by Sidney Bell
“Upstairs. Why?” Sullivan said blankly.
“I’m taking you to the emergency room.”
“No, you’re not.”
“You’re bleeding!”
“I know, but hospitals have to report criminal conduct. If they even suspect this is a knife wound, they’ll call the cops.”
“They’re not going to know. We’ll...we’ll tell them it’s from glass. You broke a glass. They’ll buy it.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. We don’t know for sure, so we can’t go.”
“You need stitches.” Tobias could feel his throat closing.
“Yup.” Sullivan took Tobias’s hand with his good one. “But even if I don’t get them, I’ll still be fine. I’m not going to bleed to death. Stop biting a hole in your lip, sweetheart.”
“I’m not.” Tobias totally was. He felt vaguely nauseated and lightheaded, but there was one other option. He glanced over at where Ghost still lay on the floor, watching them closely. “I need you to go upstairs and get my keys and my phone.”
“But if you go to the emergency room, who’s going to babysit me to make sure I’m not committing acts of evil?” Ghost asked snidely, even as he got to his feet.
“I will,” came a female voice from the direction of the front door, and Tobias turned his head to see a tall golden-skinned woman in a stunning navy suit was standing there.
“Hi, Raina,” Sullivan said, sounding tired. “Fancy meeting you here.”
“Did you really think you I wouldn’t show up after that voicemail you left me yesterday?”
“I think you should give back my house key.”
“But I’m in the nick of time.” Raina perched on the arm of the sofa. “It certainly looks like you could use my help.” She surveyed Ghost from tip to toe where he stood at the foot of the stairs. “This would be the Ghost in question, I assume.”
Ghost studied her in turn. Raina was intimidating, from her regal posture to the arrogant tilt of her chin to the keen, dark eyes that were intelligent and worthy of being studied. But Tobias didn’t have time.
“Ghost,” Tobias said, making him jump. “Keys and phone, please. On the dresser. And a shirt.”
“We’re not going to the emergency room,” Sullivan said.
“No, we’re going to see my parents.”
Sullivan frowned, but Tobias wasn’t compromising on stitches, and if they couldn’t go to the ER, there were only so many other options. His papa might be angry at him, but he wouldn’t turn away a patient. In this, at least, Tobias trusted him wholeheartedly.
“Ghost, please,” Tobias repeated, and Ghost turned and went up the stairs.
“The USB,” Sullivan said, a little thickly. “We hid it in a baggie in the toilet’s reserve tank. If he gets it...”
“I’ll tag along,” Raina said.
“Be careful.” Tobias felt disloyal even as he said it, but Sullivan broke into strained laughter.
“He’s sweet,” Raina called over her shoulder as she swept up the stairs after Ghost.
“You think she’ll be able to stop Ghost from taking the USB if he finds it?”
“I dunno,” Sullivan said. “But if anyone could, it’d be her. I wouldn’t be surprised to get back and find that one of them has killed the other.” He shifted uncomfortably. “Or they’ll be best friends. I’m not sure which scenario is scarier, to be honest.”
“Hold still.” Tobias kissed Sullivan’s forehead. “You called her?”
“Yesterday. I wanted to make sure that my client couldn’t use her as leverage against us if he figured out who we were.”
“Wait. You explained this whole thing and told her to watch out for a bad guy client by voicemail?”
“I said it was urgent!”
Tobias snorted a laugh despite himself. “She got here safely, at least. Will you be in much trouble?”
“Probably. She’s not a forgiving person. I wasn’t as communicative as I should’ve been, and sleeping with a client won’t go over well. I think I can kiss that promotion good-bye, but if I’m slick, maybe she won’t fire me. I did solve an unsolvable case. Well, we did. Sort of.”
Ghost and Raina walked back downstairs in tandem at that point, Ghost holding their things, Raina with the baggie holding the USB.
“Thank you.” Tobias shrugged hastily into the shirt, which was long-sleeved and covered his bruises, a thoughtful choice that was as much of an apology as he or Sullivan was likely to get from Ghost. “We’ll be back as soon as we can.”
