Inherited Light

by Katie Mettner

  My maḿa and dad didn’t want to miss out on the party either. They sold their house and moved into the apartment above the shelter where Foster used to live. After he and Cinn were married, they decided to live in Mabel’s house. It was significantly bigger than the apartment above the shelter, especially if they planned to have kids. My parents decided it was time to downsize since all their baby birds had flown the nest, and asked if they could rent it. Foster refused to take money, instead insisting they could pay their rent by helping around the shelter, cleaning the exam rooms at night, and taking shifts when the doggie daycare was up and running. Even though my dad still works, they agreed to those terms and moved in last April. They hadn’t lived here a month when a stray miniature schnauzer from the shelter found her way up the stairs to their apartment, and forgot to leave. She’s a sweet little thing, and honestly, I haven’t seen my parents this happy in ages. They act the same way the newlyweds do. Maybe it’s true what they say about a change of scenery giving you renewed energy and a new outlook on life. Since they moved here they both feel needed again, which was something they didn’t realize they were lacking. Mamá no longer has a blank stare on her face as if she’s lost, which makes all of us feel better. I suppose it’s hard when you’ve spent your life taking care of others, and suddenly they’re all gone. All you have left are blank walls to stare at and too many hours in your day.

  Once I finished my apprenticeship, I found an apartment above a small diner in the middle of Little Ivywood. As a single guy, it meant easy access to food, which was handy since I can wield a hammer, but not a frying pan. After living there for just a few months the owner took me under her wing and insisted I have a hot meal twice a day when I’m home. Usually my dinner is the leftover special of the day she packages up and leaves for me to pick up. She calls it a special perk only for renters and you won’t hear me complain. Her food is fantastic and she often fixes authentic Mexican food, which reminds me of my childhood.

  I grew up eating authentic Mexican food, since Maḿa moved to the U.S. on a work visa from Mexico. She attended most of her formative years of school here, but lived with her aunt, who owned a Hispanic grocery and café. Fresh out of high school, she fell in love with a guy named Bennie and as they say, the rest is history. She learned to cook from the women in her family, and we grew up on the spoils of her talent. Having a Hispanic mother meant something different to each of us. Like Tabitha and Cinn, I’m fluently bilingual, but I got most of my dominant genes from my dad. At nearly six feet two inches, I’m as thin as a twig, at least according to my landlord, but didn’t luck out and get the golden skin tone my sisters inherited. The one thing I did get from Maḿa, besides her love of food, was her beautiful black hair. I used to keep it long, weaving it into a braid while I worked, but after attending a safety class in college, and learning I could be scalped if it got caught in certain tools, I cut it immediately.

  “Hello? Is anybody home?” called a voice from the front of the shelter.

  I dropped my hammer into my tool belt and strode to the door, which opened to the waiting area. There was a woman sitting in the open space, gazing at the pictures on the walls. Her long chocolate brown hair curled around her cheeks. Her face held the roundness of a small child, but glowed with exuberance. Cherub was the word which rolled through my mind. She reminded me of someone I used to know, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. All I knew was she took my breath away and tied my tongue as I stood frozen in place.

  When I could take a breath again, I held the door open with one hand. “Hello, are you looking for someone?”

  Her head swiveled in my direction and she smiled. In all my life never has a smile rendered me speechless the way hers did today. “Hi, yes, my friend, Cinn Dalton, or rather Cinn Kern,” she said, her voice lilting in a way to make me think she was a singer or a poet. I had heard it before. The grocery store? College? I couldn’t decide.

  I let the door go and stepped forward, sticking my hand out for her to shake after I checked to make sure it was clean. “Nice to meet you, I’m Cinn’s brother, Lorenzo.” The feel of her hand in mine made me breathless, and I immediately wondered how the rest of her would feel under my hands. I swallowed as a feeling of sadness, loneliness, and pain gripped me. I shook my head a little bit to clear it and drew my hand back immediately. “What’s your name, beautiful?”

