by Sara Hosey
“What about your other brother?”
“He’s got a record too. I’m the only one who can do it. So, I have to go. Gio’s driving me up today, Iffy.”
I must have looked as heartbroken as I felt, because my eyes filled with tears.
“Will you come with me? I’ll be honest, the house is a dump, but there’s room. I mean, there’s a lot about the whole situation that stinks, but it’s probably better than staying here by yourself.”
“I can’t,” I said.
“I can’t leave you here alone,” he argued.
“But I need to stay. I have to find that guy Dougie and ask him about, you know, what he knows or whatever. And then I have to wait too. In case Corinne comes back. In case she needs me.” And my stepbrother, I added silently to myself. I’m expecting him soon too.
“Iffy.” Anthony’s brow was furrowed.
“You have to go, but I have to stay. It will be okay.” I looked at him squarely in the face. “I’ll get up to Monticello as soon as I can. I’ll take a bus or something. I just need to stay here for a few more days. Maybe a week.”
His eyes filled with tears. “But we just found each other.”
“I’m not worried.” I suddenly found I was crying too. “I know how I feel about you. We’ll be together again soon.”
“Iphigenia,” he said, pulling me close, “you know how I said that when I came to the city, I was looking for something? I didn’t even know what I was looking for, only that I have been so, I don’t know, discontent? Dissatisfied? I thought maybe I could find what I needed in music or maybe in the city itself.” He looked at me. “But it was you. It was you. It was feeling at home. Feeling at home with you. That’s what I was looking for.”
I knew what he meant and, despite everything else, a thrill ran through my body.
“I feel the same,” I said. “I really do.”
“I just hate to leave. I hate to leave you so soon after finding you.”
I buried my face in his neck. He smelled good, a little like sweat but also like the outdoors, like the park and the fresh air. I wanted to store up his scent and the feeling I had when I was with him, to sustain me in the weeks ahead.
And I wanted to tell him then, too, what I had told Ann, but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t pile that on top of everything else. And I knew if I told him, that it would change things. I didn’t know how they would change, I just knew that they would. And I didn’t think I could bear that.
We lay back into the leaves, our arms around each other, looking into each other’s eyes. “I think it’s good that you’re going to take care of your little brother. He’s lucky to have you,” I said.
Anthony caressed my hair, touched my cheek as we talked. “He deserves better than all of this. He’s such a sweet kid, Iff. You’ll see when you meet him.”
“What’s gonna happen with your parents?”
He closed his eyes, but the deep lines on his forehead remained, as though he was working hard to figure out a problem. “Who knows.” He let out a breath through his nose. “I don’t know how bad things are. This might be it for my dad. He might be going away for a while. My mom. Jeez. I’m worried about her. It pisses me off that she’s using again, but … I’ll know more soon, I guess. But listen. Give Corinne a week, okay? I’ll come back a week from today and pick you up? We’ll meet right here?”
“I guess, but I can’t promise,” I said. “I don’t think I can leave unless things are settled. Unless I know she’s safe, that she’s okay or whatever.”
“We don’t have a number for her or anything?”
I shook my head, no. I didn’t tell him I knew where the apartment was, that one of my ideas was to go, watch the door and the window. Wait until Henry left and try to see her.
“But maybe we can look her up, find a number for her. You know, then we can figure out some way for her to get in touch. You know, so you can come with me but she can find you if she needs you.”
“Maybe.” I didn’t want to make promises I couldn’t keep.
“I don’t have long, Iffy. My brother’s waiting. I told him I had to see you and tell you what was happening. I told him you didn’t have a phone and he was like, ‘What century does she live in, Ant?’ But I didn’t tell him that you actually lived in the park. Not yet.”
I laughed and rolled my eyes. “People are so judgmental these days.”
“Whatever. Our mother is a crackhead, so he really can’t be making fun of other people.”
I tsked my tongue. “I hope your mom is okay. And your dad.”
“Me too.” He handed me a piece of paper. “Here’s the address up there. Suffice it to say, their phone has not been connected for some time now. I’ve written my brother’s number underneath. So, you know, just in case.”
“Getting a lot of addresses today.”
“What d’you mean?”
“Nothing,” I shook my head. “I’ll tell you some other time. Right now I need you to help me with some things real quick before you go.”
“Whatever you need.”
“Okay. Well first, you gotta tell me where to find that guy.”
“Dougie?”
“Yeah.”
“Iffy, can this wait until I can get back?”
“If you’re worried about me going to that bar on my own then you need to get over that right now.”
We stared at each other. I didn’t look away. Didn’t flinch.
“Iffy,” he sighed, finally, and I knew I had won. He threw his head back, looked into the trees.
“Anthony,” I sighed, in imitation. I grabbed his arm, shook it playfully. “I promise you, I will be fine. It will be fine. I have actually been in a bar before.” This much was true. Lizette and I went through a stage when we’d go to the dive bars in our neighborhood, after school, and order drinks. Most of the time, the bartenders didn’t even look up at us, just went ahead and served. We thought it was so cool and kind of funny. We’d probably have done it more if we’d had the money.