“Call me if you need me,” Sullivan said to Raina, who lifted an imperious eyebrow.
“It’s unlikely.”
“I know,” he replied. “But still. The cop’s name is...fuck, I forget, but Lisbeth will be here any minute, and—”
“Sullivan?” A woman pushed the French doors open and stuck her head through. She was in her mid-to late-thirties and wore a demure blue blouse and dark slacks. She glanced around the room, zeroing in on Sullivan where he sat against the wall. “I’m assuming someone called an ambulance?”
“Long story, but no,” Sullivan said. “We’ve got someone to help, though. Tobias, this is Lisbeth. Lisbeth, this is the college student, Raina, and Ghost.”
Lisbeth turned quiet blue eyes on Ghost. “So you’re the one all the fuss is about.” She gestured to Sullivan’s arm. “Is this your handiwork?”
“It was a misunderstanding,” Ghost said.
“We’re leaving.” Tobias hauled Sullivan to his feet. He was shaky but capable, standing on his own, which was a comfort.
“Do you need a ride?” Lisbeth asked.
Sullivan shook his head. “Stay here for your guy. Raina can fill you in.”
“As best as I can, on a two-minute explanation,” Raina said, not entirely friendly about it.
“Come on,” Tobias demanded, tugging on Sullivan, who resisted.
Sullivan pointed at Ghost with his good hand. “Don’t trust him. Not for a second.”
“For fuck’s sake,” Ghost muttered.
Raina gestured to Lisbeth’s feet. “The pumps—Dolce? Last year?”
Lisbeth smiled. “Good eye. I fell hard for the laminated Dauphine leather.”
“God save me,” Sullivan said, and finally let Tobias haul him out the door.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Tobias let them in with his key. The house was still and shadowed, and he got Sullivan propped up in the kitchen with a whispered admonishment to keep the pressure on the wound before heading upstairs.
As he worked his way through the hall, he tried to shake off the feeling of being an intruder. It had been a matter of weeks only that he’d been gone, but in that time the familiar had become somehow alien. Everything was the same—family photographs on the wall, furniture in the right places, same knickknacks on the shelves—but there was something in the air he couldn’t shake. He half expected to find dust everywhere, but there wasn’t a speck anywhere.
He dodged the creaking floorboard and knocked softly on his parents’ door to avoid waking his brothers and sisters. Papa answered a moment later in his fuzzy brown robe, his sleepy expression vanishing when he took in Tobias and the blood on his hands and shirt.
“I’m fine,” Tobias murmured quickly. “I’m not hurt. It’s a friend. I need your help, Papa.”
Tobias never would’ve described his papa as a hesitant man. His manman was no more tentative; years as physicians had taught them both that there would be time for conversation post-crisis. So it was no surprise to have them both following him down the hall a moment later, medical kits in hand, without argument.
In the kitchen, they found Sullivan standing over the sink instead of on the wooden stool where Tobias had left him, his bloody shirt dripping onto the stainless steel.
“Hi, I’m Sullivan.” He gave a small wave with his
good arm. “Sorry for making a mess out of your kitchen.”
His parents flew into action; in moments there was a tray for tools and gauze and a bowl filled with water. Tobias was pressed into service getting towels. His parents murmured in Kreyòl to each other as they worked together to get the wound numbed, cleaned, and stitched up. If Tobias had doubted his own unsuitability for the profession, this would’ve confirmed it—he couldn’t bear to look at the wound. He spent the time distracting himself by alternately planning the heavily edited story he would tell his parents and watching Sullivan look around the kitchen.
He wondered what their home looked like to Sullivan—the bright, sequined drapo hanging in the corner, Manman’s spare rosary beads dangling over the edge of the handwoven basket on the counter, the black-and-white photograph of Vodouists dancing in a service to the loa on the wall. Would he think of black magic and ignorant peasants, like so many friends and neighbors had over the years?
No, Sullivan studied these parts of Tobias’s life with the same open, honest interest that he aimed at any number of unfamiliar things. There was curiosity in the intelligent planes of his face, but also empathy and warmth. He would ask questions, and better still, he would learn.