  She laughed, throwing her head back and holding her hands to her chest as if she was praying. “It’s been a long time since someone called me beautiful. Thanks, Lorenzo.”

  I grinned, nodding my head. “I only speak the truth, Ms….”

  “Catalina Chávez,” she answered, finishing my sentence for me. “You don’t remember me? I’m an old friend of Cinn’s from middle school. Boy, you certainly have grown up, Lorenzo. The last time I saw you, I think you came to here on me.” She held her hand near her neck and then let her hand drop.

  I knelt in front of her wheelchair, so I could gaze into her eyes. “Tally?” I asked, shocked to be in front of the girl who used to practically live at my house when she and Cinn were in middle school. She wore braces on her teeth, drew on everything she could find, and barely spoke. The girl from my childhood had become a knockout.

  She nodded, twisting her hands on her lap. “I am, but no one calls me Tally anymore. The life you remember ended for me a long time ago. Everyone calls me Lina now.”

  I shook my head a few times as I ran my childhood backward through my memory. No matter what way I remembered it, she wasn’t in a wheelchair during the time she spent at our house. “You don’t look a thing like a Lina,” I mused. “I never cared for Tally, either. You always seemed like a cat to me. Mysterious, posed, and regal. I do believe I’ll go with Cat, if you’re all right with it.” I grinned and she did too, almost a mirror image of my own. Her head bounced up and down once, but it was enough for me to know she was fine with it. “I know my sister is around here somewhere. I’m a carpenter now and working on the shelter expansion, which is why I’m here at three p.m. on a Wednesday.”

  She appeared surprised, but folded her hands in her lap. “I feel ancient sitting here talking to the boy who used to wear Underoos and tried to scare us while we watched scary movies.”

  I laughed, and groaned, at the same time and waved my hand as if to wipe the memory away. “I promise you, I’m not an Underoos boy any longer.”

  She shook her head. “No, you certainly aren’t. You’re all grown up now and I’m a little tongue-tied. Cinn mentioned you were working here, so I thought I’d stop around. I guess curiosity got the best of me.” She shrugged her shoulder to make the statement seem nonchalant. I could tell it was anything but.

  “Well, your wish came true, here I am,” I teased, standing to my full six-foot height. She was diminutive in the chair, her tiny legs tucked inside the frame as though she tried to forget about them, and her hands rested on the wheels. “I’ll get Cinn for you, wait right here,” I said, striding toward the door. “Hey,” I stopped and swiveled back. “Are you a vendor for the carnival?”

  She nodded. “I’m the chosen artist this year. I’ll be displaying my artwork and offering free sketches of pets for those attending. My medium is wildlife watercolor and charcoal drawings.”

  I rested my hand on my hammer and sorted through what she said. Like myself, she works with her hands, and it made her seem wholesome and carefree. “You’re an artist? I’m not surprised, honestly. I can remember the time you drew the portrait of me on my wall in pencil. It was still there the day they sold the house.”

  I could see the blush rise on her bronze skin, starting at her neck and working its way up to her ears and forehead.

  “Those days seem like a lifetime ago. I remember I was so worried your dad would get mad at me for drawing on the wall, but you insisted. You promised to take the heat if he got angry. I never did find out what he said.”

  I laughed and went to her again. “He didn’t get mad. He said it was downright amazing for a ni
nth grader. They sold the house not too long ago and I snapped a picture of it for prosperity. It was the last remaining piece of the girl who just up and disappeared from our lives.”

  She glanced down and fiddled with the brake on her wheelchair. “My life changed drastically shortly after Cinn went on tour. I didn’t have time to be a teenager anymore after she came home. I was busy trying to stay alive.”

  I nodded as if I understood, even though I didn’t. I didn’t understand a thing about why she stopped coming around or how she ended up in the wheelchair. “With the old house gone, I’ve got none of your artwork on my wall. Maybe I should get a dog before the carnival so you can draw it.”

  She forced a smile to her lips. “Nothing would please me more, Ren,” she said, her eyes rolling a little bit at the name. “Do people still call you Ren?”

