounce each to the other two servers. It wasn’t anything close to what I usually made, but at least it covered what I paid out, and it meant I wasn’t toting around felony-level quantities of weed.

  The lunch rush was the lunch rush. Too many split checks and shitty tips, but I could get through it. I always got through it, even when I was in worse pain than I was in. I’d just picked up drinks for the double four-top in back when I saw the TV behind the bar out of the corner of my eye. Nebraska Body May Be Hostage the graphic on the screen said. The volume was off, and all I meant to do was ask Lance to turn up the sound, but I moved too fast.

  A glass of iced tea tilted and I tried to get it back upright, but my hands were shaking. The glass went over the edge of my tray—the first dish I’d broken in ages—and once it fell, I couldn’t get the tray balanced. The newscaster was moving his lips and the graphic still said Nebraska Body May Be Hostage.

  I tried to level the tray with my other hand, but the whole thing went sideways, and I dumped four Pepsis and a Sierra Mist on the floor after the iced tea.

  I couldn’t move. I felt like if I didn’t do anything, none of it would be true. I’d be frozen there forever, but I’d never have to know.

  “Zhorzha!” Lance shouted.

  “Can you turn that up? The TV—will you turn it up?” I said.

  By the time he got the remote, it was too late. They’d already gone to a different story. Somebody was dead, maybe my sister was dead, and it was only worth sixty seconds on the news. I was standing in the middle of a bunch of broken glass and everyone in the bar area was staring at me. I should have started cleaning it up, but I took out my phone and pulled up a news website.

  “Julia, will you get this cleaned up, and get those drinks, since Zhorzha is busy with other things?” Lance said. He sounded pissed, but I had to know.

  “It’s okay,” Julia said and started sweeping up the glass.

  BREAKING NEWS: Body Found in Falls City, Nebraska. May be hostage from El Dorado prison escape. That was all I could find. No other details.

  “I think you should go home,” Lance said.

  I wanted to argue, because I still had bills to pay, but I could barely hold the phone steady enough to read it.

  “Until things are less stressful for you,” Julia said.

  Right then it felt like that would never happen, and whatever Julia meant, I knew what Lance meant. I was fired.

  I went out to my car, still feeling shaky, and forced myself to do what I was supposed to do. I called Mom, hoping she wouldn’t answer, but she picked up on the second ring.

  “Yes, I saw,” she said. “And it’s not LaReigne.”

  “Did the police tell you it’s not her?”

  “I don’t need the police to tell me. I would know. If it were her, I would know.”

  “I think you should call what’s his name, Mansur. He left you his card. You should call him and—”

  “I’m not calling him!” she yelled. For a minute, neither of us said anything, but I could hear her panting, like she was going to have an asthma attack.

  “Do you want me to come—”

  “I’m telling you, it’s not her. You wouldn’t understand, but I’m her mother, and a mother knows. If my baby were dead, I would know.”

  I let her have the last word, because there was nothing for me to say. After all, I wouldn’t understand. Besides, LaReigne was the one who got along with Mom. When Mom was upset, LaReigne calmed her down. When Mom was being stubborn, LaReigne talked her around. All Mom and I ever did was fight.

  I went to the only place I had left to go: the Franks’ house. The woman who answered the door wasn’t Charlene, but she looked so much like her that she had to be her sister.

  “You must be Gentry’s friend,” she said. “I’m his aunt Bernice.”

  I followed her inside, where Charlene was at the kitchen bar. I could see she and Bernice must have been sitting there together talking, because there were two coffee mugs, and the TV was off. Charlene hadn’t been watching the news. She didn’t know.

  “Hon, you don’t need to ring the bell,” Charlene said, when she saw me.

  “I didn’t want to just barge in.” I’d worried I was taking advantage of Gentry’s family, but it was such a relief to walk into a calm and quiet house. Too quiet. Elana was there, working on a coloring book at a tabletop set up across her wheelchair.

  “Barge all you want. A closed door never stops Bernice.”

  Bernice swatted Charlene’s arm and they laughed at each other.

  “How was Marcus today?” I said, but what I meant was where was he?
r />   “He was mostly fine. A few tears at lunch, but a nap put him back to rights. The boys are in the backyard, if you want to go out,” Charlene said.

  More than anything I wanted to see Marcus and make sure he was okay. In the yard, he was holding a little wooden sword and shield. He had on a chain mail shirt that came down to his knees, and on either side of him stood Gentry and Trang. Their swords were wood, too, but other than that, they were done up like something out of a movie. Big shields and all kinds of armor plates on their arms and legs. Trang’s armor was mismatched pieces, but Gentry’s was black and silver, top to bottom. In the grass next to them were their helmets, like a pair of metal buckets.

  I’d planned to walk down and hug Marcus, but he was totally focused on Gentry. That didn’t surprise me so much as the fact that Gentry was focused on Marcus. He was leaning down to talk to him, really paying attention to him.

  “Now that thou hast seen brother Trang and I fighten,” Gentry was saying, “tell me what thou learnt, Master Marcus. With thine own sword, canst thou touch me?”

  Marcus hesitated, but he reached out and tapped his little sword against Gentry’s chest. It thunked against his armor.

  “’Tis good,” Gentry said. “A fair touch. Again.”

  He had Marcus poke him with the sword four or five times, and then the next time, Gentry shifted his own sword and pushed Marcus’ away.

  “Ah, I stopt thee. How?”

  “You hit my sword with yours.”

  “Yea, Master Marcus. ’Tis called a parry. Again.”

  Marcus tried to touch him again, but not quite as sure of himself as he had been, and Gentry pushed his sword away again.

  “And if I touch thee?” Gentry reached out and tapped his sword in the middle of Marcus’ chest. It made me flinch, but Marcus giggled. Gentry did it again and got more giggles.

  “Thou carest not that I stab thee, Master Marcus? Wilt thou not parry me?”