Tobias took Sullivan’s good hand in his, and Sullivan gave him a tiny smile. His parents both cast quick glances at their interlaced fingers, but neither said anything. He’d never held hands with a man in front of them; his homosexuality had been a theoretical thing to them until this point, but Sullivan was in his life for good, or at least Tobias wanted him to be, and everyone would simply need to adjust. He had no intention of hiding what he felt. He’d risked too much by hiding such things in the past.
When Sullivan’s arm had been bandaged and the mess cleared away, Tobias found him a clean shirt to wear from his bedroom. Then they all sat in an awkward square for a moment, no one quite sure where to begin.
Finally, Papa said, “An explanation is in order, I think.”
Somehow, they managed a non-panic-inducing version of the story. Tobias didn’t outright lie at any point, but he did downplay the risks involved at times. He felt no need for his parents to know that Spratt had come back to his house during the home invasion they’d committed. He disliked having to monitor his words so carefully, but his parents’ questions were cautiously phrased in return, and it struck him that they were trying hard to meet him halfway. They were frustrated, yes, and worried, but determined to do as Manman had claimed they would do in her voicemail—listen.
Once they’d wrapped up the stitching and the explanation, Sullivan checked his phone. “Lisbeth says Ghost is going with Walter.”
Tobias sank back in his chair. “Oh. They’re—”
“They’re leaving now. I guess whatever you said to him worked.” He nudged Tobias’s knee with his own. “It’s good news.”
“It is,” Tobias agreed. And he did feel a massive sense of relief. He’d just wanted more time before Ghost disappeared again, that was all.
“Your friend is all right, though?” Manman asked.
“Sounds like.” Tobias took a breath and refocused. Her velvet-brown eyes were tired behind her glasses. Since they had no reason to rush, perhaps it was a good time to clear the air. “About what happened before, with the letter...”
Both of his parents glanced at Sullivan instantly, warily. Tobias had anticipated this; personal subjects weren’t often shared with friends or acquaintances. “We can discuss that later,” Manman began, smiling at Sullivan, but Tobias cleared his throat.
“No, Manman. He’s family to me. He knows everything anyway. And I think this will be easier with him here. I’d really prefer talking about this with him here.”
His parents exchanged a look, but Manman finally nodded.
Tobias took a deep breath and reminded himself that a strong relationship moving forward was as much on him as it was on them. “I was hurt that you didn’t share the letter with me. And angry. I don’t blame you for not telling me the truth when I was a child about how my birth mother abandoned me. Tante Esther’s version was hard to hear, but I understand why you lied.”
He hesitated, then asked a question that’d haunted him ever since he’d found out. “You told me once that you let me keep Ashley Benton’s name as a reminder of the woman who’d loved me so much but had been forced to give me up. If that’s not true, why didn’t you give me your name? Didn’t you want me to—”
“It’s not because you weren’t mine,” Manman said fiercely, reaching across the table to take his hand hard in hers. Her fingers were cold and strong. “You were always mine. From the first time I held you. You’d been in an incubator because you were so sick, with tubes everywhere, and you had a bulky cast on your leg, and for a long time, no one could hold you. But the second I did, I knew. You were such a silent baby, Tobias, did I ever tell you? You’d lie so still in my arms, even after you were healthy, like you were afraid I’d put you down if you made a peep. All I could think was that you’d spent a whole night in that Dumpster in pain, crying for help, and no one came, not for hours, and it made my heart bleed. You were so vulnerable, so frighteningly vulnerable, and I promised myself I would never let that woman hurt you again. That kind of promise doesn’t end when your children are adults.”
Tobias jolted at the sight of her tears; Manman did not cry easily. He squeezed her hand, reassured despite the upsetting elements of the story.