  I shook my head. “No one has called me Ren since I turned twelve. I go by Lorenzo now.”

  She stared me down, her gaze latched onto mine no matter where I flicked my eyes around the room. “I do believe I’ll keep calling you Ren. I like the idea of being the only one who does.”

  It was my turn to laugh, and I did, from her honesty and sweetness. “And I like the idea of seeing you again, Cat. Wait here and I’ll go find Cinn. I think she’s in the back doing paperwork. I’ll see you at the carnival?” I asked and she nodded.

  “Or before,” she added.

  I waved and wound my way through the rooms to find my sister. I couldn’t help but know I would see her again long before the carnival, even if I had to use my own sister to accomplish it.

  Chapter Two

  I swept the floor for a second time to make sure there were no wayward screws or nails. There’s always an army of animals trotting in and around my work area, so I double-check everything before I leave for the night. I couldn’t afford to get a bad reputation because I was careless and a dog got a nail in its paw.

  After a long week of work, today’s TGIF involved going home and packing a bag. I planned to fish this weekend once I finished coaching youth baseball tomorrow morning. I was exhausted and needed a mental break before I kicked it into high gear and finished this project. First things first, though. The weekend would probably start out downing a few beers with my buddies at McAllister’s while playing a few rounds of pool. I rarely hit the bar scene anymore since I have to pay rent and all my own living expenses. Aside from my adult responsibilities, I’m trying to save money in case I decide to go out on my own as a businessman after this project is finished. For the price of a few beers at the bar, I could buy a twelve pack and drink a few at home on my balcony. Lately, I found my own company far more enjoyable than a smoky barroom filled with guys yelling inappropriate suggestions at women.

  Working as much as I do, when I get home I usually want to decompress and relax. I always have a woodworking project half-finished and I would rather spend my time on something I love than waste it in a bar. When I first visited the apartment above the diner, it resembled the aftermath of a tornado. Obviously, the diner had been using it for storage since its previous tenant left, because there were cardboard boxes filled with take-out containers and banded napkins everywhere. I didn’t let it deter me. I’m always searching for a project to work on in my spare time and the apartment was definitely a project. For a severely discounted rent, my landlady agreed to let me have full reign to clean and update the apartment to this century. After all, once I moved out she would have an almost new apartment to rent out again. Considering she had no one living there for a year, even a discounted rent was better than no rent.

  I swept the dust into a dustpan and dumped it, stashing the broom back in the closet which held my tools when I wasn’t using them. I shut and locked the door again and removed my tool belt, slinging it over my shoulder. If there’s one thing a carpenter always has with him, it’s his tool belt. Locking it in the closet with my other things would be like a cop locking his gun and cuffs in his car. It doesn’t happen.

  I paused and closed my eyes, a feeling of fatigue sweeping across me. My eyes closed, the chance meeting with Catalina floated through my mind. I had wondered for the last twenty-four hours if she was single or married. I also wondered about the wheelchair, but I wasn’t about to ask. I suppose I could ask Cinn, but it didn’t feel right. I should probably go to the source and ask her rather than quiz other people. I don’t know how long Cat stayed yesterday, but when I checked in with Cinn before I left, they were still talking.

  Thoughts of Cat had me rethinking my plans for tonight. Suddenly, nothing seemed more unappealing than hanging out in a loud bar, shooting pool, and scoping out women. I’m never involved in any of the shenanigans my friends are when it comes to women at the bar. I can’t bring myself to disrespect women the way they do. I was raised to believe women should be loved and cherished, not chased after and used for your own pleasure. Lately, I’ve found it uncomfortable to spend time with people who have no problem treating women as objects. I tell myself as long as I don’t take part in the inappropriate behavior then it’s okay, but I know it isn’t.