So, I figured, how bad could it be?
Anthony squeezed his eyes shut, not looking at me as he answered. “The bar is called All Saints and it’s on Woodhaven and 68th. It is not a nice place, Iffy. It’s no place for a—”
“Girl?” I finished for him.
He shrugged and looked at me, frowning.
“That’s a nice name though,” I said. “The All Saints.”
“It’s not a nice place,” Anthony repeated.
I shrugged. “That’s us,” I said, ignoring him. “If we ever start a band. Me and you and Angel and Corinne. We would be the All Saints.”
Anthony smiled. “I gotta go. Gio’s waiting.”
“Wait, I have one more favor.” I reached under the towel for the plastic bag and gingerly removed the gun. I held it awkwardly, pointing down. It felt pretty dramatic, but maybe that was all right. “I need to know how to use this.”
“Whoa, Iff,” he said, in evident alarm. “What are you doing with a pistol?”
“I found it. A couple of weeks ago.”
“This is kind of nuts, Iffy.”
“Don’t worry,” I reassured him. “I don’t want to use it. I just want to know how. I’m not exactly familiar with guns.”
“I don’t know if that should make me more or less worried.”
“Do you know how to use it or don’t you?”
“I do.” He was still weighing the situation, then sighed. “Fine. Here, okay.” He took the gun from my hand, carefully, keeping it pointed down. He stood up and raised the pistol and directed it into the woods. He pointed to a switch. “This is the safety. Right now it is not on, and that is really dangerous. I mean really dangerous. This isn’t like movie stuff, Iffy, where you can—”
“I know, I know, I get it,” I interrupted, getting up and standing at
his side. “Just show me how to put the safety on.”
Despite himself, he smirked. “Fine. This is on, this is off. It’s on. Let’s leave it that way, okay?”
“Okay,” I said.
He opened the barrel and peered inside.
“This has four bullets, Iffy, okay?” He closed it again and pointed it back into the distance. “You want to shoot it, you take the safety off, point, and squeeze, hard. Pretty straightforward.”
“Okay.”
“It’ll kick back.” He threw his arm in the air to demonstrate. “So, you probably want to steady yourself, hold your arm like this. Otherwise you’ll wind up shooting the trees. Which might be a best-case scenario, really. But if you needed …” He stopped. Like it just occurred to him what he was doing, showing his girlfriend how to shoot a loaded gun. “Who are you … what do you want this for, Iffy? Are you gonna bring this to the bar? Or is this about Corinne’s boyfriend?” He looked at the gun in his hands. He seemed uncomfortable holding it. He bent down and laid it in the leaves.
“I just want to be prepared.”
“You think Dougie’s gonna come after you?”
“I don’t,” I said. “It’s just, you know, a precaution—”
He talked over me. “’Cause if you have a reason to think he’s gonna come after you then there is no way I am leaving you here alone.”
“I’m telling you, it’s fine,” I said. “He doesn’t even know I exist. Please. I will be fine. Don’t you think I can take care of myself?”
“I do,” he conceded, facing me. “I really do. That’s one of the things that’s so cool about you. But I’m still worried.”
“And Angel watches out for me,” I assured him. “Don’t you, girl?” She looked up at me.
“Iffy,” he said, taking my face in his hands, kissing me, and putting his hands on my shoulders. “It’s okay to need backup.”
“That’s what the gun is for,” I tried to joke. I brought my hands up and rested them on his.
“Okay, I am definitely not leaving.”
“Anthony,” I said and I wasn’t joking anymore. “You know what one of the things I like about you is?”
“What?”
“You understand that—” I stopped and started again. “You get me. You really do. And so I’m asking you to get what I’m telling you now. This isn’t … negotiable.”
We regarded each other. “You get outta here. I’ll be all right,” I said at last.
I looked again at his sweet face. Then I kissed him and he kissed me back. “God, I don’t want to go. I love you so much, Iphigenia.”
“I love you too, Anthony.”
He shook me gently. “Please, please, please be careful.”
“It’s not me you should worry about, Ant,” I smirked, playing cool. Being with Anthony gave me confidence. “It’s anybody who messes with me.”
He made a face, shook his head. He kissed me again and then he was gone.
Part VI:
Mother
Chapter 34
It was late afternoon and I was tired when Angel and I headed over to All Saints.
I buried the gun again, but I wasn’t sure what to do with Angel, whether I should tie her up in the park or take her with me and tie her up outside the bar. Just thinking about her alone in the woods, where anyone could come along and snatch her, got me feeling sweaty and panicky, so I brought her with me, figuring that, at the very least, our time apart would be shorter that way.
It looked like any other hole-in-the-wall in Queens. Small, high, dark windows covered over with beer ads featuring sexy girls wearing bikini styles that were last popular in the early ’80s.
“Okay, girl,” I said to Angel as I tied her to the lamppost in front. “You sit here and wait. I’ll be right back.”
She strained against her leash and tried to follow me as I went to the door. “It’s okay,” I said over my shoulder. “Don’t be afraid to bite.”
I turned and pushed the door open.