She swiped at her face with a napkin Papa gave her and cleared her throat. “We spoke to Tante Esther last week. She left some things out of the version she told you. She didn’t know that your birth mother didn’t sign away her rights to you immediately. Ashley Benton.” She spat the name, her disgust palpable. “She was in jail for what she’d done to you when I went to see her. I brought her the pictures of you in the hospital and explained that I’d taken care of you and that I loved you and that I would continue to love you and take care of you until my last breath if she would only let me. She looked at the pictures and she said—”
Here Manman broke off, her mouth working until she could continue. “This will hurt you, but I promised not to lie to you anymore, so I won’t. She said ‘I didn’t think about whether he would feel it.’ She said that to me, can you believe it? I wanted to reach past that glass and slap her face, but I couldn’t. Even if I’d been physically able to, I needed her to sign the papers.”
Sullivan’s knee knocked his under the table again and Tobias sucked in a breath. He could feel Sullivan watching him and didn’t want to make him worry, but he needed a second. He couldn’t wrap his mind around the idea of someone blind to the idea of an infant feeling pain. As Sullivan would’ve said, it didn’t translate into a language he could understand. Finally he nudged Sullivan back and nodded, only then realizing that Manman had paused to give him a moment.
“I’m all right,” he said. “Go on.”
Manman continued, “So I pretended that I understood her selfishness, and eventually she agreed to give you up, but only on two conditions—that you keep the name she’d given you, and that we keep her updated with our current address so she could contact you in the future if she chose to. We’ve kept our word about those things, but we made no promises about passing her letters along, and so we haven’t. But you’re right. We were wrong to do as we did, even if we meant no harm. If you want to see her, we will—”
“I don’t want to see her,” Tobias interrupted, startled. “I’ve never wanted to, not since Tante Esther told me. I know you think I’m too weak to say no—”
“Too kind,” Papa interjected. “Too willing to give. Not too weak.”
“Oh.” Tobias’s cheeks grew hot. “Thank you. But it was never about that. I wanted the choice. Not her.” He frowned, wondering how they’d managed to miss each other so completely for so long. It had never occurred to him that she might also be afraid of being left behind. “You’re my Manman.”
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She made a soft gasping noise and came around the table to his side, pulling him into her arms and sniffling. When she let him go, he gave Sullivan an embarrassed smile, only to find those brown eyes tender as he pressed a napkin into Tobias’s hand. He wiped his face self-consciously.
Papa said, “I also thought...a son should be proud of his family. I never wanted you to feel as we did, that we came from badness.”
Tobias frowned. “What do you mean?”
In slow, careful words that grew more confident as he went on, he explained about their emigration from Haiti. Tobias knew bits and parts, but he’d never gotten the full story of the way Nadège and Andre Alcide had traveled to the States during the breakdown of the Baby Doc Duvalier regime, sent to the States by their upper-class parents, who had benefitted from the worst of that regime. There had been two classes back then, he said, and their family belonged to the one that had money and power—well, as much power as you could have when your success hinged on the good favor of a dictator. Their parents had turned a blind eye to the abuses of the man who’d set up a system that afforded them a comfortable life, and they had spoken out publicly only when the horrors became impossible to ignore, only when it seemed that the tides of the country would turn on them too. Tobias’s parents had barely entered adulthood at that time, and were sheltered by their privilege, but they’d learned the nature of their upbringing when the protests and violence began. Particularly once they came to the States and were exposed to immigrants from poorer families and witnessed the devastation.
“It is important to take care of your community,” Papa said. “That is part of what it means to be Haitian, you know this. But our parents did not think this way, and they did things that were very hard to respect. I have tried to be better than my own papa, but it is a heavy burden and I have felt very ashamed of my family at times. I did not want you to wonder if that blindness to the suffering of others could run in your veins. I hope you can understand, Tobias, or at least forgive.”
“Of course I forgive you,” Tobias said, a little bewildered, because that wasn’t even a question. He already had. “You weren’t wrong to think I might make a choice that was bad for me. Sullivan made a good point when we were talking about it before—I haven’t always been honest with you about what I need and what I can handle. So it’s partially my fault that you thought it was the right thing to do. I want to be more honest with you. I should’ve told you I didn’t want to be a doctor, but I... I wanted you to be proud of me.”