  The truth is, I was raised by a beautiful woman, and lived with two exotically beautiful sisters. My childhood gave me a different perspective on hook-ups and one-night stands. Whether I liked it or not, Maḿa instilled in me the ideal that women are not objects to be used and tossed to the side. Women deserve respect, honor, and protection. Whenever I go out with my friends, I often ask myself how I would feel if one of them were being inappropriate toward one of my sisters. The answer was easy; I would land a punch, break their nose, and never see them again. The knowledge always spurred me to shut down my friends and make them knock it off, which only served to make them mad. It’s likely the reason why I find no pleasure in going there. My dad says it means I’ve grown up and left those childish activities behind me, but Maḿa says it’s because I do the right thing, even when it’s not the easy thing to do.

  I rubbed my chest as I strode toward Cinn’s office. I could feel something was off with her and I stopped to peek around the doorframe. She sat in her chair, her head down on her arms and her body still. I stepped into the office, set my tool belt on a chair, and whispered to the woman sleeping on the desk.

  “Cinn, are you okay?” I asked, rubbing her shoulder so I didn’t scare her.

  She sat up wild-eyed and grasped the edge of the desk with both hands. “Lorenzo.”

  She never got any further than my name as she seemed confused by everything other than who I was. Her demeanor scared me, and my heart started pounding. Fear, pain, and sadness gripped me. She’s been nothing but upbeat and happy since she married Foster, but today she was completely out of it. Even Brutus thought so. He sat near her chair watching her from under his bushy eyebrows. His paw rested on her leg as his head swiveled to the door frequently. In his doggie mind, he was trying to decide if he should get help.

  I patted his head. “It’s okay, Brute. I’ll take care of her,” I assured him. “Sis, it’s only four in the afternoon. Are you not feeling well?”

  She gazed around the office and leaned back in the desk chair, her face contorting into an expression I’d seen before. She was in extreme pain. I lived with her enough years during my childhood to know when her Crohn’s disease had flared up.

  “I think I have a problem,” she admitted, which was a first as far as I was concerned. She always hid her pain from all of us. Maybe Foster has taught her to be more open about her disease.

  “What kind of problem?” I asked, poised to get Foster from the meeting he was in.

  “I don’t know. I can’t sleep because the tube feeds are making me uncomfortable for some reason. I need them though, or I don’t get any nutrition. I can’t eat either and my stomach hurts constantly.”

  “Is it a burning, heartburn type pain?” I asked, but she shook her head.

  “No, it feels like someone punched me in the gut, only all day every day. It’s this low-level ache, but it has increased lately to be almost
unbearable. I can hardly sleep anymore. When I do a tube feeding, it only makes it worse.”

  Cinn had a feeding tube placed in her stomach many years ago and it occasionally becomes infected. “Is it your port again?” I asked, but she shook her head.

  She lifted her shirt up to show me the button and the skin around it. “It looks fine to me. No redness or infection like before when they put me in the hospital.”

  I nodded, remembering how scared we all were when she passed out in Foster’s arms here at the shelter, and ended up in emergency surgery within an hour of arriving at the hospital.

  “You need to see your doctor. If the tube feeds don’t normally cause discomfort, then you’ve got something going on. You shouldn’t wait over the weekend,” I admonished.

  Her expression pinched and her body stiffened as another wave of pain hit. “Maybe I should cut back on the volume of the tube feed at night or do smaller, more frequent feedings.”

  I shook my head with frustration. The woman never wanted to disrupt anyone’s day with her problems, but with the seriousness of her condition, it wasn’t smart to wait. I had already texted Foster with one hand while we sat talking. He would have my head if I didn’t tell him about it immediately.

  He rushed through the door and slid to the floor in front of his wife, his clinical gaze darting over her. “Cinn, what’s wrong, honey?” he asked.

  She didn’t answer, but leaned over and rested her head on his shoulder. He put his arms around her to keep her from falling out of the chair and glanced at me.

  “I stopped in to say goodbye and found her sleeping on the desk. She told me her tube feeds are making her uncomfortable to the point she can’t sleep, and her stomach feels like someone is constantly punching her. She showed me the port and it’s not infected, but there’s a problem somewhere. I can feel it.”