It was dark and somehow quiet and noisy at the same time—a humming air conditioner, murmured talk, muffled classic rock.
You’d expect it to be like, screech and the music stops and everyone looks up and stares, but it wasn’t like that.
I walked up to the bar. “You’re too young to be in here, little girl,” the bartender said, wiping down the spot in front of me.
I nodded. “I’m looking for someone.”
He waited.
“Is Dougie here?” I ventured.
He looked surprised and then nodded his head down the bar.
I looked beyond the bartender and saw a guy staring at me: skinny, dirty hair, dirty face.
I walked toward him and he said flatly, “I don’t know you.” He said it like he didn’t want to, either.
“I know,” I said. “I just … I heard you might know my mother. I’m looking for my mother,” and I held the photo out to him, curled and creased from my pocket.
He didn’t take it. He didn’t hardly move at all, just cut his eyes from his beer down to the photo. I laid it near his hand on the bar.
Nothing happened. I thought of Angel, waiting. I could feel the bartender watching. My breath was becoming shallow. I reached out to take the picture and he put his cold, wet hand down on top of mine.
I looked at him and then he nodded slightly.
“You got any money?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said, Thanks, Ann. I pulled my hand out from under his and reached into my pocket again and for a ten-dollar bill and I laid it on the bar next to the photo. Dougie nodded at the bartender, who took Dougie’s pint glass and refilled it and then plucked the ten from the bar, returning a moment later to put a few bucks and some change back in the same place.
A fly buzzed. It landed on my forehead, I think. I shooed it away.
Dougie took a long sip.
“They put her over there in Bellevue a while ago,” he said. “That’s how it went with her. They pick her up, but she always comes back.” He looked at me and added, “To me.”
My pulse pounded in my forehead. It all seemed surreal and I was struggling to stay focused, to listen and hear. “Do you know where she is now?” I squeaked.
The man turned his whole body to look at me.
“What makes you think she wants to see you?” he snarled, staring at me, making me squirm in my seat.
I was struck silent.
I looked at the bar and neither of us said anything for what seemed like an eternity. My mind was racing. Did this mean that he knew where she was? Did this mean that she didn’t want to see me?
“You can leave a phone number,” he said, finally, turning to signal the end of the conversation.
“I don’t—can’t you take me to her?” I asked, speaking to his profile.
Again, he said nothing. I wondered if he had heard me. He swallowed the rest of the pint of beer in one cartoonishly long gulp.
“No,” he said. He pushed the money forward on the bar and the bartender, watching silently from a dim corner, emerged and refilled the glass.
“I live in the park,” I said quickly, quietly, as he drank this beer. “I stay over by that playground off South Lane, the one with the frog sprinklers? Straight back from there. There’s some bookshelves in the park, near a bridge. I’ve got a spot set up right behind there. That’s where she can find me.”
He drank some more and turned to face me for a moment and his look revealed surprise, interest even. “Bookshelves? You’ve got a park apartment?”
I nodded again. Suddenly, shockingly, he barked in laughter. The laugh died as abruptly as it started.
I felt sick, nauseated, like I was the one downing beers. Perhaps the initial shock had worn off, because I was suddenly elated and terrified by what was transpiring. Could I trust this man? Was any of
this even for real?
And then the spinning got worse. I could feel myself losing control, but I couldn’t stop it. I was distantly aware of my head hitting the floor.
When I woke up, the bartender was peering into my face. “You okay?” he asked.
I couldn’t breathe. I tried to talk but nothing came out.
A moment later he was lifting me and I somehow found my feet. He steered me to a booth and sat me down.
I began to breathe again.
He crouched in front of me, looking into my eyes. “I don’t particularly want to call the cops, but if I do, you need to say that you came in here ’cause you were feeling sick, you got it?”
I nodded. “You don’t have to call the cops,” I said. “I’m okay. I just … is he still here?”
“Dougie? He booked before you even hit the ground.”
I closed my eyes.
“My photo?”
“What?”
“Did he take my picture of my mother too?” I squeaked.
The bartender turned around and looked at the bar and said, “Yeah. Sorry.” When I opened my eyes he was still staring at me. “Let me get you a coke, kid. Sugar is good for the system in times like these. Or something.”
He walked around the bar and I watched him fill a pint glass with the soda gun. He came back and sat at the table across from me, a straw bobbed in the dark liquid, threatening to fall out of the glass he set down.
“Scotch,” someone called from down the bar.
“Just hold on a minute,” the bartender growled back. “Didn’t you see the kid knocked her head? I’ll be right with you.”
“Thanks,” I said, taking the straw between my lips. The soda was cold and sweet.
“So, what’d he say to you? Why’d you faint?”
“He said … he said he knew my mother,” I said. The man looked at me. “Hey,” I said, strangely calm. “I left my dog tied up outside. Will you look out the window and check on her for me?”
“Sure,” he said and he rose and went to the front. He peered out. “Why’nt you just bring her in here for minute?” his face still pointed at the window. “She looks scared.” He looked at his clientele. “None of these bums is gonna mind,” he said loudly into the back of the bar.
